#but i don’t want to hear anyone say they can’t afford to dress punk when they mean expensive clothes manufacturd by some mega corp

[tiredyke]

imagine spending $400 on “punk culture aesthetic” from amazon or w/e like that is actually not very punk. return to your working class origins or else 🔪

#also rich people who try to co opt punk are getting stabbed #i can understand not being able to afford to switch up your wardrobe and buy new clothes #but i don’t want to hear anyone say they can’t afford to dress punk when they mean expensive clothes manufacturd by some mega corp #‘​i can’t afford this $200 jacket’’ is a lot different than ‘i can’t afford this $15 pair of jeans’’

[delicrieux]

☆ﾐ 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚊𝚢 “𝚘𝚑”

PART 10: BIG DICK IS BACK IN TOWN

y/n is back in brooklyn for the holidays. thinking that a stream will make her feel less homesick for cali, she starts working on her famously titled hentai.free.srv. what was supposed to be a relaxing stream turns into a special delivery about two hours in.

─── corpse husband x reader ─── soc. media + written fiction! ─── word count: 2.2k ─── ❥ req: Here's one... You know those apps for delivery like Domino's or whatnot... What if reader is streaming Among Us with Corpse, and reader mentions they're hungry and Corpse offers to order them food, and readers like no no it's fine... Then there's delivery at the door (Corpse ordered beforehand) 

author’s note: fucky format is also back in town baby!!! also if you find any mistakes - no u didnt <3 thank u everyone for enjoying this story sm i literally cant believe how feral yall going strawberry cow was a nuclear explosion im still recovering tbh. got an ask a while ago and decided to incorporate it into myso. happy holidays everyone! myso will continue on monday!

ultimate masterlist.  ҉  myso masterlist   ҉   previous.  ҉   next.

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Indeed, being soft on any social media platform was the biggest disgrace and needed to be eliminated post haste. Moreover, it was a slippery slope - once you start flooding your timeline with cute imagery and heart emojis, what will stop you from posting inspirational Facebook quotes? Disgusting. If Rae were here, she would chide you (not you thinking about her as if she’s dead or something). For once in your life, you feel like you deserve it. 

Alas, you hope this little chaos you’ve caused is enough to throw everyone off. The stans, especially. You know the hashtags, you’ve seen ARMY scourging for info online with the same fervor and ruthlessness 1 Direction fans hacked airport security cameras just to spy on the boys. If you had any dirty secrets online, they are out to the public now - thankfully, besides the Harry Styles stan account (with edits and all), you have nothing. Though, now that you think about it, exposed nudes would have been better than your Punk!Harry edit receiving almost a million views. God, your life’s a fucking mess.

Your fans aren’t the only ones out for info - you, too, are trying to decipher Rae’s message. Code: Barbecue Sauce. The two of you had come up with it roughly two years ago, around the same time when you promised that if you didn’t find significant others by the time you’re 40, you’ll just marry each other. It was one of the many rules found in your friendship codex. Barbecue Sauce signifies information - an exchange of information. And depending on how it ends or begins (”So I’m sitting there” alludes to Rae, “On my titties” alludes to you), secret data on that person is given away, usually free of charge. 

But why? And to whom did Rae give away what? You had pestered her mercilessly and even sent some voice messages where you were crying. You were only crying because of a video of a grandpa smiling you saw on TikTok, but you are a snake, and so you put those tears to good use. If streaming doesn’t work out, you’ll just become an actress. Hollywood would love you. Your PR firm sure as fuck wouldn’t, though.

Rae was having none of it. She said you’ll figure it out eventually. Told you to channel your superior puzzle skills. You were quick to remind her that you can barely count to ten without having an aneurysm. Oddly serious, she admitted that she worries for you sometimes. Why only sometimes?! you demanded. She merely sighed. uttering under her breath something that sounded closely to “Boke.”

You leave her for barely a week and she’s already neck deep in the gay volleyball anime, hoodie and cardboard cutout and everything. Your life is falling apart.

But Brooklyn is nice. It had snowed when you stepped off of the plane. Thousands of snowflakes sprinkling into your hair, dotting your cheeks and nose. You missed this sight back in Cali. You missed your parents, too. 

Home cooked meals, old sweaters, your old room and about 40GB worth of old high school pictures on your computer. You went through them all one night. Some were stomach churning, cringe inducing nightmares. You were especially fond of those. Texted some of your friends that were still in Brooklyn, met up, decided to bake. Bad idea, Rae was the resident chef back in Cali. Besides laughing till your stomach hurt, and almost burning down your kitchen, nothing all that significant happened. Somewhere down the line, at about 3 am, half-way through a cheesy rom-com you had the overwhelming urge to text Corpse.

That’s where the problems really started. God, you missed California, missed being in the same timezone with a guy you hadn’t even met yet, how embarrassing is that?! You missed skating around and taking pictures of the beach in the setting sun, sending it to him, silently wishing he was with you to admire the view. 

You really want to call him. And to hang out with him. But for some reason, the thought of that springs up immediate anxiety and you shy away from asking. Him sending you cute good morning texts doesn’t help, either. Maybe it’s better he doesn’t know that you’re a blushing, stuttering mess each time you read “baby”. 

Late evening. Your stream is already set up, people are slowly trickling in and you greet them with a grin and a soft “Hello! Hi hi!”. You did your best to make your room a perfectly chaotic backdrop - led lights, an embarrassing amount of anime merch and plushies. You always try to balance out your weeb side by dressing hot as fuck for your streams - today’s inspiration just so happens to be egirls. Mostly because you watched one too many egirl make-up tutorials on TikTok, and also because you’ve been listening to Corpse’s song all day.

Yeah, no, who are you kidding, you dressed up this way because you were hoping Corpse was watching your stream. You didn’t forget your cat headphones, either. You know he likes them. You want to make him suffer. Perhaps then, finally, he will ask you out, so you wouldn’t have to.

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“I feel like,” You start when you put away your phone, staring idly at the chat, “I feel like I need a new name for you guys. Calling you guys after two years of streaming is just... weird, no? I also don’t respect men so I don’t want to call you guys. Like, so many creator’s have, like, a name for their fans. Uhm, Cody Ko has the chodesters, Kurtis Conner has, uh, folks? Kurtis Town? Citizens! Markiplier has mommy issues--” You can’t help snorting, “So, I’ve been, like, thinking - I know, shocking! - so I was thinking I’m gonna name you cockroaches. Because you’re grimy little shits impossible to kill. And also then I can use the legendary Minaj meme ROACHES!”

Your stream enthusiastically echoes ROACHES, making the chat swim. Yes, if anyone would enjoy such a name, it would be your audience. You’re as equally proud as you are disturbed.

“Well, anyway.” Leaning back into your chair, you throw your arms out with a bright grin, “Big dick is back in town, baby! If you noticed the backdrops different, it’s cuz I’m in Brooklyn now. Don’t ask me when I will return to Always Sunny, I don’t plan that far ahead.”

While Minecraft boots up, you decide to answer a few questions.

r u dating sykkuno?

You want to smack your head into the keyboard, but as it is, you can’t exactly afford a new one, so you refrain, “No, Sykkuno and I are not dating, we are just good friends. Uhm, I’m not sure how much I’ll have to repeat this, but, we really aren’t, so if the roaches could chill - Oh my God, that sounds so stupid, I love it - uh, yeah, if the roaches could chill that’d be great.”

the roaches lmao sounds like we’re a sports team

“Oh shit, yeah it does, uh-- maybe I can make like, jerseys or something. That’d be cool, I think.”

how disappointed are your parents with the way your life turned out?

“My parents are actually not disappointed at all!” You say with a cute little smile, “Uhm, they’re both really proud, actually. They’re glad I found something I love doing and made a job outta it. Dad finds my Youtube videos endearing. Yes, they watch pretty much all of my videos, unless I explicitly tell them not to. And yeah, with all the fucks and thirsting for anime characters. Uhm, it was very embarrassing at first, but I mean, after a while, shame just...doesn’t exist anymore, I guess? Funny thing about my parents, actually, when they watch my videos-” You eye catches a comment, “Oh! No, they only watch my Youtube videos. They don’t know how to use Twitter, thank God. Uhm, anyway-- when they hear a name they don’t know, like, I dunno, Dabi, or something, they google--” You’re grinning by now, eyes crinkling, giggling softly, “--who that is, and buy me like, merch and stuff. It’s really cute. 

can i be adopted by ur parents plz

will you and corpse ever collab?!

You were about to answer, though the man of the hour himself decides to do it for you.

Corpse_Husband: yes.

Okay, not to say your heart skipped a beat, but it totally did. With a pleased smile, you nod, like one of those bobble head toys sold at the dollar store. The motion is oddly reminiscent of Sykkuno’s own nod. Perhaps you had picked it up from him. The chat seems to notice.

pack it up, sykkuno

More questions pile about this mysterious collab you and Corpse are planning. Yeah, you’d like to hear more about it, too, since he single highhandedly decided one was happening right now. Corpse remains silent. Fine, keep your secrets. 

“Okay, guys, oh, I mean, roaches, Oh my God--” You’re covering your mouth, giggling, “-calling all roaches, calling all roaches, calm down. Everyone grab a snack and a blanket I’m turning up the music volume so we can all chill. Entering chill zone. Entering chill zone. Roaches, prepare.”

we are prepared

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An hour or so passes and you grow hungry. It shows with the amount of cakes you had baked in your server. Currently, you find yourself throwing eggs at the wall of one of the renovated houses, your face scrunched in concentration and slight frustration. 24 of the 50 eggs have been wasted. “What’s a girl gotta do to get some chicks around here?” you had uttered under your breath, until, finally, a screech - the egg finally spawns a mob. Your mouth falls open, “Aww, look!” You approach it, so small, walking in zigzags beside you, “It’s a baby chicken! Die, bitch.” The baby chicken is no more as you swing your bedazzled (you have mods) diamond sword. You’re cackling by the time the dust settles.

y/n is a child murderer

“Roaches,” You address your fan-base, spurring another fit of laughter - you can’t get over the name, “I think I’m like, forgetting that eating in Minecraft won’t actually make less hungry in real life.”

take a break and go eat queen <3

“Fuck no, we starve and die like men. Now I actually really need another chicken.”

Another twenty minutes trickle by and you’re trying to lure back a panda from the jungle when there’s a knock on your bedroom’s door. Whipping your head to the side, you slide down your headphones. At the same time, your mom pokes her head through the ajar door, “MOM!” You scream, “Get OUT of my room I’m playing Minecraft!” But your yell has no actual bite to it, as you don’t manage to hide your smile. Your mom laughs, doing some sort of sign language and motioning for you to follow her with her head. That or it’s some sort of performative dance. 

“I’m live right now,” You tell her, pointing at your screen. She knows this already, though, “do you want to say hi?” 

The roaches spam the chat with friendly hellos. You mom, quite impatient now, waves you over. 

“Sorry, roaches, mom needs something. Be back in a bit!”

Stopping the stream, you rush out of your seat and pleased she slinks into the hallway. “What’s this about?”

“Your pizza came.”

“My what now?” You echo, confused.

“Domino’s. You ordered pizza?”

“What? No? I was busy with the stream, I never--”

Thankfully, you had managed to grab your phone from your room before you exited. You almost choke on spit once you read the messages.

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You decide that it’ll be impossible to stream after experiencing what you had just experienced. You tweet out a quick apology to the roaches (God, that fucking name) and say that you had a breakdown but you’re okay. That is as a close to the truth as you managed to muster. It’s a sad sight, chewing and crying; your mom winced when she saw your state - disheveled hair and rundown eyeliner and everything. “D’aww,” She had muttered, caressing the top of your head, “don’t cry my little raccoon.”

If anyone was ever to ask you where did your chaotic nature come from, you’d answer with my mom. To make yourself feel better, you took a selfie - duck face and peace sign and the horrible 2000′s angle. Sent it to Rae. 

looking hot, her message read. 

thanks, was all you replied with.

You couldn’t just leave things as they were. Once you calmed down, you wanted to text Corpse, but how would you follow up the ungodly caps lock and screeching? Impossible. An idea sprung to mind, one that was brave. Taking the first step.

Instead of sending a text, you sent a voice memo.

“Thank you for the pizza, it was delicious.”

You voice still sounded a bit raspy. His reply was instant. Your heart skipped a beat. He sent a voice memo back.

“Glad you liked it, baby.”

He was going to be the death of you.

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tags (in italics is those i couldn’t tag! make sure all’s ok w your settings!) : @littlebabysandboxburritos - @fairywriter-oracle - @tsukishimawh0re - @ofstarsanddreams - @bbecc-a - @annshit - @leahh19 - @letsloveimagines - @bellomi-clarke - @wineandionysus - @guiltydols - @onephootinfrontoftheother - @liamakorn - @thirstyfangirl - @lilysdaydreams - @pan-ini - @mxqicshxp - @tanchosanke - @yoshinorecommends - @flightsandfantasy - @liljennyx3 - @slashersdream - @unknown-and-invisible - @sinister-sleep - @fivedicksinatrenchcoat - @mercury–moon - @peterparkerspjsuit - @unstableye - @simonsbluee - @shinyshimaagain - @ppopty - @siriuslystupid - @crapimahuman - @ofthedewthesunlight - @mythicalamphitrite - @artsyally - @corpsesimpp - @corpsewhitetee - @corpse-husbandsimp - @hyp-oh-critical - @roses-and-grasses - @rhyrhy462 - @sparklylandflaplawyer - @charbkgo - @airwaveee - @creativedogs - @kaitlyn2907 - @loxbbg - @afuckingunicornn - @fleurmoon - @yeolliedokai - @truly-dionysus - @multi-fandom-central707

more tags are in the comments bcs tumblr only allows me to tag 50 people max 💙

#corpse husband #corpse #corpse husband x reader #corpse x reader #corpse husband imagine #corpse social media au #corpse husband fanfic #social media au #corpse husband x y/n #corpse x y/n #corpse husband fic #reader #xreader #imagine #imagines #myso #make you say oh

[themaribatpit]

Jasonette July Day 17: Crime Boss

Written by: The Maribat Pit  @jasonette-july-event

Prompt: Crime Boss

Rated: M (Canon-typical violence, sexual innuendo, but also the Ventriloquist dies horribly in this one)

Ladybug’s knees collided painfully with the hardwood floor, there was maybe a very thin threadbare carpet to soften the blow.  The more she struggled, the more the handcuffs started to bite and chafe at her wrists.  She could really use someone with Cataclysm right about now, but she left that someone behind and took his ring with her.  She came to Gotham to get away from her life in Paris, away from the trials and tribulations of her teenage years.  By day she was a design student at Gotham University, and she wasn’t doing much else by night.  One night, tonight of all nights, she walked past a teenage boy being beaten up on a street corner.  The teenage boy in question was her neighbour, Leon. She sometimes took care of him when his dad was busy.  She just could not resist calling upon Tikki’s help to stop them.  Now here she was, with a bag over her head, about to meet her maker at the hands of a formidable crime lord.  She had heard whispers about “The Red Hood” and how he had done away with Black Mask and crowned himself as his successor.  She started to wonder if leaving Paris was a good idea after all.

Just as she was pondering this, the bag covering her head was ripped away and she was torn away from her thoughts at that moment.  She found herself looking up at a figure dressed neck to toe in leather and Kevlar.  He sat in the armchair with his legs leisurely sprawled out, his gloved hands gripping the armrests as he leaned forward to get a better look at her.  Ladybug saw her frightened expression reflected in a shiny, scarlet helmet, with two white spots that looked like eyes.  Ladybug could have sworn that he was squinting at her behind the helmet, closely watching and waiting for her next move.  

“So, why did you bring me another costumed vigilante?” He asked, the mask was muffling his voice, but she could clearly hear what he was saying. 

“We were taking care of some business and she got in the way,” the henchman to her left informed him.  He leaned in closer to whisper to me, “not so tough now, are you Sweetheart?” he laughed as Marinette tried to lean away from him.  Was every man determined to invade her personal space every chance they got?

“I’m asking the questions here, I will decide what to do with her.” Red Hood snapped at the henchman, he leaned back in his chair as the henchman backed away.

“Don’t know if she’s from around here, Boss.” The henchman to her other side remarked. “The little lady spoke with an accent when she tried to stop us”, Ladybug glanced over at the other Henchman before turning her attention back to the faceless man in front of her. 

Red Hood looked at the two Henchmen before looking down at the girl kneeling in front of him.  The costume was a bright red bodysuit with black polka dots, and she had a matching domino mask to hide her identity.  Her dark blue eyes were frantically trying to read the men surrounding her, there was no mistaking the fear in her expression.  Something was amiss, why would they bring him someone whom they could easily have overpowered?  Maybe they thought it would be funny to see him shoot her brains out of her pretty little head.  He noticed one of the henchmen had faint red welts around his arm, almost as if someone tried wrapping wire around it.  The lines were too thin, compared to the more sturdy grappling wires he used.  His other Henchman had a bruise on his cheek that was probably going to go from a plum colour to a sickly yellow in the days to come.  If the girl was another one of Bruce’s pet projects, then she might send the old man right to his doorstep.  If she wasn’t, she would have fit the bill anyhow.  With her dark hair and blue eyes, how she apparently just leapt into action to save a complete stranger from being beaten up.   She wasn’t armed to the teeth with gadgets, and he’d have heard something if Bruce had taken in another protégé.

“So, can you understand what I’m saying?” he asked, she simply nodded, not saying anything in response.  “What happened?” he tried to keep it simple, no sense dancing around the topic, “Who are you?”

“Your two men were hurting someone, I couldn’t ignore them” she explained, her fear morphing into a show of defiance.  Red Hood shook his head, so a vigilante no one’s heard of just leapt in to stop his men from hurting someone.  She was either very foolish or had been doing this for a very long time. 

“That someone was a little punk who owed us money” one of the Henchmen explained, “we gave ya a chance to walk away girlie, even after you whipped out your little toy.” He chuckled.

“Who owed me money?” Red Hood asked, the men suddenly went very quiet.  Something still wasn’t right, and his men weren’t talking.  He turned his attention back to the girl, time for a different tactic. “Did you know who they were hurting?” he asked, Ladybug thought for a moment before shaking her head.  So she jumped in to save a complete stranger? He couldn’t say he was surprised, what she said next would make this much more interesting.

“He was just a boy,” she explained, trying not to stutter as she looked up at him.  “He-” she began, she looked up to see the henchmen were ready to lunge for her.

He raised a hand to stop them, “go on” he told her.

“He said he owed your men money because he bought drugs from them” she said, now trying to get the words out before someone could stop her.  “He was just a boy, he’s around 14 years old, he needed help”.  His hands reached for his pistols. “Woah boss, you can’t seriously believe what this girl is saying, right?” one of the henchmen called out.

Red Hood ordered his men to shut up. “So what’s the boy’s name?” 

Ladybug gulped, “Leon” she answered.

Red Hood glared at his men. 

One man spoke up, "Punk owed us money, still hasn’t paid us for the goods, that’s why we gave ‘em a beating.” The man immediately covered his mouth. “What did I tell you, scumbags?” he asked in a low, harsh voice. “Look, we-” “My one rule.” he reiterated, Ladybug swallowed hard.  This wasn’t going to end well for any of them. “No dealing to children,” the henchman told him, “we weren’t, we were dealing to some old guy who happened to have a kid...as a courier.” he explained.  Ladybug thought it was their word over hers, she looked back up at him.  If that was his one golden rule, then it was one they had undoubtedly crossed.   She had to play her cards right, if she wanted to appeal to his humanity.  “Ask anyone in the area, and they’ll tell you he’s just a kid,” she said, “His dad barely leaves his living room, never mind the apartment.” Ladybug noticed Red Hood reach for the guns, she shut her eyes tight and ducked as if that would save her from the two gunshots she heard.

Ladybug waited for the pain of the gunshot wound, maybe even numbness from where she had been shot.  There was no guarantee that Tikki was able to protect her from gunshots, but she didn’t feel anything.  She slowly opened one eye to look up at the tall, imposing figure in front of her, who went back to reading his book.  She opened her other eye and slowly got up to find the Red Hood leisurely leaning back in his armchair, while the two henchmen lay dead on the floor.  He put his guns back in their holsters before picking up the open book next to him.  Ladybug looked around at the two men, dead on the floor with blood dripping from their foreheads.  “Y-you killed them,” she stammered, before she cursed herself, as if stating the obvious was going to stop him from putting a bullet in her. 

“I have one golden rule, and they broke it.” He explained, he lowered his book as he stared her down.  “Still, what am I going to do with you?” he wondered aloud. 

“You can start by letting me go,” she spat, she stood up as she looked right into the glowing white lights on his helmet.  Her hands were still bound by the cuffs, but she still had her legs.  Her mind raced with all the things she could do if he tried anything.  She could kick him away or use the handcuff chain to choke this man if he tried anything.  What she should be doing is running for the exit or finding a way to break the handcuffs. Instead, the man put the book down and grabbed the handcuffs by the chain.  The Red Hood could just about see the gears turning in her head as she tried to find a way out of this situation.

“Well, if the accent is anything to go by, I’d say you’re probably French? Maybe Belgian.  Eitherway, you’re a loose end I really can’t afford right now,” he explained as he pulled her closer to him.  “So, tell me mon amie, what are we going to do with you?” he asked.  Marinette tried to pull away, but his grip held her in place without too much trouble. 

Red Hood obviously didn’t plan on killing the girl right then and there, it wasn’t her fault that a couple of henchmen wanted to cover their asses for doing the one thing he told them not to.  The problem was, she didn’t know that.  As far as she was concerned, she was unlucky enough to wind up on her knees in front of an up-and-coming crime lord.  He pulled the chains towards him.  “Consider this a favor, I’ll come and find you when I’m looking to cash it in.” He stood up and put the bag over her head, still holding her by the handcuffs. 

Ladybug though he was surprisingly a little more gentle with her as he led her away from his hideout.  All she could hear were gentle reminders to watch her step, as he led her down steps and into what felt like a cool breeze outside. “Where are you taking me?” she asked, but there was no answer. After a few steps of literally blindly following a stranger, they stopped.  He pulled the bag off her head and Ladybug had to blink a couple of times to adjust to the sudden rush of light to her eyes.  She looked around and saw that she was at the pier, watching the sun rise over Gotham Bay.

“Hold still” was all she heard, as he jerked the cuffs forward and unlocked them one by one.  Ladybug looked up and only just realised that the Red Hood absolutely towered over her.

Ladybug rubbed her chafed wrists with her hands, “Thank you” she muttered, avoiding eye contact with the person in front of her.  She didn’t know what to make of him, so she wasn’t sure how she felt about owing him favours.  On the one hand, he was a formidable crime boss who had just killed two of his own men without a second thought.  On the other hand, he killed them because he drew the line at harming kids and selling drugs to them.  Seeing as she was an 18-year-old crimefighter, did he have any qualms about hurting her?  She could not be certain, though she was also cursing herself for thinking that there was something intriguing about the crime boss with an altruistic side.  “This favour…” Ladybug began, trying to look him in the eyes and ask about it.

“I’ll come and find you when I need you, I have eyes and ears all over the city now” he explained, “no offense Pixie, but you kinda stick out like a sore thumb”.  He leaned in to whisper in her ear, “if you want to make it easier on us both, meet me in Crime Alley in a week’s time”.

“And I won’t tell anyone that their city’s big bad crime boss has a sense of humour” she joked.  She took out what looked like a yo-yo and launched it towards a lamp post and swung away.

Jason was used to people not trusting him, least of all his adopted family, and now there was the plucky young crimefighter dumb enough to take on two men twice her size.  She had guts, he had to admit, and if she kept this up it wouldn’t be long before Batman took notice.  Jason tensed up at the thought, he had just met this girl, but he wouldn’t wish what he or the others went through on her.   He wondered how long she had been doing this.  The idea that someone put her up to this from a young age made him even more tense.  If that was the case, he might feel a little sorry for her.  Alternatively, if she had been doing this for a long time, and was put through the same crucible as him only to emerge from the other side unscathed…what did that make him?  He had to see what she was made of, and for that, he needed to test her limits.  He asked her to meet him in Crime Alley, the place where it always began.

In the days leading up to their little reunion, he had been asking around about the costumed vigilante.  Seeing what his contacts knew, under the guise of asking if she was going to cause him any trouble.  Going through his dead henchmen’s burner phones, he managed to contact the kid that she had saved.  He sent him a message:

“We need to talk, the guys who gave you a hard time have been taken care of.  Need to ask about the girl who saved you. Meet me outside the diner tomorrow, the one near Gotham stadium. – R.H.”

He wouldn’t be surprised if the kid didn’t take the bait, after all he was probably shaken up by what happened.  He would be remiss as a former protégé of The World’s Greatest Detective if he left stones unturned.  He also thought maybe a burger and milkshake would sweeten the deal, the kid had been through enough.  He got a reply from the kid, it read:

“How do I know you’re not about to ‘take care’ of her? Or me? I don’t want any trouble. ”

He smiled, bless his little heart for trying to protect her.  He would just have to let this kid know that he was someone who could be trusted, that he had much bigger plans for his savior.

“My men crossed a line, the girl told me about what happened and I let her go.  I just want to know what you know, I’ll throw in a burger and milkshake. – R.H.”

The next day he waited, he had hoped wherever the kid was, he was one of the many teenagers finishing school around this time.  There was no guarantee that the kid would show up.  At around 4:30pm, sure enough a scrawny little teenager was looking around for the mysterious Red Hood.  Jason noticed the kid was wearing sunglasses, probably in a feeble attempt to hide the bruising on the side of his face. “H-hello?” he spluttered to no one in particular, Red Hood emerged from the shadows with a brown paper bag.

The kid rushed towards him, and he held it open so that he could see what was inside. “You’re the kid who got beaten up a few days ago?” he nodded sheepishly, Red Hood put a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Listen, I took care of them because they crossed a line selling the stuff to you, I’m sorry.” He handed him the paper bag.

“It wasn’t for me…the drugs I mean. My dad, he-” that just made Red Hood’s blood boil even more, but he had to focus. “My neighbor, Marinette, she’s a fashion student at Gotham U.  She looks after me sometimes, she’s really nice. She grew up in a bakery in Paris, so she’s always making bread and cakes whenever I come over.” As he explained this, Red Hood calmed down a little at the thought of someone looking out for this kid. He took a few bites of his burger, and a mouthful of the chocolate milkshake.  “I owed those guys money, usually my dad gave me money to pay them but lately he hasn’t.  So, my piggy bank was starting to run a little dry, and I guess one day they got sick of waiting.” He explained, Red Hood tried to steer the conversation towards the girl saving him.

“Hey, it’s gonna be okay, just tell me what happened when the girl showed up” he told him in a soft voice.

“I thought I saw a pink light in the distance, and when I looked up, a girl in a red polka-dotted suit was trying to save me.  One guy was about to punch me when she used a yo-yo and wrapped it around his arm to pull it away from me. I don’t know what that thing was made of, but she managed to pull the guy towards her and away from me.” He continued to gush about how happy he was that this costumed heroine stepped in to save him.  As he described the fight, that first part lined up with the marks he saw on the henchman’s forearm.  “She just told me to ‘run’ and I didn’t really question it”, he explained.

“So, a girl in a magic costume saved you by using her magic yo-yo?” He asked, “did you see anything else?”

“Nope, I did what I was told and ran like hell.  I tried to see if my neighbour, Marinette, was home, but she was probably at the library or something” he told her.  This neighbour was a student, probably pulling an all-nighter somewhere working on a project.

“You did good kid.” He stuffed a couple of hundred into the kid’s pocket. “That’s all I needed to hear.”

“Please, don’t hurt her, she didn’t do anything wrong.  She was just trying to help me,” he pleaded.

“Relax kid, like I said, the two guys won’t be bothering you anymore”, and with that he turned and walked away.  “Go see your neighbour, Marionette or whatever, she’s probably worried sick about you”, with that he disappeared into the shadows once again.

Marinette made it home safely that night, and had spent the last few days trying not to think about what this crime boss had planned for her.  If he wanted to kill her, he could have done it right then and there.  Maybe he planned to drag this out and torture her, she had no way of knowing what he had in mind.  “There was something strange about that man”, Tikki mused when she finally powered down. 

“How so?” she asked as Tikki nibbled on the cookie she kept in her bag on the way home.

“You should probably take Plagg with you next time, I could feel something strange in his aura” Tikki told her.  “I could sense my own magic, but his magic might be mixed in there too”, she explained. 

“Did you and Plagg know who he was? Did you grant a wish for him?” she had been the Guardian since she was 13, any wish they granted before then would have been a long time ago.

“I can’t recall, but somehow he came into contact with our magic”, she explained.  Marinette decided to take her advice and bring Plagg next time, she could use Cataclysm if he tried anything. 

For the next few days, Marinette had been going about her normal, civilian life.  She was going to classes by day and working in her apartment by night.  Wednesday night, Leon finally paid her a visit and Marinette was shocked to see the bruise on his face.  Marinette decided to drop everything and give the boy some hot chocolate and cake.  He was surprisingly happy for someone who was being beaten up a few days ago.  Leon gushed about the girl who saved him, and how cool she was, and how he got to meet the Red Hood. 

Marinette froze, “Um, what’s he like?” she asked, she was surprised to hear more gushing.

“Awh he’s the best, this guy bought me a burger and a milkshake, he just wanted to know about the girl who saved me.” He was cheerfully rambling on before he noticed a slightly concerned look on Marinette’s face.

“Maybe don’t take food from strangers next time” she told him, “But what’s he like? Sorry, I haven’t lived in Gotham for very long”.

“He fights crime, just like Batman. He also looks really scary but is actually a nice guy- and I probably shouldn’t be telling you all this” he suddenly looked very sheepish.

“Don’t worry, it’ll be our little secret” she said with a wink, as she placed the warm mug of hot chocolate in front of him.   So? She was dealing with a crime boss with a VERY altruistic side, so much so that he’s considered a hero.  She should have known that, given that he shot those men for what they did to Leon.  It saddened Marinette that she couldn’t do more for Leon, but she was just a university student, she wasn’t really in a position to be his full-time guardian. 

“You make the best hot chocolate, Marinette, how do you do it?” he asked.

“Well, where I’m from we have it for breakfast.” she told him, he looked as though she told him that she communed with unicorns every morning.  “It’s true, even Marie Antoinette started her day with a cup of hot chocolate.”

“The lady who said ‘let them eat cake’?” he asked jokingly.

“Yes, but it was originally believed that she said ‘Let them eat brioche’” she told him. The two of them laughed and watched movies together, but eventually he had to return home later that night.  Considering all that she went through, Marinette felt lucky that her own family always loved and supported her.  Her father was always a gentle giant, and where her mother lacked in height she more than made up for in personality and wit.  They might not fully understand why she wanted to leave Paris of all places, to pursue a career in Fashion Design, but they supported her. 

What would they say if they could see her now? 

The week came and went, and Marinette decided to show up to Crime Alley as Lady Noire.  It was a dark and damp place, enough to give Plagg the sense that so much death and misfortune happened here.  She looked around and listened for any footsteps or figures, but the mystery man she was looking for still managed to take her by surprise.

“Surprised to see you here, Catwoman” she looked up to see the Red Hood looking down at her from a fire escape balcony. “I’m sure Batman will have something to say about the new hair,” he remarked.  There had to be some mistake here, and he seemed to realise it too when he climbed down and gave her a swift once over.  “Wait a minute…nice try poser, you’re a little short to be the real Catwoman.” he remarked, “Who are you?”.

“I’ll give you three guesses...” the girl was trying to be coy, but the accent and short stature gave it away.

“What brought on the costume change?” Red Hood asked.

“You don’t like it?” she pouted mockingly “It makes my job a whole lot harder if you’re resembling someone who takes cat burglary a little too literally”, he told her.  Now he had to rethink his plan, “why the costume change anyhow?”

“Well, you didn’t specify what your favour was. For all I know you enjoyed the sight of me kneeling in front of you in handcuffs a little too much”, Red Hood was thankful that the helmet hid the absolutely mortified look on his face.  He’d also be lying if he said he didn’t think she was cute, but he had some self-control. 

“Okay, should’ve probably said something about that. So that’s what brought about the costume change?” he asked, “Was it laundry day for the other one?”

“Let’s just say, this one has a different set of skills. This one comes with a staff, and night vision too.” she explained, “If you didn’t plan on ‘that’ kind of favour, what did you have in mind?”  Red Hood had a feeling she could do a lot more than she was letting on, but he decided to leave it for now.

“There’s a shipment of firearms weaving its way into Gotham as we speak, I plan to intercept it before Batman can find it.” He explained.

“Why? So that you can use them instead?” she snapped.

“Since you’re probably new here, trust me when I say you could do a lot worse in a place like Gotham,” he growled.  “This is also tame compared to how I would usually do things.  If anyone else got ahold of these guns, people can and will get hurt.” he told her, “Two-face, Penguin, the damned Clown Prince of Crime, none of them would think twice about mowing down innocent people to get what they want.” he took a few steps closer to her and she was trying to put on a brave face as she looked up at him.  Somehow, he got the sense that this might be out of her wheelhouse.

“So what do you want me to do?” She asked, hoping he couldn’t hear her heart pounding in her chest.  There was something about the Red Hood that Marinette couldn’t quite put her finger on.  He made it clear that he wasn’t someone to be trifled with, and that she would be foolish to underestimate him.  Yet in other ways, she could just about see the faint outline of something resembling a moral compass.  It was certainly one that was cracked, but she could just about glean where it was pointing.   

This was also the moment she realised she was way out of her depth.  She had been doing this for a few years, but she was used to people who were being controlled by Hawk Moth or Mayura.  Akumas and Amoks prepared her for a lot of things, this wasn’t one of them. 

“All right, follow me.” commanded the Red Hood as he grappled up to a roof, Lady Noire jumping from ledge to ledge to follow. The two jumped across the rooftops of Gotham until they arrived at the docks. The two stood at a rooftop across a warehouse, Red Hood perched on the ledge waiting. Red Hood points to a few small speed boats racing towards a warehouse. The speedboats quickly dock and a large group of mobsters come from the warehouse to begin unloading. As the crew quickly unload the smuggled weapons to trucks in the warehouse, the boss of the group shouts at them. “All right, hurry up and load the goods into the trucks.” spoke Scarface.

