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simon-x-billy · 6 months

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Simon x Billy

Year of the OTP: October

Chapter 10: Attack of the tiny flying human

Prompt: Text messaging

AN: While Billy is sleeping off his drowned sorrows in his time zone, Simon has time traveled back 6 hours, to Brooklyn. He gets to live the same 6 hours twice. That’s just how it works. So sci-fi. He has been summoned (peer pressured) back to Brooklyn by his agent for a terribly important meeting requiring a suit. That’s all he knows about it: Wear a suit. Done. He’s wearing a suit. He’s never even seen Johnny in a suit, let alone wearing one with him. It’s this morning all over again, and it’s official. Italians do coffee better. NSFW TW: Finally back to the sexytimes! But first, lots of talking and saying stuff and things. Fair warning: There’s no Clary irl, but there is a Chase. Masterlist || ao3 || start || prev || next

————/Simon/————

“Simon, I don’t like that Johnny.”

“I know, Ma.”

“He looks like a sheister, that boy. He does not have a trustworthy face. No. He does not.”

“I know, Ma.”

“Well if you know, Simon, why don’t you go find a more trustworthy-looking agent?”

“Ok, Ma. Where are the Eggos?”

“Pish. Why am I stocking Eggos when you’re not living here anymore? Go stock ‘em for yourself over at that schmancy apartment of yours.”

“Ok, Ma. You’re right.”

She’s turned her ‘you don’t have a trustworthy face’ face on me.

“What, Ma. What? Please stop giving me the stink eye. It’s scary looking and definitely unfriendly.”

“You want I should be your friend now.”

I search madly for the right answer to that question.

“You want I should go to Katz’s? Yonah Schimmel? No! Wait! Ma, I will buy you an island if you make your matzoh ball soup.”

I am a genius.

Katz’s. Yonah Schimmel is next door. Pic mine.

That should keep her busy for well over 24 hours. It takes time to boil a chicken down to nothing but golden goodness. As Grandma used to say, “It took a day to build Rome, it takes more than that to make chicken soup.”

That should keep her happy and friendly for at least as many days as the soup lasts, and then some. And it’ll give me some fat to run off. Sometimes I don’t eat enough to sate the running addiction. It is what it is.

From the kitchen I hear Ma shout “But I do like his red hair!”

————/-/————

“Simon!!!” It’s practically a screech. The next thing I know, I’ve been attacked by a tiny flying human. I don’t know if there’s such a thing as a flying hug. Kind of like a cannonball into a pool, but aimed at me and not at a pool. Whatever it is, there are limbs everywhere, long hair in my mouth, and not a fraction of an inch of her touching the ground. I figure I’ll just leave the untangling up to her, for fear of touching places it would not be good to touch. This is all on her to unravel. She slides easily to the ground outside Java Jones.

Lily. That’s who.

“Look at you! Why are you all handsome and fresh-looking?” She looks at me suspiciously. Because apparently this is suspicious. And I now worry that I’ve never been handsome and fresh before.

“Nevermind,” she immediately interrupts herself, holding me at arm’s length. “Look at you! You’re all tanned and weirdly healthy. I’m dazzled by the sun dripping off you.” She sniffs. “Why do you smell so good? Are you wearing cologne?! I’m concerned.” Her eyes narrow. “Who are you and what have you done with my sweet vampire Simon? Why are you like this and what are we doing tonight?”

All of this delivered with coquettish little grins and winks sprinkled here and there.

“Stop flirting with me, vile creature.”

She growls and mock-punches me in the arm. “What the fuck, Simon! Where have you been? Clearly somewhere sunnier than Brooklyn. And this is not a tan you get in the Hamptons.”

I can’t help it, I just can’t be mad at this compact little flying ball of limbs. The girl three years younger than I am, that I think of as my little sister, yeah, her. I can’t be mad. She’s just too excited to see me. Genuinely happy to see me. Ugh, now I’m genuinely happy to see her, too.

“So? Are you going to tell me anything? Why do you look like a golden god, sitting here in this dingy hole of the pallid and caffeine-deprived?”

“Italy.” Am I grinning? I think I might be grinning.

“Grinning like the Cheshire Cat.”

“Did you hear the part about Italy?”

“Italy?!?!” She says with overly dramatized shock

Now this one definitely went to theatre school.

I know this to be true, not only because she’s dramatic — convincingly dramatic — but also because it’s where I met her. So I know from firsthand experience that she has a finely tuned host of expressions, reactions, etc to draw from. It’s called sense-memory. Dude, we’re from NY. Theatre camp might just have been with the Actors Studio, or it might not. We might have been mini Method Actors, we might not.

And this face? This face is pure goofball, all the way. She comes by it naturally.

“No, but seriously, Italy?” she asks.

“Yeah, I’m thinking about moving there.”

Lily spews cappuccino froth everywhere.

“Hang on, I got it.” I'm instantly springing for the counter in search of a cloth. Or even a stack of mini napkins? Please? I leave Lily holding her shirt away from her skin. The cappuccino is still hot enough that her shirt is now steaming. Ow.

It’s only as we’re dealing — successfully — with the aftermath, that I finally have a moment to recall what I said, just moments before The Great Cappuccino Incident of 2015.

I’m thinking about moving there.

I didn’t even know that’s how I felt until it flew out of my mouth.

I think I want to move to Italy.

Yep, still true, even after repetition.

“You want to what?” she asks, attention fully on me and not her shirt.

“I think I’m going to move to Italy.” Hm. My mouth just made up my mind for me.

When I’ve had something fly out of my mouth in the past, my mouth has turned out to be trustworthy and wise about 90% of the time. It’s not a perfect science. But what I will say is that my mouth speaking from my gut is not as gross as it sounds. I’ve learned to trust my gut-mouth. It tells me what I don’t realize I already know. And suddenly I have complete clarity. I’m moving to Italy.

!fuckyeahmovingtoitaly!!!!sddssaasblergjkl!

“Why???” she asks. I can hear all the question marks.

“I’m feeling…………things there.”

“You’re feeling things there,” she parrots back at me. “Like what?” she asks with mirth. She’s feeling mirthy.

“Well, for one, I feel more creative than I have since the day I started flogging myself with a blinking cursor on a blank white page, entitled Book 4 pg 1.”

“Writer’s blo-“

“Don’t say it! You’ll jinx me!” Look, Jewish mysticism is alive and kicking in Brooklyn. “Quick, spit on the evil eye!” I order her. It’s the least she could do!

“Don’t worry, Si. You’ll conqu-“

“Stop jinxing me! What, are you trying to ruin my life? Seriously! Anyway, I think Italy might help with that thing we’re not allowed to say out loud, knock on wood.”

Lily is staring at me. Well, no, not staring so much as assessing. “You’re different, Si. And it’s not just the tan. Your eyes are brighter. Sparklier.”

“Ew.”

She smacks my arm.

I look at her and my insides turn to mush. “You, Lily, are a mensch.” Her eyebrows shoot up in surprise.

“What have I done to deserve your highest praise?”

“You haven’t done anything specific, and that’s part of the point. You, Lily, are a good human being. If it was just a one-time thing, I’d find a different compliment. But this is just an observation. You are a good human person.”

To my surprise, her eyes well up. “Hey, you ok?” I take her hand in mine and give it a warm squeeze. “Hey,” I squeeze again.

“Oh, nothing,” she says, rolling her eyes, but I can tell it’s not even remotely ‘nothing’ by the simple fact that she’s sniffling and her eyes look even more watery.

“Nothing’s wrong, Simon, I promise.”

“Happy tears, then? Did you get into Juilliard?”

“I wish! And anyways, I’m at Tisch.”

“Not too shabby!”

“You bet your frickin ass! There is no shab!”

“Mazel tov, Lily. Stand up and hug me,” I order her. And she does. But she’s sniffling and watery again. I have acquired a cappuccino shirt of my own. At least we’ll both smell alike, and cancel each other out.

I look at her appraisingly. (It’s her turn to be appraised.) “Something’s happened.”

She can’t stop the smile from exploding across her face. “Yes, something’s happened. But Chase made me promise that he’d be there when I told you.”

“Oh.”

Look, I know it’s a shitty thing that my monosyllabic response fell like a lead weight at her feet. But seriously, it’s Chase who needs to know what he’s walking into. Lily can either warn him or not. She’s not his babysitter nor his gatekeeper. “Keymaster,” I sigh.

The only reason I’m pissed at him is that he blew me off for a year. He wasn’t there for me. A stranger from Italy is the only person who was there for me. Not Lily. Not even Ma, who decided being jealous of her son’s vacation was top of mind, rather than her son’s mental and emotional state. The more book sales you have, the less support from humans you need? Is that the logic?

Poor little rich boy. Broken by privilege. Ok, the self-loathing has started, and at this moment, it’s not all about me. It’s supposed to be about some big surprise and I need to respect that.

“Where is that melonfucker anyway?” I raise my voice a little louder, as a poetry slam has just begun. At least it’s not as bad as the one in the book.

“Melonfucker?” The way she says it, I can’t tell if she thinks I’m funny or a loser. You’d think those two expressions couldn’t mate on one face.

I probably could have worded that a little better. Anyways, “Don’t ask. It’s a thing now. Soon everyone will be saying it.”

“I like it. Better than motherfucker. I don’t want to think about fuckers of mothers,” she says with a squicked-out expression.

“But fucking melons is ok,” I laugh.

“Fuck melons, not mothers! T-shirt? Mug?” she suggests.

“I fucked melons way before melonfucking was a thing,” I declare.

“You did what now?” It’s that voice with that pretentious accent that I’ve known since we were 10. He moved here from London. Posh London, apparently, cuz I guess that’s a thing that exists. It wasn’t til he met me that he started not-hating living anywhere else. And not only was this not London, it was America of all places. Insults and injuries and all that.

I thought he was cool. He thought I was a dork. But a friendly dork.

I first laid eyes on him as he wrestled with the door of his locker, just a few down from mine. Then he showed up in my English class, and everybody laughed when he pointed out that English class should really be about learning to be English.

It’s a miracle and a mystery why the student body chose to think that was funny. If it’d been me pulling that gag, I’d have been bullied mercilessly. But not Chase. He has something in him that has always drawn people in. I’ve never been able to put my finger on it.

He discovered that I’m the bomb later that day in the lunchroom. (‘Hi, I’m Simon and you will shortly discover that I am the bomb, deal with it.’ That’s how my brain has chosen to remember it.)

I’d been behind him in the lunch line, and watched with fascination as every single thing about the situation confused him. He was bewildered from beginning to end. Only to be spat out the other side into a busy lunchroom social scene. The moment of destiny, when the new kid stands there holding his tray, blinking at the reality of not knowing a single person in an already well established social hierarchy he knew nothing about.

This was it. Do or die time. It’ll make or break a kid.

And this was where I got awesome.

I walked up and stood there next to him, both of us looking out at the room. It was just as he was about to ask what I was doing that I said, “Sit with me.” And then walked up the center aisle without checking to see if he’d followed. Because even at 10 I was painfully cool. I stopped at the usual table, next to the usual cast of characters, and asked Kevin to scooch down so both of us would fit.

Chase had, indeed, followed. So he sat down. I think I said something like, “Hey everybody this is…” and let him fill in the blank. “This is Chase. Chase, this is everybody.”

I always remember that day whenever I’m pissed at him. It sucks cuz then it gets hard to stay pissed at him.

Chase looks at me warily before he grabs my fist and pulls me into a tentative bro hug. “Hey, man.”

”I’m mad at you.”

“Yeah. I kinda got that,” he replies. “Babe, did you tell him yet?”

“Of course not Simon will you be my Man of Honor?” All of this comes out on a single breath and obviously without punctuation.

I can feel myself standing here blinking at them. Everything gets a little slo-mo. I swallow.

Lily flashes her ring, wiggling her fingers at me in excitement.

“Married?”

They both nod yes.

“I do! I mean, yes! I will!” I sweep the tiny human up into my arms and twirl her around once before holding her at arm’s length. “Mazel tov!” I hug her again, and then look to Chase. “I knew this day would come, but a father’s never prepared for the flood of emotions, is he.”

“Father?” asks Lily with an “Ew gross,” following shortly behind.

“You better treat my little girl right,” I adopt a Texan accent, “Or I’mma come after you, son.” I give him a nostril flare, because it feels right. “You hear me, son? That’s my little girl you’re marrying. And Daddy’s got a shotgun, son. Daddy’s got a shotgun alright.” All we’re missing is a spittoon.

“Simon, what are you doing?” Lily asks.

“You know very well what I’m doing.”

Both Chase and I speak at once. “Monologuing.” It’s a thing we do. We went to theatre school.

“I can’t believe you’re monologuing at a time like this!” She practically shouts at me.

“It’s what he does when he’s nervous,” says Chase. The man who’s known me better than anyone else since we were 10.

Ugh, I guess I better man up and give him a real hug. “Mazel tov, man.”

————/-/————

She can’t be serious. “You want me to what now?” She wants me to cosplay Book Simon for Comic Con. I feel sick.

“I just threw up a little in my mouth.”

“No, seriously, hear me out. ‘Simon is Simon!’” she says with finger quotes. “It’s your thing! It’s synergy,” she says with ever more enthusiasm.

Lily, picturing synergy

“You’re joking, right?” It’s Chase.

“Oh thank God,” I blow out a breath of relief. “I was literally about to die a thousand horrified deaths hearing you agree with her. Oh my God. I feel dizzy.”

“Shut up,” Lily grouses. She sticks her tongue out at us because adulting is hard.

“I can’t cosplay my own books, and you know this! That is the- I mean, why would you even-“ She’s shaking her head, indicating that she is stubbornly holding tight to her position. “OK, look,” I say, committed to explaining all the ways she is an insane person. “What would you be thinking if you went to a show, only to find the frontman wearing his own band’s t-shirt, from this year’s merch tables.”

Chase sucks in his breath and pulls back, as if I have particularly noxious farts. Big, juicy, gross ones.

And then Lily busts out with, “I’d think he was wearing an ironic t-shirt.”

Ooooo, well played, Lily. Nice save. But I’m still embarrassed for her. “I wouldn’t be able to look myself in the eye for years after cosplaying myself. I think I might literally throw up. So much.”

“What about the scene when you crawl out of the grave - that Simon,” she persists. “You could be all muddy and unrecognizable.”

“But I AM VAMPIRE HUNTER D! And anyway, I’m on a panel tomorrow. So I can’t show up unrecognizable from being covered in mud from my grave.”

Simon, picturing D

“On a panel?!” Chase exclaims. “You, Simon Lewis, on a panel. Facts? You’re on a panel?”

I nod.

“On a panel,” he reiterates for the purpose of clarity. “Why didn’t you lead with that?!”

“Yes, yes, and yes to however many questions - I lost count.”

“And he’s my Man of Honor. And,” she gets serious, “he’s moving to Italy.”

“What? Simon, what the fuck?” Chase is now pie-eyed.

“And he’s talking to someone.” She finally stops dropping bombs.

I groan, “Lily, I was trying to get to all of that. Just one at a time.”

“Stop right there. Both of you.” Chase is suddenly serious. “Simon?”

“Yes, Chase?”

“Talk. About Comic Con.”

Lily is unimpressed. “That’s where you landed? Of all those options. You want to hear about Comic Con.”

“Ok, Comic Con,” I acquiesce. “I’m on tomorrow at 11am, 1A18. They want me to talk about getting started at a young age. But after this morning’s meeting with Johnny, I’m beginning to think maybe that’s not what they’ll want to hear about at all.” I am internally happy dancing.

“Why - what’s that about?” Chase wants to know.

“Come to the panel and find out,” I challenge, barely concealing my glee.

They both look pained. Chase breaks the awkward with, “It’s a little late for tickets. We didn’t know if you’d want to go.”

“Why wouldn’t I have wanted to go?”

“For exactly the reason we were worried about you being mad at how long it’s been. Simon,” he raises an eyebrow. “You ‘later-bro’d me.”

I can’t decide if I’m feeling guilty for that. At all. Nope. Not feeling guilty.

“Kelly can get VIP Passes. Will you come?”

They look to each other for some silent communication. It appears to go a little like this:

“What do you think?” asks Lily’s raised eyebrows.

Chase’s squint answers, “I dunno.” He’s always had a hard time agreeing to do things without several days notice. It’s one of the things I changed about his character in the book. You can’t be a half-angel warrior without spontaneity.

Lily’s hopeful eyes and dimples scream back, “Please, please, please?”

Chase’s sigh is total capitulation. The tension in his shoulders lets go, telling me he’s in.

“Thanks, guys. I hadn’t realized how much I need you there for the announcement. It’s big, and I’m freaking out.”

Chase goes to speak but I cut him off. “Nope, not telling til tomorrow. Cuz for now, I have even bigger news. You tell him, Lily.”

“Which thing am I telling him? It’s all juicy. Like how you met someone and now you’re moving to Italy. Is that the part you mean?”

Chase is still communicating wordlessly. His eye roll says, “As if.”

“Dude, bro I-“ I begin, but Lily cuts me off.

“Did he just dude-bro you?” she asks Chase in alarm.

“Yes, Lily. Yes he did,” answers Chase, looking askance at me.

“Shut up. Whatever.” I wave the dude-bro away. Just tell them, Lewis. “So, I kinda met someone. Someone in Italy. Which is only partly responsible for me moving there.”

Chase finally seems to get it.

“You’re moving?” he asks, voice losing its bombast.

“To Italy,” Lily confirms.

“Uh, I guess, yeah, kind of? Yes, I’m moving to Italy,” I say with greater conviction and vehemence.

“Name, please.” Lily puts out her hand as if I’m expected to have a pocket full of gold to deposit there. But what she’s actually demanding is a different kind of currency. A name.

“Um, I don’t know. I can’t really- I mean I don’t really know what ‘we’ are, so-“

“Give us a bloody name, you wanker,” Chase pulls out the Britishisms. “Clearly it’s serious.”

Si, certo. “Billy.” It flows out of my mouth so naturally that I know I’m not wrong.

“Where did y-“ Chase begins.

“Sorrento. A hotel. Maybe you guys can come visit sometime?”

Again with the unspoken language of eyebrows and dimples.

“OK, sure, yeah. If we can.” He’s being noncommittal. Maybe they don’t get that I’d be buying the tickets. They’re pretty expensive and Lily and Chase are a few off-Broadway shows away from their big breaks, so they can’t exactly be buying airfare just because I tell them to.

“Good. Let me know when, so I can have Kelly do all the ticket stuff,” I clarify, but I can see Chase is already squirming. “She’s the only one who knows how life actually works. Like I guess that frequent flier miles are an actual thing that exists. Hypothetically speaking.”

“Oh!” Lily exclaims. “Frequent flyer miles? Cuz if that’s the case, I’m saying yes right now. Just to be clear.”

“Yeah, of course! Just let Kelly figure it out, once you know when would work, ok?” Suddenly I’m feeling brilliant. Their honeymoon. Oh my god I am so awesome. “Or, y’know, you could always do your honeymoon-“

“Done! Yes! Our honeymoon! Yes, please. Yes. Exactly! That’s exactly when we’re coming whether Chase likes it or not.” Lily is practically vibrating, and trying hard to keep herself tethered to the earth. She fails. She jumps up and down, clapping and giggling. I might have gotten that from her.

This kind of thing always makes Chase uncomfortable — the money talk. It always seems to make him itch. As if money talk gives him hives.

“Soooo, Billie? Who’s she?” he asks with renewed interest.

“Yeah! I want to know about Billie, Simon, spill,” she echoes.

Well, shit. This is awkward.

I take a deep breath, and wing it. “Um, yeah, so Billy’s a chef at the best hotel I’ve ever seen in my life. And you guys know what a book tour is like. So when I say I’m in love with a hotel…”

“Yeah, yeah, we get it, you love the hotel. Next?” Lily dispenses with the superfluous information. “More about Billie. Feed us.”

“Reminds me — let me know as soon as you pick a date, so I can get you a reservation. As much advance notice as y-“

“Blah blah blah restaurant, hotel, blah blah Billie! More Billie!” she demands.

“Are you moving to Italy because of a girl?” Chase isn’t excited about this notion.