Lady Noire could hear a light growl from Red Hood, “Damn, it’s the Ventriloquist. Ready for a fight?” 

Lady Noire nodded and the two jumped down to the docks. They crash landed on a couple of mobsters, knocking them out instantly. Lady Noire used her staff to fight them off, while Red Hood ran off towards the warehouse, presumably to get the smuggled weapons. 

The Ventriloquist turned around and Scarface roared, “Shoot her!” and fired his tommy gun Lady Noire. She spun her staff quickly, creating a force field deflecting the hail of bullets coming her way.  

As the torrent subsided she heard the mob boss yell. “Help me reload ya dummy” commanded Scarface. “Yes sir,” Wesker meekly replied. 

Lady Noire took this opportunity to finish off the remaining goons in the area. Just as she knocked out the last mobster, a baseball bat cracked along the back of her skull and sent her to her knees.  She then felt hot metal placed on the back of her head and a howl of laughter. “Gotcha now ya dumb broad!” Scarface laughed.

At that moment Lady Noire panicked, she cast Cataclysm and took a swipe at Scarface. This sliced Scarface in half, however the disintegration continued. Lady Noire watched in horror and disgust as she saw Cataclysm burning away the Ventriloquist's arm. His cries of pain and begging for mercy forever etched into her mind. She felt faint and began hyperventilating as she watched the man slowly dissolve. She fell to her knees and held her other hand to her mouth, feeling the bile rise up.  She wanted to reach out, to apologise, but it was too late. She could not bear to watch anymore.  Her vision turned to black as she fell to the ground. 

Marinette woke with a start to find herself somewhere strange. Someone had laid her down to rest on a mattress.  She could hear the sound of keys tapping away on a computer, and moments later the sound of someone saying “Welcome back to the land of the living, Pixie Pop.” Marinette looked around at her surroundings, she had no idea where she was.  On the other side of the room, a boy who was only a year or two older than her turned in his chair to look at her.  Marinette sat up, her heart pounded in her chest as she tried to make sense of what had happened. The boy stood up and came over to see if she was all right.

“Where am I?” she asked, “What happened? Who are you?”

“To answer your questions, you’re in a decommissioned bomb shelter that I use as a hideout.  What happened is you took out one of Gotham’s crime bosses.  Not bad for baby’s first arms deal, “ he explained. Marinette was still trying to remember how she ended up here. “had to get out before Batman and the others got there but couldn’t find you, that was until I saw a flash of black and green light.”

It was all coming back to her, she remembered what transpired the previous night. She remembers how the cries of agony and the horror of watching a man slowly melt with the power of Cataclysm.  Marinette hadn’t used Lady Noire very often, and she was starting to wonder how Chat Noir managed all those years with this power. 

“Hey, Pixie? Still there?” the boy asked, slowly reaching out to touch her shoulder.

“Don’t touch me!” she yelled, her hands shook as she remembered what she’d done, “I didn’t mean to hurt him.”

“First of all, it was awfully nice of you to leave out the fact that you could use magic” he told her. Jason wasn’t angry in the same way Bruce would have been, Bruce didn’t trust magic users like Constantine further than he could throw him.  Still, when you’re trained by the World’s Greatest Detective, magic becomes the ultimate wild card.  He tried a different approach, the last thing she needed was to be lectured about how an arms dealer deserves to live more than her.  “Second of all, the way I see it, it was you or him.  He could have killed you, then what?” He asked.

“I don’t expect you to understand,” she spat, “maybe you’re used to this but I’m not! The people I was up against were always being controlled by someone else! They were ordinary people who let their negative emotions rule them!”  Her voice was shaking with rage and she looked away, there was no way she was going to let him see her cry.  “I didn’t even plan on continuing to be a hero, I have been doing it since I was 13.  When...I saw that poor boy in the alleyway I just...I’ve done what you asked now leave me alone.” she turned away and hugged her knees as she curled up on the edge of the mattress. 

Jason realised what made her so upset in that moment, telling her it was a matter of survival was pretty cold comfort for someone who’d just killed someone for the first time.  The fact of the matter was they had both been at this from a young age. The difference was he had been trained to fight superpowered murderers and madmen, people who were evil of their own volition.  He didn’t enjoy seeing her like this, but she made it clear that he didn’t have a clue what her world looked like.  It was probably a hell of a lot sunnier than his outlook, it probably literally smelled like sugar, spice and everything nice.  “If he had killed you, and he could have, I would have made him suffer a lot worse than you did.  Only difference is I know how.” he said there was no use sugarcoating the truth.

“Why?” she asked, “am I just some pawn in your little game against Batman?”

He walked over to the bookshelf shelf, filled with his own little souvenir collection.  A copy of the Art of War, The Prince, and many other books were nestled around them.  Among them was a photograph he took back with him on one of his trips back to Wayne Manor.  He tried to keep his frustration in check, tried to remind himself that she was just shaken, even if she had acted in self-defense.  He took the framed photograph off the shelf and handed it to her.  As far as they knew, the boy in that picture was dead and in many ways he still was.  “Look familiar?” he asked as he sat back down on the mattress, propping himself up on his arms as he leaned back.

Marinette looked at the photo, there was no mistaking that as Batman, standing there with a stern and serious expression.  The boy next to him was dressed a lot more colourfully, Marinette almost wanted to make her own adjustments to its design.  By contrast the boy had a cheeky smile, as if he was ready to take on the world with Batman at his side. She also noticed the person next to her had a white lock of hair framing his face. “Is that…'' she asked, she had stopped crying but now she was working out what he was trying to say.  She looked at the boy in the photo and back to him, his features were a little sharper now but she could just about see that boy beneath the surface.  “What happened?” she asked, there was no sense asking questions she knew the answer to.

“What could have happened to you.” he told her.  It clicked in Marinette’s mind at that moment, in his own way he wanted to protect her.  Her heart was pounding at the thought, she was so used to shouldering the responsibility of protecting everyone. Yet, here she was getting excited at the thought of someone doing the same for her.  Maybe Ladybug reminded him of the boy in the photograph, brimming with hope that they could make the world just a little brighter.  What happened to him and how it happened was a story for another day.  She felt a comforting hand hovering just over her shoulder, she gently took his hand and held it to her.  They sat there for a long moment, just two people enjoying each other’s company.  “What’s the boy’s name?” she asked as she turned and handed the photograph back to him.  She wiped her tears on her sleeve before smiling at him.

“Jason, Jason Todd, yours?” he asked, giving her that same smile as the boy in the photo. “No one calls me “Jason Peter Todd” unless I am in seriously deep shit”, he joked.

“Marinette, Marinette Dupain-Cheng” she told him, “I’m the guardian of magical items called the Miraculous. It’s my job to keep them out of the wrong hands, for…well now you know why.”

It suddenly made sense to Jason why she leapt into action to save that boy without a second thought.  Not just because she was his neighbour and cared about him, but because that’s just what she did, and has been doing for a long time.  The whole magic thing was still going to take some getting used to, and he had to guess she had many more tricks up her sleeve.  Still, he had to admit they made a pretty good team last night.  She hadn’t been put through quite the same trials and tribulations as him, so who could say if she would end up just like him?  As long as he was around, no one would get that chance.  He stood up, taking his hand off her shoulder and holding it out to help her up.  “Need a ride?” he asked, Marinette smiled brightly up at him before she took his hand.

#jasonettejuly2021 #jasonette #maribat #ml x dc

[m4gp13]

For those of you who made it through my laughably incoherent ethabaster think piece, here’s some hc’s, you’ve earned them:

- Ethan has sole possession of their one shared brain cell. Alabaster is not allowed to even look at it. This is because they used to have two but Al broke the good one trying to blow up something (probably Percy).

- If Al finds out Ethan left without some form of magical protection i.e. a sigil, a crystal, ground eggshells, he will be pretty much vibrating with nerves until Ethan gets back so he can give him a once-over.

- Alabaster’s from a very witchy family who all worship Hecate for many reasons that differ depending on which estranged relative you ask and they all kinda saw Al as the first coming of witch Christ so he had a lot of expectations at a very young age.

- Ethan knows this and tries to lift as much Titan army business off his shoulders as possible.

- He accidentally lifts too much off to the point where he is drowning in work and is now the one in need of saving. But does he tell anyone that if he looks at one more stack of demands from his mile long list of bosses he’s going to cry for five hours? Of course not don’t be ridiculous.

- Alabaster immediately hated Percy as soon as he heard the guys name but due to the arena stuff and telling Thalia not to k*ll him Ethan actually held a bit of respect for Percy which annoyed Al to no end.

-This was until the not-so-peaceful peace talk in tlo when Percy starts shit talking Nemesis and Ethan just internally goes “actually the witch bitch was right this guy sucks ass”

-However, under no circumstances will Ethan ever tell this to Alabaster; not because he values his pride (he has none) but because he knows the life of a demigod is short and he doesn’t want to spend the rest of his very short one hearing Al rub that one thing in his face for every single second of it.

- And I mean Every. Single. Second.

- So yeah he takes that to the grave and doesn’t even tell anyone in the underworld in case they tell Al when he dies and he doesn’t want to spend the rest of his afterlife with Al being a dumbass. (also yes Ethan got into Elysium, fuck you)

- (Actually I have another idea about where Ethan went post-life but that’s so far from canon it’s more of an AU than a headcanon so we’re gonna leave that out for now)

- Al thought he was the one in charge of the Hecate kids because he was the most powerful and the highest ranking in the army but he was Not. That was Ethan. The Hecate kids thought Ethan was their unofficial adopted baby brother but little did they know he was the mum the whole time.

- Ethan is the only thing standing between them and starving to death. He also does the younger kids hair and gives everyone with long hair super intricate braids that stay out of their faces during “field work”. Al thinks this is more of him trying to take the weight off his shoulders but Ethan knows that if he doesn’t do this shit no one will so he kinda has to. Not that he doesn’t like doing it. being helpful is his love language.

 - Because of their powers over the mist the Hecate kids of the army were notorious pranksters who were usually at war with the Hermes kids (wars usually declared by Al because he rolled a zero on self restraint) but none of them prank Ethan because “nooooo you can’t do him he babey 🥺”

- Ethan has simply decided that what the magic prank wizards don’t know can’t hurt them and just turns to his blind side whenever he sees them sneaking off the ship to get Micky D’s in the middle of the night to stay on their good sides.

- Speaking of the ship, Ethan thinks it’s the dumbest thing in the world that one of their most powerful demigod enemies is the son of a sea god and he actually has a pretty decent relationship with said sea god and their main base of operations aside from mt Othrys is a fucking BOAT. He tells Al all about his worries for the ship and while Al assures him that nothing that bad could happen he always makes sure that the ship always has the least amount of demigods on board at all times just in case.

- It takes all the strength Ethan has not to yell “TOLD YOU SO” at him when the ship blows up.

- Al probably either wears basic white boy clothes or typical witchy stuff (like moons and shit) depending his mood meanwhile Ethan found out about leather and just goes for it.  

- Every grunge/punk/emo/eboy/teachwear bitch aspires to be him and because he aint about all that “gender roles” bs he definitely goes about wearing cool egirl stuff too. Not just slightly feminine shaped jumpers but all the plaid skirts, fishnets and lace trimmed dresses he can steal afford and Al, despite his more basic fashion taste is here for it. You’ve never seen someone more supportive of their pals fits, get you a hypeman like Al. You deserve it. (Ethan is also not afraid to walk around in a full pastel gamer girl fit)

- (Also Al hyping up one Ethans fits in front of a Titan is the reason they were allowed to start wearing army fatigues instead of the whole ancient Greek armour on occasion)

- Ethan appreciates Al’s enthusiasm but he also kinda doesn’t get it. And he definitely doesn't do that “yeah you’re right I DO look good” thing because he just doesn’t know how. He’d always been a little self-conscious about getting a big head but then he found out about Nemesis and hubris and all that fun stuff, looked at his meager pile of self worth and said “ yep, this has to go”

- Al almost starts crying when he finds out and pretty much makes it mission to be such a good hype man that Ethan has no choice but to think of himself as a Pretty Cool Dude via absorbing the hype through diffusion. It kinda starts working but then Ethan [REDACTED] in tlo so we’ll never know what could’ve been.

- To nick a hc from someone ( hi @chromarozee-spam) contrary to his taste in clothes Ethan does ballet (he was a punk AND did ballet, what more can I say?) and while Al tries to support his hobbies he is genuinely afraid both for and of him. “For” because “holy fuck that looks painful are you okay?”. And “of” because “are you sure those are bones inside you because I don’t think bones are supposed do that?!”.

- Ethan tries to assure him that no his spine is not made of rubber, broken bones or otherworldly materials so can he stop bothering him during practice please?

- This does not stop Al from making a million protection wards and constantly asking his deck if Ethan is indeed a Being of this Good Green Earth.

- Eventually his cards pretty much just tell him that he is friends with one bendy heck of a boi and he needs to fucking get over it so he kinda just,, ,,,,, , does.

- Again with the hc thieving (this time from @altorringtons) Al learning to use a two-handed broadsword so he can guard Ethan’s blind side and back in a fight *soft noises* just them trying so hard to keep each other alive because they love each other and they care about each other!

- They also sleep in the same bed whenever they get the chance (fully clothed ya nasties, they’re kids) and they just hug each other soooo tight because they just need to know they’re alright cos they always get pretty banged up in fights against campers or just monsters that are too much like wild animals to recruit. (What? Me? Projecting my desire to be intimately held by the closest person I have to family with their arms wrapped not tight enough to make me uncomfortable but tight enough to make me feel loved? Never! What on earth are you talking about?)

- Because Al is super stubborn and prideful whenever they have an argument Al can’t really bring himself to say he’s sorry so when he’s ready to apologise he just climbs into bed on Ethan’s blind side and cuddles him because he knows Ethan is super worried about getting attacked on his blind side so it’s like he has a guard or a shield.

- Ethan on the other hand just calls him a Rock Boy in a derogatory way until he gets over himself and apologizes but he really does love the fact that Al knows that about him and accommodates that.

- The thing they fight about most is how “heroic” the titan army is. Kronos’ brainwashing worked on Al like a charm and he fully believes that they are the rebellion and camp is the empire. Ethan on the other hand wasn’t at camp long enough for Kronos or Luke to really do anything but it doesn’t matter because Ethan really doesn’t give a shit if he’s on the “evil side” cos he just wants respect and he’s willing to do what it takes without a second thought of how people see him. If he thinks he’s doing the right thing but on the wrong side he can live with that but Al needs to feel like all of his side is on the moral high ground because that’s what Kronos drilled into his brain.

- Ethan knows that Al delusional when it comes to the non-existent heroics of the army but eventually he just decides to let Al believe the titans lies because that’s easier for him even if it hurts Ethan to see him being manipulated like that.

- Due to Ethan not giving a shit on the humanity of his bosses he gets punished a lot more often and a lot more violently than Al because they know that Ethan already knows they don’t care about him so they don’t have to sugar coat him but Al still believes that they’re heroes and his mindset needs to stay like that to keep him obedient.

- Also because I am  a Cruel Person By Nature I hc Ethan’s mortal family (which usually just consists of his dad) as meeting a not very pg13 end at the hands of a monster who wanted to nible on Ethan a tad which pretty much scarred him for life.

- SO, at the end of the battle of Man Hats Are In when Al looks around and sees that his whole family (that joined the titans) are dead! oh no! How sad! At least he knows someone whose been through the same thing so they understand each other and can help each other through this tough time together right? SIKE!

- so yeah Al learns Ethan d-worded in the worst possible way at the worst possible time and just looses it from grief. Loosing his family was bad enough but finding out he lost the one person he thought he would be able to confide in and heal with immediately after just really rubs salt in the wound.

- When the survivors start re-grouping to find someplace to hide until the gods forget about them Al just wanders off because it’s all he can do to not break down on the spot.

- He’s just wandering in a daze for a while and most people just assume he’s high but he snaps out of it and gets into anger mode when Lamia starts attacking him because he finally has something to do and occupy himself with even though it’s hard not to think about his sibling especially when Lamia keeps talking like they never would have died if she’d been in charge which is why she should totally just kill him and lead their siblings instead.

- His desire to have something to keep his mind off his family and Ethan is the first thing he thinks about when Claymore re-alives and immediately starts talking about doing research (yeah because that’s what you need after a long stressful day of fighting monsters and literally dying).

- Ethan keeps trying to cross the veil and help, even if he just sends Al a pleasant dream to help him sleep but contrary to what you might think from the name, the veil is really hard to cross so Ethan just has to bite his nails and watch his friend suffer.

- It gets easier to watch after Al and Claymore pretty much adopt each other because at least he has someone but they do still get into pretty scary situations.

- When they were both premortem they got paired up for a lot of missions for the titan army and they usually just tried to pretend they were on a fun road trip around America when they could and make fun of mortal shit together.

- At one point they were in a motel and the last people accidentally left behind one of Claymore’s books about death and they found it the funniest thing ever. Between a pair of in which one of their mum’s regularly goes to the underworld and one has been there himself they find mortal ideas of the afterlife to be very amusing.

- Alabaster has decided he would not like to share this with the class (Claymore) thank you very much.

- Also when they’re doing their road tripping Ethan knows all the best places to crash, the cheapest food places and the local gangs don’t bother them because between running away from camp and joining the army he just wandered around a lot.

- Like he’d just hop on a random train, take a nap and figure it out when he wakes up; he made a lot of friends this way too as well as his taste in clothes cos he didn’t have a lot of money so he’d just DIY some second hand punk shit. Al thinks he’s the Gandalf of the demigod world because he just knows everyone who might help them and everywhere they could spend the night. He definitely tells his siblings about Ethan being the closest thing they have to a wandering wizard and they fucking love it.

- Also because Nemesis tends to not have a lot of kids Ethan was the only one of hers in the army and Al felt really bad for him because his sibling were his favourite part about the army so he tried to include Ethan in as much as possible with his siblings.

- As an unexpected result Ethan ended up with a small army of super powered children to sick on the people who keep making jabs about him loosing in the arena battle.

- Al sometimes thinks he’s given him too much power but also he will fuck a bitch up if they make fun of his pals so he sees where his siblings are coming from and yeah those bitches had it coming. He also has a copy of bitchcraft.

- Ethan’s dad was the type to play “Stay With Me” by Miki Matsubara on repeat for hours and Ethan would probably enjoy the song but he’s heard it so often that now it makes his ears bleed and Al sometimes tortures him with for fun until Ethan starts throwing shit.

- To steal another hc from @chromarozee-spam Ethan has a thing for cats and one time Al accidentally gave himself mistform cat-ears and Ethan could not stop touching them. Ethan was just craning his head back uncontrollably grinning so much his face hurt. Al can’t bring himself to be upset because Ethan rarely ever smiles since he joined the army.

- Al saw Ethan crying over one of those video’s where people put their hoodies on backwards and put their cat in the hood so he made a mist cat and bought him a hoodie. Ethan of course started crying again but it was happy tears instead.

- Ethan is fucking tiny while Al is almost a foot taller than him. He wouldn’t mind so much if Al didn’t exhaust every opportunity to rub it in his face so he just starts climbing all over shit (especially tall buildings) half to give Al heart attacks and half so he can be like “Sorry? What was that? I’m so high up I can’t hear you. Can you speak up a little? Maybe get a ladder? Or taller?”

- Also I don’t know why but I hc Al as Texan. Ethan gets told about this “Alabaster C. Torrington” guy who knows latin, incantations and other magical knowledge and expects some fancy British guy so when they meet and Al speaks Ethan gets whiplash so hard he fuckin chokes.

- Al is also very casual and Ethan is pretty professional so when he meets this magic general with a straight back and the first thing that comes out of this assholes mouth is some “Howdy y’all!!” bullshit he just dies on the spot.

- Also because Al is texan he is very sensitive to the cold (I’m about 80% sure that Texas is one of the Warm states) so when he has to do stuff in cold places like the labyrinth or new york (idk about that one to but in every film I’ve seen that’s set in NY it’s raining for about 90% of the time) he complains about being freezing all the time until Ethan helpfully reminds him that he can literally make fire out of nothing, surely he can find a way to warm himself up.

- Ethan is also sensitive to the cold because he’s basically malnourished but he’s been like that for a while and thinks it’s normal so he sucks it up until Al notices he’s always cold. Ethan tells him it’s fine but Al is basically a walking electric blanket so whenever Al cuddles him to keep him warm Ethan can’t help but melt because he’s so fucking warm and soft and have you noticed I crave intimacy?

- Ethan started studying Greek myths vigorously since he found out he was a demigod and when he died he kept an eye and an ear out for Al because even though he wouldn’t be able to do anything it still reassures him to know what’s going on, HOWEVER, he was almost filled with enough malice to rip through the barrier between the living and the dead purely to beat an ass when he hears Al’s little “I don’t bother reading about worthless monsters like you!” jab.

- Ethan is very jumpy and fidgety to the point where Al is genuinely concerned and while Ethan assures Al that nothing’s wrong Al is still suspicious. Ethan probably would have told Al about it if it was because of anything but Kronos but seeing that it mostly is, he doesn’t because Ethan feels like Al will just take Kronos’ word over his and he’ll loose the only person he trusts in the army.

- Al doesn’t find out about it until way after the war when Kronos’ brainwashing starts to come undone because by then his mindset is a lot less biased in the titans favour so he can see things that he just unconsciously ignored before and is able to put two and two together. When he does boy is it a trip.

- Ethan is really bad at talking about feelings and stuff so whenever Al gets upset over something and Ethan has no idea how to talk to him he’ll just get him some rocks. One time Ethan found out about those heart shaped valentine boxes that are normally filled with chocolates but people put crystals in them and that just became his go-to for when Al was especially upset. 

- Al is only slightly better at talking about stuff but he can still get Ethan to open up to him which is good because Ethan isn’t very materialistic so it’s hard to make him feel better by buying him things and because someone needs to get Ethan to express himself in an emotionally healthy way.

- Also because of this they just can’t tell each other they love each other. Like they’ll barely whisper it when the other is asleep because they’re just so bad at talking about feelings. It wasn’t that much of an issue until after the war and Ethan gets k-worded and Al is left alone and sobbing over all the times he never told his loved ones how much they meant to him.

- But because this is a headcanon list; fuck that, Al saved Ethan with some sort of magic bullshit and they talk about how much they love each other all the time now because they can’t stand the thought of one of them dying having never been told how much they are loved.

#me going around nicking hcs: thank you for your sacrifices #this will help tremendously in the war effort #also max i am extremely pleased to tell you that auto correct thinks Harrington is a lovely name for you #and you stan the magic messiah #autocorrect didn't say that one #but it's true #pjo #percy jackson #ethan nakamura #alabaster torrington #alabaster c torrington #ethan x alabaster #ethabaster

[uniquecreations]

Workplace Lover Pt. 3

This story is the final part from Workplace Lover part 1 & part 2. 

 It had been a few months since I last hung out with Ron outside of work, things between Alton and I had basically died after our last conversation. We were cordial while we were at work and only spoke outside of work when it was work related. Ron was in the process of getting a new job and that was a bit bittersweet because other than us not hanging out as much now then I wouldn’t have anyone to help me get thru those tough days at work. He would always tell me that nothing would change between us, but I knew it would change because with his new job, I knew that he wouldn’t have as much of free time to hang out.

  We were working at a local store on Ron’s last day and I wanted to hurry up and end early because I had set up a lil going away office party for him. Things were going great until Alton decided that he wanted to be petty and fuck up everything he was counting. It was becoming very annoying because I knew he was doing this shit on purpose. After another 20 mins of recounting I finally told him to leave because he was no use to me at that moment. I should have known that would cause a problem between us later, but I would deal with that when it came. Eventually, we got thru the rest of the counts and made our way back to the office for the party. Of course, my workday wasn’t over just yet because I had to close out the store we counted, that caused a problem with Ron. He cussed me out more times than a little bit until I gave in and decided to finish the work when I got home that night.

  The party was not all that great at first, everyone was being a bit uptight because we were still on company property. All that went out the window when Doris came in with a few gallons of Daiquiri's, things began to loosen up and then it became a real party. Music was blasting, food was served, and everyone dancing and having a good time while we had the opportunity. While I was talking with some of our coworkers, I felt a tap on my shoulder and when I turned around it was Alton standing there looking at me like he wanted to fight.

  “I need to talk to you about something.” He said to me just above a whisper.

  “Ok but if you about to start some shit then you can save your breath because I’m not about to deal with this bullshit right now.” I said looking him directly in his eyes. We walked down the shopping center where our office was in, once we were away from the crowd, we stopped, and the silence was starting to annoy me. “So, what you wanna talk about Alton?”

  “About this thing between us and how I felt played you sent me home today for no reason at all.”

  “Are you serious right now dude, you know exactly why I sent you home, it was because you were purposely fucking shit up because you knew what we were doing today for Ron. Now as far as this thing between us goes……… it should have been clear to you by now but in case it isn’t then let me be clear. The most we can ever be is coworkers, nothing more, nothing less, you have a lot of issues that I’m not willing to deal with from a nigga I’m dating or in a relationship with. Your jealousy is a tad bit scary and I have been down that road before and I can’t afford to do it again.”

  “So, you are saying that because I was a little overprotective of you, it was mistaken for jealousy?”

  “It’s a major difference between protecting and jealousy, what you were showing me, and your actions was not protecting me at all, it was all jealousy. That’s just the beginning tho because you also have very controlling ways as well and in case you haven’t figured it out, I’m not a puppy or some other form of animal that you say sit or stay and I obey your command Alton.”

  “Man, you are tripping for real now with all these lies and shit you spitting out yo mouth, you know good and damn well I’m none of those things.” He said squinting his eyes at me.

  “If you say so but you and I can be nothing past coworkers, I would say we can be friends, but we saw where that lead us and now are we done here because I have a party to get to?”

  “I guess dude, but I still feel you dead wrong for telling lies about me.”

  “Alton, nothing I said was a lie you know it and I do as well.” I said trying to walk away but he stopped me by grabbing my arm. “Alton…... don’t put your hands on me.” I said jerking my arm away from him.

  “My bad Jaye but you always walking off from me when I’m trying to get to the bottom of things between us.”

  “The thing about that is this……. Yes, what we had was fun but it’s over now because you can’t get a grip on your jealousy and wannabe controlling ways. All that came after I told you about some of the things I went thru. That was the thing that made me conclude that we are not meant to be together and that’s the part you not seeing.”

  “How about we start over and go back to the beginning?” He asked touching my arm.

   “How about not……... I’m not trying to go there with anyone right now, I have to much going on so thanks but no thanks.” I said and turned around, walked off, and resumed the party that was going on.

About 4 months had passed since the going away party and since I last heard from Alton, I still talked to Ron almost every other day and made plans that we almost never kept. The weekend before my birthday I wanted to go out and do something I didn’t do since I was a little boy and that was fish. I asked Ron to come but he told me he had to work so I just invited a few of my cousins instead. I made it to the spot where we were supposed to be meeting up at, I was a bit surprised that I was the only one that made it early because I was usually the one that was late. I sat in the car for about 10 mins before I saw another car pulling up, when it got near me, I saw that it was my cousin.

  “About damn time you showed up; I was starting to think nobody was going to come.” I said to her once we got out our cars.

  “Shut up I had a long night……. Don’t ask.”

  “I guess but let’s get started so I can collect on that bet.” I said laughing.

  “I don’t know why you would want to bet me knowing I’m going to crush yo ass on catching these fish.”

  “I hear ya but make sure you have my funds bitch.” I said laughing as we got our stuff set up for the day.

   Half the morning went by and we were what and what with the amount of fish we caught. I was reeling in the last fish I caught when I heard another car coming from behind us. I didn’t bother looking back because I knew it was probably the other cousin that was supposed to be here hours ago. I went to put my fish in the cooler and looked back to see the car that pulled in wasn’t my cousin, it was Ron. He walked up to where we were and looked at us like we were crazy.

  “I thought you had to work with yo lying ass.” I said throwing a piece of ice at him out the cooler.

  “I know you aint just throw that nasty ass ice on me……… and I did have to work but I left early so I could come out to this raggedy ass place.” He said sitting in my chair.

  “Well shouldn’t I feel lucky that you actually made time for your friend.” I said rolling my eyes.

  “You should bastard, I didn’t have to waste my gas and since we are talking about that, wasn’t it you the one cancelled on me the last few times?”

  “You fucking liar.” I said and he burst out laughing.

  “I swear if I didn’t know any better……. I would swear yall were an old married couple as much as yall be into it.” My cousin said reeling in another fish.

  “Because he is an asshole.” I said throwing my reel back out into the water, once my reel was secure in the water, I attempted to sit down but instead I hit the ground hard. “You are such a bitch bruh.” I said looking at them both laughing.

  “That’s what yo ass get for talking shit.” We stayed out for a few more hours before my cousin conceded defeat, paid me the bet and left to go home. I was packing up my things with Ron when he pulled me into a headlock. “What else you want to do today punk?” He asked while I was still in the headlock.

  “I might be going to jail if yo dumbass don’t let me go.” I said pinching him in the side. “But I don’t have anything planned but going give these fish to one of my uncles and then go home.”

  “Boring ass, let’s go out and get fucked up bruh.” He said.

  “Ok but I’m not driving and also you know you have to get permission from your boo first.” I said laughing.

  “You do know I’m a grown ass man, right? Plus, we not on good terms right now anyway.” He said shaking his head.

  “Being sprung have nothing to do with being grown it just mean you forgot how to be a man, and when are yall on good terms?” I said while getting in my car.

  “Nah that’s your territory messing with them lame ass niggas but I’ma be over at 8 so be ready.” He said mushing my head.

  “Put yo hands on me again and I’ma tase yo ass bitch.”

  We both left from where we were, I went to go get rid of the fish we caught but got held up talking to my uncle as per usual. When I looked at the time it was approaching 5 o’clock and I still haven’t made it home yet. I finally reached my house after about 5:30, I still needed to take a shower and pick out some clothes for tonight. After taking a shower, I wrapped the towel around my waist and walked to my closet to find something to wear. I picked out my clothes and went laid across the bed, I didn’t plan on going to sleep but my body had a different agenda than I did. I was woken up by someone banging on my door like they had lost they damn mind. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out who it was because it was only one person, I know who would do stupid shit like that.

  “I swear you act like you aint got the sense God gave a mule.” I said swinging the door open and looking at Ron.

  “And I’m sick of yo ass always late for every damn thing and why the hell you don’t have on clothes Jaye?” He said looking at me and shaking his head.

  “Because I dozed off after I showered, but it won’t take long for me to get dressed.” I said walking back to my room.

  “You say that shit all the time and it still take you over an hour……. Hurry up.” He said throwing a pillow off the couch at me.

  “Shut the fuck up, and I told you about coming over here fucking up my house.” I went into the room and begin looking at the outfit I chose to wear. I decided to change it up a little but nothing to major, I grabbed my phone and started playing music to get me in the mood for the night. I put on my playlist and began getting dressed, no sooner than I slid on my underwear, I heard Ron in the living room talking loud ass hell. I paid him no mind because his girlfriend always found a way to make him feel guilty about having fun or doing things without her. I looked down and realized that I was ashy as hell, I grabbed my lotion and began putting it on.

  “Did anyone ever tell you that you got a girl booty?” Ron said from behind me.

  “If you don’t get the fuck outta my room talking bout nonsense.” I said trying to cover myself up.

  “You need to hurry up because I most definitely need a drink now.”

  “Go look in the cabinet…… I think I have something in there you can drink……... I know how you get stressed when she grabs you by the balls.” I said laughing.

  “You always running yo gums about shit you don’t know what you’re talking about.” He said irritated, I looked back at him and could see the frustration on his face.

  “Aww I’m sorry sweetheart you want a hug.” I said holding my arms open, he laughed and shook his head.

  “You not about to touch me while you half naked, now get dressed and let’s go.” He said about to walk out my room.

  “Don’t hate cause I look better than yo bitch, now get out.” I said pushing him out my room, the next thing I knew, I felt a sharp sting on my right ass cheek where this nigga had slapped it. “You are a fucking bitch, I swear I’ma shoot you in the mouth.” I said rubbing my aching ass.

  “I got something for a mouth but it aint no bullet.” He said before walking out my room.

  After me getting dressed and taking the shots he fixed us, we got in the car and headed out. We were laughing and talking the entire ride to the bar, I was beginning to feel those drinks he made us that we drank before we left out. His phone kept going off interrupting almost every song that was playing thru his stereo, after about the tenth time, I was starting to get frustrated.

  “Either you check it or put the fucker on airplane mode because this shit is annoying the hell out of me.” I said looking at him.

  “That aint nobody but Jakayla, I told you we into right now, but I may have downplayed it a little.” He said.

  “You wanna talk about it or not?”

  “I will tell you later right now I wanna have fun and ignore that dumb shit.” He said as we pulled into the bar parking lot.

  “I swear you do that shit all the time, like we haven’t been friends for a damn good while now.”

  “Boy if you don’t chill yo overly sensitive ass out with all that……… I’ma talk to you about it but I’ma tell you when I’m ready.” He said laughing. I looked at him, popped him upside the head and got out the car before he could hit me back. Once we made it in the club, the first thing I wanted to do was go to the bar. Ron came to the side of me and nodded towards a group of people. Upon further inspection, it was most of my team from work.

  I couldn’t tell you how many drinks I had or where they were coming from but, I was having the most fun I had in years. I looked across the dance floor and saw Ron dancing with some girl, I looked in another direction and saw his girlfriend walking thru the door. I knew this was about to turn out bad, so I broke away from the group and tried to get to Ron before she saw him. When I reached him, I leaned in and whispered in his ear that his girl just walked in.

  “I know.” He said winking at me and going back to dancing with the chick. I smirked and went back across the club to the group. I didn’t know what he was planning nor did I care at that point. I went back to dancing with my friends when someone came up behind me and tapped me on the ass. I looked back and it was Jakayla- Ron’s girlfriend.