“A girl?” I suppose that the following is not technically a lie: “Nope. Not for a girl. And anyway, even if it was partly because I like somebody, it’s just as much about loving Italy. The Mediterranean.” (I don’t misspell it, cuz I don’t want to confuse them.) “The speed of life there. The priorities are different there. And anyway, I already bought a car there. That’s like one step away from applying for citizenship. I like to finish what I’ve started, y’know?”

“Funny,” says Chase without even a hint of a smile.

“Wait. Are you getting-“ I pull back, eyes theatrically squinty. “Lily? What is happening on Chase’s face? This is a new one, and I’m not embarrassed to admit it scares me. A little.”

“I’m not sure, actually,” she says, studying him. “It’s almost the way he looks when some guy is hitting on me.”

“Chase, are you jealous? Please say yes, please say yes,” I tease.

“I am not jealous! Why would I be jealous!” He’s beginning to shut down. Lily and I both know the signs, so we let it go.

“Billy is a chef from Ireland,” I begin, and Lily is already swooning. The accent. Guaranteed. “And I will not deny that the Irish thing does it for me.”

“Is she a redhead?” asks Lily.

“Not a fan of the gingers, me,” Chase reminds us. It was one of the things I enjoyed most about writing up his dream girl — giving her red hair. His face looked pinched from sucking lemons when he first read it.

“Moving on. So I haven’t made any calls or done anything about moving, yet. So I don’t know about timing or anything. But I’ll let you know when I do.”

“Billie, please. Less Italy, more Billie. We’re frickin hungry, so feed us already!” she demands.

“What’s her best quality?” Chase wants to know.

“Beauty, yeah of course, and specifically the insanely green eyes. But really? Billy thinks I’m funny. Like, actual laughing and not just laughing to be nice.”

Their faces tell me everything I need to know.

“You’re making her up,” Chase claims.

“Agreed, she doesn’t exist,” says Lily. “How could you lie to us — right to our faces?!”

“Facts! And actually kinda seems to care about me. Like for real and not just for imagination.”

“Why do you think she’s worth dropping everything to shack up with her?” Lily asks.

“Billy is a lot of things, Lily. And ‘worth it’ is definitely one of them. I’m actually kind of fucked up about it. It’s a connection. A weird and unexpected one. But it’s a connection and it might be the first real one I’ve had since I met you guys. Damn. That’s kinda heavy. Right?”

They both vigorously nod in agreement.

Did I just ask them to come visit me and my very masculine, male ‘friend’ Billy? I might be regretting that already. A lot. This represents the 10% success rate I mentioned earlier that differs from the 90% success rate of my gut-mouth.

————/-/————

“Simon?!” I hear pots and pans clang to the floor in the background.

“Billy? Are you ok?”

“Just-“ His voice sounds strained, like he’s stretching — likely because of the falling objects he’s trying to rescue. “One-“

I hear Italian in the background.

Was that Billy? Holy shit, I thought his Irish accent was hot. Wait. Now an older man’s voice in Italian is doing some kind of scolding.

“Si, normale, normale,” I hear Billy say, and I almost get chills. Then I do get chills cuz he’s saying, “Grazie, Vittorio. Grazie mille.” I want him to say that, but with my name in the middle, and directly into my ear. Low and private, so only I can hear.

At least I know enough to catch that he’s speaking with one of the owners of the hotel. The one who runs the kitchen. Head chef. Michelin stars and all that.

I’ve only gotten a handful of words, but god it’s good to hear Billy’s voice.

What the fuck is up with me? I am so completely beyond my comfort zone. Because only things that I know how to do are in my comfort zone. If I don’t know how to do something, how am I supposed to be comfortable? Whatever. Point is, I miss his-

“Simon? You still on? Simon?”

“Yeah! Yes. Hi. Yeah, here. Hi.”

Billy chuckles on the other end. God what a glorious sound.

“It’s so fuckin good to hear your voice, mate,” rushes out of him. “I can’t even pretend it isn’t.”

“Fuckin hell, I know!” I can’t even pretend either.

“Lord, I think I need to sit my arse down a minute.”

I think he might miss me.

It feels like my digestive system has jazz hands, and I am grinning. I know this because I've just raised my fingertips to my lips to find out. And they are indeed grinning. If I had a mirror I’d be able to tell if it’s a dopey grin. I’ve never tried that kind of grin so I’m ill-prepared for encountering one in the wild.

“Hmmm,” Billy intones, then giggles. Recall how awesome those are. Giggles from Billy are musical, up and down the scale.

Billy tells me, “I love that you have no problem with thinking out loud — especially since, in the moment, you have no idea you’re doing it.” He’s teasing me. I’m feeling teased.

It’s simple. “I gave up caring. It wasn’t worth the energy. And anyone who can’t handle it won’t be able to handle me. So, it’s like a sieve for humans.”

“Weird metaphor, but ok,” he grants me.

It just occurred to me, “She Who Shall Not Be Named never commented on it. Not once. I kinda figured it wasn’t happening anymore. But I guess it is.”

“Simon?”

“Billy?”

“Did you ever feel like she took advantage of knowin what you were thinkin?”

Well, that was dark as one can get. I’ll admit my pride doesn’t love the implication.

“Probably,” I admit with an acrid taste in my mouth.

“Fuck her,” he says, simply. But there’s a vehemence underneath it all that makes my pulse go all irregular. He’s jealous. And protective. Of me! I feel like I just got asked to the prom by the hot exchange student.

“Why do I have to like you so much?” I accuse. “It’s really annoying.”

He doesn’t answer. “Billy? You still there?”

“Yeah.” His voice is weird and rough. “I’m here. I’m glad you called.”

“Me too.”

“No,” he says. “I’m really glad you called. I think I might be ah, em, a little fucked up over this whole thing.”

My heart plummets to my shoes. “Oh.” I don’t know what to do with this new information. I didn’t realize he thought this was fucked up. Ow. My…something hurts. Ow.

“Simon, that’s not even what I said, mate. I said that I’m fucked up, not that the situation is bad. You get the difference, right?” He sounds all wrong.

“Billy, are you ok? I’m a little lost, but I don’t want to be. So tell me, are you ok? Are…are we ok?”

“God yes,” rushes out of him all at once. “Tell me we’re ok, Simon. Are we?”

“Of course! Why would you- No, you know what? Never mind all that. I’m just gonna say it plain. I miss you, Billy Delaney. I miss you and Italy. I plan to see both of you by the end of the week.”

I hear a huge exhalation on the other end, and then I hear movement, as if he’s just slid down the wall to the floor, and landed with a grunt.

“Does that sound ok?” I ask.

“Y-“ He has to clear his throat, and it still sounds gruff. “Yes. Good. Yeah, yes. That- That sounds good.”

“Everything ok, Delaney?”

“Yes, Lewis. All is, as you say, ok.”

“Thank God.”

“Right?” he asks on another gust of breath.

“Why do I miss you so much? It’s weird, right?” I mean, it is. Right?

“Not to my eyes. Not to my ears. Or any other part of me,” he says. “I feel like I haven’t been able to breathe since you left the car. Vittorio is convinced I’ve lost a relation or something. I almost cut myself dicing, Simon. I almost cut myself, dicing!!! That’s beyond the pale, mate. Beyond the pale!”

“Be more careful, Billy, but don’t stop missing me, ok?”

“Ok. Say it back.”

“I promise, Billy. I won’t stop missing you.”

“God! I am so completely shite. Needin to hear that from you. Embarrassing.”

“But-“ One word into my response, Ma busts into my bedroom. It’s after lights-out time, and she’s brandishing her matriarchy at me.

“Simon! What are you doing up so late?” she demands.

I feel just like I did when I was 13 and got caught with my hand in my jammies. “Knock, Ma! I’m on the phone!”

“You are not. You’re on the computer. Don’t lie to me.” Despite the fact that it’s the future, where computers are also phones.

I can do nothing but roll my eyes.

Billy chuckles. “Keep it down, Simon. They’ll be hearin your eyes in Italy.” How can he tell?

“Shh!” I hiss.

“Don’t you shush me, Simon Ira Lewis.”

“She just triple named me,” I whisper to Billy.

“Who are you talking to, young man?”

“‘Young man?’” Billy laughs. “So your mum’s the one as keeps threatening to turn the car round, then.”

“You’re being very rude to your mother. Don’t carry on another conversation while we’re having a conversation.”

“The irony,” observes Billy.

I shoot him a “Pshht!” under my breath, and growl with an actual “grrr.”

“You’re all up in my space, Ma. That’s not ok.”

Ma looks taken aback.

“Who are you to decide what’s ok? Respect your elders, young man.”

“Ma. Stop. And go away. Or I will. I’m serious.”

“Excuse me?!”

“I love you, Ma, but you’re killin me here.”

“Boundaries,” Billy sagely observes.

“Boundaries, Ma. We have some.” Then to Billy, “Shh! I’ll handle this.”

“You’ll handle what? You’ll handle me?! What has gotten into you?!”

“Nothing, yet.”

Billy has just snarfed water out his nose.

I can hear him choking in the background.

“Look, Ma. We’ll talk in the morning, k? But I gotta go give a talk first thing, so it’ll have to be breakfast, not brunch.” And seeing as feeding loved ones is plainly still her kryptonite, I decide to take the food route to her happy place. “Will you make the coffee how I like it? And some of your coffee cake?” Oh my god, the coffee cake. I just made myself salivate. I’m not ashamed.

I see her giving me a thoughtful side-eye. “Alright. I love you, honey.”

“Love you too, Ma. G’night.”

“You want her to leave the door open a crack, and the hall light on?” Billy teases.

“How do you know about that?! I mean, why would you say that?”

“No reason,” Billy answers. “I think I might love your mother,” he says, with that twinkling voice he gets when he’s delighted. Are all Irish people so twinkly everywhere all the time? I gotta find a better word than twinkly.

“Promise me she’s short,” he commands. “In my mind she is a mighty woman, but short.”

“Your mind is right. Jewish mothers are required to be short,” I report. “It’s the law.”

“I knew it,” he laughs. Again, with the twinkling. “Her accent is amazing. Why don’t you sound like her?”

“You mean like this? Soymun. You’re pretty close with your Soim’n, actually. Who knew? Brooklyn and Ireland. Two countries so far apart should not sound so close.”

He chuckles. Such a nice sound. “More. Do the voice, do the voice,” he demands.

“Really? Ok.”

“Ha HA! Yes!” I can hear him grinning maniacally. He should consider happy clapping. When words fail, it’s really the only thing left to do.

“OK. So here’s what she tells me this morning at 6am over coffee:

“Soymun,” I exaggerate her accent. “Did you hear we have new neighbors next door? You remember, where Mrs. Levy died.” (Mrs. Levy died?) “Such a nice young couple. Two men, you know. They get married these days. Such nice Jewish boys.” (Always with the NJBs.) “They got the most beautiful baby girl.” (Got? What, did they go shopping?) “I babysit from time to time, you know. Oy, so spoiled already. A strong head on her, that one. She’ll make a fine Jewish mother someday.” (God help her future sons.)

He stops applauding to inquire, “NJBs?”

“Nice Jewish Boys. Like me. It’s a thing. Just roll with it.”

————/Billy/————

Billy: send me a dick pic

Grumpy: adfsdadfslkjsdjf

Grumpy: you want a what

Billy: ☝️printed right there

Grumpy: rhetorical q

Grumpy: back to the dick pic

Billy: yes please back to that

Grumpy: are you kidding

Grumpy: no dick pic til i know if you’re kidding

Billy: have you ever taken one

Grumpy: NO!

Grumpy: i mean yeah of course

Billy: you’ve never taken one

Grumpy: no

Billy: send me one

Grumpy: why???

Billy: are you feckin jokin me?

Billy: if your hand was doing what mine is

Grumpy:

Billy: just a little somethin to inspire

Grumpy:

Billy: refresh my memory

Grumpy: so how’s Lola?

He’s attempting to distract me with his car.

Billy: send one

Grumpy: you’re bossy

Billy: do you like that

Grumpy: jesus billy!!!

————/-/————

Ten minutes of banter later, I have the dick pic, a full bath, candles in the window, lights off, and almost an entire bottle of Bushmills 12. I swirl the whiskey round the ice til it starts meltin, then let myself into the water, relaxin against a towel folded behind my head.

I like making Simon feel wanted. Desired. But I was also wanting the dick pic currently glowin in my hand.

The hand that’s not currently cupping my balls, giving them some much appreciated attention. I prop the phone up against the window, so both hands are free.

I compare the pic to my own cock. Despite being the same size, they really are quite different. He’s cut — that’s the obvious difference. But he’s also veinier. Different color, too. Mine’s more, I’m not sure, maybe darker? But his looks sort of peachy, with a rosy head. I recall it looking angry red when it’s hard.

Grumpy: I’m waiting

Billy: ?

Grumpy: for yours, you cheat!

Billy: ok

I hold mine in my hand, stroke it and take a couple shots. The second one is best (why? dunno), so I hit send.

Grumpy: glargh *swallows tongue*

Grumpy: no swallowing jokes

Grumpy: unless they’re good jokes

Billy: you don’t want me thinking bout swallowin

Billy: but you’re fine with me thinkin bout your tongue, tonguing?

Billy: that’d be alright then would it?

Billy: i’m so turned on that even textin can’t make my cock go soft

Grumpy: you don’t play fair

Billy: you got no idea

Grumpy: merp

Billy: goodnight simon

Grumpy: no! billy wait!

Billy: my hands are busy

Slippery under water, my cock is almost painfully hard, but the slip and slide is everything good in the world.

Because of a dick pic. That is mental.

But look at it!

I think I just- Did I really just salivate?

Now all I can think about is picturing Simon slipping and sliding in and out of a mouth. Not my mouth, specifically. Sort of a gender neutral mouth. And just thinkin bout Simon gettin sucked off, my brain stutters, my pulse, my stroke, everything stutters as the bright light of pleasure glows throughout me and I’m groaning.

I twist as I pass the head on every stroke. God yes. My breathing picks up.

The imaginary mouth sucks on the crown of his cock. The image sends a lance of pleasure through me. I imagine my hand doin the same to his balls as I’m doin to mine.

In my mind, I’m picturing Simon feelin everything I do to myself, as if I’m doing it to him. I use it to create the fantasy. The fantasy expands to include my cock gettin sucked off. And it’s a pair of lips I’ve never kissed. I can’t believe the strength of wantin Simon’s lips on my cock, and wantin Simon to feel it as if it’s my lips on him. Mmmmmfff.

Oh shit, what’s- Text notification. Simon’s just sent another text.

His cock. Long, thick, rock hard and red. The angle is mmmmf his thighs in the background, and ungh his ssssac against his course shorthairssss.

I get two flashes of pleasure in quick succession. Oh fuck yes. Hhhhhhhhhhmmmyes.

My cock jumps underwater, sending out ripples as electricity courses down my length.

Unnnnhhh, my imagination is still hard at work. I can no longer tell what part belongs to who, where sensation and imagination meld. In my hand. In his mouth.

Mmmmmm in his mouth.

I can see it with such clarity. That mental image makes my balls draw up high and tight, and all they want is release. Oh Jaysus, the image is so clear. His mouth, red and puffy from bein used. Spit-shine on his lips, running to his chin. The vision makes me moan, like a glow from a thousand miles away. And I keep on moanin, as a thrilling feeling of urgency swamps me. I arch my back, the pleasure drawing from every part of me, until I uncontrollably gasp “Fffffffffffffuh!” And suddenly I’m pulsing come into a cloth.

My cock in his mmmmouth. I convulse again, pulsing out even more, and my moan turns into a whine as I encourage one last strained pulse from the head.

My chest is heaving from holdin my breath. Sometimes I forget to breathe when I come. And if I can manage to keep control of my cock long enough to time my climax right, some of my most powerful orgasms have come from holdin my breath longer than a reasonable man would. The gasp of air when I tip over the edge is an orgasm that comes on a head rush and a sudden infusion of oxygen.

I’m not one for choking, though. Even the thought of it makes my cock shrink.

I step out of the bath and rest against the window frame, appreciating the view of the boats in the harbor all lit up like sparks on the water. I let myself air dry in the night breezes, luxuriating nude by the open window lettin in the floral scents of the gardens and the salt off the sea.

It’s a beautiful night, and I am sated.

————/-/————

Masterlist || ao3 || start || prev || next

————/-/————

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duelistkingdom · 5 months

Text

dive bar on the east side

Summary: when divine crosses the line, yusei is there to pick up the pieces of aki's broken heart.

Rating: T

Ships: Yusei Fudo/Aki Izayoi

Author’s note: this was written for the @yearoftheotpevent with the prompt of “musician/band au” and features a divaki break up.

read on ao3 / support me on kofi (battle city & up supporters get early access) / join my discord (18+)

At this point, Aki very much hated Divine.

She hated that he always seemed to know best. She hated his stupid pompador. She hated the black gloves he wore everywhere. She hated that if she wrote something that meant something to her, he decided how she should edit it. And most of all, she hated how he kissed her. It was a wake up call: that the man she'd been dating since she first stepped on the scene and proclaimed to care about her career didn't care about her at all. She wasn't even sure what really made her first snap, actually. All she knew was that she was sick of him. And she was sick of his promises that if she waited just a little bit longer, he'd help her record her debut album. Each EP was received well, but he insisted that she wasn't ready to actually put something out.

Instead, he focused his efforts on his own career time and time again. Aki had written so many songs that she'd let him use on his albums and give away to other girls he produced for. And now this time, he'd gone too far. If it hadn't been for this professional betrayal, she may have let him continue to walk all over her. She might have let him continue to think he was getting away with cheating on her. But the lack of credit for her work on some girl's debut album that he produced when he kept swearing to help her with hers? When he prioritized some bitch over her? She packed everything in their shared apartment that was hers - it amounted to a single duffel bag - and walked out.

Where she was going, she didn't know. And she didn't know what pulled her to the dive bar that night. All she knew is that she needed a drink, and this place looked as good as any to drown her sorrows. That's when she ran into the bartender that would change her life. "What's got you down?"

"I just left my boyfriend," Aki said, making a face. "So obviously I need a double of a vodka coke, please."

The bartender looked her up down, and shook his head. "Sorry, I'll need ID. It's challenge 25." Aki rolled her eyes, but since she'd taken everything out of the apartment, she had her passport on her. She passed the ID over, and the bartender gave a nod before handing it back. "Tell you what, Izayoi. First drink's on me. Do you wanna tell me why you broke up with your boyfriend or am I going to have to guess?"

"You wouldn't be able to guess why," Aki said with a sigh. "It's not exactly the most common reason for breaking up with a guy. Besides, don't you gotta watch the bar for other customers?"

"On a Tuesday night?" He laughed at this, performing a trick with the vodka bottle: tossing it high in the air, catching it in his other hand, and pouring it in the glass. "I'm afraid there's never a lot of people around here. So did he cheat on you?"

He'd pushed the vodka coke towards her, and Aki slammed it down. The burn was exactly what she was after, and she shook her head. "Another," she said, glaring at him. "And he did something much worse than that."

The bartender poured her another, passing it to her. "Do I need to call the cops on him?"

"Cops won't help," she said, knocking back the second. "He didn't hit me, if that was your guess. He just... was a dick. Another."

"Maybe you should have some water with your drinks... or at least some food," the bartender remarked, arching a brow as he made another for her. Aki noticed he was less heavy on the pour this time, and she didn't exactly appreciate that. "So he was a dick? And you hit your breaking point, I'm guessing."

The haze of alcohol was starting to ply her, and she knew it would be stupid to talk shit in a bar to a strange she barely knew. And yet, she couldn't help herself anymore: she needed to get off her chest. "For years, I'd been writing songs, right? And he helped me produced a few EPs, but kept promising we'd make my debut album together. And he never did help make my debut album. Well, I recently heard from a little birdie he was executive producer on some new girl's debut album and so of course I went out and bought his work. Or should I say my work: every single song on it? I fuckin wrote it. And he had the nerve to not credit me on a single fuckin one!"

"I'll kill him for you," the bartender replied, and there was a fierce look in his eye - as if he might really hunt down Divine for this slight. "He stole the songs you wrote and gave them to someone else? That's beyond fucked up. You're better off without that piece of shit."