  “Hey baby…… Happy Birthday!!!!!!!” She said hugging me.

“Hey, thank you, I didn’t know you were coming.” I said smiling at her.

  “It’s your freaking birthday dude, I wouldn’t have missed this no matter what.” She said looking around the club. Then she started laughing, I followed her eyes as they landed on Ron dancing with that girl. “If he wanted to make me show my ass then he should’ve picked someone who wasn’t his cousin…… dumbass.”

  “Girl he a mess and a half but come on I will buy you a drink.” I said walking with her to the bar. We sat down, ordered our drinks, and was laughing and cracking jokes when Ron came up and plucked my ear.

  “I told you I was going to get you back……. What up Kay?” He said smirking at her, she looked at him and shook her head.

  “I swear you are the dumbest nigga I know, you trying to make me act up by you dancing with some thot……. Maybe you should have pick someone other than your cousin I hang with every other day.”

  “Jakayla nobody was trying to make you do nothing and if I wanted to, I could pull any chick in here I wanted so shut that shit up. Overly dramatic ass.” He said laughing and walking off towards the bathroom.

  “I swear yall are a mess.” I said laughing and drinking out my glass, she was about to respond when her phone lit up. She looked at it and scoffed.

  “I swear I can’t catch a fucking break man; this girl didn’t show up for her shift tonight so guess who have to go in.”

  “I know all about that trust me……. when you have to go in?”

  “In a few……... where is your lil boo at?” She said looking around the club.

  “I don’t have a lil boo bitch you tried it.” I said laughing with her. Ron came back from the bathroom and joined us; Jakayla left after about another 20 minutes to go to work.

  “You look drunk as fuck.” Ron said drinking my last drink.

  “Didn’t you say we should get fucked up? And bitch you are buying me another drink with yo big head ass.” I said standing up.

  “Fuck you, come on let’s hit up waffle house……. I’m hungry as hell and I know you aint got no food at yo house.” He said standing up as well.

  “You buying? It is my birthday after all.” We left out and was driving on the highway when I looked over at him, he looked like he was in deep thought. I didn’t bother asking him what was wrong because I knew he wasn’t going to tell me anyway. Once we made it to waffle house, it was packed so we got our food to go because I was not about to sit in there around all those people.

After we finished eating, I was a bit more sober than I was before, now I was kinda sleepy. I looked over at Ron and this nigga was knocked out. I went into my room to get some clothes out for a shower when my phone buzzed. It was Alton wishing me a happy birthday, I replied, ‘thank you’ and went took a shower, I went into the second bedroom and pulled a pillow and cover of the bed. I went into the living room to see Ron still asleep on my couch. I tossed the cover and pillow to the side of him, I took off his shoes and helped put him in a comfortable position before going back into my room. I slowly started to fall asleep after spending nearly 20 minutes playing on my phone.

  “Jaye?” I heard Ron yell from my room door scaring the piss out of me.

  “Bitch I swear I’m going to fuck you up. You always doing something stupid.” I said throwing a pillow at him.

  “Shut up…… I’m about to head to the house.”

  “Ron it’s late and you’ve been drinking, just stay here and leave in the morning.” I said sitting up in the bed.

  “I don’t have any clothes and I need a shower, I’m good now that I got a nap.”

  “I have some clean shorts and tee shirts and I have underwear still in the pack now go take a shower and I will get them out for you. I don’t wanna hear yo damn mouth either.” I said getting out the bed to get the clothes. He didn’t say anything, he just rolled his eyes and went in the bathroom. A few minutes later I heard the shower turn on. I hated being woken up because it would be hard as hell for me to go back to sleep. I got the clothes out for Ron, then I went into the kitchen to fix another drink. After I made it back into my room, I sat down on the bed and turned on a movie I knew I wouldn’t finish.

  “Where the clothes at pussy?” Ron said walking into my room a few minutes after he finished showering with nothing on but a towel. I have seen him shirtless many times but him being practically naked in my bedroom put me in a daze. “Nigga did you hear me?” He said knocking me out my daze.

  “Oh, umm right there on the dresser.” I said pointing to where I put the clothes. He looked at me and smirked before walking over to get the clothes.

  “You aint fix me a drink?” I looked over to him just as he dropped the towel from his waist.

   “Umm, I can fix you one.” I said trying to pretend I wasn’t looking at him. I got up out the bed and was walking to the door when he did something that I wasn’t expecting. He grabbed me by my waist and pulled me to him. I didn’t know what he was up to nor did I care, the only thing I could focus on was his dick starting to harden on my ass.

No words were spoken for the next 20 minutes as we made out. The way he was making me feel in this moment was something I could and probably would never forget. His dick was huge, and I could barely fit it in my mouth, but I managed to do so with scathing him with my teeth. His moans were music to my ears and forced me to give him my best. I was surprised when he bent me over the bed and buried his tongue deep in my ass. He was eating my ass so good that I didn’t want him to stop. He continued to eat me for about 15 minutes before stopping and making me slide up in the bed. I reached over in my nightstand drawer and grabbed the lube I had stashed there from my last jackoff session.

  He took his time and he was patient while trying to get his dick in me. Once we found our rhythm, I could see why Jakayla was so crazy over this nigga. He had me moaning so loud and I’m sure I probably spoke gibberish a few times as well. As I laid on my back, this nigga was fucking me like he had a point to prove. The more I scratched his back, the harder he went, after about another 20 minutes of him fucking my brains a loose, he pulled out of me and shot his nut all over my chest and neck area while moaning and jolting forward with each shot of nut. Once he started to calm down, he leaned down and kissed me while I caught one of the best nuts I ever experienced.

   We cleaned up and cuddle for the rest of the night while talking about what happened. He told me he doesn’t know what made him want to try that with me, but he enjoyed himself more than he thought he would. Although he and I had sex several times after that, we decided to cut that part of our friendship out. We are still best of friends and we still hang out as much as we can considering our schedules conflict a lot. I will never forget those times we shared but I’m also internally grateful for Ron being in my life.

©uniquecreations2020

#unique creations #gay #lgbt #black boys #first time #short story #bxb #friends #workplace lover #new story #non-fiction

[phykios]

honesty and promise me, part 2 [read on ao3] [co-written with @darkmagyk]

Goth isn’t really Annabeth’s scene—hasn’t been since she was twelve, hiding in her room and blasting Evanescence or Avril Lavigne so she didn’t have to spend quality time with her brothers, or even talk to her stepmother at all—but Percy had insisted. She could almost picture his pathetic, baby seal-eyed face as he wheedled and whined at her over text, until she eventually (not at all reluctantly) gave in.

She’s only known him for a few weeks. It’s a little embarrassing how quickly her willpower had crumbled.

Thalia, for whatever reason, had decidedly not been game, even when presented with a large, post-bartending hangover coffee as an opening salvo. “This is a bad idea,” she had said, glaring at the sun so intensely that, were it not for her thick, black sunglasses, she probably would have vaporized it.

“We don’t have to go.”

“No, the show will be great. Pluto’s Daughter is great,” she said between sips of her too-bitter-to-be-real black coffee. “You and Percy, is a bad idea.”

“Protective of your baby cousin?” Annabeth asked, raising an eyebrow, her eyebrow ring awkwardly bumping up against her hair, sorely in need of a shave. She was thinking of getting a second ring. Her mother had once told her that they were the epitome of trash—but Thalia had two, and they looked so badass.

She scoffed. “He’s not the baby.”

“Then there’s no problem.”

Thalia narrowed her eyes, really considering Annabeth. Annabeth’s own eyes had been described more often than not as storm clouds, dark and heavy. If hers were storm clouds, then Thalia’s were lightning, electric blue, piercing, beautiful, and dangerous, with a temper to match. “Before you started seeing him,” she said, “I’d have said that you’d eat him alive.”

Annabeth smirked. “I have done no eating yet.”

“Ugh,” she rolled her eyes. “Yeah, well, now I’m going to be honest with you. He’s going to eat you alive—and your self-esteem is never going to be able to recover. Honestly, I shouldn’t even let you two within ten feet of each other.”

She scoffed, taking a long drink of her own coffee, black but with just enough sugar to make it bearable.

As if a ballerina would ever intimidate her. A fucking ballerina.

The conversation hadn’t exactly ended the way either of them wanted, but Annabeth was still going to keep fucking Percy for the time being, and Thalia was going to let herself be dragged to the damn concert.

The night of, the bar has a line, but Thalia alternately sweet-talks and intimidates the bouncer, and he lets them in. Having tended bar for any place that would take her and not put her on the payroll, Annabeth assumes that she just has dirt on everyone in the service industry in New York City, so they skip a lot of cover charges, and get a lot of free drinks.

It's fucking crowded inside, too, packed to the brim with sweaty bodies and heavy boots. Just another day in paradise.

Thalia glances at her phone. “They’re at the bar, up front?”

“They?”

Thalia doesn’t hear her, apparently, just wraps her mesh covered hand over Annabeth’s wrist and pulls her through the crush of people. Annabeth has her eyes peeled for Percy’s typical blue hoodie or orange muscle tees, thinking that they would stand out like a sore thumb in this place, but she can’t see a goddamned thing.

Now, punks aren’t exactly known for their radical use of color, but this was another thing entirely, a sea of black and lace and leather. Looking for his black hair is a waste of her time. “So many bad bottle jobs,” she murmurs.

Thalia pauses for a second, frowning at her. “What?”

“Everyone here has decided that they just had to dye their hair black. How original.”

She is silent for a moment, squinting, then looks away. “I see them, come on.”

Her blunt nails dig into Annabeth’s arm as she yanks her even harder.

There, at the end of the bar, a tall guy stands, dressed to the nines—the nines of this particular scene, anyway.

He looks kind of familiar: curly black hair in a sharp undercut that Annabeth definitely admires, extremely tight, black skinny jeans that leave nothing to the imagination and really went out of style with My Chemical Romance, a t-shirt with a skull on it (because goths, obviously), and a leather jacket, covered in patches. She spots the Italian flag, several for Pluto’s Daughter and a handful of other bands, a pride flag, a couple of music notes, and one that says, “Not gay as in happy, queer as in fuck you.”

“Annabeth,” says Thalia, “you remember Nico.”

Annabeth blinks. The last time she’d met Nico, he’d been wearing a three-piece suit that had cost as much as her rent. Now the hand she shakes has black fingernails and a skull ring, leading up to a face with eyes lined heavier than either Thalia’s or Annabeth’s, with a septum ring and a line of studs up one ear. “Hey.”

“Where’s our prima ballerina?” Thalia asks as Nico offers her a glass of something brown.

Thalia likes—and cannot often afford—expensive booze, which means that Nico must be paying. Unwilling to be caught in another embarrassing little social snafu, Annabeth tries really hard to remember what it is that he does. Hadn’t he sold his soul to some law firm or other?

“He went to consign himself to a slow and agonizing death,” says Nico.

“What?” Annabeth asks, glancing between the cousins.

Thalia rolls her eyes. “He means Percy went out for a smoke. Nico doesn’t approve.”

“It’s bad for you! This is not a controversial topic,” he says. “I don’t like that he does it, I don’t like that he got you to start, and I’m not going to like it when I go to both of your funerals. But I am going to tell you I told you so.” Then, seemingly as if to undermine his point, he throws back the rest of his own drink, holding up the empty glass to the bartender. “Another,” he calls, “Godfather, if you please.”

If drinks were on Nico tonight, maybe Annabeth could use the cover of the goth crowd to order a glass of red wine instead. It would certainly be a nice change of pace from the shit-ass beer she sucks down on the regular.

“There he is!” Thalia calls, bursting into applause. “The hell took you so long? Wardrobe malfunction?”

“Yeah,” she hears Percy’s voice. “Someone stole my best pair of tights.”

Turning, Annabeth is suddenly very glad she hadn’t yet ordered a drink, because then she would have dropped it, spilling it all over not only the dirty bar floor, but also her second favorite pair of boots.

It’s definitely Percy, but she never would have spotted him. Having gone to a dozen or so shows with her and Thalia so far, he had always dressed pretty consistently in baggy jeans and whatever stupid dance pun t-shirt Annabeth hadn’t pilfered already to wear to breakfast: very normal, and just a little bit out of place for the goth/punk scene.

Tonight, he is not dressed like that.

She can’t focus on everything all at once, so she starts with his too tight t-shirt, with the logo for Pluto’s Daughter splashed across it, like the artist had taken paint and hurled it at the fabric from a mile away. Ripped and sleeveless, she can see every single ridge and line of his biceps, his forearms, his shoulders, even a bit of his decolletage. His pants are black, per the unspoken dress code, and baggy, but he has belts wrapped up and down his legs, emphasizing the size of his muscular thighs and calves. And that isn’t even the worst part. Neither are the studs in his ears, or the black liner around his eyes.

The worst part is the blue lipstick painting his mouth, making his eyes pop, making his troublemaker smile look that much more depraved.

The worst part is how that blue lipstick will almost certainly be all over her thighs by the end of the night.

Thalia’s advice was never going to win out, but now it has no chance.

Despite being dressed up like the goth ballet prince of her dreams, the hero of an angsty, middle school novel Annabeth might have dreamed up instead of paying attention in class but had been too embarrassed to ever write it down, he smiles at her, cheery and bright as ever, kissing her so deeply her mouth must turn blue. In the corner of her eye, she sees Thalia and Nico exchange a capital-L look, one that Percy can’t see, because all of his attention is focused on her. She doesn’t know what that means, but she’s too far gone to ask.

Percy moves away, still close, still oriented around her, but she has to clasp her own hands together to keep herself from reaching out and pulling him back to her, biting her tongue, rubbing the ring along the inside of her teeth to keep from letting the word “please” escape her lips.

She doesn’t think she’s ever been so instantly taken with any guy—ever. Not even the almost one night stand her sophomore year was college, nineteen and fresh-faced and totally unprepared for the heartbreak that would follow. Last time, Luke had suggested wine to help her get over her mystery man, so that’s what she orders now, taking too big sips and ignoring the slight concern in Percy’s too pretty eyes.

It’s all packaging, she thinks, packaging designed to make the product more desirable. Basic marketing and design. She knows him, and she knows what he can do with his teeth and his tongue and his hand and his dick. She recognizes it, sees it coming, so she won’t be affected by it.

“I didn’t know you were coming, Nico,” she says, wrangling her thoughts together. “It’s nice to see you again.”

“Never miss a show,” he says.

“Flew back from London just for it,” Thalia says, bumping him with her shoulder.

“I flew back because my business trip was over,” he corrects. “…But I did take the redeye so I’d be here on time.”

Percy beams at that, so hard she can actually feel it. “Anyone else joining us I should know about?” Annabeth asks.

It’s so weird to look at them all together—all dark hair, strong jaws, cheekbones carved from stone, sexy and just a little bit intimidating. “Any other cousins, maybe?”

Nico glances at Percy, suddenly apprehensive. “Actually, Percy,” he says, “I’m pretty sure I saw—”

“Perseus Jackson!” A whirlwind of blue-green silk assaults her senses as a woman sweeps over to them, headed straight for Percy, almost knocking Annabeth out of the way, wrapping him up in a hug and ignoring everyone else. “How’s my darling little brother?”

Percy awkwardly pats her on the back, shooting a grimace at the rest of them. “Uh, hey, Kym. I… didn’t know you’d be here.”

“It was a last minute thing, I had a free night for once in my life and was casting about for something to do, you know how much I hate not working, and I thought I’d come by and support our dear Hazel.”

Nico raises an eyebrow. “Since when have you been into goth rock?”

It’s not an unwarranted question. She looks wildly out of place here, in her sleek, silk dress and the scent of Dolce and Gabbana’s Light Blue coming off her like waves, in sharp contrast to the sea of ripped jeans and sewed up shirts that surround them.

Kym, again, ignores him. “Mojito, Perseus? I know it’s your favorite.”

Annabeth’s eyebrows shoot up past her hairline. Percy? Percy half-a-cider-no-thank-you-I-don’t-care-for-any-more Jackson likes to drink mojitos? “Ah—” He grimaces, trying to extract himself from her grip, “no, thank you—"

“Oh, you’re no fun anymore.”

“I just don’t like to—”

“Well it’s not like this place will have any rum worth drinking anyway,” she sniffs.

Thalia rolls her eyes.

“Here, take a selfie with me.” Her phone is already raised, thumb poised for action.

“Kym, come on—”

But she pulls Percy close, shoving his head against hers, mouth already pouting. Thalia sighs, turning back to the bar.

After a moment of refusal, Percy sighs too, giving into his fate, and mustering his best vogue for the camera. They make an odd pair, her with her perfect Instaglam and him with his blue lipstick and smudged liner, but with the two of them pressed together like this, it’s easy to tell that this Kym is another cousin. Same eyes, same brow, same inky black hair, she looks exactly like Percy, only whiter.

Satisfied with her selfie, it’s only then that she notices Annabeth staring at her. “And you are?”

Percy sighs, rubbing his eye. “Kym, this is Annabeth. Annabeth, this is my sister Kymopoleia.”

Kym does not reach out her hand. “And what do you do?”

Thalia, from nowhere, slings an arm over Annabeth’s shoulder, whisky in hand. “Nothing that would interest you, leech.”

“I’m an architect,” Annabeth offers.

“My friend studies at Bartlett, in London. Did you go there?” Kym asks.

“No,” Annabeth says, biting back an automatic retort about Bartlett’s global ranking in Forbes. Ninth in the world, not even top five.

Kym curls her lip a little, like she knew what Annabeth would have said anyway. “What have you designed? Anything I would know?”

“She designs community gardens and stages for festivals.” Thalia says.

“Oh, so not a real architect, then.”

“The Man doesn’t have to approve of something to make it real. No, her name isn’t on file in some state office. She’s an anarchist architect.” Thalia says. Annabeth bits back a line of her own retorts.

Kym sniffs again. “Thrilling.” Then she turns back to Percy, writing her off entirely. “Perseus, it was lovely to see you again—will you be coming to Santorini this year?”

“Depends on my rehearsal schedule.” The words sound very rehearsed. He’s said this exact phrase a lot.

“Well get that sorted out! You know how mother likes her itineraries.”

He nods, beleaguered. “As soon as I can, promise.”

“See that you do.” Then with a final kiss on Percy’s cheek, off she flounces, disappearing into the dirty, grungy crowd, leaving silence in her wake like the wreckage after a storm.

“Okay,” says Annabeth.

Percy sighs, turning to the bar to order his own drink.

“Sorry about that,” says Nico. “If I had known she was coming, I swear I would have told you.”

“You can’t just go around saying the word ‘cousin,’ Annabeth,” says Thalia, returning to her own space. “It’s like Beetlejuice. Say it three times and you summon one of Percy’s douchey relatives.”

“They’re your relatives, too.”

Thalia scoffs. “Barely.”

“Oh yeah?” asks Percy. “How’s Hercules?”

“Hopefully dead.”

“At least he doesn’t show up out of the blue in wildly incongruous places,” Nico points out.

Percy takes a pull of his drink, and Annabeth does not watch his neck as he swallows. “Yeah, what was up with that? Since when has Kym been into goth rock?”

“That’s what I said!”

“She’s planning something,” Thalia mutters, glaring angrily into her drink. “I don’t know what it is, but she’s planning something.”

“So, I’m guessing this isn’t usually her scene?” Annabeth asks.

“Art is her scene,” Thalia replies, gesturing widely, nearly smacking someone in the shoulder. “The whole of the New York art world.”

Looking back around to the half-lit bar full of badly dressed goths, she thinks maybe calling this the “art world” might be a little bit generous.

“She’s kind of like an art world barometer,” says Percy. “Wherever she goes, the critics follow—like little baby ducklings.”

“Too bad she’s a fucking snob about it.” Thalia tosses back the rest of her drink, slamming the glass down on the wood, signaling for another with a toss of her head.

“Shame she has such good taste,” Nico muses.

“She has such good taste!” Despite her bravado, Thalia is absolutely a tiny bit of a lightweight, the whisky already going to her head, slurring her speech just a little. “Whole fucking family’s so goddammed good at art.”

“Not the whole family,” says Percy, shaking his head. “Kym can’t make art, she just appreciates it, like Jason. And Triton can’t do either.”

Annabeth has never seen Thalia so much as draw a picture or pick a song at karaoke, but she had been left out of Percy’s little list. In all Annabeth’s years of knowing Thalia, she never even thought that it had bothered her. “I mean,” she says, “if you like art, you could—”

As one, Nico and Percy both shake their heads. Insistently. Violently.

Staring at her empty glass, Thalia doesn’t notice. Nico replaces hers with his half-finished one, and Thalia drinks without missing a beat. “What about you?” she turns to Annabeth, blue eyes wide. That’s another thing that the cousins all have in common; their eyes are a variety of colors, but they’re all the same wide, almond shape, made more pronounced with heavy, grungy liner. “Got any artistic cousins?”

“No,” she says, wondering how little she can get away with saying. “I only have one, and he’s not.”

Everyone stares at her.

She capitulates, just a little. “His partner is an artist,” she offers. “Alex is a sculptor.”

Percy looks at her, half-smile on his face. “What does your cousin do if he isn’t an artist?”

His question makes it sound like there are only two types of people in the world to him: artists and non-artists. Given that Annabeth had been sketching buildings since the time she had the dexterity to hold a crayon, it might be true. “He’s in med school,” she says, “fourth year, at Harvard.”

“Ew.” He wrinkles his nose.

“Okay, smartass,” she says, “you talk to your podiatrist like that?”

“You still fucking that med student?” Thalia asks Nico.

“Dating him, actually.”

“What’s the difference?”

“Dinner,” Nico says. “Sometimes lunch. This is going to shock you, but you can actually spend time with the people you sleep with, and even develop feelings for them.”

They glare at each other for a long moment, then, as one, turn and glare at Percy.

“No,” he says, “I am not getting in between this.”

Nico, somehow, glares even harder. “Come on, you’re—”

“I’m not talking about this,” Percy says, his face a hard mask, lips set firmly in a frown.

For the first time ever, it occurs to Annabeth that this ballet dancer could be scary if he wanted to be.

That is… so not a problem.

The cousins continue glaring at each other, the family telepathy practically brimming with unspoken pasts. A part of her really, really wants to hear where it’s going. She wants to know what Percy’s feelings are on romance, just to make sure that they are on the same page. Casual sex, fun nights, the occasional concert—that’s where they are now. If the arrangement is going to change, she’s going to need to know about it.

Then, the lights flicker, dimming. A roar takes over the crowd, and when Annabeth can see again, Pluto’s Daughter is onstage.

There’s no introduction, no greeting, the band diving right into their first number, an intense, high-octane whirlwind of drums and bass and screaming. Percy screams right alongside them, hands raised and jumping, Nico and Thalia close behind, every unintelligible lyric learned by heart. Even Annabeth can’t help but get swept up in it, her typical aloofness melting away into the crowd.

It really is a great show.

“That was amazing!” Annabeth is almost breathless at the end of it. Her throat feels raw, like sandpaper, her cheeks aching from smiling.

Percy hands her one of those little plastic cups of water, knocking his own back like a shot, wiping his mouth with his knuckles. “Aren’t they awesome?”

“I had no idea you were such a fan,” she says. “Your Spotify Wrapped must be a mess.”

“I like all music,” he replies, glib. “Even rap and country.”

“Oh, how well-rounded of you.”

“But Pluto’s Daughter is special,” he says. “You know the drummer is my cousin?”

“Very funny.”

“No, really,” says Percy. “Hazel is Nico’s half-sister.”

She blinks at him. “You have too many cousins.”

He just laughs, throwing his head back. “Tell that to our parents.”

Whatever else he might have said gets lost as a small bundle of leather and fishnet emerges from the crowd, launching herself at Percy. “You came!” cries the drummer for Pluto’s Daughter--Hazel. “Oh, I’m so happy you came!”

In stark, stark opposition to how he had been Kym, Percy swings his little cousin around in a big hug. He probably has close to a foot on her, even in her black platform boots, their broad smiles so uncharacteristic in such a dour crowd. Annabeth hadn’t been able to get a good look at her up on stage, but now she’s flush with adrenaline, her dark skin glistening with equal parts sweat and glitter, baby hairs escape from the artful crown of bantu knots, septum ring shining in the dim light of the bar.

“Of course I came,” says Percy, somehow still hugging her. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“Ms. Hazel Levesque!” Thalia crows, well and truly wasted. “There’s my gal!” And she rushes over to join them, almost bowling them both over.

A truly affectionate Thalia is rare, like a four-leaf clover or snow on Christmas. It does happen on occasion, if she’s gotten enough sleep or enough to drink, but the moment is usually fleeting, meant to be treasured, kept close to the heart. Annabeth can count the number of times Thalia has been sweet to her on one hand--never cruel, or mean, but just… brusque. Sarcastic. And yeah, sometimes mean, but never in a demeaning way. Just in a Thalia way. It’s one of the many, many things she loves about her.

The only downside to affectionate Thalia right now is that it leaves her alone with Nico.

She doesn’t not like Nico, she just doesn’t really know him. He’s swaying a little, not dangerously so, just vibing to the noise and the booze he’s already had.

“Hey,” he says, lurching over to her. “Got a question for you.”

“Okay?”

“I was. Working on those permits. For your show.” He waves a hand. “Whatever. You know that stage set up for that show in the West Village last winter?"

The first time she had met Nico, Annabeth and Thalia had been helping out one of her friends with their outdoor theater, and had needed a little legal assistance with getting the venue all squared away, as they were technically trespassing on some private property. It was nice to flex her creative muscles, though. She didn’t always get the chance these days.

She nods. “Yeah?”

"Your New York State architect license was on the paperwork."

Annabeth's blood runs cold.

Swallowing away her anxiety, she takes another sip of her water, hoping he’s too buzzed to notice. "What, was I supposed to try and impress Kym with my license?"

Nico snorts. "God, no.” Taking another sip of his drink, he goes to hug his sister, and Annabeth quietly berates herself for not taking care of that sooner.

Yes, her license is still on file with the state, because it’s so much more convenient to leave it like that, rather than let it lapse and reapply every time she has to do something bigger than a birdbath in a tiny community garden, and being registered still means she has access to the network and can apply for certain grants and it always looks good on her portfolio and she didn’t think the two worlds would ever collide, especially not in a place where Thalia, of all people, would ever find out--

“So,” says Percy, sidling back over to her. “Working on anything good?”

She blinks, the spiral of her thoughts coming to a screeching halt. “Huh?”

“Any cool projects on the docket?”

Projects. Right. “Sorta in between projects right now,” she says, tapping her fingers against the bar. “I finished up that community garden a couple months ago, now I’m just… waiting for the next thing coming along.”

He nods. “I feel that. The precarity’s a bitch, isn’t it.”

“Totally. Almost makes you want to work a 9 to 5 just for job security, right?”

“Absolutely not,” he says. “Wouldn’t give up ballet for the world. I could never work in an office; sitting for so long might actually kill me.”

It might--even now he can’t help but move, shifting around on heel to toe and back again. Everything about him is about movement. Even an office where everyone was on their feet, like hers had been, wouldn’t have been enough for Percy Jackson, she thinks.

“What about you?” he asks. “How would you fair in an office?”  

“Been there, done that,” she says, before she can even think it through.

“Really?” She sees him scan her. Normally when he does that, he’s thinking of her without her clothes on, but now, she’s pretty sure he’s thinking of the ink that runs up and down her legs, and how that might all look forced into some sort of pencil skirt.

 "Once upon a time,” she says.

 “Was that before or after you decided to become an anarchist architect?”

Long after she decided to become an architect, but before anything about an anarchist crossed her mind, though her freshman Poli Sci professor, or maybe that sophomore philosophy TA, would probably argue that she isn’t actually an anarchist now. “Before,” she says. “I once tried to be very very different.” Tried and failed, oh so very spectacularly.

 “How so?”

She looks at him for a moment. There are layers of mystery that need to be upheld. But she can’t spill her life’s story to Percy after only a few weeks of knowing him, no matter how easy and disarming he may be. She isn’t that girl anymore, and she doesn’t want people to know she ever was. Especially not these people: Thalia, Percy, Nico, even Hazel, who she hasn’t properly met. She can see, standing here, how very genuine and clear they are about themselves. They probably have actual skeletons in their closets, real, agonizing pasts, so much worse than her own.

She doesn’t want them to know she had an honest to god debutante ball. Murder would be vastly preferable. But still, Percy’s eyes are so bright, even in the dark light. His smile is so non-judgmental.

“I used to dream about adding to the skyline,” she says, eventually, “designing something so cool and so fresh that even after I died, everyone would look up and they would know my name.” For a second she thinks he might actually understand. And then she remembers Kym, and his utter distaste for his own sister, whose friend had only managed to get into Bartlett. “But I realized that kind of ego wasn't going to do me any good. And office work wasn’t going to take me anywhere I wanted to go.”

That bruise to her ego still stings, on occasion. That, and the loss of the only thing she’d ever wanted as much as something permanent. They were separate dreams, really, but two years ago, in that little Upper East Side café, they had seemed like one and the same. Failing so spectacularly in one had felt like she might as well throw in the towel about the other.

Percy in blue lipstick, eye liner, and a very tight shirt makes her think it might have been the right choice.

Maybe.

Possibly.

Assuming she never got another call. Though after that award she and Leo got earlier this year…

No, she reminds herself. She shouldn’t dream big anymore. She wasn’t going to get there, and she had to be ok with that.

He smiles, lopsided, sympathetic. “I know what you mean. Like, after so many amazing dancers, you have to be crazy to think that you can add something to the canon, something that’s never been done before. But here we are.”

“Here we are indeed.” She clinks her glass against his, and they drink.

He finishes with a long gasp, licking his lips.

“Wanna go be somewhere else?” she asks.

“Damn right I do,” he says, grabbing her hand, lacing her fingers together with his.

An hour or so and a few orgasms each later, they lie side by side on Percy’s bed, soft and sweaty.

“So your sister is kind of… intense,” Annabeth says.

Percy snorts so hard, Annabeth can feel it vibrating into her. “Yeah. That’s a word for it.”

“What was it like, growing up with her?”

“Oh, I didn’t grow up with her. I grew up here with my mom; she grew up in Athens with our father.”

“In Athens? Cool.” She’d done a study abroad in Rome, but she’d never made it out to Athens like she had wanted. Too much Pantheon, not enough Parthenon. “Have you ever been?”

He screws up his face, thinking cutely. “A few times. They’re not… great memories, exactly. In retrospect, it’s nice that my dad wanted me to feel included, but bringing his mistress’ kid on the annual family vacation to Santorini probably wasn’t his brightest idea.”

Annabeth’s eyes shoot up to her hairline. “Wow.”

“Kym was actually always pretty cool about it,” he continues, thoughtfully. “She likes to pretend she’s this ice queen alpha bitch type, but she’s got a secret soft spot. And my dad’s wife eventually came around--she even sends me a birthday card each year. My half-brother, though.” Percy blows out a breath. “He’s always been a douchebag.”

Dropping a kiss to his bare shoulder, she squeezes him. There’s a story there, but she knows better than anyone about not wanting to talk about bad family relationships. Percy likes Kym, though, and that makes her safe territory. “Tell me more about Kym. You said she was some kind of art collector or something?”

“No, she’s not a collector.” Percy bites his lip, considering. “It’s kind of hard to explain. I guess you could say that she’s, like… a professional socialite?”

Annabeth sits up, squinting down at Percy. “Are you trying to tell me that your sister is a courtesan?”

He sputters, completely taken by surprise, choking on his inhale. After thirty seconds, Annabeth is afraid she’s going to have to try CPR, before Percy starts to calm down. “No,” he wheezes, coughing. “No, she’s not a courtesan.”

“So, what does a ‘professional socialite’ even do?”

“You know, she… socializes.” Percy waves a hand in front of him. “She goes to parties, meets people, facilitates meetings--she socializes.”

Annabeth frowns. “What does that even mean?”

“I literally don’t know how else to explain it to you.”

“What, is she a spy?”

He opens his mouth to argue, then pauses. “Not… technically.”

“Not technically?”

“Think more corporate, less political.”

Okay, now she’s even more confused. “Huh?”

Percy sighs. “My dad runs this big shipping company that does business all over the Mediterranean. Pretty much the whole family works for him in some way: Triton is some kind of assistant executive, and Kym and my step-mom do, you know, outreach or fundraising or whatever.”

She’s silent for a moment, collecting the information presented to her. “Is this some kind of mob thing?”

He grimaces. “Maybe we should change the subject.”

“Is your dad a mob boss, Percy?” Objectively, she knows that the mob is a terrible organization responsible for many different types of atrocities, but honestly, the idea is kind of exciting, Annabeth hooking up with the secret lovechild of a mob boss. It’s romantic and sexy in a film noir kind of way.

“No, he just--does some light smuggling. I think.”

“How does one engage in ‘light’ smuggling?”

“Okay, so his business is totally legitimate, but he may also smuggle art on the side. Or oil. Or both. I don’t know and I’ve been told never to ask.”

And she thought her family was weird. She tells him as much. “That’s wild.”

“Honestly? That’s not even the wildest thing about my family.”

She flops back down on the bed, already exhausted. “Percy, I don’t know how many more revelations about your mob family I can take.”

“They’re not part of the mob!” He laughs. “But,” he smirks, looming over her with a familiar desire, “I can neither confirm nor deny that I had to swear a blood oath to the family when I turned eighteen.”

Rolling her eyes, she still easily submits to the heady feeling of his lips on hers, tilting her head back as he travels down her neck. “Okay, I did not sign up for any Don Corleone bullshit.”

“But you’d make such a great mob wife. Though we would have to kill the rest of my immediate family.”

Annabeth giggles, only partly at the ticklish feeling of his lips between her breasts. “I’d help you kill your douchey half-brother any day.”

He glances up at her from her belly button, long lashes fluttering. “That is legitimately one of the nicest things anyone has ever said to me. Full disclosure, Thalia has already called dibs.”

“That’s fair.” Then she pushes his head down further. “Now get to work, Godfather.”