This validation was exactly what Aki needed - she hadn't realized she'd been needing it, but the bartender gave it so easily and so freely. "You can't kill for me and not tell me your name."

"Fudo," he replied, passing her another drink. "Yusei Fudo. I can see why you needed a drink so bad."

"Yeah. And now I don't really have anywhere to stay, either," she said with a soft sight, shaking her head. She'd left the key to the apartment with Divine - she didn't want the temptation to go back to there. It'd be so easy to just go back, ask for him to let her in, and try to pretend it'd never happened. But that would be stupid, wouldn't it? "The apartment was in his name."

"Well, since you've had so much to drink, I can't exactly let you drive yourself either," Yusei said, leaning forward across the bar. "I can let you crash with me for the night."

It was the first moment that Aki had gotten to really gaze into his eyes, and it hit her like a truck. Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was the fact he was being so nice to her while nursing her still bleeding emotional wounds, maybe it was the fact that he hadn't pressured her with anything so far. Whatever it was, she couldn't help but feel that she was being drawn in closer. Again, she was unable to figure out what it was that was holding her hostage. All she knew is that she'd never seen that color blue before - it was almost purple. Were they purple? She'd never known anyone to actually have purple eyes before. His hair was messy, with streaks of blond, and she imagined running her hands through it. "You know you're dangerously close to offering to be a rebound," she remarked.

He arched a brow, and it occurred to her that despite how nice he was being to her, he was still ultimately a man and in her experience, men wanted only one thing out of her. "Well, you are quite intoxicated, Izayoi," he said. "If you're still interested in the morning once you've sobered up..."

That was new. Aki was instantly confused, trying to work out what would make him take pause about hooking up with her tonight. Was it really just that she was drunk? That didn't sync up with anything she knew about the world, and suddenly she was more intrigued by him. "And if I'm still interested in you being a rebound?"

"You'd be more than welcome to use me in any way you see fit," he replied with a smirk. It was the last thing Aki remembered before the alcohol claimed her memory.

She awoke, dazed and confused in a bedroom she'd never seen before. Aki sat up, blinking as she tried to recollect how she got from point a to point b. She remembered anger first. The debut album with some other girl that contained songs that she'd written - all songs Divine claimed he wrote. She balled her fist, trying to let go of the anger and finding herself unable to. Being angry about what Divine had done, however, wouldn't help her figure out how she got her. She remembered the dive bar and the handsome bartender who'd offered to let her crash at his place. As far as she could tell, he'd put her to bed and not bothered her since. She wasn't sure if she was grateful for that or humiliated that he didn't want to touch her. It didn't track with anything that she was used to. And well, honestly, it wasn't worth focusing on. Not when she had to get her music back.

Except she couldn't exactly focus on that either. There was an odd smell in the air - eggs? Maybe? She rubbed her eyes, groaning as the headache started to hit. She did, in fact, have more than a few drinks last night after all. She wasn't surprised that she probably had a hangover. Well, she might as well get out of bed and figure out where she was going to go next. She wouldn't want to impose on this bartender further. She got out of the bed, surprised to see that her duffle bag was still there. Aki went through it, making sure that everything was still in there. Everything was still in order, so she pulled out a change of clothes - a nice pair of black denim shorts and a red cotton top. It'll be nice to wear when she's wandering the streets to find the next play she was going to.

Where that was, she didn't know yet. Regardless, it was a new day, and she was ready to begin anew.

#myfanfic #faithshipping #year of otp #year of the otp

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sissytobitch10seconds · 1 year

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#tomorrow is a new day and a new fic #because it is the first of the month #so here's your meme about it #year of fiktor #year of fiktor series #year of otp #fiktor #five hargreeves #viktor hargreeves #five x viktor #viktor x five

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merryfortune · 10 months

Text

The Barbieheimer Solution

Written for Year of the OTP - July

Title: The Barbieheimer Solution

Ship 1: Respectfulshipping | Ryoken/Spectre

Ship 2: Zinniashipping | Aoi/Miyu

Ship 3: Crystalheartshipping | Aqua/Earth

Ship 4: Aiballshipping | Ai/Yusaku

Fandom: Yu-Gi-Oh! Vrains

Rating: T

Word Count: 3,719

Tags: Post-Canon, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Triple Date, Fluff, Forgiveness, Fandom Allusions

“What are you doing here?”

The flat affect was supremely annoyed and accompanied by hackles raising and brows furrowing. Aoi had her hands on her hip whilst Miyu scurried closer, clutching onto her girlfriend’s arms and it took Ryoken quite a fair bit not to mirror that onto himself and Spectre, who had been the one to receive such a scathing question from Aoi.

“What? I’m not allowed to go to the cinemas?” Spectre asked, irate.

“I, um, think we’re all here for the same reason.” Miyu whispered. “A date.”

“To see the new Blue Angel anime movie?” Aoi exclaimed.

“Yes.” Spectre said.

“Why?” Aoi replied.

“Because I like Blue Angel as well?” Spectre confusedly replied. As he did so, he raised his hand to his chest, his Duel Disc glinted underneath the cuff of his sleeve. An action he did not realise would be, in what the show business calls, foreshadowing.

Ryoken sighed, “Come on, let’s just go find our seats.” He already was here to be nice. He would have much preferred to go to the movie in the next cinema room over, which was promising helicopter crashes and guns and explosions, but Spectre so very rarely requested to see movies, he was more than happy for it to be Spectre’s choice.

It was just a shame that in order to get to their seats, there first had to be a debacle. And there always had to be a debacle first which was what made taking Spectre out in public so difficult at all.

He and Ryoken had been going one way, coming from the snack bar and ticket kiosk, and they - Sugisaki Miyu and Zaizen Aoi - had been coming from another direction: the photo booth set up, all giggly and smiley… Up until Aoi had spied Spectre from across the room which was quite an achievement. Albeit for all the wrong reasons.

“Don’t you think it's a little strange for a cyber terrorist such as yourself to be going on dates?” Aoi asked. “Isn’t there a warrant out for your arrest or something?”

“Not anymore thanks to the kind generosity of your brother, now, let’s all go. I’d hate to miss the adverts.” Ryoken said and he was trying so hard, so gallantly, so heroically, to move them all along but it just wasn’t working.

Spectre was rooted to the comically coloured and garishly designed navy and rainbow carpets. As was Aoi, Miyu discovered when she graciously tried to take the hint and hurry on her own girlfriend per Ryoken’s lead.

Aoi was still unhappy with the reply. Understandable. There was still bad blood between her and Spectre. Though it was understandable to anyone but Spectre, it seemed. Spectre continued to frown. Aoi continued to stare him down.

“I also just find it incredibly strange,” she said, practically snarling by now, which did not suit her, Miyu would like to remark, as she was too cute to snarl underneath her fluffy brunette bob, “that you consider yourself a Blue Angel fan after what you did to her book?”

Aoi continued to fume and as she did so, she inadvertently mimicked Spectre’s own gesture of moving her arm so that the Duel Disc underneath her sleeve glinted. Two for two now, and per the show business rules of storytelling, that meant something was bound to happen or else it would be for naught and be wasted space in the script.

“You’re still on that?” Spectre huffed. “That happened months ago. Move on, Blue Angel.”

“Yes, I am. It was salt in the wound, you coward.” Aoi spat and she sharply wrung out her hand.

Causing poor Aqua inside to have quite the experience of a tilter-whirl.

“Whoa, Aoi, not so rough, please…” Aqua piped up.

Her little voice was fragile as her eyes spun. She had to hold onto the rim of Aoi’s Duel Disc for leverage lest she get motion sick. For a blue creature, she looked almost green but her sudden appearance caused more commotion than she intended.

Aoi and Miyu exchanged a look. As did Ryoken and Spectre. Then Earth popped out of Spectre’s Duel Disc, enchanted by the fact that he had heard Aqua’s voice. He looked quite happy, large hands over the edge of Spectre’s Duel Disc, all but grinning as he greeted Aqua from across the way. It was quite the ravine for two Ignis, not so much for Aoi and Spectre.

“Aqua, it is good to see you. I did not realise that you would be coming.” Earth said, bright and chatty.

“I didn’t realise you would be coming either.” Aqua replied, her eyes squinted in an Ignis smile.

Ryoken stiffly turned his head to Spectre, he hissed through gritted teeth, “You didn’t tell me that he was coming.”

“What was I meant to do?” Spectre asked in a small, embarrassed voice. He awkwardly held out his hand so the two Ignis could continue to chatter; a gesture mirrored by Aoi.

And mirrored again with Miyu.

The two girls huddled together much in the same way that Spectre and Ryoken were.

“So, um, why is my Ignis in your Duel Disc, honey?” Miyu asked. “I know we share her but I thought she was at home.”

“Miyu, sweetie, I also thought she was home.” Aoi replied.

Aqua pouted, “Stop talking to me like I’m not here. How could I not be interested in seeing the movie based on the book which helped kindle you two’s most precious friendship. I apologise for not making myself known sooner but the bus was so crowded and-”

“Aw, Aqua, if that was the case why didn’t you say so sooner, we would’ve loved to have brought you along.” Miyu laughed it off.

The same could not be said about how Ryoken felt about Earth.

The way that Ryoken felt about Earth. It was tolerable at best. It was mostly out of sheer stubbornness, of course. Ryoken had spent the better part of a decade seeking the total elimination of all the Ignis and the weakest parts of six months being jealous that he hadn’t been good enough to be his Father’s prized experiment period. So there was a lot happening there.

But Earth had a good heart, bigger than his already big body. He got along with Spectre. And that was the main thing. Even if it did ruffle Ryoken’s feathers, disgruntle him, and otherwise find ways to annoy him but it was to be expected. For all intents and purposes, Earth was Spectre’s purse chihuahua and wherever he went, Earth had to come along.

Even to dates at the movie where they were seeing the brand spanking new Blue Angel movie.

Ryoken glanced at Aoi and Miyu. Their own conference appeared to be over. Aqua had a much better life with them than Earth did with him and Spectre. Ryoken sighed.

“Let’s just get into the queue.” Ryoken said, sounding utterly defeated.

“Oh, um, bye, Earth, see you later.” Aqua piped up before zipping back into the hidden depths of Aoi’s Duel Disc.