#IT'S ALIVE #my fic #percabeth #pjo #the rivalry ends here #honesty and promise me #darkmagyk #we took a detour to 15th century europe but we're back babeyyy

[what-is-your-plan-today]

Stark Spangled Banner Ch 61: Proof Tony Stark Has A Heart

Intro The Time Heist worked, but at a cost. Natasha gave her life for the Soul Stone. Following a promise to make her sacrifice worth something, the Avengers continued their plan and succeeded in reversing the Snap. But along with everyone else, the biggest threat the Avengers have ever faced re-appeared. 

Thanos.

Now Steve and Katie, along with the rest of their team are locked in a fearsome battle, between light and dark, life and death. Simply put, it’s a battle which they cannot afford to lose because they’re in the Endgame now…

Warnings: “Language!” 

Major angst- get the tissues ready.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x OFC Katie Stark

Stark Spangled Banner Masterlist

 “Hey.” A deep voice roused Katie from her thoughts and she looked up to see Bucky walk into the kitchen wearing a pair of black sweats and a red Henley. “I would ask if you were ok but it’s a stupid question.” “I appreciate the sentiment.” she smiled at him. “Coffee is fresh, just don’t tell Steve I’ve been drinking it. He’ll only bitch and moan about caffeine being bad for the baby.” Bucky smiled “My lips are sealed.” he said, helping himself to a mug from the cupboard before he made himself a drink. He sat down opposite his best friend’s wife and just took her in for a moment. Her long hair was piled on top of her head in a messy bun, she looked pale and tired. He couldn’t help but feel a pang of sympathy for her and how much she was going through. Finding out you’re pregnant again, with a baby you lost whilst having to come to terms with the death of your brother, the brother you had long since thought of as a father can’t be easy for anyone. He took a sip of his drink and leaned forward slightly “So how are you really feeling?”

She looked at him for a moment before she took a deep breath “If I’m honest, lost.” She sniffed slightly as her eyes filled with tears. "All my life Tony has been there and the thought now that he's not, and never will be again..." she wiped at her face "You know Buck, for the last week I've felt like I've been in a bad dream but yesterday, getting that message and today...it just makes it so real, so final you know?" Bucky smiled softly and reached over the table to squeeze her hand. "You'll get through this. I know all things considered we haven't really known each other that long but I do know you're made of strong stuff." "I don't feel like it at the moment." Katie said gently. "You have to be to put up with Stevie.” he joked, making her give a watery chuckle. “Just remember you're not on your own.”  "I know." Katie said, her eyes brimming with tears "and Steve's been amazing, he really has...you all have." "He ain't bad for a punk." Bucky smiled making her chuckle slightly as he let go of her hand. "Talking about me again?" Steve's warm voice hit her ears and she glanced up, smiling at him as he leaned on the door frame, arms crossed, the fact he was dressed almost identically to his friend only with a blue Henley made her smile. "Yes" Bucky nodded. Steve rolled his eyes and pushed off the frame. He crossed the room and dropped a kiss to Katie's head before his hand gently brushed her face.

"Its early doll." he said, gently tipping her face to look up at him. “You were so tired last night.” "Yeah I woke about an hour ago and couldn't get back to sleep." She shrugged.

Steve looked at her for a second, he’d much rather she’d have lay in for an extra hour or so, all things considered but he knew she would be stressing about today so there wasn’t any point in dwelling on it.

"You want any breakfast?" he asked her, dropping his hand back to his hip. "Not really but yes, before you say it I know I have to eat." She said softly. "French toast?" He asked and she pondered for a moment. He knew that was her favourite breakfast. And she knew that he knew. "We got any strawberries?" She asked eventually, with a faint smile.

He nodded. ”What’s French toast without the fruit?” "Wait..." Bucky said, pointing at Steve "you're cooking?"

"And?" Steve looked at him.

"The last time I remember you trying to do that you nearly burnt the flat down and my mom banned you from ever trying again” he looked at Katie “She insisted on making him food parcels!" 

"He’s actually pretty good." Katie said, and Steve grinned at her praise, flipping Bucky off with a smug grin. "makes a wicked carbonara but breakfasts are his speciality. Jamie loves his pancakes, says they're better than mine"

"I had a good teacher." Steve said, shooting her a wink before he crossed to the cupboard and pulled out the brioche.

"Think I'll go grab a shower before the kids wake up." Katie said, pushing her chair out, her hand falling to her stomach "and before this little bean realises I'm awake and makes me puke my guts up again."

Steve watched her go before he sighed and moved to the fridge to grab the eggs.

"She'll be ok Steve." Bucky assured him "Today's gonna be hard but she’s got everyone around her."

"She should be taking it easy." Steve sighed "she had a rough time with sickness and tiredness when she was pregnant with Jamie up until the 6 month mark and this stress can’t be good for either of them…"

He trailed off as Emmy walked into the kitchen, yawning, pulling her long brown hair into a braid. "Morning sweetie, you want some French toast?" Steve asked as she moved to give her dad a hug, still half asleep. She nodded and made an appreciative noise before she turned to grab the orange juice from behind him in the fridge. Pouring a glass she sat at the table and said good morning to Bucky before she picked up the remote.

The three of them instantly looked at the screen when a familiar voice hit their ears. "Tony Stark was a good man..." Secretary Ross was speaking to the journalist "I had the privilege to know him well. He had th-" At that Emmy turned the channel over. "Dick" she mumbled under her breath. Bucky caught Steve's eye, the pair of them sharing a grin, Steve choosing not to chastise her for her language.

“Good morning to you too!” Sam grinned as he walked into the kitchen. Emmy looked at him before she chuckled.

“Not you, Ross.” “Ah. Well, no arguments from me there” Sam said, heading to the coffee pot.

“Katie punched him you know.” Steve said, deciding to interject a little bit of light heartedness into the morning. All 3 of them turned to face him as Sam let out a snort.

“Why am I not surprised?”

Steve raised his eyebrows, the corner of his mouth curling up into a smile. 

“Well, come on Pops, tell us!” Emmy urged.

“It was just after the snap. Katie went with Rhodey to give President Ellis a briefing. She had a disagreement with Ross, pointing out that the accords had meant the Avengers hadn’t been together which had weakened us, and then as she was leaving he made some snarky comment about passing on his regards to me so she gave him a right hook, a pretty good one too according to Rhodey.” Sam and Bucky both exchanged a look, Sam nodding in approval, a grin split across his face. “Nice.”

“You know…” Bucky looked at him, “The more I hear and see of your Mrs, the more I think I’m in love with her myself.”

Steve rolled his eyes and started to whisk the obscene number of eggs he had placed in the bowl. By the time he had finished making everyone breakfast, Katie was back at the table in a towel robe, hair damp, having brought Jamie down. No sooner had Steve placed her plate of food in front of her, she was up again, running to the downstairs bathroom to throw up.

“Is Momma ok?” Jamie asked, looking at Steve who smiled at him.

“She’s fine pal, the new baby is just making her a little bit sick, that’s all. Nothing to worry about.”

Jamie looked back at the door his mom had disappeared through before he picked up his fork and began to dig into the chopped up French toast and fruit that was on his plate.

Katie wandered back in a few minutes later and sat back at the table, pinching the bridge of her nose. Steve watched as she pushed her food around her plate for a bit, before she took a few bites. Satisfied that she was eating something he tucked into his own.

Once breakfast was done the house was a flurry of activity as people got ready. Katie, having already showered, simply had to fix her hair and make-up. She set Jamie’s outfit out for him and Emmy offered to help him dress to give her chance to get herself sorted, which she was grateful for. “Stevie…” Katie asked him as he stood in front of the mirror, doing his tie “Can you zip me up please?”

His fingers fell to the zipper of her black dress and he softly pulled it up to the collar, dropping a kiss to her neck as his arms wrapped around her waist, hands flattening on her stomach.

“No bump yet.” he said softly and she smiled.

“I’ll be fat again soon enough.” she said, her hands falling over his.

“I can’t wait.” he grinned at her and she caught his eye in the mirror and snorted.

“I swear you have some kind of breeding kink.” “What?” he frowned “I’ve no-“ “It means you get off on the thrill of getting me pregnant, seeing me pregnant…” He hesitated before he shrugged “Not as such, I just love you and love the fact my baby is in there.” he said, pulling her back so she was pressed into him slightly. “I loved the changes I saw last time…” “You’re only hoping my boobs get bigger again.” she teased and he smiled, arching an eyebrow.

“Can you blame me?” he asked and she shook her head.

“Captain Sex Fiend is a pervert, who knew?” she said before she turned in his arms and straightened the knot on his tie slightly, smoothing her hands down her chest. She took a deep breath and looked up at him. “I’m scared Steve.”

Instantly understanding he pulled her closer, his arms wrapping around her back “Don’t be. I’ll be right there ok? It’ll be over soon enough.”

“The funeral might be.” Katie sighed “but I’m not sure losing him will ever be over.” “You’re right it won’t” Steve said, and she looked at him “It’s almost 90 years since my ma died, ok, granted most of them I was on ice for but she died when I was 18. There’s still not a day goes past where I don’t think about her or miss her.”

He brushed a strand of hair that had fallen loose from her bun out of her face and smiled softly. “But it does get easier. It never goes away completely, the pain of losing them I mean, but I promise you will one day be able to look back at Tony and be happy that he was your brother and such a big part of your life.”

He placed a gentle kiss onto her lips before a loud shout from the hallway told them the car had arrived. They made their way downstairs and Katie smiled at Jamie who was dessed in a black suit almost identical to Steve’s.

“Look at my handsome, little man.” Katie beamed at him, dropping a kiss to his head.

“Here.” Steve tossed the keys to his Audi to Bucky, who caught them effortlessly in his right hand. There was a car booked to bring them home from the Stark’s lake house at 6 that evening but he had a feeling Katie would want to leave before then. He knew she’d be tired and emotional and just want to be home with family so this way it meant they could leave earlier if they needed to, and Bucky and Sam could do what they wanted.

“See you there.” Bucky nodded to Steve who smiled at his friends as they left.  

*****

It was busy outside the Cathedral. The surrounding street and road had been shut off and the sidewalks around the temporary barriers were packed with members of the public and press as they all clamoured round. Katie found the whole thing hideous, and her hand tightened on Steve’s as the car pulled to a stop just outside the building.

“I don’t know if I can do this…” she said gently, and he turned to look at her. She was chewing her lip and shaking slightly. He glanced back at Emmy who was on the row behind.

“Em, take Jamie in ok. We’ll be there in a second.” She nodded “Come on short stuff.” she said, as someone opened the door for them. Jamie looked at his dad for a moment but Steve nodded and he followed Emmy, slipping his hand into hers as they headed into the building, Bucky and Sam both meeting them by the door.

“Give us a second.” Steve said to the man who had opened their door and he nodded, gently closing it.

“Look at me.” Steve said, turning to his wife and she glanced up at him, her eyes wide and frightened. “I know this is daunting, but you just gotta get through this bit. As soon as this is over, then it’s back to the lake house and there’ll be none of this or them around.” he waved his hand gesturing outside.

“I can’t…” “Yes, you can.” he said softly “Baby, you’re the strongest person I know. And you’re not on your own, I got you. If it starts getting to much in there you just let me know and I’ll get you out, I promise, ok?”

Katie took a deep breath and looked at her husband as he gently cupped her face in his hand, stroking her cheek with his thumb. She had to do this, she had to. And she knew Steve would look after her. With a deep breath she nodded and he dropped a soft kiss to her lips before he turned and opened the door.

The minute she was out of the cars the cameras started flashing and she gripped Steve’s hand even tighter. He moved so his arm was around her, pulling her close, almost shielding her if you will as he walked purposefully through the gates and into the Cathedral Grounds, his eyes not once looking round. In a few seconds they were through the gates and mostly out of the way of the public and he felt Katie relax a little as she let out the breath she had been holding when Jamie ran to her, wrapping his arms round her legs.

“Momma, I just met the Priest. He says his name is James too!” “Wow!” Katie smiled down at her son “Only the best people are called James.” “So that’s me, Uncle Bucky and the Priest!” he said, ticking them off on his small fingers, beaming at her. She gave a soft chuckle as he slipped his hand into hers. It wasn’t long before the funeral party arrived, Pepper and Morgan climbing out of the first car with Happy, the Hearst behind carried her Brother’s coffin. Katie smiled as she saw it was adorned with a wreath of greenery and country wild flowers which, in the centre, boasted the first Arc Reactor he had developed, which Pepper had framed for him all those years ago. ‘Proof Tony Stark has a heart’ was engraved on the metal halo surrounding it. It had been Pepper’s idea of a joke at the time, but Tony had insisted on keeping it by his desk ever since she gave it to him.

As Steve, Rhodey, Clint and Happy all stepped forward to take a corner of the coffin each, Bruce moved behind them, one large hand resting on the back. Katie took hold her Emmy’s hand in her spare one, and the 3 of them followed on behind Pepper and Morgan, heading into the Cathedral as the familiar sounds of “Drops of Jupiter” by Train hit their ears.

Steve’s eyes were already misting over by the time he was halfway down the aisle. Saying goodbye to people you loved never got any easier. And he had loved Tony, as a friend and a brother. He hadn’t been perfect, none of them were, and at times he had really tested Steve’s patience. But he had been a good man. Always doing right by the people he cared about. As they placed the coffin down, he heard Rhodey give a little chuckle. He glanced over at him and he gestured to the picture of Tony that was on the table and as Steve looked at it he couldn’t help but laugh. It was a picture of Tony, giving the thumbs up to someone in what looked like a court room, Rhodey in the back ground looking utterly exasperated.

“It was a senate hearing.” Rhodey whispered “He had just goaded Stern into telling him to go eff himself…”

“Why am I not surprised?” Steve smiled, as he moved to stand in the space next to Katie, who had Jamie settled on her hip, Emmy at her other side. He gave her a gentle squeeze around the shoulder and then they were told to sit down.

Katie couldn’t tell you what hymns were sung, despite the fact she had a hand in picking them, or what readings Rhodey and Banner read out. She was in a daze, until the time came (far too soon for her liking) for her to give the Eulogy.

Steve took Jamie off her knee and leaned over “You got this.” he said gently, kissing her cheek as she stood up and made her way, chin raised with as much dignity as she could manage, up the 4 steps to the pulpit.

“You know…” She coughed and cleared her throat. “I agonised for days over what to say here, stood in front of you all, and not to mention the many, many people watching outside. I trashed about 50 different sheets of paper because not one speech I wrote could ever do Tony justice. So, in the end I decided to go with the Stark favoured tradition, the one he started, and wing it…” she took a deep breath and looked out at the heaving Cathedral before she turned her attention to the front 3 rows which contained the people she loved and knew.

“From the day our Parents died Tony took on the role of being my brother, my father and my mother, which for a 21 year old party animal is no mean feat. Not to mention the fact he had to get to grips with running a company as well. But he did it. And he did it well, I think. I mean I turned out ok, although my kids and husband might have something to say about that.” Chuckles rang out over the congregation and she paused, waiting for them to die down.

“I never wanted for anything as a child. I was incredibly lucky, I had so many opportunities others could only dream of. But if there was one thing Tony taught me, it was that I had to earn it. Ironic, yes given that we had more money than even he knew what to do with, but he made me understand that hard work pays off. And that’s something that has stuck with me today. Everything is earned, bar love. My brother loved me unconditionally, and I him. Even though he was a pain in the proverbial to live with at times.”

Pepper smiled at this and looked down at her hand which was wrapped around Morgan’s. To her right sat Happy who was also smiling. On the row behind them Steve sat with Jamie on his knee and Emmy to his right. He smiled up at his wife encouragingly, his chest bursting with pride at how well she was conducting herself.

“There was no Boarding School for me. After spending most of his Childhood in one he vowed never to do the same to me or any of his kids, and for that I’ll be eternally grateful.” Katie said sincerely, and she was. “I grew up in an unconventional, yet oh so loving environment. Yes, Tony was a party animal, I mean I lost track of the amount of times Pepper had to ‘take out the trash’…”

At that Pepper, Rhodey and Happy all laughed out loud at the little inside joke.

“But he was on the most discreet, until I got a little older that is and it became a running joke between us all. I can’t actually remember him ever introducing me to a serious girlfriend bar Pepper so congratulations Pep, you truly did tame Tony Stark.”

Katie bit her lip slightly as she felt herself wobble at the next set of words that formed in her mind.

“When I was a Kid, to me Tony was fun. He used to wrestle monsters under my bed with the Monster Killing machine, aka the Vacuum. He used to build ridiculous forts in the living room that would remain there for days during school holidays where we would hide out, eat pizza, junk and play games. He took me to Disney Land, to the Beach, to Aquariums, on holidays that were ridiculously elaborate. I was an extremely lucky little girl.  But then, when I got older, he stopped simply being my fun bigger brother and became my friend as well. When I passed my driving test we would regularly just go for drives to a Starbucks that was like 10 miles away, just so we could spend time on the open road and sing like idiots as loud as we could. He held my hair back whilst I puked up after my first Keg Party aged 17. At 21 he took me to Vegas for the first time when I had graduated.” another pause and a deep breath “But then I got older still, and he morphed from being this friend and big brother person into a true father figure and I knew one day he would make a spectacular dad, something which was proven more recently when he welcomed his own daughter, Morgan into the world”

Steve watched as Katie rubbed her temple with her right hand, her left shifting down to her stomach, and she gave a sharp intake of breath before she looked at him and gave him a soft smile. Jamie waved at her and she wiggled her fingers back before she looked back up and over at the congregation.

“It breaks my heart when I think that he will never see Morgan start school or graduate from college. He’ll never have the chance to embarrass her awfully in-front of her friends in the many, many ways he could. He��ll never be sat, waiting with an Iron Man suit when the first boyfriend makes an appearance. He’ll never walk her down the aisle. All the things he did for me in his role as my father and I feel so guilty to have experienced those moments with him, whilst Morgan will never get the chance. We’ll all do our best to keep his memories alive but, as I know from experience, there’s only so much memories can do.”

And now she was beginning to break, and Steve could see the tears shining in her eyes, even before the first one fell. Her voice was thick when she spoke again.

“What has happened over the past 5 years in particular just serves as a reminder to us all that life is fragile. The time we have on this Earth is already short and we can’t lose sight of what matters the most. Friends, family, those who know us inside out and still love us all the same. You know, Steve said something to me before that really struck a chord. Everyone says that time is a great healer, but it isn’t. You just learn to live with the new normal. It doesn’t stop you hurting, doesn’t stop you yearning for the ones you miss, the ones you love.”

She wiped at her face with both hands and took a shaky breath, and Steve willed her with everything he had to keep it together, just for the last few words she had to say.

“And we lost 2 people in our bid to bring everyone back. My brother and Natasha Romanoff, Black Widow. One of the bravest, most loyal, kind and beautiful people, inside and out that I had the honour of knowing. And now I urge you all do something with your second chances so that that their decision to give their lives so everyone could get theirs back wasn’t in vain. Make the most of the time you have been given, the people that have been returned to you. Grab the opportunities you can, with the people you love. Go on those trips, have that wine, eat that cheeseburger…”

She was now crying freely as she stole herself for her last line, looking at Steve who was handing Jamie over to Emmy and rising to his feet, ready to help her down as he knew she’d be shaky. “Iron Man wasn’t a hero.” she shook her head as she looked out over the large Cathedral, her vision blurred from her tears. “No, it was the man behind the mask. My brother. Anthony Edward Stark- Billionaire, genius, playboy, philanthropist. Husband, Father, Brother, Friend.”

She stepped back from the podium, taking Steve’s hand shakily as he offered it to her, helping her down the steps.

 “I’m so proud of you.” he said softly in her ear, his own voice cracking with emotion as he kissed her temple, steering her back towards their seats. Jamie crawled onto her lap and kissed her cheek and she held her son tight, pressing her face into his soft, blonde hair as she desperately tried to quell the damn of sobs inside her that was threatening to burst out of her chest.

She made it through the rest of the ceremony, her hand tightly gripped round Steve’s but was beyond pleased when it was over. As the sounds of AC/DC “Back in Black”  rang around the Cathedral, those who knew Tony exchanged a grin, Jamie even doing a little jig in his dad’s arms as they headed outside.

“That was a beautiful speech.” Pepper smiled to Katie as they reached the courtyard, Steve taking Jamie over to speak to the priest as they boy was insisting. “He’d be so proud, you know that?”

“Thanks.” Katie nodded as she glanced at Morgan who was clinging to her mother’s leg. She had a sudden flashback to how she had done the same to Tony, hung on to him for dear life at their Parents’ funeral. Katie crouched down in front of her niece.

“Hey Moo, how are you feeling?”

"I miss dad," she whispered, her eyes watering up.

Katie tried desperately to keep her face from screwing up into a sob. "I miss him too, sweetie, I miss him a lot but you know something?” Morgan shook her head. “He’ll always be with you, with me, in here…” she tapped the spot over Morgan’s heart. “And we’ll have our special memories of how brave he was, how funny he was, how silly he was…and how much he loved us all, ok?”

Morgan nodded softly before she leaned forward and wrapped her arms around her Auntie’s neck.

"But he's not here," Morgan whispered and at that Katie did start to cry again as she held Morgan close, looking up and making eye contact with Pepper who was watching the two with a look of pure sadness on her face, her own tears coursing down her cheeks.

No," Katie took a shaky breath “He isn’t, and that…well, it just sucks. No one can replace your dad but your mom is here, so am I, Uncle Spangles, Uncle Rhodey and Uncle Happy. So many people are gonna look after you and love you and keep you safe, I promise you that from the bottom of my heart.”

******

They left the Cathedral and the Media Circus behind, heading upstate to Tony’s lake house home arriving little under an hour or so later. Now, the remaining Avengers plus Rhodey, Happy, Pepper and Morgan were sat in Tony’s living room, as instructed, whilst everyone waited outside for the final part of the day’s ceremony whereby Pepper was going to release the wreath containing the arc reactor onto the lake, only this one would be attended by friends, family and those who had worked with Tony only. No public, no press.

A few people in the room knew what was coming when the helmet's eye slits glowed with a bright white light, some didn’t. But no one jumped, they were that used to Tony’s theatrics that it didn’t come as a surprise.

A holographic Tony was pictured, sitting the wrong way around on a chair, elbows resting over the back of it and Katie realised he was wearing the same suit he had been wearing in the message he had left for her and Steve.

“So, err, hey!” Tony spoke, a smile flashing on his face. “I’m gonna keep this short, as we all know I don’t really like attention.” At that quiet laughter rang round the room and Steve dropped a hand onto Katie’s shoulder where she was sat on the couch, Jamie sat next to her, his hand wrapped around Morgan’ s.

“Everybody wants a happy ending, right? But it doesn't always roll that way. Maybe this time. I'm hoping if you play this back, it's in celebration. I hope families are reunited, I hope we get it back, and something like a normal version of the planet has been restored.”

Katie reached up and took hold of the fingers that were resting on her shoulder and they gave her hand a gentle, reassuring squeeze- I got you…

“If there ever was such a thing.” Tony said, scratching his chin “God, what a world. Universe, now. If you told me ten years ago that we weren't alone, let alone, you know, to this extent…” he shook his head “ I mean, I wouldn't have been surprised. But come on, you know? The epic forces of darkness and light that have come into play.”

Even in the hologram Steve could see the glint in Tony’s eyes, almost portraying the innocent wonder of a child that had discovered something exciting for the first time. “And, for better or worse, that's the reality Morgan and her cousins are gonna have to find a way to grow up in.”

Tony stilled slightly and his hand wiped over his mouth as he took a deep breath.

“So I thought I'd probably better record a little greeting... In the case of an untimely death” he gestured outwardly with his hand “…on my part. I mean, not that, death at any time isn't untimely. This time travel thing that we're gonna try and pull off tomorrow, it's– it's got me scratching my head about the survivability of it all. That's the thing.” Tony’s hand rest against his mouth for a moment, the way it always had when he had been contemplating something before he shrugged and continued “Then again, that's the hero gig. Part of the journey is the end.”

The end. At that Katie took a shuddering breath and her fingers tightened around Steve’s as Tony got up off his chair and walked towards the camera. “What am I even trippin' for? Everything's gonna work out exactly the way it's supposed to.” He leaned forward, hands on his knees and smiled, and then somehow, somehow that hologram looked directly at her “To the stars and back.” before it turned and looked straight at Morgan “I love you 3,000.”

The hologram faded, the eye sockets of the helmet died down, and for a horrible moment Katie was reminded of seeing the light of the Arc Reactor going out in Tony’s chest on the battle field, when she had seen the life drain from his eyes. She took a shaky breath and Steve dropped a kiss to the crown of her head.

“I err…” Pepper cleared her throat “Let’s set the wreath on the lake. Then we can all have a few drinks and make Tony the centre of attention at a party, just how he always was.”

“He always said he’d be the VIP at his own funeral.” Rhodey smiled, wiping his tears. 

They made their way outside, Pepper, carrying the wreath in one hand, headed up the line with Morgan followed by Rhodey and Happy, then Katie, Steve and their kids.

They reached the end of the jetty, and Pepper crouched besides Morgan and then she turned to look at Katie. Katie nodded to her, her eyes misting over, before she watched her sister-in-law and niece drop the wreath onto the lake. It landed with a soft splash and began to gently drift away in the wind. Steve stood with his arm round Katie, Jamie balancing on his other hip as he watched the wreath float into the lake. Katie lay her head against Steve’s shoulders, allowing her silent tears to fall.

Proof that Tony Stark has a heart.

Katie sniffed and raised her head slightly to glance at the people stood around, all saying their final good byes. Peter Parker, May Parker, Thor, Bruce Banner, Doctor Strange, Wong, Scott Lang, Hope Van Dyne, Janet Van Dyne, Hank Pym, Peter Quill, Nebula, Rocket, Groot, Drax, Mantis, T'Challa, Okoye, Shuri, Clint Barton & his family, Wanda, Bucky, Sam, a kid Pepper had introduced to her as Harley Keener who had helped him in Tennessee. Katie’s eyes narrowed as she saw Secretary Ross next but then she instantly felt herself smiling again as she saw Maria Hill, Carol Danvers, and finally Nick Fury. They were all people who had in some way or other loved, lived, laughed or fought alongside her brother, and seeing them today made her feel warm, just like she had at Natasha’s service. 

Katie smiled as she realised they were the real proof that Tony Stark had a heart. Them, and billions of other people who had been brought back to life thanks to his bravery. 

Eventually, in their own time, everyone drifted from the jetty but the Rogers family remained put a little longer, until the wreath had practically hit the middle of the lake when Jamie announced he was hungry. With a chuckle they all turned back towards the house and where the food was laid out, people already tucking in. 

Katie couldn’t tell you how long passed. But she found herself alone, simply watching Morgan and Jamie as they sat with Happy on the porch. She caught the words cheeseburgers and smiled to herself before a deep voice drew her attention.

“Little Stark.”

Katie turned and Thor pulled her forward into a strong yet gentle hug “I am…so very sorry I couldn’t…” “Stop.” She shook her head “There’s nothing to be sorry for. This was his choice.”

“I just wish I could have gotten the stones…” “Don’t torture yourself Thor.” she shook her head, “We’ve all done enough of that for the past 5 years.”

He sniffed and nodded, before looking out over the lake “I’m going travelling again.” he informed her “Back to space.” “Yeah?” she asked.

He nodded, “With the Guardians…we can be the…” he paused before he laughed “The Asgardians of the Galaxy…yes, I think I will suggest that to them.”

“I’m sure they’ll love it!” she grinned.

“I’m going to leave Valkyrie in charge…she doesn’t know it yet but she’s the natural one for the job” he concluded, nodding.

“I’m all for women in positions of power.” Katie smiled, “I’m sure she’ll be great.” “You’ll have to keep in touch with her, take the Captain and the Little Rogers…including the one you have on the way.” he looked at her, knowingly.

“How did you…” she began but he cut her off with a chuckle.

“I’m the god of Thunder.” he said simply “And I saw you holding your stomach before. I figured that Bruce’s snap had brought everything back after all.”

She smiled “Yeah, yeah it did. We just didn’t think it was right telling everyone, not until the funerals were out of the way.”

Thor nodded “I understand. Your secret is safe with me.” He gave her another hug before she pulled back, tears in her eyes knowing this was a goodbye.

“You will stay in touch, yeah?” “Of course.” he smiled, gently touching the side of her neck in a sign of affection. “Always Little Stark.”

And with that he turned and headed over the grass to the group of Guardians. Katie turned back to her son but suddenly a wave of nausea overtook her and she sprinted back into the house and into the bathroom.

Meanwhile Steve was stood with Bruce. Neither of them had meant to get into the discussion they were having at the moment but, well, it was inevitable really.

“We have to take them back.” Bruce said. “It’s been weighing on my mind for a while now…” “I know.” Steve said, his eyes straying to where Thor was talking to Katie. He turned back to the man and looked up at him. “How long do you think it will be before you can get it running?” “Well, now Hank Pym is back, Scott doesn’t think it will be a problem. They have a Quantum Tunnel we can extrapolate and plenty of particles so…we can even do it in a few different trips if needs be.”

Steve nodded. “Well do what you need to do, once it’s up and running we’ll formulate a proper plan.” Bruce nodded, and was about to speak again until a loud yell caught Steve’s attention.

“Daddy!” Jamie stood up, pointing to the house “The baby made momma sick again.”

There was a pause as pretty much everyone on the lawn turned to look at Steve who hung his head giving a groan that their 3 year old had effectively outed them to the entire funeral party.

“Baby?” Bruce said, before his eyes widened “You mean, the snap? It…” Steve nodded “We didn’t want anyone to know, not yet, the funerals and…” he sighed “Guess that ship just sailed.” Bruce’s eyes filled with tears “I’m glad…I concentrated so hard on everything…” “I know.” Steve said, laying his hand on his arm. “And thank you…but I gotta…” he jerked his thumb towards the house and strode across the lawn, ignoring the questioning looks he was getting. As he did so his son’s face changed from one full of concern to worry.

“Daddy are you mad?” he asked “Did I do something wrong?”

Steve cursed himself at being so easy to read. “No buddy, you didn’t.” he said, crouching down.

“Momma’s sick.” Jamie said again, this time urgently.

“I know, I’m gonna go find her and make sure she’s ok.” Steve assured him, “You stay here with Happy.”

He headed into the house and up to the bathroom, gently knocking on the door.

“Sweetheart?”

She opened the door and he looked at her, her face was streaked with tears and he sighed “C’mere…” he said, gently wrapping her up into a hug.

“I wanna go home Steve…” she sniffled “I’ve had enough, I’m so tired and…” “Then we’ll go.” he said, nodding, pulling away slightly to look at her. “And you can sleep as long as you want.”

She nodded. “Best say goodbye to everyone…” “Oh erm, yeah…you should know…Jamie just told everyone about the baby. He didn’t mean it but…” Katie let out a soft groan that almost turned into a chuckle as she pressed her forehead against Steve’s collar bone “To be honest I’m surprised he kept it quiet for so long.” “It’s probably my fault” Steve said as she wrapped her arms round his waist “I told him this morning when you were being sick that it was just the baby doing it so when he saw you run off before he just shouted to me that the baby had made you sick again.” “Well he’s not wrong.” She mumbled, pulling back. She looked up at her husband who smiled at her, his blue eyes soft. “Take me home Soldier.” she said, smiling softly.

“Yes Ma’am.” he smiled back, dropping a kiss to her forehead.

***** Later that night, the house was quiet. Bucky and Sam had headed off to some bar with Happy and Rhodey. Steve had turned the invite down, he wanted to be at home with his family.

They lay in bed, Katie’s head resting on his chest, his hand gently carding through her hair.

“I’ve decided something.” he said

“What?” she asked with a yawn.

“After the battle, I spoke to Fury. Told him I was quitting, that I didn’t want to be Captain America anymore, and he said that the world still needs Cap and I guess he’s right, it’s an important symbol to America and the world…” “So, you are gonna carry on?” she asked, moving so she could look up at him.

“No.” Steve said firmly “I’m done. I’m gonna pass the shield down.”

“Not Bucky” Katie said instantly and Steve frowned.

“Why do you say that?” he asked

“He’s been fighting for so long.” Katie said, gently “And you know he’d do anything for you. He’d take that shield if you asked, but that doesn’t mean that he wants it. I just, I dunno, I think he needs to find his own way for a while.” Steve contemplated what she was saying, she was right, of course. She always was. And, if he was honest, he’d gone through the same thought process himself. Other than Sam, Bucky doesn’t really know the other Avengers (or what’s left of them) so how could he truly lead them? As Steve knew only too well, trust has to be earned, plus they all know about his past, as do the public. And even if they were all willing to overlook and forgive it, he wasn’t sure Bucky himself was. To be honest, Steve wasn’t sure he ever would.

“Well that leaves one obvious candidate.” he said, looking down at Katie. “Sam.”

She smiled “Sammy deserves it. He had non self-serving reason to let us in that time we showed up in DC, although he probably had a few second thoughts when a metal arm ripped through his car roof and tore out the steering wheel.” Steve gave a snort.

“But he never left us. Even after Leipzig. He’s loyal to a fault, a good man and…” “He’s human. And not enhanced.” Steve said

“Exactly, after everything that’s happened I think the American public could use a little ‘normality’, well as far as they can. People will relate to Sam. He’s a natural born leader.

“And proof that anyone can be a hero.” Steve mused.

“So are you.” she said looking up at him. “Remember, you’re just a kid from Brooklyn.”

He smiled at her, and dropped a kiss to her lips before she settled down again.

“There is one tiny problem…” Katie said. 

“What?” “Your shield  bit the dust, big time.”

“Yeah.” he said, although he already had a perfectly good plan forming in his mind about where he could get another.

“Mind you, sure T'Challa will be happy to provide enough Vibranium to make him a new one” Katie said, with another yawn. “Bruce can sort it in the lab.”

“Yeah.” Steve said, again his hand running through her hair. He hated lying to her, but he had absolutely no intention of correcting her, or telling her what he was actually planning to do. He couldn’t, it would kill her. 