Earth nodded his head and did the same. Spectre recanted his posture and appeared to be trying to un-dishevel himself from being gatekept by the canon Blue Angel URL holder between him and Aoi.

“Yeah, we need to get our print off tickets. They still only take paper here. So, like, totally mediaeval.” Miyu said and she tugged on the sleeve of Aoi’s pastel blue cardigan to distract her.

Aoi replied with a delicate and immutable grunt to acknowledge Miyu but her eyes were still on the prize of getting back at Spectre for, well, everything he had done to her. Nonetheless, it was a whole lot more different in the meat-space than the digital one. And so, the tension between Aoi and Spectre began to diffuse as Miyu very helpfully suggested that she and Aoi go to get the print-offs of their own pre-ordered tickets. Miyu dragged Aoi off and Ryoken did the same.

They meshed into the crowd which was a queue. Ryoken stood around, listening to Spectre catch him up on the lore of the Blue Angel movie. Seemingly unaware of how yearningly Ryoken was looking at the rival debut movie’s posters at the far side of the theatre.

The Five Dragons movie was easily Ryoken’s first choice.

That would have been a fantastic date, in Ryoken’s opinion. It promised everything and more from humanity over the edge of anti-Synchro domination, the apolcaplypse and all it brought. Thrills and spills, a story of fictionalised survival. It was like a bomb going off. That would have gotten all of Ryoken’s rocks off in the back of the theatre with Spectre.

If he hadn’t brought Earth and hadn’t been such an anime aficionado. Still, Blue Angel was fine. Ryoken had read the books too since they were favourites of Spectre’s and did have a fond recollection of it. He probably would have enjoyed it were it not for the unexpected date crasher in the form of the orange and brown Earth Ignis. That could have been a good, nay, even great movie date.

But then again so was going anywhere without Earth.

That was going to put yet another cramp on Ryoken’s plans to try and canoodle at the back of the cinema. He was fairly certain that Spectre would be too enraptured by the movie to even notice that Ryoken was trying to put the moves on him in the dark, the old hand over the shoulder manoeuvre, some kissing from the side. Trying to do that in sort of public would be difficult enough with Earth around and then again after that incredibly awkward encounter with Aoi, Miyu, and Aqua, too, Ryoken guessed.

Still, there were over a hundred available seats in the specific theatre playing Blue Angel. There were a dozen other movies playing at the same time and then similar crowds for the others. It totally showed in the crowds, so Ryoken and Spectre weren’t too worried about bumping into the girls again.

Though, that might have dampened Earth’s spirits. He would have liked to have spent more time with Aqua but oh well. He didn’t exactly have a say in that given who his Origin and his Origin’s boyfriend were.

And so, despite the abrasion between the two sets of Blue Angel movie-goers, the queue did get shuffled so they thankfully ended up away from one another for its entire duration. The conversations moved on and the mood lightened again for both Ryoken and Spectre. The attendant hardly blinked twice as they tried to get everyone sorted and rounded up. This way madam, that way, sir. Every ticket barely sighted before it was stamped.

It was just a shame that despite the distance put between them.

They still ended up next to one another.

“What are you doing here?” Aoi asked as she shimmied past the knees of other people from one direction, the left, as she encroached on Spectre who was barging past from the right.

“Trying to watch a damn movie in peace if it would please you.” Spectre hissed.

“Do you want to swap?” both Miyu and Ryoken piped up from over their respective partner’s shoulder buuuuuut…

Aqua and Earth.

Puppy dog eyes did not begin to describe how their expressions glittered and glimmered. There was no changing the arrangements of their pre-ordered seats now. So, entirely begrudgingly, Aoi and Spectre sat down next to one another inside the theatre. The lights of which began to barely dim as they rested their hands close to one another. Too close for their comfort, personally, but it was for Aqua and Earth’s sake.

It seemed a single date had become a double date which had become a triple date.

Suddenly a movie with a runtime of just under two hours may as well as be slated for all eternity because neither Aoi or Spectre were looking forward to sitting next to one another as they watched. Miyu and Ryoken, however, were perfectly comfortable. Miyu kicked her feet up, Ryoken meanwhile had his hand in his extra large bucket of popcorn. Then, of course, Aqua and Earth were having the times of their lives, quaking in joy as they got all caught up from one anothers’ absence and were generally excited to be included in the human activity of movie watching.

The lights continued to dim more and then whoosh. Bam, bang, the theatre opening flashed on the screen as it rolled down the wall and the adverts were cued. Thank goodness. The sweet oblivion of sugary saccharine anime couldn’t have come sooner.

But first a word from our sponsors.

Ryoken was very genuinely enthralled by the local business adverts whereas Miyu was just waiting for it to be over and done with. Aqua and Earth’s chatter had culled as Aoi and Spectre began to, well, it was obvious that out of everyone here. They were the ones who wanted to be here the most.

Close proximity to a sworn enemy notwithstanding.

From the sides, Miyu and Ryoken curiously observed how Aoi and Spectre’s reactions bizarrely synchronised as finally - fucking finally - the movie started. Their eyes lit up, their chests rose and fell with breaths taken and exhaled in perfect harmony to every dramatic beat in the movie. From the very first title plate credit screen.

Both were over the moon to see their favourite fictional character from a children’s picture book be turned into a rated PG family blockbuster.

And what a movie it was.

As far as Aoi and Spectre were concerned, it had everything. It had stunning, elaborate visuals and eloquently executed themes of friendship, loneliness, and redemption. It had everything: drama, action, a dash of comedy, and completely sated the child in their hearts as they watched, not even blinking lest they miss a second of what was fast becoming their favourite movie period. Easily blowing out the lesser, previous iterations of the Blue Angel canon.

Especially and most importantly the abominable live-action movie, both of which had the independent opinion that it should not be mentioned. A total blemish on the record but this? This was complete and total excellency of the media franchise.

Aqua and Earth were enjoying themselves. There were plenty of scenes which brought them to tears but they were experiencing the magic of cinema for the very first time with very little lived frame of reference so their perspective may not be accurate. Still, they were holding hands from across the frames of the Duel Disc holders and having a wonderful time together.

Meanwhile Miyu and Ryoken found it to be, well, just a movie. A very pretty and well put together movie but still just a kid’s movie. It wasn’t bad but it wasn’t the mindblowing gem that Aoi and Spectre were seeing it as.

They were both changed people after. Quite literally.

Not even Aqua and Earth could compare to just how swimmingly Aoi and Spectre were getting along after coming out of the cinema. Of which, they had insisted on staying until the very last credit rolled so they could watch the bonus shorts that followed.

They were the last four to leave the cinema which had mostly been filled with girls under the age of twelve accompanied by parents or other chaperones. They weren’t even moving fast, to the cinema staff’s annoyance as they tried to clean up the mess whilst Aoi and Spectre quickly found themselves engaged in a duel.

A battle of the wits. Who could out fan the other but whilst it had begun competitively, no doubt spurred on by Aoi’s dislike of Spectre, it was not staying that way. They were quizzing each other on anything, turning everything into a longform written answer.

It was giving Ryoken and Miyu quite the headache as they tossed out their empty snack packets.

“What was your favourite scene?” Aoi asked.

“The enormity of Blue Angel’s loneliness at the start. The scene composition with her over the lake was beautiful and the colour-grading in well blue was perfectly legible. Something which other movies cannot say in this day and age.” he replied. “You?”

“When she met Peach Angel for the first time.” Aoi replied. “Their meet-cute was adorable.”

“I liked it when she finally got to punch the bad guy in the face.” Ryoken piped up.

“And I loved the dance party ending!” Miyu squealed to Aoi’s laughter.

“How could I choose? Every leg of her journey was gripping. I think I understand humans better.” Earth added on, holding tight as Spectre was excitedly swinging his hand.

“Don’t learn from fiction, Ignis.” Ryoken roused.

“What about you, Aqua?” Miyu asked.

“Oh, um, it was all very good. I liked it quite a bit but nothing springs to mind straight away as it was all very consistently high quality.” Aqua diplomatically said. “Although, I was very touched by the two main girls’ friendship, it very much reminded me of you and Aoi.”

“Aww…” both Aoi and Miyu cooed, whilst Ryoken’s skin crawled.

Spectre, meanwhile, nodded his head sagely. He had two cents to give about their heart-warming friendship also.

And so, The chatter continued to disperse in ripples throughout but it was very obvious who the dominant voices in the conversation were. The two who were usually anything but being reserved and introverted…

As a crowd of four - six with the sort of hidden Ignises who were happily chatting in hiding - they were quite bustling as they came down the corridor and into the light of the cinema’s main foyer. Aoi and Spectre, walking shoulder to shoulder, ecstatically gushing to one another regarding the minutiae of the movie they had just watched. They were flanked either side by their respective partners who were not quite so enthused.

The Blue Angel movie was fine. Just not either Miyu or Ryoken’s things. Miyu had moved onto other fandoms, though she did enjoy it quite a bit nostalgically, especially as she got to go see it with Miyu. And, meanwhile, Ryoken was still lusting to see a movie where things got blown up as his tastes were completely opposite to Spectre’s. However, to Aoi Spectre, it was a masterpiece. Nothing less than a spectacular godsend to animation, acting, and storytelling. It was just nice to see those two in particular get along. Bad blood no more, it seemed.

“When Blue Angel sacrificed herself for her friends, I was so very touched. The music in that scene was absolutely moving.” Spectre practically bawled.

“I know, I know, and in Peach Angel’s arms, too, no less? I know it's not intended to be lesbian representation but it was so very gratifying.” Aoi agreed.

Spectre sagely nodded his head, “The subtext there is hardly subtext, I think it would be a disservice to interpret their relationship as strictly platonic.”

His reply was both courteous and measured, surprising Aoi. Then again, Spectre’s other analysis thus far had been completely perfect. He was right. The music in that particular scene was heartbreakingly perfect. And so, they continued to do the unbelievable: get along and get along tremendously, famously, even.

To the absolute morbid fascination of their respective boyfriend and girlfriend whom they had basically left in the dust as they were so busy reliving every second of the movie they had just watched together.

It appeared that Blue Angel could mend any relationship and bring together any opposites. Not just her fellow angels from across the colour spectrum. It would be impressive if it wasn’t quite so bizarre to see Aoi and Spectre get along so miraculously despite their history and how it even intersected with their love of the same fictional character.

“Oh, hey, is that Ai and Yusaku?” Miyu asked, turning her head to gawk as they walked in one direction and sure enough.

A very conspicuous couple of one dressed in a hoodie and the other dressed in vampire cosplay was going the other way. Miyu waved them down and SOLtiS Ai very happily waved at her back.

With those two now flagged down, Ryoken huffed and folded his arms. He watched as they came closer, Ai practically prancing as Yusaku followed after, sucking down a soft drink of the medium size variety.

“Whoa, now there’s an unlikely duo, since when did they get along?” Ai asked.

“We just got out of the Blue Angel Movie showing.” Ryoken tiredly explained. Though, it could be his ear that Spectre was talking off right now so he was somewhat glad that it wasn’t.

“Are you guys headed there next?” Miyu asked. “Because it was pretty good.”

“Clearly.” Yusaku agreed. “But nah, we’re going to see the Five Dragons movie.”

“That’s the one I wanted to catch but it was Spectre’s turn to pick.” Ryoken shrugged. He glanced over his shoulder, “Oi, you two.”

Aoi and Spectre turned around. Both immediately startled as they were so off in a world of their own. It was honestly kind of scary. Maybe it was better if they weren’t friends.

“Do you guys want to watch the Five Dragons movie next?” Ryoken asked.

“What? Why? I could not be more clearly on a date with Ai right now.” Yusaku complained.

Ryoken turned his head again and glared daggers, even Miyu looked tired, “If our dates had to get bigger, so did yours.” he said. In a clearly, overtly threatening and menacing way.

“Also Aqua and Earth are here too.” Miyu added, sweetening the pot, surprisingly. At least for Ai, anyway.

Ai bounced on his heel as he clutched at Yusaku’s shoulder, excited and affectionate, “It could be fun to have everyone tag along.”

“Fine but I’m only paying for you and me still.” Yusaku said.

“That’s fine, I’ll treat everyone else.” Ryoken smirked.

“Fuck you.” Yusaku groaned.

Ryoken, meanwhile, was just pleased that the expression of misery loving company couldn’t be truer. This was just the perfect solution to his movie going woes. But it truly was the more the merrier. The group getting bigger and bigger, noisier too as they re-entered the line, more or less by two by two given who was on the original solo date with who, to grab more tickets to another movie sure to be a blockbuster.

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baubeautyandthegeek · 5 months

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I Knew You Were Trouble - Maggie Bell/Isobel Castille

A/N: Part 12! I have enjoyed this immensely. Here's the final fic for @yearoftheotpevent. I used all the possible prompts.

“I’m sorry…” Isobel speaks softly, curling around Maggie. She’s always been the sort to apologize for everything and nothing. Forgiveness came easy with Isobel, Maggie couldn’t help loving the shy, sweet, strong florist. Seeing Isobel move in beside her, shuddering at the sight of Isobel arranging bright pink flowers outside her store. Her own place of work, a Tattoo Parlour that was black edged and a shiny gray, looked even darker with the flowers outside. “Sorry for what?” Maggie can’t help the question. They’ve always been quiet, happy to be moving in together turns to concern and she can see Isobel is tense. “Babe?” “I just…. I know we said we’d spend the holidays together, we’d move in together… I’m nervous.” “Oh….” Maggie’s smile is soft as she tucks soft strands of hair from Isobel’s eyes. “Babe, you know I’ll always protect you, right?” “Mmm, I do.” A small, shy smile. “That’s my favorite thing about you… well, and your tattoos.” Maggie laughs then, kissing her softly. “I love you, Isobel Castille, my little flowerchild.” Within a year they will go from a flower shop and tattoo parlour to a shared flower shop and tattoo parlour, the lease for both shops now in both their names.

#fbi #fbi tv #fbitv #maggie bell #isobel castille #maggie/isobel #isobel/maggie #ayearofotp #yearofotp #year of otp #flower shop/tattoo parlour au #holidays together #moving in together #forgiveness #“that's my favorite thing about you...”

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kaz3313 · 1 year

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Read The Tags please

#nope 2022 #amber park #ricky jupe park #Amber/Jupe #year of otp

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alexversenaberrie · 10 months

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#reyroseweek2023 #reyroseweek #soulmates #rey #rey skywalker #rose tico #rey x rose #soulmate au #year of otp #yotp 2023 #year of the otp #yotp #soulmate

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ratjay-art · 1 year

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I thought this got uploaded earlier. Here’s January’s Year of OTP piece, with Garhardt and his future wife. Now onto figuring out what’s up with February’s piece....

#year of otp #character art #original character #original character art #art #my art #ttrpg art #Garhardt Napoleon

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the-badger-mole · 1 year

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If...

Zuko was nervous. He ran his hands discreetly over his pants, hoping to rid them of the moisture that had collected in the creases of his palms.

"I wasn't sure what you wanted to eat," he explained. "So I made a couple of different options. I...I tried to make the sea prunes you like, but they came out...um...wrong? Kind of salty, and...I don't know...tough?"

"I'm sure it's fine," Katara assured him. She grinned at the ridiculous spread on the table. She knew Zuko's knowledge of cooking was purely utilitarian, and while she was sure most, if not all of the dishes he'd made would be at least edible, it wasn't going to be anything like the restaurants in the Upper Tier of Ba Sing Se. Still, it was an incredibly romantic first date with her boyfriend.

Boyfriend. It was still weird to think of him that way, but they had made it official two days earlier. Then Zuko had spent the previous day arranging to have all their friends away from the beach house tonight, so he could surprise her with a romantic dinner. It was overwhelmingly sweet, and Katara thought it was perfect for their first date as a couple....If only Zuko would calm down a little.

"I'm sorry it's so lame," Zuko said. "If I weren't so worried about being recognized, I'd have taken you to one of the restaurants on the water. But, if you don't like what I made, we can still go. I was here a few months ago and no one knew who I was, so maybe-"

"Zuko!" Katara huffed exasperatedly. She put her hands on his shoulders and made him look at her. "If I kiss you, will you shut up?" Zuko gaped at her for a moment. He felt heat rising to his cheeks as her words worked their way through the haze of panic he'd been floating through all day. He swallowed hard, and licked his lips.

"It's worth a shot," he said with a shaky smirk

#atla #zutara #year of otp #year of content!#decided to throw these prompts into the mix.#awkward turtleduck zuko 😊#katara is only cooler by comparison #if zuko wasn't freaking out SO HARD she would be babbling too #prompt: if i kiss you will you shut up?#fanfic #THE YEAR OF CONTENT!!!!

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badassbutterfly1987 · 1 year

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YOTP January Prompts

first kiss: Thomas/Justine

mission fic

fake dating

snow: Harry/Murphy

#year of otp #yotp 2023 #prompt list #open to requests #can be romantic or platonic #Dresden files

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aserene · 5 months

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November OTP for NCIS is up. I have to credit the Winxsource Discord for the idea... we had an interesting chat about reading glasses.

#year of otp #ncis #jibbs #jenny shepard #leroy jethro gibbs #reading glasses

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simon-x-billy · 1 year

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Simon x Billy

The Year of OTP: January

Chapter 1: Where’s Giuseppe WTF?

January prompt: Historical au (because 2015 counts as the past)

Note: Simon x Billy is a slow-burn m/m fic; turns NSFW (male/male, consensual) beginning tamely at Chapter 7.

Meet the OTP: Simon Lewis, author and star of The Mortal Instruments, who keeps writing himself into his novels; and Billy Delaney, Irish handsome devil and international chef of mystery; and also Italy. It’s sort of like a threesome. TMI AU: Instead of Simon Lewis being only a character in the best-selling YA series, he is now also the author of that series. TW: References to having been cheated on, bad language, bad humor, Irish-isms, calling young people criminals, making fun of Americans, LGBTQIA+ themes, having to wait for the NSFW chapters to show up.

Masterlist || ao3 || Next

Chapter 1: Where’s Giuseppe WTF?

———/Simon/———

OK, fine, baggage claim was a little rough. Finding baggage claim was a little rough. Finding Customs was a little rough. Customs was Customs. I mean, what’s to know, they look at you suspiciously, and if you smile excitedly cuz you’re in a new country, they look at you suspiciously some more, and you start wondering if they’ve noticed something you haven’t.

At least that’s how I felt. Like, maybe I have a single very long nose hair or something horrifying like that. I don’t know? They’re Customs. They notice shit like that.

On a positive note, they’re just fine communicating with people who only “have” one language. They asked me if I had Italian, and I kept waiting for them to finish their sentence. You know? Like, do I have Italian… Food? Relatives? Then they were like, “Do you have any other languages?” And I’m thinking, maybe I caught one in-flight. Planes are well known for making people ill. Or I could’ve caught something cool, like Norwegian! In fact, I could’ve had it my whole life and it’s just never had any symptoms. You never know.

Meanwhile, the train ran on time. And the Red Sea parted. Two impossibilities amounting to miracles.

So yeah, sure, I’d done some prepping for the trip. I refuse to reveal my sources as they are completely mortifying. OK fine, it wasn’t even an app. It was a book. With pictures in it. More specifically, the one my parents used when they planned their trip to the Amalfi Coast.

I used it to plan Our Trip. The one that became My Trip. Flying solo. In so, so many ways.

Believe me, and you need to trust me on this one: Never propose to a girl you met in costume. And if you did and it turned out great, shut up. And mazel tov. May all your children have bar and bat mitzvahs with a good dj. And puppies.

Just remember, your first impression of her is while she’s cosplaying someone else. You might find you’re falling for a personality that isn’t really her on the inside. The whole thing is exhausting. Because my beautiful but cruel shiki found somebody else to cosplay with.

She revealed this shortly after breaking up with me.

No, Simon. I do not choose you. No, Simon. I never choose you. Said every girl ever.

She gave me lots of reasons why. Constructive observations for my next relationship, she said. So at least I had something to think about on the plane to Naples that made me feel really good about myself. For 22 hours including two layovers and a bonus train ride from the airport to downtown Naples. (Trust me, just fly into Rome. Why didn’t it occur to me to fly into Rome?)