Steve lay there in his own thoughts, long after she had fallen into an exhausted sleep, her body warm against his, his hand carding through her soft hair. He had watched her today. So brave, so strong. She was stronger than he could ever be. It scared Steve just how lost he would be without her, which, as he realised at the Cathedral before was a reality he was going to have to face at some point.

Seeing Pepper say her goodbyes to Tony had made him suddenly think about what Katie had been saying regarding him not growing old as fast as she did. And there, sat on that wooden bench besides her, surrounded by other mourners, he had realised in a fit of horror that one way or another that he would be in Pepper’s position someday. He would outlast Katie, the serum would see to that. The sudden understanding had hit him like a tonne of bricks, almost making him sick. Now, after speaking to Bruce before about the next step his mind was finally made up. He couldn’t do it, couldn’t lose her like that.

What he was going to do would kill him, but it was a small price to pay to stave off the heartache he would feel later in life. Captain America was going to take that final mission, to put the stones back where they came from.

And he wouldn’t be returning, for a very long time.

 @the-omni-princess​  @momobaby227​ @geekofmanythings16​ @angelofhell-666​ @thewackywriter​ @marvelfansworld​​   @cobalt-gear​  @asgardlover75​ @jennmurawski13​​​   @jtargaryen18​​  @saiyanprincessswanie​​   @navispalace​​ @patzammit​​   @joannaliceevans-fanficblog​​   @icanfeelastormbrewing​​ @djeniiscorner​​   @ayamenimthiriel​​   @coldmuffinbanditshoe​​   @disneylovingal​​ @madzmilllz​   @sgtjaamesbaarnes​

#stark spangled banner #steve rogers x original female character #steve rogers x oc #steve rogers #captain america #tony stark #iron man #bruce banner #hulk #thor #clint barton #hawkeye #avengers #avengers fanfiction #mcu #mcu fanfiction #marvel #marvel fanfiction #proof tony stark has a heart

[wingsofkpop]

When You Love Someone - Part Three /// Agape

pairing(s): Brian Kang x Reader, Day6 x Reader

genre: High School!AU, Young Love!AU, lots of Angst, not really sugar-coated with Fluff

warning(s): None

word count: 3,5k

synopsis: There are many paths in life, but the longest of all is the path to the heart. In your eyes, what does it truly mean… to love?…

chapter directory

It’s funny how quickly time can fly by. It seems like only yesterday you were walking through the gaping doors of the high school for the first time with thousands of butterflies fluttering in your stomach like a windstorm. But here you are, only weeks away from walking through those same doors clad in a cap and gown for one last time—The final walk into your true adulthood. 

While others may disagree, your experience in high school has actually benefited you for the better. You’ve learned so much not only about the world, but about yourself since your initiation. It’s been a long road that’s passed in the blink of an eye, but you’re somewhat grateful for the paths you’ve endured thus far. Sometimes though, you find yourself feeling as if you have some kind of unfinished business—with someone you might even say. 

You shake the idea from your mind, returning your gaze to the product checklist in your hands. If you want to afford that dress, then you should actually consider doing some work unless you want your grumpy boss to dock you for ‘adolescently lolly-gagging around’—his exact words, not yours. The man nearly fired you for accidentally knocking over a rack of soda one time, and didn’t even pay you overtime after he made you stay later to clean up the mess AND mop the floors. Nothing even spilled, and it was on a school night nonetheless. 

After crossing off some items on the page, you make your way to the next aisle ready to repeat your actions. Like most shifts, this one seems to have trailed on for much longer than needed. The only thing protecting your sanity from inevitable combustion was the excitement of seeing Sungjin in a little under an hour. A smile immediately pulls across your face at the thought. Until yesterday, you hadn’t realized exactly how much you’ve missed the boy.

While Sungjin hasn’t been in your life as long as Wonpil, you still consider him one of your closest companions. You met a couple months into freshman years, and since you didn’t have a large circle of people you really talked to aside from Wonpil, you quickly latched onto the boy, even more so because of his compassion and lack of friends as well—although that changed for the both of you after he joined the basketball team and you somewhat blossomed out of your awkward phase. The both of you essentially grew up together, changed together. But even after four years, it’s as if nothing has really changed. 

And to be honest, you don’t know if that’s entirely a good thing. 

It’s not until the angry call of your boss do you realize you had been staring at a shelf of paper towels. You swiftly back out of the aisleway, preparing to dash into another, before you notice that the shout wasn’t directed at you—but a customer. 

You recognize the young man from your school: Kang Younghyun. He pretty much keeps to himself, so you’ve never really spoken, but from what you’ve heard from everyone else, he’s not a very friendly guy. He skips class on a daily basis, argues with anyone who so much as looks him in the eye, and according to rumors, hangs around with some pretty shady people. You’ve never been one to follow what the grape vine carries around, but even you can’t deny that the kid is rather intimidating… and just downright scary. 

“How dare you come into my store and try to steal, you little punk!” Your boss had Younghyun in his grasp, clutching the collar of his shirt with one hand and angrily shaking his fist with the other. He was fuming, his face gradually beginning to shift red as he drags his capture toward the register. You move to return to your task, not wanting to piss your boss off even more, but the accused thief’s hushed reply has your feet stopping in place: 

“I didn’t steal anything.” 

You try to tell yourself again to just look away, go back to work and wait out the rest of your shift without batting an eyelash, but something about the pained glint in Younghyun’s eyes and the soft, almost tired tone of his voice toyed with your moral reasoning. Somehow, a part of yourself believed that the boy was actually telling the truth… You didn’t know him after all. 

Your boss roughly yanks at his collar, “Of course you did! Punks like you are always getting into trouble!” Younghyun’s expression doesn’t change, but the strange feeling in your gut only grows. You swear you could see into the depths of his soul—What if it were you in his shoes? Wouldn’t you want someone to help you?...

“I didn’t take anything.”

“We’ll see what the police have to say about that-” 

“-Stop!” Before your mind can debate itself any longer, your feet are already carrying you toward the pair. Both parties grow visibly surprised by your interruption, more so Younghyun, but that doesn’t sway the words that continue to leave your lips: “It’s innocent until proven guilty. You should check the cameras before making any final accusations.” 

For a moment, panic overtakes your boss’s face, but it’s short-lived as it quickly shifts back to fury. He releases the boy to storm your direction, however your stance does not falter. Even when you can feel the hot breath of his whisper staining your cheeks: 

“If you want to keep your job, I suggest you keep your mouth shut and get back to work.”  

Your cheeks grow hot as rage invades your body, slithering through your veins like a venomous snake. You step closer to the man until your noses are just barely touching. Memories of all his harsh comments and nights gone without adequate pay only add more fuel to the fire. With your gazes locked, you can see the reflection of your own eyes through his—glowing in the fit of your anger. This time, when you reply, there’s no hesitation at all: 

“I quit.” Your boss lurches back, incredulously watching as you rip the employee apron from your torso. “I won’t be bullied and taken advantage of by you any longer.” He stumbles when you shove the garment into his chest, his expression completely devoid of anything except disbelief. He doesn’t say a word, even after you grab Younghyun’s wrist and drag him toward the exit of the store. But before you pass through the threshold, you make sure to knock over a nearby rack of magazines and CDs. 

“Enjoy cleaning that up yourself!” You chuckle, for once leaving the building with a proud smile strewn across your face. Too immersed in your own valor, you almost forget that your fingers are still clutching Younghyun’s wrist—then again you almost forget about Younghyun’s presence entirely.

“Why did you do that?...” His murmur brings you back to reality. He frees his hand from your grasp before running a hand through his blonde locks. “You gave up your job, and you don’t even know me…” 

“I’ve wanted to leave for awhile, since the guy’s such a jerk.” You shrug, then quickly add, “but you’re right, I don’t know you—but I know that you didn’t take anything.” 

“How could you know that-?” 

“-Did you?”

Younghyun startles at your question, but responds with a shake of his head. “No, I didn’t.” 

“Well, here we are then.” You peer back into the store, hand instinctively reaching for the boy’s limb once again. “In fact, let’s get out of here before egg-head calls the cops.” Younghyun doesn’t have the chance to protest because you’re already dragging him down the sidewalk with a laugh, “Gosh, I still can’t believe I did that!.. There’s a park across the street. We can hang out there.” 

“You… You want to hang out with me?...” 

You freeze, peering back at your companion with a confused expression. Your frown deepens once you notice the reflection of bewilderment on Younghyun’s face as well. Your head shakes, “Yeah, of course… Is that not okay?” 

“Well no-just… Aren’t you… scared of me?” 

“Why would I be scared of you?” Your chuckle relaxes the boy, his shoulders visibly sinking with relief. You continue to stare at him for a moment, noticing the genuine warmth along his features, before tilting your head with a smile, “...Should we get moving then?” Although it’s only an upturn of his lips, Younghyun smiles back. 

“I’d like that.” 

“I heard from Jinyoung that he and some of his buddies robbed the convenience store last weekend.” Wonpil explains as the two of you watch Kang Younghyun stomp his way through the cafeteria and out into the hallway. Students weren’t technically allowed to leave the lunchroom unless they had a teacher recommendation, but Younghyun wasn’t much of a stickler for the rules. Obviously. 

“Don’t believe everything you hear, Pil.” Sungjin waves a french fry toward the male, before popping it into his mouth. He quickly swallows the treat and continues with stern expression, “You can’t judge a person based on what others say. You know what they say about making assumptions.” 

Wonpil rolls his eyes, “It’s just gossip, hyung. It’s not hurting anyone.” 

“You never know.” Your face falls as the older boy clearly glances your direction, reminding you of the chaos you’ve endured all week. You try to push away the throbbing in your chest and instead immerse yourself in your own lunch. The sandwich and bag of Doritos only does so much though. 

You hear Wonpil say he’s going to go talk to his biology partner, Jeongyeon to finalize some details about a project and acknowledge his departure with a half-hearted wave. A couple seconds of silence pass between you and your remaining friend, the time spent savoring your lunch and observing the daily cafeteria behavior, until the latter finally breaks the silence with a soft murmur: 

“How are you holding up?... I know this week has been pretty hard on you.” 

You shrug and polish off the final bite of your lunch, “I’m fine, I guess…” 

“It’s okay to be upset,” He hums, pushing his french fries an equal distance between the both of you. You welcome the offer to share his food and help yourself to a couple fries. “Jae shouldn’t have let things go this far... especially if you two were together.” 

“He said that he told Chaeyoung that he wasn’t interested and made the excuse that she’s persistent, but I don’t know if I believe him since he’s not the best at telling people off.” You also correct, “and we’re technically still together.” 

Sungjin’s eyebrows pull together, but his facial expression remains calm. “Is that purposely? Have you guys talked?” 

“Aside from after I heard the rumors, no.” You say, “I don’t think I want to break up with him, because nothing actually happened between him and Chaeyoung, but I just need some time.” 

“Are you sure that’s what you want? How do you know he’ll tell her off for real this time?” 

“To be honest, I don’t. But I also don’t want some false rumors to be the cause of breaking our relationship off.” 

The boy stares at you for a moment, as if searching your eyes for any sort of dishonesty or deceit. His own soften when he finds nothing but genuine thought in your irises. With a small smile, he reaches for your hand to give it a gentle squeeze. Your chest blooms at his affection, delivering a squeeze of your own. 

“As long as you know what you want. I just don’t want you to get hurt.” 

You chuckle, “You don’t have to worry about me, Jinnie. I’m a tough cookie.” 

“Trust me, I know.” Sungjin spills a laugh of his own, using his other hand to brush a loose piece of hair away from your forehead. Used to the caring gesture, you allow your companion to do so and peer through the corner of your eye, finding Jae deep in conversation with none other than Chaeyoung. Another pang knocks into your chest, but it quickly disappears when Sungjin seizes back your attention. 

“How about we do something Saturday night? Just you and me?” He offers, “You wanted to see that new movie, didn’t you?” 

“Yeah, actually.” You answer, “Jae and I were gonna go, but I think I’d rather go with you instead.” 

It could’ve been your imagination, but you swear Sungjin’s smile seemed to widen. “It’s a date then.” For the remainder of the lunch period, you and Sungjin discussed the details of your weekend outing, briefly arguing over whether pizza or tacos were a better midnight snack. Not once did you think of Jae, or Chaeyoung, or heartbreak. 

The following Monday, you decided to end your relationship with Jae. 

Sungjin’s heart continues to pound as he makes his way down the near-to-empty street. With the sun long past set, there was barely anyone aside from the occasional nightly jogger skipping around in the dark. It was both a blessing and a curse. Sungjin usually enjoys the peace and quiet of a silent night, but right now with his thoughts haunting his mind like a tornado, he really wished for some sort of relief. Then again, he should be pretty used to it by now—You’ve been the center of his thoughts since freshman year after all. 

He never meant for his crush to grow to anything other than that: A crush. But alas, you can’t control your heart, and you certainly cannot control who your heart falls for. 

For what seems like the millionth time since the start of his walk, Sungjin wipes his sweaty palms on the side of his jeans, transferring the plushed rabbit charm to his opposite elbow. On the way, he saw the keychain in the window of a store and was immediately reminded of you, and although a gift obviously doesn’t make up for his elusive behavior, he hopes it will still bring a smile to your face. He’s missed your smile, almost as much as he’s missed you. 

It took everything in his willpower to keep away from you for the last few months, considering the fact that you two have never been anything other than attached at the hip. There were so many times he wanted to pick up the phone, just to hear your voice, or wait for you outside of the school, just to see your face. But the more and more he forced himself to think of anything that wasn’t you, the more thoughts that contained you overtook his head. Just last week, he almost failed his calculus exam after spending most of the allotted time worrying if you had turned in the final draft of your English essay. He usually reminds you about those kinds of things. 

Sungjin stumbles, his foot catching on a small divot in the pavement. He quickly settles himself, inhaling a gust of relief before setting out again. His heart somehow picks up even more speed as he takes sight of the convenience store only a short distance ahead. He peers down at the watch on his wrist, concluding that you should be wrapping up your shift for the night. His hands are sweaty again. 

After the push from Wonpil, Sungjin thought that confessing his feelings to you would be the best idea. But as of now, with his pulse ten times too fast and anxiety crushing his nerves like a vice, he can’t tell anymore—What if his confession not only fails, but changes everything? Your friendship is one of the most important things in his life, and he cannot imagine living without it. Especially with the last year of high school coming to a close. 

He shakes the doubts out of his mind and instead, focuses on the excitement of seeing you. With a final bout of strength, Sungjin peers inside of the building through the giant storefront window. Confusion floods through his body when he discovers an obviously grumpy man cleaning up a mess of CDs and magazines and absolutely no sign of you. Maybe you were finalizing some work in the back? Or went for a quick bathroom break? 

Something in the reflection of the glass steals Sungjin’s attention, bringing him to peer over his shoulder. Through the corner of his eye, he notices some movement occurring in the park across the street. It was too dim to know for sure, but he swears he can see the color of your hair. 

It only takes a couple steps forward for him to realize that it is you sat on one of the swings, rocking back and forth with the nightly breeze. All fears slip from his mind as an excited grin pulls across his face. He dashes across the street, opening his mouth to call out your name, but his voice dies in his throat when he sees past your body—finding that you weren’t alone.

Sungjin’s smile disappears as he recognizes Kang Younghyun inhabiting the second swing beside you, a bright expression on his own face as he listens to you ramble on about something. He watches the boy’s lips move seconds later, obviously causing your head to roll back and a loud laugh to escape your lips—the sound like knives against his heart. 

For a moment, Sungjin hopes you’ll angle your head just right and catch sight of him. But his faith disappears once more when Younghyun reaches forward to brush a piece of hair from your forehead. He looks away, unable to watch, and sadly gazes down at the keychain still in his hand. His thumb caresses the bunny’s smiling face, before he turns and begins to walk back the way he came. 

The silence of the night mocking him with each heavy step. 

“-so that’s why the Russo brothers completely ruined Captain America’s character in Avengers Endgame.” You finish off your rant with an exhale, gently swinging back and forth as Younghyun—who told you to call him Brian, laughs at your passionate argument. He wipes an invisible tear from his eye before grinning. 

“You’ve obviously put a lot of thought and evidence into that.” 

You chuckle, “Can you tell?” 

“Just a bit.” To say you’ve learned a lot about Brian would be an understatement. Unsurprisingly, all the rumors about him were completely and wholeheartedly wrong. There was no gang, or anything along those lines. He was just a misunderstood guy with some attitude problems. You also found that the reason for his frequent absences at school are due to his visitations with his mother, who’s been hospitalized the majority of the year after experiencing a near-to-fatal car accident. She’s recovering well, thank goodness, but he doesn’t like to leave her by herself—Who knew he was such a nice guy?  

He watches your feet pump back and forth for a couple seconds, before reconnecting your gazes. You merely stare at each other until he finally speaks, “...Thanks for this. It was nice to talk to someone for a change.” 

“Of course.” You answer with a smile, “I’m (Y/N), by the way. Sorry, I should’ve told you before all that.” 

“I know who you are.” 

“You do? How?” 

“I’ve seen you around.” He shrugs, “and I know you’re really close with the captain of the basketball team, Sungjin-” 

Your mind completely blanks out on Brian’s voice when you hear the name fall from his lips, the sudden realization of your nightly plans hitting your gut like a cold, hard punch. Frantically, you rip your phone from your pocket to peer at the brightened screen, dread flowing through your veins when you find it to be way past nine’o’clock. 

You launch from the swing with a gasp, “Shoot!... I’m sorry, Brian, but I have to go!” 

“Late for something?” 

“I was supposed to meet Sungjin almost an hour ago.” You shake your head, already noting the panic blooming through your body. “I’m really sorry, I’ll see you tomorrow.” With that, you run from the playground and out into the dimness of the night. You glance toward the convenience store, finding it to be long closed… and empty. 

“I’m such an idiot,” You murmur to yourself, swiping through your phone to pull up Sungjin’s contact. The buzz of the ringer sears at your eardrums, each repeat of the sound shoving more and more anxiety down your throat. You hadn’t realized you were holding your breath until you hear a click over the line. 

“Sungjin! I’m so-” 

“-This caller is unavailable at the moment. If you would like to leave a message, please begin after the beep-” You drop the device from your ear, quickly ending the call before burying your face into your hands. How could you have been so careless? With Sungjin of all people? When things were finally starting to turn around?... and you just went ahead and ruined everything. 

What are you going to do now? 

This very thought haunts your mind as you make your way home through the silence of the night. 

#day6 #day6 x reader #day6 fanfic #day6 fluff #day6 au #park sungjin #park sungjin x reader #park jaehyung #park jaehyung x reader #kang younghyun #kang younghyun x reader #kim wonpil #kim wonpil x reader #yoon dowoon #yoon dowoon x reader #kpop au #kpop fanfic

[ororowrites]

Erik Stevens and OC-  Could’ve Been - just friends (chap. 2)

Characters: Erik Stevens and Essence Jones

Warnings: drugs and language

Word Count:  3,671

Based on the song: Just Friends by Musiq

Prelude - Chapter 1

It had been seven years since Erik and Essence witnessed the murder of N’Darius Stevens. That single moment changed their lives forever. Erik was sent through the system, bouncing from foster home to foster home until he landed with an aunt he barely knew. For two years, Essence didn’t even hear from him, causing them to grow a part. They used to talk everyday, even when they had arguments. Now it seemed like they were strangers getting to know each other all over again.

By the time Essence and Erik reached 9th grade, Erik moved in with his aunt and began attending high school with Essence. Occasionally they would talk, or hang out to do homework but Erik was best friends with another group of people. Some days he missed school without explanation and would come back decked out in the latest Jordan gear. He hung out with people like Big Chucky, the neighborhood dope dealer. Anyone else wouldn’t be shocked by Erik’s behavior or the people he hung around on a daily basis, but Essence. Her childhood best friend was rough around the edges, but he never seemed like the type to be a gang banger.

Watching after her troubled friend wasn’t Essence’s only dilemma. Tyra Lennox, her mother, had returned home from her latest stint in prison. Grandma Hazel watched after Essence as long as she could, until she passed away from lung cancer two years after Tyra was released. That sent Essence back to live with her mother, a woman that barely deserved that title. Tyra had four children, Essence being the only child living with her. The other three children lived with their father.

“Essence, get your little ass down here. Now,” Tyra yelled up the stairs. Essence was in the middle of studying for an exam. The teenager rolled her eyes and followed the order. “Girl thinks she can do whatever the fuck she wants,” Tyra was mumbling under her breath when Essence appeared in front of her. “What the fuck is this?”

Confused, Essence didn’t answer right away.

“Little girl, what is this,” Tyra questioned again, holding up a wad of cash she had found. “You hiding money from me for a reason?”

Truth be told, Essence was saving money to move out and away from Chicago. Her mother was toxic and negligent. Nothing good was ever going to come from her living with the woman and Essence was counting her days.

“No,” Essence lied, eyeing the cash as Tyra counted it. Three hundred dollars. “I can barely pay bills around here and you hiding all this money? I should slap you, get outta my face.”

So much for saving to move away from the hellhole she called home. To keep Tyra from lifting a hand, she swiftly turned and ran up the steps. When she reached her bedroom, Essence threw herself on the bed and screamed into a pillow.

At school, Essence was usually the standout student when it came to subjects she loved. She enjoyed history and mathematics because it challenged her more than the likes of science and language arts. Science had always been her least favorite unless they were learning about space and the planets.

In her last semester, they were required to take advanced chemistry which was her least favorite class of the day. It was the only class she had with Erik, who could do the work with his eyes closed.

“Whaaaat, you decided to come to class today,” Essence said to Erik as he drug his feet across the floor and to his desk. “Long time, no see.”

Erik grunted under his breath, throwing his bag to the side and taking his seat. He didn’t even look her direction. Maybe he was tired. Big Chucky kept his dealers up all throughout the night doing his dirty work.

As class went on, Erik was on his phone when the teacher wasn't looking. He typed quickly, sending multiple texts to Chucky and the boys that worked under him. Not paying attention herself, Essence kept her eyes on Erik’s screen, hoping to catch a peek into his new life. With no luck, she went back to taking notes until they had to pair up for classwork.

Erik had been quite distant lately and their friendship had never truly recovered from the two years they lost touch. Essence attributed it to them getting older and simply growing apart but she knew if Big Chucky wasn’t in the picture, they’d be close. Since Erik was rarely around, Essence didn’t get the chance to talk to him much and decided to take advantage of the opportunity.

“You going to prom,” she asked, peeking up through her long lashes.

“Yeah probably. You,” Erik replied, working out three formulas in record time. “Who you going with?”

The nerve. Erik had been acting funny all this time only to question her about a date to prom. “With Gregg Patrick,” Essence muttered, staring at the next question on her classwork. What the fuck was this shit? Erik explained the answer and then went on to question her choice to go with Gregg Patrick, captain of the basketball team. “Because I’m grown and can do that. Do I questions your choices in hoes?”

“Dude is wack, that’s all I’m saying,” he explained, a tinge of jealousy present in his statement. “And I don’t have time for hoes. I’m getting this money.”

“What makes him wack, Erik?” Essence propped her chin on her hand, giving Erik her undivided attention. “Exactly, you can’t even give me a reason.”

Truth be told, Erik and Gregg didn’t see eye to eye because Gregg was an enemy on the streets. Essence tried to keep her street knowledge to a minimum because it was easy to get trapped in that life. So many times she was close to jumping in with some of the other kids in her neighborhood that got trapped. Whatever could get her out of the life she lived, she would do to escape to a life she had yearned for.

“Whatever, E. Do you,” Erik shot back. “I’m going with Linda though.”

“Linda? Linda Franklin? What the fuck,” Essence gagged. “Hasn’t that girl been with 10 different dudes in our class?”

“Oh, so you get to go with that punk ass Gregg, but I can’t go with Linda? You are something else, Essence.”

“Your nosey ass was in my business. You act all funny with me but wanna know everything,” Essence argued back with a bit of bite in her voice.

“Act funny? What the hell you talkin’ about,” Erik bit, putting his pen down. Oh, that struck a chord.

“We barely even talk like that anymore because you act funny. Ever since you started hanging with Big Chucky and ‘em,” Essence explained. “Don’t try to act like I’m not telling the truth.”

Erik attempted to act like he was shocked but it quickly turned into him getting defensive, “Man, I been busy. Ain’t nobody acting funny with you, E.”

“Mmmm okay. If lying helps you sleep at night.”

They spent the rest of the class working alone until they heard a commotion outside the door. Students ran to the window, peeking through the blinds and ignoring their teacher’s plea to sit  down.

“The police are out there,” DaMia yelled at her classmates, causing everyone to push to get a better look through the small window. “And they got dogs!”

“Shit, I bet they lookin’ for drugs,” Marcus added, pushing Essence to the side. “Ohhhh, somebody is going to jail.”

Somehow Erik and Essence’s eyes met. She said a silent prayer for him and hoped he wasn’t dumb enough to bring drugs to school. He had to be smarter than that right? Erik didn’t appear to be phased by the commotion in the hall. He simply shrugged his shoulders when she mouthed ‘you carrying?’.

Fifteen minutes later, the police were escorting three students down the hall. Essence recognized them as boys that hung around Big Chucky in the neighborhood.

“Damn, I didn’t know Harry was selling,” one of the students mumbled.

Erik glanced at Essence again before returning to his seat in the back of the class. The one day he didn’t bring anything to school, his boys got busted. He wasn’t worried about getting snitched on because no one in the hood snitched. There was an unspoken rule in the streets about snitching on your brothers.

Even though his friends’ lips were most likely zipped, Erik had somewhat of a reality check. That could have easily been him.

Prom. That time of the year where everyone was trying to outdo their peers and spending way too much money to achieve that task. Essence had saved up enough money to buy a prom dress from one of the local thrift shops. One of her friends did small alterations that were good enough to hide the fact that the dress was too large. She rode the bus to the event center where her date, Gregg, was waiting outside. Neither one of them had a car or money to rent one but Essence was fine with how things were. Just as long as she got to attend her senior prom, she was happy with whatever transportation got her there.

“You look beautiful, Essence,” Gregg was in awe of his date. She looked radiant in the hot pink satin. Against her skin, the color popped, making her stand out in the crowd of high schoolers.

“Thank you. I love this tie. Matches my dresses perfectly,” Essence replied, moving her hand along the silk fabric. “You got our tickets?”

“Oh shit,” Gregg’s eyes widened. “I’m kiddin’, I got them.”

Essence slapped his arm, “Don’t play like that. I would have found a way inside, anyway.”

“I’m sure your bad ass would have,” he shook his head in return and led Essence into the event hall.

Their school district didn’t have a large budget when it came to dances and events, but they made sure their students could enjoy things like the other children on the opposite side of town. The hall was decorated to match the deep blue sea. Blue lights made the room resemble the ocean. Fake fish hung from the ceiling and the photobooth resembled a submarine. For a group of children who could barely afford to get into an aquarium, they were excited about the decorations.

For the most part, the night ran smoothly. The food was decent for food served at a high school prom, the DJ was good and people appeared to be enjoying themselves. Essence was sure she sweated her relaxer out from all the dancing she was doing. When it came time for the slow dance, Gregg found his date and pulled her to the middle of the floor. As she wrapped her arms around Gregg’s neck, she caught the eye of Erik who was dancing with Linda’s hoe ass.

Essence smiled slightly and rested her chin on Gregg’s shoulder when he pulled her close. Erik stared a few more seconds before looking away. Essence could feel the tension without him even saying a word. Their relationship had been weird and she still didn’t understand why. They had experienced a tragedy together and instead of staying close, the once best friends barely hung out when they weren’t in class.

“You good,” Gregg asked a zoned out Essence. The song had changed and she was moving offbeat in her own little world. “Essy?”

“Huh….oh yeah, I’m good,” she answered, still thinking about the past few years of her life. High school was about to be over and she wasn’t sure what was next. She had been accepted into a few schools but leaving Chicago was scary. Even when she didn’t have anyone besides her mother who half the time acted as if she didn’t love her. If she left, would she ever return? What about Erik?

“You sure? You keep stepping on my toes,” Gregg chuckled, pulling back to get a good look at Essence. “Don’t tell me you’re falling asleep standing up.”

“No, just enjoying our time,” she answered, returning to Gregg’s shoulder. They weren’t dating but Gregg was a good friend to her the past couple of years. He was moving to Baltimore with his father after graduation.

After their dance, the two separated for the remainder of the night. Gregg went to hang out with his boys and Essence with her two best friends. When the night was over, Gregg said his goodbye and got on a bus to head home while Essence went with a group of girls to a hotel afterparty. Unlike Gregg, Essence didn’t have a curfew because her mother more than likely wasn’t home anyway.

The party wasn’t too wild but Essence kept to herself. She didn’t want to be involved if the cops got called on a bunch of kids drinking underage and using fake ids to get a room. Erik was at the party without his date but Essence still kept her distance. Instead, they watched each other from their corners until Erik sent her a text.

I need to talk to you. Meet me in the room next door.

They had two connecting rooms for the party and everyone was crowded on one side until someone wanted to get freaky. Essence followed Erik into the next room, watching him lock the door behind them.

“What the hell is your problem,” he asked Essence.

Confusion set in because from her experience, he was the one acting an ass. “Huh? What you mean?”

“You’ve been watching me all night like we got beef. What’s up?” Erik settled on the bed while Essence stood by the door. “We not cool anymore or something?”

Was he being serious? Tonight wasn’t the night to argue with Erik over their friendship when he was the distant one. Essence wasn’t going to beg for his attention either. “Are you for real? You wouldn’t have noticed me watching if you weren’t watching me yourself. I told you already. You’ve been acting hella weird with me for no reason. I know we aren’t as close as we used to be but you completely cut me off to hang out with those knucklehead ass boys. So before you come at me for acting a certain way, check your damn self, Stevens.”

That was the second time he had been called out and honestly, he didn’t know how to respond. Time had its impact on their relationship on top of Erik being consumed in what he thought was bettering his life.

Essence sensed his inner turmoil and joined him on the bed. “What’s going on with you, Erik. For real.”

Since his father’s death, Erik had been angry and lonely. Instead of leaning on those who loved him, he took to the streets and made connections there. “I gotta get out of here. There ain’t nothing left here. Done seen two of my boys get popped, some of them in jail… I have a  feeling I’m next. Ya know?” Erik kept his eyes on his hands, speaking on his feelings made him uncomfortable. But, he trusted Essence enough to know she wouldn’t judge him. “After my dad got...got killed, I been fucked up. Seeing that shit did something to me and I feel bad because you had to see it too.”

There it was. The main reason he tried to keep his distance was due to guilt. Seeing someone die right in front of her had created anxiety and fear that Essence tried her best to suppress. Erik saw right through her though. It was hard enough on him but he had seen some pretty fucked up things. Essence on the other hand was shielded by her grandmother’s love and promise to keep her safe.

“That wasn’t your fault. You didn’t know your uncle-”

“And what if he would have killed you? He was cruel enough to kill his own brother. He could have easily turned the gun on one of us next. I made a promise to protect you and didn’t keep it,” Erik explained. “You see where I’m coming from, E? That shit still messes with me. I’m getting out of here after graduation. Got myself into school and I’m not coming back.”

“You did protect me. You always have and I don’t understand why you couldn’t talk to me about how you felt. All this time I just thought you were being an ass,” Essence replied, placing a comforting hand on his knee. “I mean that shit, Erik. I’ve always felt safe with you.”

His eyes finally shot up as the mood shifted. The wall that had formed between them was beginning to crumble and the air didn’t feel as thick. “Really?”

“Yeah. Really,” she whispered.

Erik stared down at Essence’s lips as if he wanted to kiss her. That urge had never been there before and it felt odd. Going against the voice in his head, he leaned over and placed a gentle kiss on her lips to test the waters. It took Essence by surprise because Erik had never shown interest in her. Maybe he was simply thanking her for being a good friend.

“What was that for,” she asked completely dumbfounded by his actions.

Before he could answer, a banging on the door pulled them away from each other. “Ya’ll fuckin,” one of Erik’s boys yelled. If Essence were lighter, he would see the red rising to her cheeks.

“Dude, shut the fuck up,” Erik growled, pushing his nosey friend away from the door.

They didn’t speak on that kiss for the rest of the night...or ever again.

Two Years Later

After high school graduation, Erik headed to California while Essence headed South to Texas. Not too long after graduation, her mother Tyra was back in jail for fraud, leaving Essence motherless once again. That gave Essence an opportunity to leave her life in Chicago behind to start a new one on her own. For the most part, she was on the right track with a few bumps in the road. To put herself through community college, Essence worked two jobs. Her relationship with Erik was still on the mend, as he navigated school himself. Leaving Illinois was the best decision he had made due to the type of life he was living. Big Chucky still had a hold on the community, forming gangs and selling dope around the neighborhood.

For Spring break, Essence decided to visit Erik in sunny California. She had never been to the west side of the country and was excited about the adventures Erik had planned for the week.

“Boy, open this damn door,” Essence yelled, slapping the door to Erik’s off campus apartment. He opened up, his big Kool-Aid grin on full display. “I think I got the wrong place. My bestie is kinda skinny and can’t grow a beard that connects to save his life. Who are you,” she teased, taking in all the differences in Erik’s appearance. Mini dreads, a full beard and bulging muscles. Under all that, he was still the Erik Stevens she knew from Chi Town.

“Well I’ve never seen you drool over me so maybe you do have the wrong spot,” Erik leaned against the door, looking for any differences in Essence since he last seen her in person two years ago. She was still slim, but her face had matured slightly, her cheeks not as chubby.

“Trust me, I’m not drooling, ugly,” she lied. The two friends fell silent for a short second before bursting out into laughter. “Hey crazy. So good to see you.”

“Likewise, E. It’s been forever,” Erik added, pulling Essence into a tight hug.

Being in each other’s presence made them both feel at home. Home before the tragedy took place and everything changed. They were free to do whatever they wanted. They rode around town blasting their favorite songs and just enjoyed each other’s company. Erik even took Essence to In-N-Out even though it was breaking his strict diet.

After roaming the town for the day, they settled in that night to watch Iron Man, which Essence had seen one too many times already. They were in Erik’s room, with the only television in the apartment. Like old times, they had their movie snacks and were spread out across the bed.

“You bet not touch my candy,” Essence exclaimed, slapping Erik’s hand away.

“Nigga, you been eating my popcorn though,” he argued, taking a few more despite Essence’s protest.

Thirty minutes into the movie, Essence was already leaning on Erik’s shoulder as he sat against the headboard. Usually this meant she was on her way to sleep and he wouldn’t be able to hear the rest of the movie over snores.

“Aye, don’t be falling asleep over there,” he gently tapped Essence with his elbow, interrupting her mini-nap.

“I’m not,” Essence groaned, resting her chin on Erik’s thick shoulder and peering up at him through her lashes. The big difference between now and when they were children was the innocence they held as kids. Now as adults, hormones and the weight of the world was on them. She knew she should have pulled away because they were crossing a line they would never be able to uncross. Essence hated to think that it was impossible to be friends with the opposite sex without being sexually attracted to each other. But it wasn’t all about Erik’s appearance. The way he always wanted to protect her and the genuine love he had for her was what pulled them closer.

This time it wasn’t just a peck and they had no interruptions. Iron Man continued in the background while Erik and Essence began making their own movie….

*record scratches* Oh, you all thought I was going to just give you the full thing right here? We will pick up right where we left off in the next chapter!

Gregg Patrick Faceclaim 

Taglist:  @theunsweetenedtruth @bakarisangel @supersizemeplz @itsjustshanie @turn-thy-paige @purple-apricots @thadelightfulone @nickidub718 @blackpinup22

#erik stevens #killmonger #erik x oc #black panther #black panther fanfiction #fanfiction #au #could've been #chapter 2

[forasecondtherewedwon]

There would be a joke here about interrupting your regularly scheduled programming, but what even is that on this blog anymore? Je ne sais pas.

I wrote a fic for yet another fandom because I don’t know how to stay in just one! So, if anyone watches Deadly Class...

Rats’ Waltz

Rating: E (NSFW BELOW THE CUT) Pairing: Petra Yolga/Billy Bennett Chapters: 1/1

‘The Lady in Red’ played itself out and Petra let her arms slide down from Billy’s shoulders. His eyes darted nervously and he clasped a hand around his opposite wrist, throttling it. She wondered what was going through his mind. She’d always thought she’d known, before, but it was so different with him here in front of her. His words, the way he’d said he loved her, were easy to brush off; dismissing Billy and everything he was… that would be impossible after they’d danced, holding each other like that. If she wasn’t careful, he was going to figure out that she had a heart after all.

“How do I look?” she asked, watching his face steadily as his gaze zoomed down the length of her dress and shot back up to her eyes. It was mercury in a thermometer plunged into boiling water. It was the last ride on a condemned rollercoaster.

Billy’s laugh came out mostly through his nose.

“Like a princess.”

Petra pinched his bicep, hard, and he flinched away, almost dancing again, but more like the frantic, mosh pit shit that he and Lex practiced. The kind of dancing that god intended the populous to headbang along to.

“We could burn it off,” Billy suggested excitedly, fishing from his back pocket the lighter that had recently unleashed Lex’s pyrotechnic mayhem on the sky over Kings.

“Ah,” Petra halted him. She laid a soothing hand over Billy’s jittery one. “Good in theory, but I’m pretty sure one of those Sweet Home Ala-bitches got me with a blast of hairspray, and I’d rather my head didn’t go up in flames.”

She raised her hands level with her temples and made an exploding gesture, complete with sound-effect. Billy lowered his chosen instrument of chaos and Petra watched his nimble fingers push it deep into a front pocket of his pants. His hands were nice; she hadn’t really noticed that before. Then again, the chunky cast on his forearm generally arrested the eye.

Billy shifted, jumpy and overactive, and let out a giddy laugh.

“Me too, unless it’s metaphorically. I support your punk-given right to be a rage monster.”

Petra offered a tender half-smile.

“You had that handled tonight. You stood up for me.”

“It was retribution,” Billy said, sounding psycho-tough and stabbing a pointed index finger at the floor.

“It was anarchy.” Petra grinned. “And it was beautiful.”

He jerkily shrugged his shoulders.

“What’s a Rat got ‘cept other Rats?”

She nodded.

“You look out for your own. Your own,” Petra repeated, fainter, and reached up to cup Billy’s cheek.

He was too soft―not his face, though she doubted he’d ever shaved out of necessity―believing that she wouldn’t yell sike! or pull some other shit to punish the trust in his eyes. After she’d already hurt him, hurt him on purpose at Shabnam’s party. She was clearly bad for him and he was bad for her, a bad alliance in a place like this, not exactly hell, but maybe the clammy space between hell’s toes.

She kissed him because that seemed like a better idea than waiting to see if he’d do it first.

Billy pulled her back in, following her with his mouth when a breath snuck between them. Petra could feel him shaking, but she didn’t exactly know how to touch him. Damn green-mohawk’d livewire. He was so the opposite of casual.

“You’ve done this before, right?” she checked, drawing her face back from his.

“This this?” He puckered his lips to demonstrate kissing. Petra’s eyebrows lifted. “Oh,” Billy said, “this. Yep.” His vigorous nodding told Petra he’d caught on.

Yes, she meant sex, and yes, she knew he wasn’t a virgin. The way she’d asked probably made her seem like she didn’t know, but shit, it was supposed to have come out ringing with mockery, not soft and insecure. Ugh, she sounded tragically preteen.

“Aren’t you going to ask me?” she snapped at him.

Billy’s jaw tightened and Petra felt the whole scene teeter at the edge of a cliff she hadn’t known they were on. He’d say something about Viktor and then she’d get defensive and shut him out and then he’d get frustrated by the ineffectiveness of the way he always tried to break down her emotional walls with a battering ram even though this had never worked in their entire history and then―

“Do you… have something to contribute?” Billy asked, rocking on his heels.

Petra got her nostrils to un-flare from her pre-emptive surge of anger.

“I haven’t,” she said shortly. Less words meant less room for feelings to leak out of the corners of her mouth like drool when the dentist took too long prodding at your molars. Jesus, when had she last been to a dentist?

Billy’s features showed exaggerated confusion: forehead rumpled like bedsheets, eyes wild, etc. Petra sighed.

“Done this,” she clarified, her eyes careful on his. “Not with anyone who mattered.”

“Viktor was…?”

“There. He was there. Frankly, I’d rather get the taste of him out of my mouth sooner than later. Metaphorically,” Petra added when something caught fire behind Billy’s eyes.

“Look, we can forget all about what I said before, ok?” His confession at Shabnam’s was what Petra took this to mean. Billy laughed awkwardly, self-consciously. “Things don’t have to be that intense between us, but I also don’t wanna be mouthwash.”

“It came out wrong,” she admitted, inexplicably pissed at herself for having to apologize for something. “You wouldn’t be mouthwash.”

“Well… good,” Billy decided. “I’m a person, Petra.”

“You’re a cold-blooded lizard-man if you don’t shut up and kiss me again soon.”

“Shit,” he laughed, hesitantly cupping the sides of her head like he thought she might knee him in the nuts. Honestly, it still wasn’t completely off the table. “I know you’re not exactly overflowing with emotions, but there is this thing called romance.”

“I don’t do romance.” She hoped her eyes hadn’t just gone as wide and dreamy as it felt like they had. Fuck.

“Guess that’s all on me then.”

As his face tilted towards hers, Petra anticipated a kiss that came down hard and hungry, like the one she’d given him. Apparently, that wasn’t how things went when Billy led. She should’ve learned from the dancing.

His lips brushed hers and something deep inside her jerked loose like a vending machine dropping a soda. Petra felt fizzy. Their mouths hadn’t fully connected when Billy’s tongue skated slickly along her lower lip. What the hell. She could feel this getting her wet; normally it took several minutes of her chosen paramour’s determined fingering (post- several minutes of her determined instructions) to do that. It was her body throwing her words back at her, a reminder that no one else she’d messed around with had mattered. What a disturbing revelation though. Not only did she have feelings for Billy, she was also hot for him. The hits seriously just kept on coming.

Moaning was inevitable when Billy’s tongue stroked fully along hers and dragged it back into his open mouth. Petra half-mourned the fact that the Nazi she-devils hadn’t played dolly right down to her underwear, because the ones she was wearing were still her own and they were going to be a bitch to hand-wash with bulk-bought soap in the communal ladies’ room. A soft “uh” sound found its way out of their interlocked mouths and her hands gripped the front of Billy’s shirt. Instead of pulling back the way Petra dreaded he might, he moved his hands down from her hair, rubbing the back of her neck. Thank god he hadn’t given her some innocent startled face. Not a good complement to how badly she wanted to ride his thigh.

Petra stayed close, pressing both palms to his chest. Well, what a pleasant surprise―this skittish little skateboarder had the gentle swell of non-steroid-enhanced muscle under here. Lean but firm. Felt like his body had adapted after so many rounds of combat class, even if his brain hadn’t. (Petra rarely saw him win a bout. He just wasn’t great at anticipating his opponents.) As she ran her hands across his chest over his t-shirt, Billy dropped his straight to her ass. Kind of amazing that he could find it under the fucking puffy dress. Petra assumed the credit went to some inherent ass-finding skill only present in teenage boys.

He pulled her in, which was when she felt his erection. Again, the dress had been deceptively puffy because, against Billy, all that fluff compressed in a manner usually only observed in spray-cheese. Petra’s heart thrummed and popped like a bassline.

“We can’t get caught,” she said, drawing back to give him a dead-serious look.

Billy rolled his eyes.

“No shit.”

“After the poisoned darts tonight, which we are definitely getting nailed for at some point, we can’t afford any more trouble from the Man.”

“Yeah, babe, talk socialist to me.” He chuckled, kissing her neck, but Petra pried him off. “Ok, ok! You’re right.”

“We can’t stay here,” she said, beginning with the obvious. “Somebody’ll be back to clean up once they get those lowlifes medical attention.”

“Can’t go to the dorms. Roommates.” His grasp on her ass loosened as he thought; it was kind of cute how Billy looked when he concentrated. Ugh, god, no. Focus on the problem, Petra.

“Plus someone would hear us and either go for snitching or blackmail.”

“Oh yeah? You think you’ll be loud?” He grinned.

“I may have left my weapons in my other ball gown, but I can still break you, Bennett,” she warned.

“Promise?”

Petra grabbed his hand and yanked, heading for the door. She stopped short of dislocating his shoulder, but she knew Billy got the message.

“So, where we goin’?” he hissed as they glanced left and right, slipping out into the hall.

“The Rats’ Nest.”

Dumb name―the bastard offspring of their group’s label and a ship’s crow’s-nest―and it had stuck since whichever Kings’ class hooligans had invented it. It was a room on the roof, where all the Rats hung out. Not a stairwell or storage, the rooftop shed was their pinnacle, their dirty confessional, their canvas for graffiti practice. Mostly, it was where guys got their first blowjobs and girls got their first sour taste of the patriarchy. It would do.

“Grim,” was Billy’s assessment. Petra wouldn’t and couldn’t argue, but it was what they had.

“Yeah, I won’t be lying on that floor. Hope missionary’s not your favourite position.”

“Have you wondered?” he asked sleazily as they climbed the stairs to the roof.

“No.” Yes. “But then again…” Petra glanced at Billy over her shoulder. “…everything about you screams ‘submissive,’ so maybe not missionary.”

He bounded up to get ahead of her, swinging the door open.

“Is that what you want?” Billy let the door close slightly so that she was delayed right next to him.

“What?” She was confused and it was better self-defence to wrap that confusion in barbed wire and come off irritated instead.

“Do you want me to be…” He glanced down, practically jumping in place as he bounced on the balls of worn sneakers. “…submissive? Is that what you like? Petra,” Billy said, suddenly staring her right in the eye, “tell me what you like.”

Her eyes widened in discomfort, almost giving her a headache, and she pushed past him, stepping out onto the roof. Clear night tonight. Not even a lingering hazy of smoke from the boys’ cheap firecrackers.

“Fuck off.”

“Ooh, you’re so scary.”

Billy danced around in front of her, walking backwards as she strode ahead.

“Why do you want both of us to feel like shit?” he prodded. “Downstairs… we were… We were getting somewhere, dammit. What do you want from me? You want me to like you, then hate you, then like you, then hate you! Do I have to say it again?”

“Just get in the Nest. I’ll blow you if you’re lucky,” she said dryly.

Billy backed into the little room’s door and crossed his arms.

“No. I love you.”

Petra sighed impatiently.

“You wanna get laid or not?”

“Be a bitch all you like,” he said. “I’m still going to make you see this is worth something. That’s why I want it to be good. You’re not helping yourself by putting that mask back on.”

She clenched her hands into firm fists, but when she went to hammer one into Billy’s chest, all the force went out of it. Her knuckles just barely dug into his skin. His heart pounded back from underneath. They didn’t stare at each other long before Billy surged forward and kissed her.

“I love you, Pet,” he mumbled against her mouth.

“A light touch,” she offered, meeting his eyes as he drew his face back to look at her. “I’m tired of being used and abused.”

“Light touch,” he confirmed. “Got it.”

Petra took one last look at the stars, then reached around where Billy had leaned away from the door and yanked it open by its stiff handle. They entered and he found a box filled with broken bottles to keep the door ajar for the luxury of late-night, city sign light and fresh air. It still smelled like beer and something even funkier, though thankfully not like urine as the only Rats nasty enough to piss up here (all males, go fucking figure) considerately did so off the edge of the roof, hitting the occasional unsuspecting pedestrian.

Billy was watching her and Petra felt insulated with him for the second time tonight, though the first had only been an illusion provided by the music.

“This is a good idea,” he told her.

“The best.”

They were kissing again and Billy was up to his old tricks, getting every little bit of feeling out of her lips and doing it as tenderly as possible. She was insane for liking him this way, Petra realized, because only liking him was going to make her life hell. It would torment her days, find her in her sleep. He’d be kissing her like this in her dreams, the prick. She knew he would.

His hands were gentle too. Clutching at her waist, but moving eagerly to her breasts when Petra tugged the top of her dress down. (Her attackers had declared that the black straps of the bra she’d had on completely ruined this wedding cake vision they’d made of her. Like the rest of her other outfit, she bet the bra was currently bobbing in a toilet bowl.) She wondered if guys could really be like this, on the condition that they were sufficiently surprised to be getting what they wanted…

Nah, they were trash. But not Billy. His hands were warm on her as they dug inside the dress and cupped her boobs. Petra inhaled sharply through her nose when his rough thumbs circled her nipples with inhumane slowness. Her breath came loud in the small space. It felt as though they were miles from the school, or anything.

Billy gave her a last, firm kiss on the mouth, then continued pressing them into her yielding skin; up under her jaw, down her throat. Her heart beat hard. Like a total amateur, Petra gave herself away by grabbing the back of Billy’s mohawk when he smoothly licked over her nipple, but he didn’t get aggressive. He was the perfect gentleman, if that’s what you called the spastic boy you took to the blowjob spot. He was her new definition, anyway.

“Touch me already,” she blurted.

He laughed.

“Just trying to do what you said.”

“I said light, not slow.”

“That’s part of the romance,” Billy informed her, hiking up the hem of her dress.

“It sucks.”

“Thank you.”

He ran his palms up the outside of her thighs and she got goosebumps. Trying to stay calm, Petra put her hands on his shoulders―a stabilizing gesture.

“You seem taller,” she said nervously. Billy just smiled in confusion.

His hands brushed very gently over her hips and the ratty black lace of her underwear. They were a little old, but Petra hadn’t seen any she liked as much as these, and she wasn’t just going to steal cheap ones. She had standards. Better standards for what went on her body than who went in her body, most of the time. But then, tonight, she was getting it on with Billy while wearing something so truly hideous that Petra would’ve tried to murder herself if she’d been someone else and seen her wearing it.

“You look really beautiful. Nothing to do with what they did,” Billy clarified, palms rubbing over her hips, dress frothed up outrageously between them, “just… your face.”

She exhaled as he snagged her panties around hooked fingers and dragged them down.

“Lift your feet,” he requested.

“Why?” she asked, already doing it.

“Well, it’s not like the ground’s spotless and these…” He bent and retrieve them as she stepped out. “…cover a pretty sensitive area.”

It was bizarrely intimate to see Billy holding her undergarments and Petra glared so as not to blush. Prick.

“What am I supposed to do with them now? I’m lacking the over-teased heap of chemically-enlarged hair that I assume Brandy uses to solve feminine problems such as these.”

Billy shrugged.

“I’ll keep ‘em,” he offered cheerfully, stuffing her wadded up underwear into the back pocket of his pants.

Her eyes narrowed.

“Just for right now.”

“Or longer.”

“For as long as you last,” she taunted.

“I will give you the opportunity to renegotiate possession after you’ve seen me last.”

Petra let out an exaggerated, sarcastic gasp.

“Gosh! Really?”

He smiled and then leaned into her, pinning her firmly to the wall. She was pretty sure Billy felt her smile when they kissed, so she bit his lip to balance the scales. Once again, he somehow knew she didn’t mean it and was not deterred. That was how Petra realized she hadn’t broken Billy’s heart properly back at the party. Or maybe she had and he was just a quick healer. The rough cast pressing into her shoulder was a decent reminder.

“When do you get this off anyway?” she asked, touching the cast, then grazing her fingers up the black sleeve covering his arm above it.

“You almost sound like you care,” he accused, grinning and raising his eyebrows. Petra gave him an acid look.

“I’m asking for the sake of my own comfort, dweeb. If we do this again, I don’t wanna feel your plaster digging into me. Shut up,” she said to his awed expression. “I said ‘if.’”

Billy smiled and went back to kissing her. Petra kept her mouth tense and unyielding, but only for a couple of seconds. If Frenching was the kind of thing they graded at this wacko school, this idiot might actually come top of the class. She gave up on just going through the motions and fully gave back to him everything he was giving her, her arms folded around the back of his neck. Billy moaned a little and tilted his hips into her.

“Go ahead,” she panted, breaking away.

He pulled his face back just far enough that her eyes didn’t un-focus when they looked into his. Lowering one hand, then the other, he bunched the skirt of the world’s ugliest dress back into position. She could feel the texture of his pants against her thighs, but he kept his hips back now. Staring steadily into his eyes, Petra leisurely unwrapped her arms from around him and caressed down the front of his army-green T-shirt. Billy shivered and she smirked a little. She popped his button and unzipped his fly without glancing away from his face. He, meanwhile, was doing an exemplary job of not ogling her boobs. The heat from his crotch was practically enough to toast a marshmallow by, but Petra didn’t touch him yet.

“You first,” she dared.

With a visible swallow, Billy fisted the material of her skirt in one hand and slipped the other beneath it. Tentative fingertips located the poke of her hipbone. She didn’t know if he was aiming high and right on purpose, or just curious about her. Petra wondered, for a second, what it would be like to have her entire body touched by him. She wondered how it would be to touch his. The Rats’ Nest was no place for total nudity, unless you wanted to see what kind of diseases you could contract.

She stepped one foot outward, then the other. Billy took a shaky breath and inched his fingers down to cup her. It nearly killed her―worse than being stabbed, poisoned, strangled, or any of the other shit that had been done during real fights or just over the course of gaining the stellar education Kings was supposedly providing. This absolutely asshole! With his unhurried tenderness and goddamn reverent expression. Petra’s head knocked back against the concrete wall. He hadn’t even done anything yet. This was all the mere fact of his hand’s position; feeling it and knowing it was there.

The large studs on the cuff around his wrist were cold when they made contact with her abdomen, but she was pleased to have him holding her closer, more securely. It was almost like claustrophobia―this light-headedness in a small space―as Billy’s seeking fingers spread arousal over her clit. Petra thought he might mock her for being so wet (it was something she might have done, to pierce the atmosphere choking her with meaningfulness). He didn’t.

If it was up to her to play the mean card, she’d have to make a crack about how hard he was already, how desperate. Except it wasn’t funny, even in a make-fun-of-him way, when Petra gripped Billy through his underwear. He let out a shuddering exhale, clamping his eyes closed and flashing them open again a second later.

“Could you lay off that for a second?” he requested, sounding a little lightheaded himself. “This is kinda already too good to be true, and I don’t want to prematurely ejaculate all over our, you know―”

“Romance,” they said at the same time. (His tone was a little less sarcastic than hers. Ok, a lot.)

Billy grinned and kissed her with a swift peck that bumped Petra’s skull against concrete. This was still Billy, after all. But then, yes, he did have some surprises.

“I hope your hands are clean,” she said seriously as she moved her fingers to his ragged belt loops and he rubbed a little faster across her clit.

“I went to the bathroom right before we stormed the dance, and I always wash my hands. I’m a classy guy.”

Petra snorted out air, but her inhale was all moan. He was hitting her just right. She hadn’t… she hadn’t even told him what to do. If he’d just stroke the tiniest bit to the left. God, he did it.

“What’s your secret?” she gasped.

“Huh?”

She shook her head to tell him nevermind, because she was coming, stretching up on her toes in the stupid shoes that were the only things between her feet and a dirty needle or ancient glob of gum. Billy rubbed more forcefully―and swore significantly more forcefully than that―to pull her through the orgasm and out the other side. Petra didn’t specifically remember closing her eyes, or letting her head slump forward to rest on Billy’s shoulder, but evidently, those things had happened, because here she was, breathing his scent off his T-shirt.

Slowly, he removed his hand, wiping his fingers on the ass of his pants. Petra’s eyes were wide now, staring hard at nothing as she kept her head down for a minute longer, mentally getting a hold of herself. He’d touched her lightly, like she’d said. He’d paid attention to her response and adjusted his technique (though it truly baffled her to think of Billy having a technique for anything―except maybe rolling a joint) accordingly. What could she do… what could she say to that?

“I lied,” Petra admitted. She raised her head and pushed her hair the correct amount off her face.

“Well,” Billy began, smoothing a hand down her arm, “if it’s about something that’s gonna tear my heart to pieces, could you maybe save the truth for later?”

“I like rough and fast,” she said, holding eye contact. “In the past, I’ve tended to be the dominant partner because guys see the black hair, and the black clothes, and the black makeup, and that’s who they want to think I am because they don’t give a shit about who I actually am. But I’m not some Goth fantasy who wants their sexual experiences to revolve around teasing out some asshole’s kinks―a surprising amount of time literally involving their assholes. And I hate light touches,” Petra added. “Usually. Except not with… I guess not with you.”

He was staring at her. He wouldn’t quit staring at her. She was going to have to drive the heel of her horrible shoe into the top of his foot. Then he did something worse than the staring. He said her name, softly.

“Petra.”

She wrapped her arms around the back of his neck like she had when they’d danced and kissed him. He held her―tight, then tighter. Something was surging inside her and it wasn’t the desire to maim that she constantly felt around almost every person inside the building they were standing on top of. This whole thing had been a very dangerous fever dream.

They were kissing fiercely and it terrified Petra, but it was a horror she wanted to wrap herself around. She tasted it, her tongue twined with Billy’s, and nothing had ever been sweeter. Restless, she twisted with and against him, getting her hands to his hips. They broke the kiss wetly and abruptly. Petra stretched the band of Billy’s underwear away from his abdomen, then yanked them and his jeans downward. He leaned back―just his upper body.

“You want me, take me,” she said. “I want you to.”

Billy nodded rapidly and Petra found herself nodding back. She was turning in his arms as he quickly lifted her heinous skirt again. His hand came around, feeling her waist, then dove down, seeking her from the front as his hot erection prodded from behind. With less reluctance than she would’ve had not high on lust, Petra slapped her hands to the well-tagged wall and tilted her hips back. Billy quickly drove in. He was blunt and spontaneous and he started to say something, but Petra reached back and covered his mouth. No apologies necessary for giving her this. She returned her hand to the wall as he dragged back out.

“Oh, Jesus, Petra.”

His breathing sounded shivery. He bucked forward and she stretched into the feeling. Finally, Billy gave up on keeping her dress out of the way and grasped her hips with both hands.

“Please,” whipped out of her mouth before she could press it into her arm. Arms were useful tools for self-defence, physical or verbal, but she didn’t want the first kind and the second had just failed her.

Billy thrust harder and Petra’s eyelids closed briefly as her eyes rolled back. On the next forward swing of his hips, she met him in time and they released an obscene duet of pleased moans. God, they’d circled each other for so long―him: bouncing up and down, her: still and largely silent. Now, Petra considered that she shouldn’t think so harshly about his neglect to anticipate attacks. She’d been blind here. Blind, blind, blind.

She struggled to keep her eyes open. Her nerves were catching and sparking like exposed wiring, hands tensing into fists before she flattened her palms back out on the wall. Billy was in the grips of his desire. He had one arm wrapped firmly around her waist, holding her body to his, and the other making the descent to her clit, which was not so easy now that he was pounding into her, shaking them both. Petra felt his hip bones when he thrust inside and held himself there for a long second. It seemed like he was pushing as hard as he could, feeling all of her, every time. Her spine felt like he’d scratched a match straight down the length.

There was a desperate noise, a needy whimper, and Petra couldn’t place it.

“I know,” Billy told the sound. “I know, I know.” His voice cracked into a groan of craving that made her squeeze around him greedily. “I can’t… much longer.”

Petra dropped one palm from the wall and fumbled for his hand, settling his fingers optimally on her clit. He scrubbed violently and she came in seconds. Yes, he listened, and no, he did not fuck around. The orgasm left her reeling and quaking. She couldn’t tell if she was hot or cold, up or down. Billy kept stroking at her until she moved his hand away. Somehow, their fingers stayed tangled together as he tucked this arm around her too, hugging her from behind. The texture of the cast didn’t matter so much now.

“No condom, I’m guessing,” Petra said as dryly as she could while he continued to do things to her that made her jump and angle her hips for more.

“When am I ever ready for anything?” he panted, laughter just underneath.

She thought quickly as Billy’s thrusts grew shallow.

“On the dress,” she said.

“Don’t mind if I do.”

He pulled out and Petra turned quickly to face him, smoothing the skirt down for a change, to ensure it received the most coverage possible. She was less prepared for watching Billy jerk himself off, and apparently, so was Billy, his eyes a little wild and afraid. Petra slowly looked him up and down, then reached out and slid his t-shirt up his stomach to see more skin. He didn’t stop stroking.

“You look good,” she said, holding his gaze carefully.

Billy’s eyes clamped shut and his forehead crumpled. Petra guided his free hand up to her breast; he gripped. She felt a wave of flush go over her skin as he released in a jagged jet along the skirt. The top was undone anyway, so Petra wriggled out of the rest of it while Billy leaned into her, then hauled him close. She was naked, apart from her shoes.

While her hands climbed up his back under his t-shirt, Billy hiked his pants up and delicately tucked himself back in. Then he fell against her the last tiny bit of the way, his weight pushing her to the wall. Petra laughed and stroked the back of his mohawk flat, then clawed it back the other way with her fingers.

“How long are you gonna let me hold you?” he asked after a minute, speaking into her hair.

Petra turned her face to his shoulder and smiled.

“Until I think of some other way to cover myself. I’m not putting that dress back on.”

“Oh!” He let go of her. “Hang on.”

With a twitchy motion, Billy shrugged out of his black button-down shirt. It got hung up on his cast, so he rotated his arm while tugging the sleeve; Petra stood there, arms crossed over her chest. Shyly, he extended the shirt to her and she slipped into it, noticing him completely turn his head to look away. She buttoned it up. The fact that the shirt would cover her ass solved part of the problem.

Billy’s gaze squiggled over her quickly when he faced her again. His mouth tensed, probably trying to contain a smile. With a steady hand, Petra touched his cheek and lightly kissed his lips.

“I know how we get you out of here,” Billy said, his smile appearing slowly, at the same speed his eyes opened as she drew back.

He reached an arm back and hooked the neck of his t-shirt from behind, tugging it awkwardly over his head. When he got his elbows trapped and started to flail, Petra assisted his escape.

“How is this helping?” she checked, unconsciously clutching his shirt to her stomach.

“Streaking, Pet!”

“Oh god,” she groaned, but as she thought about it, she knew it would work. Mr. ‘I Climb Over Tables Instead of Walking Around Them’ was good at attracting attention.

She gave a half-nod, but Billy was already yanking his pants down, too committed to his harebrained plan to think about her agreeing or not. He caught her looking as he lowered his underwear.

“Next time,” he informed her, “we’re doing my favourite position.”

Petra was still trying to deaden the look in her eyes and keep her gaze over his left shoulder. She sighed heavily for effect.

“Fine. What is it?”

He grinned.

“Missionary.”

Startling herself, Petra let a laugh burst out and shoved Billy by the shoulder, almost toppling him as he idiotically attempted to remove his clothes without taking his shoes off. (Not that she blamed him for keeping protective footwear in place. Fucking Rats’ Nest.)

“You’re not serious,” she shot back.

“You’ll find out.” He waggled his eyebrows at her and straightened up. “Uh, can you hang onto these for me?”

She accepted the rest of his clothes, wadded into a sloppy ball.

“The panties, uh…” Billy floundered.

“You’ll get them back with everything else,” Petra promised. What the hell.

He grinned again.

“Also, next time, condoms.”

She raised an eyebrow. Not at his second use of ‘next time’ though. For Petra, that had been decided before she’d hit the first orgasm. Maybe even before they’d gotten up to the roof.

“You’re not actually going to buy them, are you?”

Billy scoffed, swinging his arms, naked apart from his sneakers, already almost in motion.

“What do you take me for? Some capitalist dupe? I’ll steal ‘em like a good boy.”

“What a relief,” she said.

“What is?”

“Just, you.”

He blushed.

“’K, if we ever wanna do this again, I gotta run.” Billy sprang forward and kissed her on the cheek. “Love you, Petra. Gimme a head start.”

She stood in the Rats’ Nest doorway, holding Billy’s clothes, and watched his bare ass as he bolted for the stairway. He flung the door open and pounded away down the stairs screeching ‘London Calling’ at the top of his lungs.

Glancing at the dress she’d intentionally walked across on her way out, Petra smiled wickedly at the thought that she could come back up here and burn it. Maybe bring Billy.

Quietly, she hopped the box of broken bottles and ran to the stairs, heading for her dorm. Billy’s voice was echoing everywhere. She wondered what trouble she was going to have to help him fight his way out of when Master Lin picked his punishment. Moron just had to be a hero.

#my writing #rats' waltz #deadly class #billy bennett #petra yolga #billy x petra #petra x billy #billy bennett x petra yolga #petra yolga x billy bennett #fanfiction #deadly class fanfiction #deadly class fanfic

[childofthenight2035]

Protect You (Part 1)

A/N: this is so damn long i aint ever gonna finish this am i featuring everybody and Ji Chang Wook

Pairing: Lee Taeyong x gn!Reader, Ji ChangWook x gn!Reader, Jung Jaehyun x gn!Reader

Summary/Prompt: Your new bodyguard doesn’t seen the friendly type.

Genre: Angst, Fluff, Bodyguard!AU

Word Count: i wish i knew, its really really long

Warnings: None?

Links to the other parts can be found in my masterlist!

-

“Y/N-ssi?”

“Ey, why this formality, Hyunwoo? Just because you’re leaving doesn’t mean that we’re going to be strangers from now on, right?”

“You’ll be okay?”

“Of course I will. I’m a strong person. Besides, the agency found a replacement, haven’t they? I’m sure I won’t ever be alone.”

“When is he starting?”

“In a few days, I think. They’ve cast me in ‘As The River Flows’. So I’m sure that they won’t even let me out without someone.”

“Congratulations on that. Who was directing that?”

“Park Sunho-ssi. I’m really looking forward to it.”

“Well. Good luck.”

“Thank you, Hyunwoo. Take care. Keep in touch, yeah? If I’m ever in New York, I’ll call you. Tell Minhyuk I said hello.”

“I will.”

 -

“Channie! What’s up?” I propped my phone up to my ear with my shoulder as I washed out the bowl I had eaten lunch in.  

“You might want to check your email right now,” he suggested, a note of amusement in his voice. “Might be something useful there.”

“Wait, what?” I set the plate down in the sink and wiped my soapy hands on a spare washcloth, taking the phone. “What do you mean?”

Beep. Beep. The idiot had hung up. I sighed, scrolling through my apps and opening my email account. The first thing I saw was the sequence of emails regarding the drama I was cast in. I opened it, curious. It had been forwarded to everyone who had something to do with it.

I scanned the email, a huge smile breaking out on my face. The minute I finished reading it, I phoned Chanyeol.

“Chan!” I yelled when he picked up. “Kai’s been cast?!”

I could hear his smile. “Yep. Thought you’d like to know.”

“Wow!” I could hardly believe it. So my friends were going to be with me. Don’t worry, Hyunwoo, wherever you are right now. I’ll be safe. “Wait.” I thought struck me. “It said the last casting. But there are two main leads. If one is Kai, who’s the other one?”

“Ah. I don’t know.” I sensed something in his tone that seemed suspicious, as if he knew who it was but didn’t want to tell me. I decided not to press.

“So will I see you for the meeting tomorrow?” I asked.

“Sure thing.”

“No, wait, don’t hang up! Could you give me a ride?” I made my voice as pouty as it would get, trying my luck. Chan seemed in a good mood.

“Ah, Hyunwoo left, didn’t he?” He paused, considering my request. “Alright. Fine.”

“Thanks, Channie!” I hung up and went back into the kitchen to finish washing out the dishes. A small smile graced my face. I couldn’t wait to start.

-

 “Can this traffic get any slower?” I groaned, sliding down against the seat and shielding my eyes against the light.

Chanyeol scoffed. “We would have gotten there already if someone hadn’t taken way too long to get dressed.”

I pouted but didn’t reply. I knew I deserved it.

We got there half an hour late. I took off down the hall, Chanyeol on my heels. I rounded corner after corner, all the while thinking that gosh, if anyone was to come around the corner, I would smash right into them and then this would be the complete drama scene but at the same time I was noting the lack of people in the hallways and I knew, I knew, that the meeting had long since started and that was why no one was here. I was in trouble. I knew it.