I once read a book where the most flamboyant, exciting character said something of extreme poetry and wisdom. (Because poetry and wisdom can both be extreme. Whatever.) It went a little something like this: “Unsolicited advice is just criticism.” Ok fine, I’ve read it more like 25-30 times. Alright look, I can’t be coy. I wrote it. And 25-30 is how many revisions my editor tried to convince me to take it out. (I won.)

I like stories that stretch out over like 20 books in a series. You get to stay with the characters you love until you finally stop re-starting the series the minute you close the last page of the last book. Again.

I think I’d be a vampire irl. And I have thought a lot about it. I mean a lot of thinking on this topic. And you can’t convince me that fairies and werewolves are even in the running for best paranormal destiny.

I like stories where choosing to be a vampire is one of the safer bets. Because you’re already dead.

Don’t start. I’ve fought table top duels over this and I refuse to go over that ground again. Take my word for it. You want to be a vamp.

She was a vamp. I was a vamp. (D, because who else?) We thought we were made for each other. Until she didn’t. Think that anymore. I guess she’d been not-thinking that anymore for months and months. And here I am, presenting her with a trip to Italy where I was going to propose. I had it all planned out. I mean I had it all planned out. Because that’s how I roll. (A 20-sided die, obviously.) Ugh. So when she says she doesn’t want to leave the city, I’m like, “But it’s Italy! And me!”

Turns out the trip wasn’t the only thing she didn’t want.

Turns out she was also being quite literal about not leaving the city. And so, like the heartless traitor she is, she abandoned Brooklyn for the Upper West Side and a yoga instructor with a man bun and half a million followers on Twitter.

Half a million? What even is that? I mean, I get 100 followers -- wow, friend, you are on fire! I get a million followers -- wow, somewhat famous person, you are on fire! But, like, what’s halfway between the two?

So the “hot yoga instructor” -- her words, not mine -- is a person that exists. I told her that she didn’t have to be mean about another, hotter guy. And you know what’s coming next. You totally do.

The hot yoga instructor is an instructor of hot yoga.

But since I mentioned it, she laughed and said he is also a hot instructor, of yoga.

Thanks. I don’t feel angry tears at all when I think about that.

Anyways, I was talking about trains in Italy running on time, and somehow I land on vamps. Welcome to the brain of Simon Lewis, enjoy your stay.

Oh my god. There’s a McDonalds here. It’s like a crime against Italian humanity. “That should be illegal,” I announce to no one in particular. Followed by “Shut up, Lewis, that guy over there is staring.” And yes, I do use my last name when I scold myself out loud in public. Because people find that attractive and charismatic.

So the train in Italy running on time is actually my problem. “My driver” isn’t due for another 30 minutes. Which means I get to spend an additional 30 minutes enjoying my own company some more. And also avoiding talking to any strangers. Which is particularly difficult in the Naples train station. And even more unlikely when you’re standing in the same spot forever and ever.

I’m full of my mother’s dire predictions of criminal young people offering their services to help you find your way around the train station. And when that fails, they’re supposed to start begging for money. And when that fails, Oliver and the Artful Dodger pick your pocket. So put your money and your passport down the back of your underwear or something equally unworkable when you’re dealing with Customs.

That little gem was actually written in the margins of the travel book. By my mother. So I wouldn’t forget to keep it in my pants. “Simon, don’t forget about the criminal young people. Keep it all in your underpants.”

So standing here looking like I’m waiting (and waiting and waiting), I’m an easy target. But as my t-shirt says, I’m from Brooklyn. We do not pay people to tell us where we are and which line to stand in. It’s a matter of pride. Unbelievable. Being from Brooklyn, I understand trains. I can find my way around any train station in the world. Hubris! But it’s true. Even in foreign alphabets. It’s in my blood, it’s in the East River, it’s in the soot-flecked air we New Yorkers are born breathing.

So here I am in the Naples train station with my underwear full of credit cards, IDs, and my emergency contacts laminated in both English and Italian. And now I also have that hot tingling in my eyes and the slight burn in my sinuses that threaten angry tears again.

I’m supposed to see a little old man with a big old mercedes, holding up a sign saying “Simon Lewis.” His name is Giuseppe and he came very highly rated on travelbookie.com. Very highly rated.

So, ok, ummm- This guy is definitely not Giuseppe. He doesn’t look that much older than I am. He’s an awfully chatty Irishman named Billy. So I’m like, “What’s Billy in Italian?”

“Fuck if I know,” he laughs. “They just say Beelee. Which puts me off every time, if I’m honest. God bless ‘em, they’re beautiful people, right, but Beelee is so wrong.”

“What’s your last name?”

“Delaney.”

“So in Italian, you’re Beelee Day-la-nay.”

“Y’speak Italian then, do yeh?” he laughs.

“Fluently. This app taught me how to say ‘dog’ and ‘blouse’ and I leveled up really fast — one of my great talents, by the way.”

“Leveling up, is it? Or Italian?”

“Italian. Certo. That means ‘certainly,’ but you use it kind of like you would use ‘obviously.’ Why is it pronounced ‘chair toe?’ No seriously, I’m asking.”

“Obviously,” he snorts, ignoring my lingual curiosity. “Are you mansplainin the language of the place I live to me?”

“Certo.”

Billy rewards me with a low chuckle. It may have been low and just a chuckle, but it was real. Being a connoisseur and collector of bad puns and dad jokes, I have a finely tuned ear for real laughter, as opposed to the usual laughing-just-to-be-nice.

“So I’m better off with Beelee Daylanay. I’ll have a talk with my boss and ask him to use my full name or nothin at all.” That at least gets a snort out of me. Until he says, “What about you? Are you lookin forward to bein Seemon? Sorry, mate. I think yours might be worse than mine.”

———/-/———

We’ve been talking all this time and I forgot to look out the window. As if I’m not on my dream vacation. Runner-up, actually. I’m holding my best dream vacation (Venice) for when Ms. I Do Lewis actually says, “I do.” And I will not book the rooms til after she does.

“Sorry, what was that?” I’ve been staring into space and ignoring Mr. Daylanay, who is now looking at me funny in the rear view mirror.

“Nothin important. Where’d you go, mate?”

“New York to Frankfurt to Milan to Naples. I flew out of JFK.”

“I’ll pretend to know where that is. No,” he says, “I meant just now. You disappeared behind your face.”

Um… “I did what?”

“I’ve been the only one enjoyin the sound of my voice, apparently, since you went quiet about five minutes ago. So where’d you go? Back behind your face,” he prompts.

“That’s an awfully private question, Mr. Daylanay. I’m not sure we’re good enough friends for letting you behind my face.” I kinda stumble on the word friends, cuz, well, we’re not.

“What. Is that like bein let in to visit the little man behind the curtain? That sounds a bit-”

“Yeah, yeah, I know how it sounds.” I make sure to roll my eyes loudly so he can hear. My mother always says she can hear my eyes rolling from the next room.

“Cagey one, aren’t ya?”

“Nosey, intrusive one, aren’t ya?” I counter.

He bobs his head and gives me a simple, “Ok.”

And now it’s gone quiet. I decide to disappear behind my face again for a while. I quite like it there. Maybe one day the whole world will join me. (Obscure movie reference, don’t bother.)

“Does she have a name?” he breaks into my sinking mood.

“What- Why?”

“Well, Seemon, because every story worth tellin about people generally has a name or two in it. Unless yer feelin all avant-garde while you're busy behind your face, contemplatin. Things.”

Ok, now I’m starting to get tired of his persistence. “I like to think of her as She Who Shall Not Be Named.”

“Like Voldemort. In a nighty.”

The bark of a laugh just erupts out of me before I can stop it from encouraging him. “That is the most disturbing image I’ve ever had.” My dull ache of a mood evaporates as quickly as it came, uninvited and unwelcome on this trip.

“You’re off the hook for now, but if I see you again, I’ll want to hear more about Ms. She Who Shall Not Be Named.”

And just like that, I’m annoyed again. “No.”

“Ok,” he says again.

———/-/———

While apparently spending more time behind my face, I realize I’ve ignored over 45 minutes of the view in a foreign country. Again I’m annoyed. Isn’t he supposed to be narrating the countryside or something? Giuseppe would be narrating the countryside. I frickin paid for that narration.

“So what am I looking at?” I lob at him.

“Naples.”

“Funny.” I hope he can hear my eyes rolling.

“Hold up, I haven’t finished! That great U-shape, right, that’s the Bay of Naples. The city herself is over there in the distance, all the way at the far end of the bay. All the wee towns strung out and all bunched up against the sea as tight as can be sketch out the shape of the bay and on along to the Sorrentine Peninsula -- where we’re goin. The big blue bit beyond the bay-”

“Is the Mediterranean. Yeah, I got that much.”

“Nah, mate. You don’t. See, it’s the Tyrrhenian Sea, which is just the part of the Mediterranean between the boot of Italy and Spain.”

“Thanks so much for the oceanography lesson.”

“Bit tetchy, aren’t yeh?” he says, eyeing me in the rearview mirror. “Look, mate. I’m sorry if I rubbed ye up the wrong way with makin conversation. I’m just not used to fillin in on the guest delivery service. That’s a specific kind of hospitality. Mine might be a bit more suited to conversatin across a bar. In that situation, all of this would have been charming.”

I can see him smiling at me in the rearview, trying to reset the mood.

“So you’re a bartender, not a driver. But you do work at the hotel. Right? Or…”

“Yeah sure’n I’ve been known to fill in at the bar when I’m needed.” He clarifies, “Acourse it’s the height of the high season, and all the staff are absolutely inundated with guests. It’s a busy kitchen, and no mistake.”

“So you’re not a bar-”

“Aaaaand, here we are,” he declares, pulling off the road going way too fast into what appears to be open air. But when I don’t feel us driving off a cliff, I open my eyes to see an ornate iron gate, a tile roof, a million flowering bushes, and more than one fountain.

“Allow me to be the first to welcome yeh to the Hotel Terrazze di Limoni. I’ll just fetch your bags, shall I?”

———/Read More/———

Masterlist || ao3 || Next

———/Disclaimer/———

I’ve stolen liberally from Cassandra Clare, TJKlune, and all m|m authors I’ve ever read.

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