I burst into the conference hall, to be met with sudden silence. I winced.

“I’m sorry, Sunho-ssi.” I tried hard to catch my breath. “Traffic was horrible.”

His unimpressed gaze fell on me. “Of course it was. Come inside.”

I bowed low in apology, Chanyeol imitating me. I walked over to where Kai stood with the other actors, leaving Chanyeol with his studio artists. Each step I took seemed like a gunshot in the silence. The director’s eyes followed. I hated this. The lead role and the music director late for their own drama. Once I had smushed myself near Kai, he turned back to the group. Kai’s hand found mine and squeezed reassuringly. I managed a smile.

“As I was saying before we were interrupted—“ the emphasis on interrupted, “—we need to arrange our travel—“

The door flew open, drowning out the rest of his words. I bit my lip to stop myself from laughing. At this rate, he would never finish his sentence. I was going to tell that to Kai when my eyes found the tall young man who had just walked inside. My jaw dropped.

“Ji Chang Wook?” I breathed out softly, awed. I heard Kai chuckling beside me. I searched for Chanyeol, to find that he was already looking at me and smirking. I felt my face turn red. I knew very well what had brought this on, why he hadn’t told me who the other lead was.

It was barely anything of a story. The three of us had got together to have some drinks and ended up playing a tipsy game of Truth or Dare. I didn’t quite remember what had happened, but apparently I had mentioned that the actor I wanted to hook up with was Ji Chang Wook. But in my defense, I wasn’t in my right mind. Sane, I saw him and respected him as my sunbaenim. And maybe had a tiny crush on him. I mean, the man was gorgeous and was an amazing actor. But I probably wouldn’t try anything. Ever. Those two idiots had never let me hear the end of it.

But now I was facing him. I could almost feel Chanyeol’s eyes boring a hole into my skull as I watched Ji Chang Wook’s apologetic expression morph into happiness on seeing the director. I couldn’t hear any noise around me. My vision was focused only on this man I looked up to so much. I registered that he whispered something in Sunho-ssi’s ear, the director’s face fell, and the two of them abruptly walked to the door. The meeting was apparently over.

I was still in a daze as the people filtered out of the room when Chanyeol clapped me on my back, hard. I twisted away from him, face scrunching up in pain.

“Like your present?” Chanyeol’s smirk made my hands ball up into fists. I knew better than to try hitting him, though. The man was built like a bull. I seized his shirt and shook it.

“What am I going to do?” I wailed. “I can’t act normally around him! I’m just going to embarrass myself!” I buried my face in his jacket, pitying myself as he wrapped an arm around me.

“It’s gonna be okay,” he assured. “He probably won’t even look twice at you.”

I felt an impact and Kai’s voice. “Hyung, that might not be the best way to make her feel better. Don’t be stupid.”

“Are you calling me stupid?”

“Y/N-ssi?”

My head shot up.  Someone had called my name and it wasn’t either of them.

I turned around. One of the younger camera operators stood in front of us. Despite his tender age, he was quite tall, as tall as Chan. He bowed to the three of us and spoke nervously. “Uh, Y/N-ssi, Director-nim is asking for you and Kai-ssi.”

Chanyeol gently pushed me forward. “You two go on, I should get to the studio and see my peeps.” He pushed Kai too. “Go. Don’t make him mad.”

 -

 “What’s your name?” Kai asked the camera assistant kindly while he led us to the director’s office.

“Oh. Lucas,” he said, smiling awkwardly.

“He reminds me of Minho, doesn’t he, Kai?” I remarked. Kai peered into Lucas’ flushed face.

“He does.” Patting Lucas’ shoulder, he continued, “Minho is my sunbaenim. He’s an idol.”

Lucas nodded respectfully and bowed again. “Thank you, Kai-ssi, Y/N-ssi.”

I smiled at his gestures. The boy needed to loosen up a little bit, but I wouldn’t be the one to say that. From what I knew, most of the camera assistants were students studying cinematography.

“Good luck, Lucas,” I wished him as we reached the office. “Work hard.”

He bowed. “I will. Thank you.”

 -

Kai knocked on the director’s door without hesitation, before I could snatch his arm back. We heard a muffled ‘Come in!’ and Kai smartly opened the door.

Park Sunho-ssi was seated quite comfortably in his swivelling chair, rocking slowly from side to side, slight frustration and worry on his face, but he was smiling, he was laughing with the man seated in the left of the three plush chairs in front of his desk.

Kai and I bowed to the director. “Good morning, Director-nim,” we crowed in unison.

“Ah yes, good morning. Please have a seat.” He gestured to the remaining two chairs. Kai immediately drew out the right chair. I thanked his sense. At least he wasn’t going to subject me to humiliating myself in front of Ji Chang Wook and the director. I sat down as he occupied the central one.

“We have a slight dilemma,” the director began. “You are aware of the storyline, I hope. We have yet to find an actor for the role of Lee.”

“Oh, the boyfriend in the States?” I asked.

He nodded. “The actor who had originally agreed to take up the role, suddenly backed out. Chang Wook is aware of that, I presume?”

“Aishh, is it Taejoon?” Chang Wook-ssi’s deep voice rang out, a twinge of annoyance in it. “That punk.” I glanced over past Kai. Chang Wook-ssi seemed quite relaxed. Of course, I thought. They’ve worked together before. “Should I talk to him?”

Sunho-ssi shook his head. “Forget it. Let him be. We’ve set up auditions again.” He set his elbows on the desk and pressed his fingertips together. “Without casting that role, I can’t afford to shoot in the States. So what we’re going to do is finish the shooting at the border and Bukhan river and hopefully by the time we’ll have a lead.”

I nodded in agreement.

He smiled at me. “Chang Wook-ssi, you haven’t met our other leads, have you?”

I heard Chang Wook shifting in his seat and in my peripheral vision, I could make out his keen gaze roaming over me. I pressed my lips into a thin line nervously.

“Y/N-ssi, nice to meet you.” Surprised that he knew me, I twisted in my seat to face him. As his flawless face came into focus, I felt my heartbeat rise. He had on his characteristic smirk that he was famous for in his dramas. I’m going to faint.

I inclined my head. “Thank you, sunbaenim. It’s an honour to meet you.”

His lips parted in a broad smile. “Ah, so polite. And Kai-ssi,” he added, turning to him, “pleasure to meet you as well.”

“Thank you, sunbaenim.”

Chang Wook-ssi shook his head in amusement.

“Wook-ssi, I hope you’ll take care of our maknaes, eh?” The director remarked. I knew my face had turned pink by now.

“Oh, I will, director-nim. Don’t worry.”

-

  As soon as the director’s door closed behind the two of us, I seized Kai’s hand and pulled him with me, wanting to get as far away from there as possible. Kai was all but two seconds away from laughing at me.

“Y/N, if you don’t get used to him, how are you going to shoot this drama?” he asked, his cackle echoing in the hallway.

“Shut up!” I hissed. “He doesn’t need to know anything!”

“Doesn’t need to know what?”

Both of us swivelled around with neutral innocent expressions on our faces. I dropped Kai’s hand. Ji Chang Wook planted his hands on his hips.

“Were you talking about me by chance?” His eyes narrowed playfully.

“Oh! No, sunbaenim, we were—“ Kai began.

“Relax, both of you,” he interrupted. “You don’t need to be so formal. We’re all friends here, aren’t we?”

Kai and I looked at each other. “Really?”

Chang Wook-ssi nodded. “Of course. Don’t be scared of me, please. I wouldn’t be able to bear it if you are.” He placed a hand over his heart and pouted. My heart broke. Aigoo, he’s so cute. Wait, what am I thinking? I grabbed Kai’s hand again.

“Thank you, sunbaenim, but we really have to go.” I bowed quickly and dragged Kai as fast as I could, leaving Chang Wook in the hallway, confused.

“Y/N, you’re really crazy, you know that?” Kai scolded.

“I know I’m crazy!” I cried. “I don’t know what to do!”

-

 “Y/N, we’ve found a replacement for Hyunwoo.” My manager informed me over the phone as I walked over to the elevators, on my way to the music department.

“Oh. That’s good, manager-nim,” I replied, digging around in my handbag for Chanyeol’s car keys. “What’s his name?”

“Lee Taeyong. He’ll be starting in two days. I’ll let you know.”

“Thank you…” I dragged out the last syllable and hung up. “Aishh, where are those keys? Channie’s going to kill me.”

The ‘ping’ sound of the elevator bell sounded and, without looking up, I walked inside, head still in my bag. My head promptly collided with a firm surface.

“Oh!” I exclaimed, jolting. My eyes found a young man in the lift, a hand over his chest. Did I just walk into someone? “I’m so sorry!” I bowed low before straightening up, finally getting a good look at the person.

His hair was dyed blonde and carefully styled so some fell over his forehead and framed his face. It looked very well done. He was tall and lean and had a sculpted face. Young. He looked young and regal. I was almost speechless for a moment. He was absolutely breathtaking. In that minute, I totally forgot that Ji Chang Wook existed. He stood aside for me and I shuffled inside awkwardly. I noticed that he was wearing a Metallica t-shirt.

I pressed the button for the 17the floor and let five floors pass by before I burst out, “Are you an idol?”

He looked surprised. “Idol?” He let out a nervous chuckle. “No. I’m not.”

“Are you an actor?”

He seemed at loss for words. “Um. No, I’m not an actor.”

“Then what—“ The elevator ‘ping’ed and opened. He looked apologetic.

“This is my floor. I’m sorry. Nice meeting you!” He stepped out swiftly. I stuck my hand out in front of the sensors.

“At least tell me your name?” I called out, knowing that I had to remove my hand from the doors as they were blocking service. I reluctantly pulled my hand away.

He stopped two paces away. “Taeyong,” he said, turning around and staring at me dead in the eye. “Lee Taeyong.”

The doors closed.

 -

 The story was simple enough, really.

It was only inspired by the book by Lynne Reid Banks. Only inspired. No space to make up a whole controversy about plagiarism. Credit where it was due. One More River was a book I had grown up reading and it was about a young girl emigrating to war-stricken Israel and learning to adjust among the people there. The story of the drama was similar, the story of a person whose circumstances caused them to leave the United States, their friends and the one they had thought they would spend the rest of their life with. But no. The country failed them, their friends were sympathetic but helpless and the lover was never there when they needed support. Fair weather friends, all of them. Not willing to face challenges, having been brought up in nothing but comfort.

So they return to a country they have no memory of, to a province near the border of two worlds at war with each other. Their only solace is the river. They struggle to grasp the language, the culture, the fear of the people around them. They meet two young men in different ways, in different situations and they find the voice of their heart harder to hear, harder to understand.

In its essence, that was the plot. Sunho-ssi’s direction would make all the difference.

  -

 I folded my arms and stared at the blonde head in front of me. It was two days later, and my new bodyguard was taking charge.

“Y/N, this is Lee Taeyong,” my manager informed me.

“Yeah, I know. We’ve met.”

I half-expected him to reply, but he remained stoic, his expression hard and stern. I turned away, pouting a little to myself. From what I saw, he seemed like a contrast of Hyunwoo. Needless to say, I knew who I preferred.

“Are you always so stiff?” I asked him, staring straight ahead as he followed me down the hall. I spun around, walking a few steps backward. “Don’t you smile? I think my manager is scared of you. That would be a first.” He didn’t reply. “Don’t you talk, either?”

“Don’t walk backward, you’re going to fall.”

I scoffed. “Wow. Okay.” I turned back around, footsteps echoing slightly in the empty hall. I could just make out the murmur of voices in the rooms adjacent to it. “You’re good at ruining the mood, you know that?” Again, silence. “Hyunwoo and I got to know each other right away. Do we have to be so formal?”

“This is professional, if I’m not wrong.”

I shrugged. “Well, so was Hyunwoo an—“

“I’m not Hyunwoo. So please stop this comparison. I’m here to do my job. The means are irrelevant.”

That was the longest he had spoken since I first saw him. I stopped walking, guilt riding up in me. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to compare the two of you. I was only asking if we could be friends.”

He stopped a pace behind me. “I’m only your bodyguard. You have plenty of friends.” I didn’t know what to say. I was hurt, to say the least. “Keep walking, Y/N-ssi.”

-

“Sunho’s going to have a heart attack,” Kai muttered. “Where is he?” I watched him, amused, as he sat on the steps of the bus. Almost the entire crew was bundled into three buses that would take us from Seoul to the Bukhan river and the locations we would be shooting at. Obviously we weren’t allowed into the DMZ. But we were going to film some of the barriers and the soldiers that were stationed there. The story was set in the time of the Korean War in 1950, so we had to make it seem real. The DMZ didn’t exist at the time. We had already been delayed some, and Park Sunho was currently going around pulling out his hair because time was limited and Ji Chang Wook was nowhere to be seen.

I leaned forward from my seat in front, reaching over the bar and ruffling his hair. “Calm down, Kai. Chang Wook-ssi will be here soon.”

As if on cue, Kai let out an exclamation, pointing towards the gates of the agency. Chang Wook was jogging towards our bus, a rucksack bouncing against his back, muscles flexing within his t-shirt. I bit my lip at the sight. His bodyguard was not far behind.

“Jesus, Y/N, stop drooling,” Kai hissed as he got up from the steps, hitting the bottom of my chin. I quickly closed my mouth. When had it fallen open? I was glad that Chanyeol hadn’t seen it. He would never let it slide like Kai would. I cleared my throat awkwardly. “Get a grip on yourself, okay? It’s not going to happen.” He squeezed my shoulder and slipped past me to his seat behind mine. As Sunho-ssi chewed Chang Wook out for being late, I thought about what Kai said. Of course nothing was going to happen. It’s just a tiny crush. It’s like idol worship. I don’t love him. I just really admire him.

A large body slid into the last remaining seat next to me and I seized up, straightening suddenly in my place. I scooted over as near the window as possible, lips pressed tightly together. I could feel it. He was looking at me. His shoulder bumped into mine and I jolted, face turning upward to look at him. He was smiling endearingly at me and I thought I would melt.

“Still afraid of me, Y/N?” he teased.

“N-no, I’m—“ I tried to say.

“I’m just kidding,” he said, bumping playfully into me again. I hung my head, suddenly shy, my hair falling in front of my eyes. I felt heat crawl up my cheeks and I hastily covered my face with my hands. “Yah, what happened?” I heard him ask, his tone now concerned. I sat up, pushing my hair away from my face.

“Aishh, why are you like this, Chang Wook-ssi?” I muttered lowly, my bottom lips stuck out slightly in a pout.

He must have heard me, because he asked, “But what did I do?”

“You’re my sunbaenim, aren’t you? Why are you being so friendly?” I whined. “Now I don’t know whether to respect you or be friends with you.”

“Be friends, obviously,” he replied, a smile dancing across his perfect lips. “Do you know how tiring it is to hear people talk to you as if you’re a judge that’s going to sentence them to death?”

“Ah.” I hadn’t thought of that. “I’m sorry. How should I call you?”

“Chang Wook. Do you want to call me Wookie?”

I blushed. “No. Please, no, I’ll call you Chang Wook.”

He stared at me for what seemed like ages. His gaze was so intense. I couldn’t blame the people who made him an actor. They weren’t wrong at all. I’d seen his performances and wished ever so many times that I could be his co-star. So I let myself look back into those eyes. Then his face broke out into a cute little shy smile that forced the corners of my mouth upward. When he opened his mouth, I was expecting something else to come out.

“Do you like dogs?”

My eyebrows must have disappeared into my hair from my surprise. “Oh. I….yeah. I suppose I do. Like dogs.” If I listened carefully, I was sure that I could hear Kai sniggering from the seat behind me. I bit back a scowl and refocused on Chang Wook’s shining face. He snapped his fingers at me and squirmed in his seat, his hands digging into the pocket of his jeans. When they withdrew, he was holding his phone. Unlocking it, he leaned closer.

“My sister has a dog,” he said. “The cutest little poodle.”

“Oh? Really?” I responded eagerly, leaning closer to him to get a better view. He scrolled through his gallery and, face lighting up, held out a photo. I couldn’t help but gasp in delight at the fluffy white dog that had draped itself over Chang Wook’s lap. “Aigoo, so cute!” Even the dog has great taste in men, I thought privately. What wouldn’t I give to do that? No! Y/N, you’re not supposed to think things like that. Stop it.

We spent quite some time looking through the pictures on his phone and before long, our conversation had surpassed poodles and hobbies. He described funny incidents that had happened during the shoots of his previous dramas, a memorable one being that he and Taejoon had poured glue into Nara’s hair during Suspicious Partner. She hadn’t spoken to either of them off set for a week.

I laughed so hard that I almost fell off the seat. Suddenly I caught sight of Taeyong staring at the both of us with something only a little less than murder in his eyes. Utter disapproval. I abruptly stopped laughing and looked down at my phone. Chang Wook, confused at my sudden halt, turned his head to follow my gaze. Evidently he had seen Taeyong’s expression as well, because he cleared his throat and leaned away from me. The rest of the ride was silent. I spent much of it staring out the window, fascinated at the beauty of the countryside.

-

 “Wahh,” Kai breathed as he stepped out of the bus behind me. That simple sound summed up my feelings too. The wide Bukhan river stretched out in front of us, winding its way to where I knew the border was. The sun had just begun to set, the sky glowing in a thousand shades of red and orange. It seemed like the doors of heaven had been thrown open.

Kai squeezed my shoulder and I let out a huge sigh, letting the serenity of my surroundings seep into me. Even Sunho-ssi seemed at ease.

“It’s so beautiful,” I whispered to no one in particular. “I can’t wait to start.”

-

 We bunked at a hotel for the night in the nearby town. But I could barely sleep. I was far too excited. Had I read the whole script? No. Did I know which scene we were going to shoot tomorrow? No. All I knew was that I was playing the unfortunate victim of financial crisis who returns ‘home’. Chang Wook was playing the young man from across the border and Kai the boy who lived nearby, the boy who my character was depending on. I sighed and snuggled deeper into my pillow. Whatever came, I would face it.

-

 “Can you believe this?” I asked, coming up behind Kai. He glanced up from where his stylist was fussing over his hair. Temporary tents had been put up near the trailers for hair and makeup and last minute adjustments. I was tired and sweaty after the shoot. Kai was about to do his scenes and thankfully, I wasn’t in them. All I wanted to do was rest my feet. “I’m literally about to die and he wants the photoshoot done right now?”

“Wait, he wants the photoshoot now?” Kai choked out, rising from his seat. “I thought-“

“Calm down.” I forced him back down. “Yours is after your scenes are done. Sunho-ssi’s in a permanent panic mode.” I ducked a little to see myself in his mirror and fixed my hair. “Wook and I are doing ours now. We’ll wait for you. Don’t screw up your scenes.”

“Wook?” Kai raised an eyebrow. “You seem to have completely skipped the formalities. You got to know him so well in two days?”

I bit the inside of my cheek. There was no way I would admit to Kai that we had exchanged numbers and spent half the night texting. Kai would tell Chan and Chan would….well, what wouldn’t he do? Instead, I shrugged innocently. “Must be good chemistry.”

He smirked, seeing through my façade immediately. “Chemistry, huh? Don’t forget that you end up with me at the climax.”

I pursed my lips. “Gross. Who wants to be with you?”

“Y/N, it’s time to go.” Chang Wook’s voice filtered into the tent. “Where are you-Oh.” His tall frame bent to pass through the low opening. “You ran away from me to see him, huh? Kai-ssi…let her have a minute, yeah?”

From Kai‘s utterly bewildered face, I knew he was about to say something. “Ah, Wook-ssi, we should go, the photoshoot…” I slid up to him, my fingers curling around his wrist and dragging him out of the tent.

-

“Can you two please get closer?” the photographer begged. “You are lovers, can’t you show that here?” I glanced sideways at Kai, who had finished his scenes in a heartbeat. I suspected that he was desperate to see me make a fool of myself. I felt Chang Wook’s hand on my lower back and I let him adjust me close to him. I could feel the warmth of his breath on my shoulder. But then, he pressed his lips to the base of my neck and I jumped out of my skin, my shoulder connecting harshly with his jaw. He let out an exclamation of pain and withdrew, covering his mouth.

I smacked my forehead in frustration. “Chang Wook-ssi, I’m so sorry!” I reached up, ignoring Kai who was clearly having a field day in the back. “Are you hurt?”

He shook his head, removing his hand and smiled at me. “I should have asked your permission first. I’m very sorry.”

“It’s okay, I was just surprised.” I turned back around and he fit his body behind mine again. I swallowed, determinedly avoiding the back of the room. Chang Wook’s hands slid around my waist. His lips brushed over the skin on my shoulder before firmly kissing my neck. My eyes fluttered closed. Gosh, I’m enjoying this way too much. His grip on me tightened and for a split second, I let myself believe that he was too.

-

 “What the heck is wrong with you?” Kai hissed in my ear after the photoshoot. I had certainly been more comfortable with him than with Chang Wook. He was my best friend, after all. We had already passed the awkward stage and now he could literally do anything and I wouldn’t flinch.

“What’s wrong with me?” I asked him, following Taeyong and Kai’s bodyguard (what was his name? I forget) to our car. Seeing the back of Taeyong’s head, I remembered that he had been cool for the past few days. Maybe I could be friends with him after all.

“Did you even see the way he was looking at us?” Kai asked as we climbed in the vehicle. “Jesus, I’ve never had someone look at me with murder in his eyes.” He shuddered, clicking his seatbelt into its lock. “Why couldn’t you have been more touchy with him and not me? Aishhh.” He hit his head against the glass of the window. “You’re really stupid.”

“I second that.” The voice came from the passenger seat up front. What?!

“Yah!” I burst out. He looked sharply at me through the rearview mirror. “I mean, Taeyong-ssi. Why are you calling me stupid?” He looked at us. Was that a smile he had on his face? Sure, a smile that was making fun of me. But dang, he was smiling?! “I can’t believe this. You two are ganging up against me now?”

“It’s because you go around completely oblivious of life and make everything worse,” Kai interjected. “You’re just dense. That’s all.”

“Wow. Thanks.” I muttered. “At least I’m not a coward.” I folded my arms. “How’s Sehun, by the way? You, uh, talk to him recently?”

Kai promptly turned red. “Oh. Um. No.”

“And why is that?”

“Yah, you know I’ve been busy.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

-

  “Yah, where do you think you’re going?” Stiff calloused fingers wrapped around my wrist and yanked me back. “Are you crazy? That’s the border.” I glared up at Kai and wrestled my arm free.

“Why do you care?” I shot back. “None of you give a damn about me anyway. Let me cross it. With luck, I’ll get killed.” I turned back around to gaze fiercely at the river, wind whipping through my hair.

“Why are you being like this?” He shouted. “Can’t you understand? Don’t you know what they’ll do to you?” He reached out and gripped my arm again.

“They’re not dangerous,” I whispered, my voice barely heard over the wind. Kai froze.

“It’s him, isn’t it?” He spat.

I closed my eyes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You’re going to see him, aren’t you? Your boyfriend from across the river?”

“He’s not my boyfriend!” I yelled.

“Then why do you care?” Kai steered me away from the river.

“He’s in danger!” I cried, pulling as hard as I could to get away. “I need to help him!”

Kai roughly grabbed my shoulders and shook me. I was stunned into silence. “Listen. There’s nothing you can do for him. If you go to see him now, he’ll only be in even more danger. So if you want him safe, listen to me. Don’t cross the river.”

I burst into tears and fell, limp. Kai stood over me, unsure of what to do for a moment, but then lifted me to my feet.

“It’s for your own good,” he whispered. “Stay away from the river.”

“CUT!”

Kai immediately let go of me and I fell to the ground. “Ow!” I whined. “What was that for?”

He pointed at his arm, where my fingernails had cut through his skin. “For that.”

“I hate you.”

“I love you, too.”

“Y/N, Kai, please clear out.” The director’s gruff voice reached us and I scrambled to my feet, bowing and rushing out of frame. I stood beside Kai, watching the others act, when suddenly my stylist came over with my phone. Chanyeol was calling. I thanked her and tiptoed to a distance away to answer it. The director hated it when we slacked off during a shoot.

“Chan?”

“Y/N, can you come see me now? Is your shoot over?”

I furrowed my eyebrows. “Now? Why?”

“Just come to my room. Please. But only if you’re done.”

I glanced quickly at the director and cameramen. I spotted Lucas and waved him over. “Chan, hold on a second.” I covered the mouthpiece. “Lucas, could you find out whether my scenes for today are over?” He nodded and dashed off to the assistant directors. I watched anxiously as he conversed with them. At last, he looked over at me and gave me a thumbs up. I smiled. “Yeah, Chan, I’m done for the day.”

“Then get your ass over here.” He hung up.

I sighed, scouring the area for Taeyong. I held my hand over my eyes, shielding myself from the light. I couldn’t see him anywhere.

“Looking for someone?” A voice spoke directly behind me. I jumped. Taeyong.

“Hey, don’t do that,” I pleaded, a hand over my heart. “You scared me.” He smirked. I’m going to ignore you. “Hey, can you drive me to the hotel? Chan asked for me.”

Taeyong shrugged. “It’s my job. Come on then.”

The ride back to the hotel was quiet. Not awkward, just quiet. As if Taeyong was aware that I wanted peace and quiet. I was grateful, anyway, but I was fully intending to start conversation.

“Have you been watching the shooting every day?” I asked curiously.

“Yes.”

“What do you think of the drama? Have you read the script?”

He shook his head. “I’ve heard the outline. I think it’s pretty interesting.”

“It’s inspired by a book. One More River by Lynne Reid Banks.”

“I’ve never heard of it.”

I smiled. “Not many people have. I have a copy. You want to read it?”

He let out a breathy chuckle. “Sure. Why not?”

When he pulled up in front of the hotel, I bounced right out, eager to give him the book. “Y/N-ssi, wait!” I heard him calling and slowed down only a moment.

I unlocked my room and kicked off my shoes, running to my suitcase to find the book. When I found it, I thumbed at the worn edges before turning around. Taeyong hadn’t come inside, choosing to respect that this room was my space.

“You can come inside, you know,” I remarked, handing the book to him. “I’m going next door to see Chan. You can wait here if you want. I don’t think he lets people into his studio.” He inclined his head and watched warily as I padded over to the adjacent room and knocked.

“Come in!” I turned the knob, but it didn’t budge.

I hit the door with my fist. “Yah! Idiot! Don’t tell me to come in after you locked it.”

“Crap, I’m sorry!” I heard him shuffling around. “Wait a sec.” I heard thuds on the other side of the door. I was aware that Taeyong was watching me from outside my room. And I also knew that he must be looking at me with that amused smile of his. With a sharp click, the door opened.

“What is it?” I asked, walking inside and plopping down on the sofa. “What couldn’t wait until I got back—Oh. Wendy?” I raised my eyebrows at the young woman who had just stepped out of the bathroom. Chanyeol slammed the door shut. “Chan…why am I here?”

“Don’t misunderstand, you pervert,” he snapped. “She’s working on the soundtrack with me. We called you here because we want you to sing for the album.”

I must not have heard him right. “I’m sorry, what?”

Wendy laughed aloud. “You’re going to sing. We called you here to listen to the track.”

“You want me to sing?” I couldn’t believe my ears. “Why me?”

“Good point.” Chanyeol’s phone rang suddenly. “Ah. What a coincidence.” He slid his finger over the answer button. “Yeah, Kai? Yeah, she’s here with me….Who?....Ah, hello, Chang Wook-ssi. Could you come over for a while?....no, nothing serious….Yeah, she’s fine. Could you—oh. Okay. Thanks.”

“What was that?” I asked furiously as he tossed his phone onto the bed.

He smirked teasingly. “Someone was pretty concerned that you weren’t there.”

“Why did you ask him over?”

“Both of you are singing a duet.”

My eyes popped. “Why with him? Why not with Kai?”

“Because that would be boring for me.” He shrugged.

“I can’t believe this,” I wailed. “The entire world is against me.”

“Oh shut up, drama queen.” Chan flicked my forehead. “Literally.” The doorknob turned gently and Taeyong poked his head inside.

“I heard someone crying,” He explained. “Are you okay, Y/N?”

I nodded and gave him an A-OK sign. “Yeah. I’m fine. Just…rehearsing.” He forced a smile and withdrew, the door snapping shut behind him.

Chanyeol started laughing. “Takes his work a bit too seriously, doesn’t he?”

“Yeah he does, and that’s a good thing,” I defended. “If something happened to me, you would blame him first, you hypocrite.”

Chan stared at me. “No. I would blame myself.”

Both of us glared at each other until Wendy broke the tension in the room.

“So, is anyone hungry?…”

-

 Around two weeks later, I found myself completely unable to sleep one night. Sighing, I rolled over to switch on the light. Might as well get in some practice rehearsing the dialogues for tomorrow. I found my script and sat down on the sofa to look through it, highlighting my dialogues and mouthing them.

I was almost nodding off when I heard a knock at the door. I sat up, checking the time on my phone. It was almost midnight. Who was it at this hour?

I crept to the door and opened it slowly, just a crack. Chang Wook’s face smiled at me. I let him inside, confused, but glad to see him nevertheless.

“I couldn’t sleep,” he explained before I could ask. “I saw your light on and thought I could keep you company.” I smiled.

“I was rehearsing tomorrow’s scenes,” I offered.

He brightened. “That’s cool. Maybe we could practice together?” I nodded.

-

“I’ll be okay,” Chang Wook whispered to me, sliding a hand under my jaw. “You don’t need to worry.”

“How can I not?” I answered his silent plea. “You mean too much to me.”

“Nothing is worth your life.” He brushed back a lock of my hair. “I wouldn’t forgive myself if anything happened to you.”

“But you are,” I murmured, my fingers finding his shirt and gripping it. “You’re worth everything. I would do anything if it meant saving you.”

“You can do anything.” His face contorted in pain. “Anything except cross the river.”

“Then why do you return?” I asked, despair in my voice. “Stay with me.”

“My family,” he replied, sorrowfully. “They need me.” He moved my hair away from my face. “You’re so beautiful. But they would never accept you. You would be miserable there.”

“What do you want me to do?” I pleaded.

“Wait for me.” He sighed. “When this war is over, I will come back to you. I promise.”

“And until then?” I couldn’t keep the desperation out of my tone. “Until then?”

He glanced briefly at my lips. “Until then?” He leaned forward. My heart leapt. His lips pressed against mine and a shudder ran through my body. I responded meekly, trying hard to remain in character.

He broke away quickly but didn’t move away, his eyes searching mine.

What was my line?

“I will wait for you,” I murmured. “I promise.”

There was a long pause. I thought that he had forgotten his dialogue.

“Wook—“ The rest of my sentence faded into nothingness as Chang Wook tugged the script from my hands and tossed it onto the coffee table. “What—“

And then he was kissing me. Really kissing me. As if his life depended on it. His broad hands ran up the sides of my body, sending shivers through me, before finally coming to rest cupping my face. His fingers ran through my hair, pushing me higher through the clouds, dizzy. I whimpered involuntarily. The kiss was insistent, forcing through my defences, ripping my sanity apart. His lips never stopped moving against mine, breaking apart only to draw in a breath, kissing me over and over and over….

I gasped, pulling away. His eyes were hooded, pupils dilated, bedroom eyes. Pure seduction. I found that I couldn’t help but swoon at the strands of hair stuck to his sweaty forehead, the way his lips were red and slightly parted, how his chest was heaving up and down. I couldn’t bear to look at him for long.

“What are we doing?” I managed to ask, heart still racing. He seemed to ponder his answer.

“I like you,” he said simply.

The words went straight to my gut. “What?” I asked faintly.

He wet his lips. “I’m sorry if I….I’m sorry. But I like you, Y/N. I like you a lot.”

Where did words go? How to speak? What is my thought process right now?

I swallowed thickly. “I…I really like you, Chang Wook, but….” I hesitated. “I don’t know. I don’t know whether….whether I like you as an idol or as a man. I….I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

He nodded. “I shouldn’t have….I’m really sorry, Y/N. Take your time. I should go….um. Good night.” He stood up hastily, bowed and let himself out.

And me? I cried myself to sleep, hugging my knees to my chest.

What was I doing? I didn’t have a clue.

-

A/N: What am I doing? I don’t have a clue either. i promise you that this is a Taeyong fic and not Ji Chang Wook but honestly if you don’t like Ji Chang Wook, go home we aint friends the man is fine af

#nct #exo #monsta x #red velvet #shinee #nct taeyong #lee taeyong #chanyeol #kai #ji chang wook #wendy #lucas #one more river #kdrama #kpop #scenarios #imagines #kpop scenarios #nct scenarios #nct imagines #love #lust #fluff #angst #confusion #actor!reader #bodyguard!taeyong #music director!chanyeol #actor!kai

[sareyen]

X-Pressions of the Heart: A Boyband AU (Part 1/3)

Read on ao3

Charles is a member of the popular boyband X-Boys. Erik is a harsh music journalist. This is exactly as cliche as it sounds.

Chapter 1

“Fuck no,” Erik said flatly, crossing his arms over his chest as he stared down his boss, Emma Frost. Even though he was standing while she was sitting at her desk, the immaculately-dressed woman did not flinch as she regarded Erik with something bordering on apathy. Emma simply gestured her white-sleeved arm at the chair opposite her desk, Erik glaring at her before plonking himself down.

“You didn’t even hear what I wanted you to do,” Emma said, manicured nails clacking on her keyboard as she responded to emails from some of the other music journalists under her employment.

“I saw your face – you’re definitely going to try and make me do something I don’t want to do,” Erik grumbled, but Emma ignored him, eyes glued onto the computer screen in front of her.

Erik opened his mouth to say something along the lines of ‘why did you call me in here if you’re just going to answer emails’, but was cut off when Emma just raised a finger in a brisk ‘shut up’ motion. Erik swallowed his annoyance, sinking further into his chair and glaring at his boss.

Erik had been working for Emma and her music journalism company ‘Brotherhood of Music’ for years, and is her longest-serving and closest journalist under her payroll. Erik had been there since the beginning, and had almost been made a co-CEO, but Erik hadn’t wanted to be stuck inside the office answering emails all day. No, he had wanted to be amongst the music, in the heart of it.

Emma was unphased by Erik’s rudeness, too used to his abrasive personality after years of working with him. Erik was really the only employee who could blatantly disrespect Emma this way; none of the other employees had the balls to talk back to the woman they dubbed the ‘Ice Queen’ while controlling their pay checks. Erik, on the other hand, was known around the small office as ‘The Shark’, and terrified all of his co-workers.

Emma finally finished responding to the morning’s emails, turning to Erik with a smooth swivel of her plush white leather chair. Emma flipped her blonde hair over her shoulder and linked her fingers together as she leaned on her desk, smiling at him with a little too much feigned sweetness etched into her features. Erik narrowed his eyes, alert.

“I have a job for you, sugar,” Emma said, Erik snorting.

“Not with that expression, you don’t,” Erik countered. “Spit it out, Emma.”

“I do have a job for you, don’t need to be such a sour puss about it,” Emma said languidly, glossy lips beginning to spread into a smile, one that Erik did not like at all. Whenever Emma had that smile, she was definitely roping him into a job he did not want to do. The last time he saw that smile, he had ended up being stuck on a week-long tour with a terrible, terrible punk band that had vocals that he likened to a cat being dismembered. Not only was the music bad, Erik had been forced to stay with the band in their shitty, cockroach-infested hotel and dragged to their Satanic ritual parties, in which Erik was sure cats were actually being dismembered ‘for the music’.

“Whatever it is, I’m not doing it Emma,” Erik said again, his boss just grinning. Another reason Erik hated that look on Emma’s face was because she knew that Erik would give in. Even after working with Emma for so long, Erik hadn’t been able to fend off Emma’s power of persuasion (or manipulation, and sometimes, blackmail) to get what she wants. That’s why she was called the Ice Queen – no one could say no to the Queen, not even the resident shark.

“I do find it adorable how you think you have a say in this, sugar. But yes, you will do this job,” Emma said, laughing. “Whether you like it or not, Erik, I’m assigning you to cover X-Boys. I’m sure even you know who they are?”

X-Boys.

Who didn’t know X-Boys? Even Erik, who abhorred modern pop music like it was the plague knew of X-Boys, the newest teenage-centric generic recycled boyband hitting the music scene. X-Boys, who had been formed on a shitty TV show after producers didn’t know what to do with five somewhat aesthetically pleasing tween-looking foetuses with less pleasing voices. X-Boys, who made the shittiest, cheesiest and most lyrically bland music in history?

“Fuck no,” Erik said quickly, getting up from his chair. “No, Emma. I’d take ‘Satan Katz’ and their satanic sacrificial blood magic and demon orgies over X-Boys any day. Hell, I’d take interviewing Jojo Siwa over X-Boys. Nope. No way. Nuh-uh. Not happening, Emma.”

“Erik, sit,” Emma ordered, but Erik just flipped her off as he made for the door. “If you do this job, I’ll delete The Photo from my hard drive.”

Erik, hand on the doorknob, paused. Emma was already smiling in smug victory before Erik even turned back around, hesitant scowl on his face.

“You’d delete it from all of your hard drives?” Erik asked, Emma smiling sweetly, gesturing back to the chair in front of her.

“Sit, Erik.”

Erik sat.

“Now, I know how you feel about pop music and boy bands, and trust me, I would have sent anyone else to do this if I could. Even if you don’t like them, X-Boys is big, and I can’t afford one of the new journalists to fuck it up,” Emma said, Erik snorting.

“What about Angel? She usually covers all of this pop shit, while I cover real music,” Erik said, Emma rolling her eyes at that.

It was no secret that Erik was a bit of a music snob, but should anyone be surprised? Erik was a music journalist, it was literally his job to be able to differentiate good music from utterly shitty music, and frankly, modern pop was a huge churning pit of recycled one-chord trash with lyrics that sounded like they were written by mid-pubescent horny teenagers who had discovered their right hands for the first time.

Erik did not waste his time interviewing wannabe artists like X-Boys. No, Erik interviewed real artists, like Big Black, Wire, Neil Young and The Clash. Erik wanted to interview real legends, like Elton John and Fleetwood Mac. Not X-Boys, with their clean-cut looks, floppy hair and fucking baby voices that needed two layers of autotune to even make their songs a fraction more tolerable.

A fraction.

“Angel is busy covering both Taylor Swift and Katy Perry right now, so she’s spread a little thin. Plus, Erik, you’re my best, and we need this article to do well, whether you praise them or-”

“I would never praise them,” Erik scoffed, Emma giving Erik a resigned look.

“Or break them to pieces with your prose, whatever. People always read your work even if it’s about an obscure band only you’ve heard playing in shitty bars, Erik, so covering a big group like X-Boys will be good for the company. You know that music journalism hasn’t been as… lucrative as in the past. We need this, for the company,” Emma sighed. That was true; the company hadn’t been doing particularly well lately, even after shifting to a more online publication medium. Erik also blamed modern pop on that; there was no real music to review any more, just pop artists churning out the same albums over and over.

Erik stared at his boss, noticing the slight crease in her brow. If Emma was letting herself develop wrinkles, then things were, maybe, quite dire.

“… And you said you’ll delete The Photo?” Erik said slowly, Emma’s mouth twitching.

“Yes.”

“You promise?”

“Yes, Erik. I promise. I’ll delete it from my phone, my work computer, my laptop and my three hard drives. Capiche?”

“Fine,” Erik grumbled out, already developing a minor headache. “I’ll interview the prepubescent children who don’t have a lick of creativity in their tone-deaf bones.”

“There’s our shark. Sounds like you already have a title for your article,” Emma said, Erik grinning at that with a full show of his teeth.

***

“Hey, Charles, Hank and I are gonna head off first,” Alex called, blonde hair peeking out from around the door frame of the dance studio.

“Alright, have a good night,” Charles replied, smiling at his band mates, who had already showered and were dressed in casual clothes, bags slung over their shoulders. Hank frowned a little at Charles, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his sharp nose.

“Are you sure you don’t want to have dinner with us?” Hank asked, worried for his friend. Charles warmed at his concern, but waved it away, leaning over to continue stretching his limbs in front of the mirrors that spanned the entirety of the wall in front of him, only obscured by the ballet barre.

“I’m sure, Hank. I just want to practise the choreography a bit more, you know how the second verse of Love Me, Hate Me trips me up. Go and enjoy dinner,” Charles assured his friends, who glanced at each other before nodding, waving as they left. Charles heard their footsteps echo down the now-empty halls and the swing of the dance studio doors, before everything was plunged into silence once again.

It was just past 6:30 in the evening, and the band had been practicing the choreography for their concert tour scheduled to start in just under a month. It was their first world tour, and Charles was immensely excited, but also beyond nervous.

Charles had always loved singing and music, but he had never expected to get to where he was today – in a world-famous boy band about to embark on a world tour. When Charles had entered the X Factor, he had just been a college graduate whose singing experience started and ended with belting out heartfelt ballads or emotional acoustic songs in the shower, performing for the bottles of shampoo and conditioner lining the shower caddy.

Charles had auditioned by singing an original song of his, one called Paralysed. He had written the first iteration of his life-changing song when he was only fourteen and feeling like he had hit rock bottom. Charles had fallen into a dark place, the heavy-handed torment supplied by Cain and the coldness at the hands of his mother dragging him somewhere no child should ever have to tread. He had felt trapped and paralysed in his palatial family home, and those feelings had inspired what, at the time, had just been a poem scribbled into the margin of his notebook and a background hum in his head.

He had finished writing the song, as well as many others, by the time he had graduated with a degree in genetics (something he was interested in apart from music), but he never thought that it would ever be more than a hobby.

But then, Raven had apparently submitted a video of him singing to the X Factor production team, and that was how he found himself on the show. He hadn’t gone through as a solo act like he had originally planned, since his talent apparently wasn’t enough to stand on its own, and had been pushed into a group with four strangers into a group called X-Boys alongside Alex Summers, Hank McCoy, Sean Cassidy and Armando Muñoz.

They had been strangers back then, four boys completely out of their depth on national television, but they had grown a lot since that first live show. The strangers became friends – family, even – and now they were one of, if not the, biggest boy bands in the world.

Charles still found himself wondering how this happened to him; inside, he was still the guy who sang Celine Dion in the shower and wrote an ode dedicated to cup noodles (a short song titled ‘MSG and Me’ that had been a party favourite at college). On the outside, though, he was Charles Xavier, oldest member of X-Boys and, probably, the most left-footed member of the group.

Charles, fundamentally, was a singer-songwriter. He hadn’t ever really thought that he would be a member of a boy band that not only had to sing, but dance at the same time. It wasn’t that Charles never danced – he had danced quite a lot in college, but mainly when he was drunk as a skunk, and even then it had veered more into ‘lap dance’ territory than actual choreographed dance moves.

Still, Charles could move. He just had a bit of trouble memorising such complex choreography, especially when compared to the other members of his group. Even the shy and dorky Hank picked up the choreography faster than Charles, the boy somehow quick-footed and with a strong, powerful body.

So, that was why Charles often stayed behind in the dance studio, even when the rest of his band mates had gone home. Tonight was no exception, and Charles sighed heavily as he stopped stretching and stood up. His dance clothes were already damp with sweat from the day’s rehearsals, the loose tank-top sticking to his back and the inner layer of his black sweatpants far too humid. Charles’s brown hair clung to his pale forehead, and his cheeks were flushed with colour from the exercise.

Charles took a drink from his water bottle, before flicking through his phone to replay Love Me, Hate Me for what felt like the millionth time that night. The heavy electronic beat began to pump through the speakers his phone was connected to, and Charles closed his eyes, sucking in a deep breath, before launching into the choreography, determined to nail the routine this time.

‘This is important to all of us,’ Charles thought to himself as he spun, sweat droplets flying through the air. ‘I have to work harder so I don’t let them down.’

Charles danced late into the night, and by the time he went home, he had no more energy to expend and promptly passed out on his bed, hoping to get enough rest so he could rinse and repeat the day after.

***

“You’ll be allowed to follow them around while they prepare for the tour,” Emma told Erik, who was looking more and more sour as Emma gave him the details of his assignment. “Their record company, Hellfire Records, has allowed you and only you such intimate coverage, so use it wisely. You’ll interview them during their rehearsals and preparation, talk about their newly released album, and then review their concert at the end. That’s it.”

“That’s it?” Erik huffed to himself, scratching his bare stomach as he waited for his coffee machine to spit out his strong, black coffee, which he would definitely need if he was going to get through his background research of X-Boys. Coffee, and maybe a couple pops of aspirin (or Valium), would hopefully get him through listening to their ear-grating album without wanting to throw himself off the roof of his apartment complex.

Erik was going to meet the band for the first time in just under a week for preliminary interviews, and even though he hated the assignment, he was still going to do his job. Unlike most of the other artists he usually covered for Brotherhood of Music, he knew nothing about X-Boys except that they’re a group of prissy boys who sing inane songs about love and breakups, with ‘Baby, you’re so beautiful, a work of art,” being the most lyrical line in any of their songs, which, to Erik, sounded like carbon copies of one another.

Erik was already growing irritated by the time his old coffee machine had finished dribbling out the last of his brew, and Erik padded back to his couch with his mug, settling into the centre dip. He kicked his legs up onto his coffee table, pulled his sticker-laden laptop onto his grey-sweatpant clothed thighs, and quickly searched up X-Boys on Google.

Erik immediately let out a disgusted noise from the back of his throat as a few fan sites popped up, all just sounding like screaming teenage girls who were the type to cover their walls in a collage of their favourite celebrity’s teen magazine posters while writing fan fiction about having babies with their perfect, family-friendly crushes.

Erik went to Wikipedia first, just to get a grasp of the members of the group, of which Erik found out there were five. Erik glanced at the names, only lingering long enough to memorise them for future reference when he would need to interview them.

As Erik read, his preconceived notions about the band were only confirmed; they really were another mass-produced company group, a ragtag bunch of boys who dreamed big but delivered little, famous because they were maybe a little pretty. Or, at least, that kind of short one with the really blue eyes that the camera could somehow pick up from far away was kind of pretty.

But, he was probably 16-years-old, maximum, and Erik grimaced. Looking up some more articles about them, most of them titled ‘New Boys on the Block!’ or ‘The Next 1D!’, Erik began to find out more about the individual members. From the texts Erik flicked through, it seemed like Hank McCoy was the designated ‘endearingly shy’ member, while Alex Summers was the token blonde white boy with a slight bad-boy streak. Sean Cassidy was the goofy one that could apparently sing ridiculously high, while Armando Muñoz (stage name Darwin, for some reason) was the politically correct addition so critics couldn’t say that there was no diversity (but putting one black member into a group was a piss-poor attempt at making things inclusive). All four of these guys were 20 or under, making Erik roll his eyes. Their mothers must be so proud that they were all millionaires while still sucking on their teats.

Lastly, there was Charles Xavier, the oldest member at 24 years old. 24 wasn’t particularly young, not when the majority of the band were still technically teens. Xavier was only 6 years younger than Erik, which in the long run, wasn’t that much of an age difference. What was ridiculous about him, though, was that he was the jailbait-looking guy with the floppy brown hair, bottomless blue eyes, and, now that Erik was looking at a high-definition group shot taking up the majority of his screen, bright red lips that looked more obscene than appropriate for a teenage wet dream. Gott.

Even though the group was adamant that they didn’t have a ‘leader’, Xavier seemed to be the spokesperson for the group. Erik was sure that was just on the basis of age and not talent, because like Hell any of these boys would actually have a shred of musicality with their ‘doof-doof baby come here’ tracks.

Xavier also looked like the paragon of ‘Boy Band Member’ – he was overly smiley, exceptionally kind and respectful, eloquent and handsome in a boyish, youthful way. Even the cynical, music snob Erik had to admit that the guy was attractive, even if he looked like his voice hadn’t broken yet. And to look like that at 24, that was just… not right. The guy could attract paedophiles legally.

Erik closed the tabs, Charles Xavier’s face disappearing from his screen, and the journalist moved on to listen to their new album – X-Pression. G'tt, the title name almost gave Erik a stroke. The album cover was a painful attempt at being artistic, with the five boys lying with their heads together submerged in water, wearing all white and looking pensive. Ugh. Erik’s cup of coffee was already drained, but he hadn’t needed to reach for the aspirin – yet. Reading about the group was one thing, but needing to listen to them was a whole other ball game.

Erik considered getting some headphones like he usually would if he were listening to another artist that he was covering, but he couldn’t do it. Erik’s ears weren’t insured, and he needed his ears for his job. There was no way he was risking the safety of his ear drums for a group like X-Boys.

So, Erik listened to the X-Pression album, and by the end, he really wished his eardrums had blown before having to listen to that horror.

It was terrible.  Terrible couldn’t even cut it. Copy-and-pasted beats overlaid with the same three-chord progressions and electronic beeping every other artist used. The lyrics to their songs were all bland and emotionless, and Erik would have been more inspired by Kristen Stewart reading him the daily weather report. Erik shouldn’t have been surprised, though, not when the first three songs on the album were called ‘Sweet Love’, ‘Strawberry Crush’ and ‘Love Me, Hate Me’.

“Music is dead,” Erik groaned to himself, walking to his kitchen and popping an aspirin into his mouth and swallowing it down with some whisky, not caring if the mix made him shit blood later. Anything was better than the splitting headache that 14-song torture tracklist gave him.

Erik had to give himself a break, flushing out his system with some real music and another glass of scotch. If he was going to move on to their group’s music videos (G'tt help him) he wasn’t going to do it 100% sober.

Sooner than he would like, Erik searched up the group on YouTube, watching their latest music video for Sweet Love. It was everything Erik expected – a group of boys in outfits that screamed twink to Erik, but apparently sex-bomb to 14-year-olds worldwide, dancing to the excessively perky pop song like they loved nothing more than shimmying to ‘your sweet love sustains me, girl, yeah, your sweet love sustains me’.

‘But wow, Xavier’s ass…’ Erik thought idly to himself, ignoring all of the other members, his eyes immediately falling to the oldest member of the group. In Xavier’s white pants, he could see the plush curves of his ample ass, which swung left and right as he danced. Xavier was by no means the best dancer out of the five, but there was something mesmerising about the way he moved his hips, the motion strangely obscener than Erik expected the blue-eyed boy to be capable of.

‘I bet that ass would be great riding my cock,’ Erik thought to himself, before realising what he was staring at and thinking about, letting out a choked noise.

“What the fuck,” Erik growled to himself, tearing his eyes from Xavier’s ass, wondering what the hell had gotten into him. It was the whisky. It had to be the whisky.

And maybe the fact that Erik hadn’t gotten laid for a good minute.

Slamming the screen of his laptop down, Erik made himself focus on other things, and actively pushed all thoughts of Xavier’s blue eyes, red lips and perky ass out of his mind.

***

It was a Monday morning at 10:30am, and Charles had his leg kicked up on the ballet barre, leaning to stretch his joints before another practise session. Even though they had most of the choreography down pat now, they still had to keep up regular practises to make sure their bodies didn’t lose the ingrained movements or the fluidity and elasticity of their limbs.

Today, though, they would apparently have a guest observing them, and Charles was more excited about practise than usual. The owner of X-Boys’s record label, Sebastian Shaw, dictated the group’s actions with an iron fist, and everything X-Boys was involved in was either run by him first or designed by him. Charles wasn’t overly fond of the man, even if he had given Charles his big break – Shaw was, in the end, a business man, and Charles felt like he couldn’t care less about the music. Sometimes Charles felt a little bit like a marionette, but in the end, X-Boys’s music made their fans happy, and that’s what Charles wanted.

But, one of Shaw’s decisions that Charles did like, was that he had hired Erik Lehnsherr to cover X-Boys’s X-Pression World Tour. Charles was a fan of Lehnsherr’s work, and had been following his articles long before Raven had auditioned him for X Factor. Lehnsherr’s prose was blatantly honest, never lavishing praise on the artists he covered if he didn’t deem them fit for it, nor did he ever criticise just for the sake of it. He wrote about what was great and what was bad about artists and their music without bias, just appreciating the music for what it was – music.

Charles had discovered a lot of great music from reading Lehnsherr’s articles, and knew the man had great taste. It also didn’t help that Charles knew he was drop-dead gorgeous. Though Lehnsherr mainly produced written pieces, a number of years ago he had done a video interview with the lead singer of a popular metal band called ‘Devilish Teleporter’, whose stage name was Azazel. The video had gone viral because Lehnsherr had ripped into the man’s music so hard in person that the devil actually cried.

Erik Lehnsherr was, undeniably, hot. Charles’s exact type – ruggedly handsome, chiselled features, sharp jaw and mesmerising blue-grey eyes. 16-year-old Charles had definitely wanked to mental images of Lehnsherr ever since that video came out 8 years ago, and Charles never thought he would ever get to meet him in real life.

Charles knew that Lehnsherr never covered musicians like X-Boys, but the romantic in Charles couldn’t help but think that maybe this was just meant to be. Charles laughed at himself at the silly thought, amused and giddy, before returning his focus to loosening up his quads.

Sean and Darwin chatted lightly as they also stretched, while Hank was busy warming up his throat, always a bit nervous when he knew he was going to be interviewed. Alex, on the other hand, was doing push ups in front of the mirror – he was apparently trying to bulk up a bit before the world tour, making Charles chuckle in amusement.

“Hey, Charles,” a female voice said, drawing nearer to him. Charles turned from where he was leaning over his legs, smiling when he saw Moira MacTaggert walking over to him, hand raised in a wave. Charles returned it, dropping his leg and meeting her halfway across the room.

Moira was X-Boys’s manager and a good friend of Charles’s. Moira and Charles had become good friends, mainly because they were somewhat close in age, Moira only three years older than Charles. The rest of the group teasingly called them the group’s Mother and Father, though Sean did so a little grudgingly (he had a very obvious boner for Moira, even though she made it clear that she could not see an 18-year-old like that, legal or not).

“Hey, Moira. How has your morning been?” Charles asked chirpily, Moira smiling at him after they hugged.

“Same as usual, which means busy,” Moira said, huffing. “Shaw’s got me running around with the tour approaching, plus organising time for interviews with the guy from Brotherhood of Music.” Charles’s stomach fluttered at the mention of Lehnsherr, but Moira didn’t notice. “I read some of that guy’s work – he’s harsh.”

“Honest, Moira,” Charles said, laughing a little. “He’s just honest. It’s not a bad thing.”

“It will be if he starts ripping into you guys,” Moira sighed, giving Charles a knowing look. Another reason why Charles and Moira got along well was the fact that they knew X-Boys’s music was pretty… shallow. Charles liked it because it made their fans happy, and it was genuinely fun dancing and singing with his friends, but in terms of musical inspiration, Charles knew X-Boys was not it.

Charles himself wrote songs better than the work Shaw chose for them, but apparently his music didn’t have the right ‘vibe’ for the band. So, Charles kept his music to himself, sometimes performing it for Moira or his sister, Raven. Or the shampoo and conditioner in his shower.

Mainly for his shampoo and conditioner.

“I don’t get why Shaw asked Brotherhood to cover you guys,” Moira muttered under her breath, Charles shrugging.

“I think Shaw knows the CEO, Emma Frost? I overheard that Shaw had asked for one of their other journalists to cover us, a reporter named Angel Salvadore, since she usually writes flattering reviews about pop artists. But Frost assigned Lehnsherr instead.”

“Must have been a bad break up,” Moira sighed, Charles snorting.

“At least to Frost. Shaw is still trying to get back with her,” Charles said, the two friends chuckling, before Moira’s phone buzzed, giving Charles an exasperated look. “Go, it’s probably Shaw about the journalist. He should be coming sometime soon.”

Moira nodded, quickly walking out of the room with her fingers tapping furiously on her phone, and Charles returned to stretching his limbs.

It was when Charles was bending over into a comfortable downward dog that the door to the studio opened, first revealing Shaw and Moira, and followed by the one and only Erik Lehnsherr. Charles immediately blushed when the man’s eyes drifted across him after casting a cursory glance over the rest of the room. Charles was sure that he was imagining that Lehnsherr’s eyes lingered on him a little more than the other members.

‘Wishful thinking,’ Charles thought to himself, straightening back up as the group headed over to where Shaw was looking at them sternly.

“Boys, this is Erik Lehnsherr from Brotherhood of Music. He’ll be covering your tour in their publication,” Shaw said a little stiffly, eyeing Lehnsherr’s imposing form discreetly. He then turned his gaze onto the young boys, giving them all hard looks. ‘So behave,’ his eyes warned silently, and Charles could feel Hank gulp beside him. Shaw nodded to Erik, patting his shoulder, before heading out.

Alex, Sean, Darwin and Hank were all aware of Lehnsherr’s reputation, and warily looked at each other. It was just Charles who stepped forward, extending a hand towards the man, warm smile on his face.

“Hi, Mr Lehnsherr, it’s great to meet you. I’m a huge fan of your work. Oh, and I guess I should introduce myself – I’m Charles Xavier, but please call me Charles,” Charles said smoothly, and Erik’s brow creased for a moment, before smoothing out and taking Charles’s hand, shaking it with a firm grasp. Erik’s hand was warm and slightly rough, and Charles shivered at the touch.

Charles hadn’t realised that Erik was so much taller than him, and had to tilt his head upwards to meet his eyes. And God, Erik was much more attractive in person than in the video. That video was made 8 years ago, and Erik had only grown into his looks now that he was thirty. He had been clean-shaven back then, but now sported a sultry dusting of ginger scruff across his stoic jaw, and Charles was a goner.

It wasn’t conducive to PG-13 thoughts when Erik Lehnsherr was wearing dark jeans which showed off long and lean legs (plus what Charles could make out as a sizeable cock), white V-neck top exposing sensual collar bones and a well-worn leather jacket. A walking wet dream, if Charles had ever seen one.

“Nice to meet you too, Charles,” Erik said, voice smooth yet gruff. “And just call me Erik.”

“Erik, then,” Charles repeated, smiling as his tongue wrapped around the name. Moira narrowed her eyes, picking up on the slight change in Charles’s tone and eyes.

Charles was older than the other members, who had joined X-Boys as teens, and thus not having had a college experience. Charles, though, had joined after he got his degree, and lived through three solid years of college and partaking in everything that it had to offer.

Charles had been pretty liberal with his body at college, something that Moira and the rest of the company’s management had kept pretty hush-hush. It was easy to persuade the public that Charles Xavier was a complete angel, a picture of innocence, with his shorter stature, baby face and angel-blue eyes. But, his high school and college friends knew better than to be fooled – yes, Charles was kind and sweet, but he was also wild in the sack and, in college, was not shy in making that known.

Before he became famous, Charles was not unfamiliar with picking up men and women from bars, and he was very successful at that too. Charles felt a surge of excitement bubble up inside him – it had been a long time since he had been able to flirt with a dirty edge, usually only being playfully flirty and charming for cameras and fans.

The look he gave Erik now, though, was not playfully flirty.

It was downright filthy, and if he had used it in a bar, he would probably be in the bathroom sucking the man off.

Erik’s eyes narrowed a little, thin lips pressing together tightly. Charles and Erik just stared at each other for a moment, before there was a cough from behind Erik, Charles remembering that they weren’t alone in the room. Moira had coughed, giving Charles a raised brow which he ignored, turning to his band mates.

“These are the other members of X-Boys,” Charles said, pretending that he hadn’t just been sexing Erik up with his eyes. Sean, Hank, Darwin and Alex introduced themselves one by one, Erik just giving them curt nods, before turning back to Charles with a direct gaze. His grey eyes were contemplative, like he was trying to figure Charles out. Or, like he was trying to imagine what he looked like out of his slightly revealing dance outfit.

“Um…” Charles started, licking his lips. “We were about to start dance rehearsals. I suppose you’ll be wanting to see that, so you can mention it in your piece on us? Moira said that she gave us time for some prelim interviews after, is that right?”

“Yeah, whatever,” Erik said brusquely, nodding and stepping back to lean on a purposefully exposed concrete wall, arms crossed. Charles could hazard a guess that Erik could care less about them and their dancing, and probably cared about their music less, which made him a little glum. He had expected that to be the case after following Erik’s work, but it still hurt when people dismissed their work so quickly. Sure, it wasn’t ground-breaking, but Charles had spent a lot of late nights perfecting the choreography and stabilising his vocals. Even though X-Boys didn’t produce the music Charles made himself, he appreciated the work that went into it.

He wanted to show Erik that, yes, they made music targeted at teenagers attracted to pretty boys, but they were still valid. And that, maybe, Charles was more than a pretty boy and someone Erik could find attractive in a non-PG way.

At the mention of rehearsal, the younger members of X-Boys quickly dispersed to their positions, Hank fiddling with the music system. Charles found his own mark on the floor, glancing back at Erik as he crossed his hands behind his back in Sweet Love’s starting pose, breath catching in his throat when he noticed that Erik was staring back at him.

‘Good God, you better not mess up the choreo, Xavier,’ Charles said to himself sternly, turning away from the hot German man who was definitely thinking about writing a scathing review of their work.

And who, Charles noticed, was kind of checking out his ass.

***

Charles’s ass was even better in person. That was the first thing Erik had thought when he entered the rehearsal room. He had honestly expected Charles’s looks to have been the product of stage make-up, carefully selected camera angles and maybe some sneaky CGI, but no. Charles had been bent into downward dog like it was as easy as breathing, and his plump ass had stretched out his ridiculously tight black compression pants.

Whoever dictated this man’s wardrobe today needed to be fired. Or get a raise. Erik hadn’t decided yet.

What he had decided, was that Charles Xavier’s ass looked illegal in those pants, the stretchy fabric clinging to the curves like they could barely hold it together. That ass was illegal and should be locked up, but also freed because shit. It was a criminally nice ass.

Though Charles had a deceivingly young and innocent face, his thighs and calves were strong and well-muscled, and the loose white tank-top Charles wore showed off his defined biceps and the slight rise of the veins on his forearms.

Erik’s cock may or may not have twitched a little in interest at the sight of Charles bending over, something Erik also decided that he would deny until he died.

‘It’s fine,’ Erik thought to himself as Xavier sauntered over to him, a sway in his step that made Erik’s eyes not quite know where to look. ‘Once he opens his mouth, he’ll have a scratchy voice like a pre-pubescent teen, and probably spew absolute nonsense, and any attraction you have will die.’ Erik continued to assure himself this, but the moment Xavier opened his mouth, all thoughts just died.

But his attraction did not.

Erik had not expected Xavier to have a fucking English accent. Erik had done some more research after watching that one music video, but had avoided interviews because, somewhere deep down, Erik was afraid of this.

This being finding out Xavier had a fucking posh English accent that was more hot than repulsive. No, Xavier’s voice was not repulsive in the slightest. It was smooth like rich butter, but with a slight edge that betrayed his age as being more than an immature 16-year-old who thought that every artistic choice he should ever make should be based on some wannabe ‘bad boy’ on TikTok.

No, Charles Xavier’s voice was comforting and sounded like it held the curve of a mischievous smile, like he knew that whenever someone met him, their minds turned to scrambled eggs that just kept repeating ‘crap, Charles Xavier is hot, his voice is hot, his ass is a work of art and maybe, maybe, I would subject myself to listening to horrible boy-band pop just to watch his face and his ass move across the screen in an artsy music video.

And Erik knew the look Charles had given him. He’d seen it plenty of times before, but usually from men in gay bars and not in a dance studio surrounded by barely-legal boys. It was a look Erik was accustomed to seeing on the faces of men gyrating against him in clubs to heavy bass tracks which weren’t too bad since you listened to them already half-sloshed in a club. It wasn’t a look Erik was supposed to find in a dance studio where Xavier, the undecided leader of a boy band, was swinging his hips to ‘your sweet love sustains me, girl, yeah, your sweet love sustains me’.

Erik had expected that once he met Charles Xavier in person, he would realise that the boy – man – was like all of the other cookie-cutter pop acts out there these days. He hadn’t expected to be trying to hide his hard-on in front of the boy-band and their manager because one appraising look from Xavier had made Erik imagine bending him across a ballet barre and fucking his plush ass as he made Xavier watch every one of Erik’s thrust in the dance mirror.

Erik only realised that the routine was over when Xavier’s ass stopped moving, and that he was approaching him once again, but now a little slick with sweat and panting slightly. Charles lifted a water bottle to his lips and tilted his head back, exposing the column of his pale neck. A little water dribbled out and slid down the man’s chin, sliding down his neck and skirting around his pronounced Adam’s apple, finally disappearing beneath his loose tank top down the cleft of his strong pecs.

Then, as if Xavier knew what he was doing to Erik, the man lifted the hem of his shirt to wipe the sweat from his face, revealing a stomach that wasn’t cut deeply with muscle, but was toned yet a little soft-looking.

Erik wanted to lick the faint indentations of Charles Xavier’s abs. Among other things.

Erik’s mind was littered with a series of expletives in both English and German, Charles Xavier walking over to him with an easy, charming smile and a sparkle in his blue eyes.

“Did you enjoy the performance?” Xavier asked in that disarming English accent, and Erik’s head was forced to nod up and down stiffly, trying to will away the erection building in his jeans.

“Okay! Great! How about you guys run through the choreo for Love Me, Hate Me, and then go and freshen up for your prelim interviews,” Moira said, clapping her hands. The boys agreed, Charles just giving Moira a look, which she returned with a roll of her eyes, Erik looking at the two and the silent conversation they seemed to be having with narrowed eyes.

Erik felt annoyed for some reason, and it was definitely not because Charles Xavier gave Moira an odd smile that seemed strangely intimate.

No, definitely not.

***

“Oh, please, Charles. I saw you,” Moira said, gesturing to the bright red closed door across the large foyer of Hellfire Records. Behind it, Erik was conducting interviews with Sean and Darwin, while Alex and Hank had gone to grab some lunch. It had been organised so that the interviews were staggered after holding one whole group interview, which had gone smoothly enough.

It mainly consisted of the boys answering basic questions like ‘what is the style of the new album’ and ‘what is the meaning of the title track’. The questions had been pretty generic, but that was standard for a preliminary introductory interview.

Charles, and the rest of the boys too, had picked up the general vibe coming from Lehnsherr through it all, though. The man couldn’t make it any more obvious that he was not a fan of them nor their music. Hank had kept his eyes trained at his feet the entire interview, while Darwin had adapted, remaining his usual calm and unflappable self. Sean had kept raising his eye brows every time Erik would roll his eyes at one of their basic answers, before giving Moira looks as if saying ‘this guy is a dick’. Alex, on the other hand, looked pissed and glared at Lehnsherr, who just blinked back at him, unaffected and unamused.

Charles, though, had answered the man’s questions eloquently, never dropping the slight curve to his mouth, even when Erik would say something about ‘how the album sounds a lot like the last one’ and that ‘the writer of Sweet Love also wrote songs for One Direction, what do you have to say about that?’. In fact, Charles’s grin would widen a little every time Erik’s eyes turned to him with a challenging look, Charles just responding with measured and, admittedly, well-formed answers.

Somehow, Charles had made a song with lyrics like ‘your sweet love sustains me, girl’ sound like a love poem by John Donne, and Erik, for a split, split second, may have been persuaded that the meaning of Sweet Love was deeper than a guy being horny for a girl ‘sweeter than melted chocolate and lemon drop candy’.

After the group interview, Hank and Sean had been interviewed separately, and that had gone as well as everyone imagined (i.e. Alex ended up cussing at Lehnsherr and storming out, while Hank was busy apologising and bowing as he trailed off after the hot-headed band member). There was currently no screaming happening with Darwin and Sean’s interview, though, which Moira was thankful for.

Even though Alex had dropped the F-bomb in a recorded interview, Moira was more concerned about Charles. Not that he’d have a meltdown and engage in a screaming match with Lehnsherr like Alex had, but that he would push the journalist up against a wall and climb him like a tree.

“Saw what, Moira?” Charles asked, though he couldn’t help the twitch in his red lips, Moira rolling her eyes.

“I saw the way you were literally asking Lehnsherr to push you against a wall and bang you with your eyes,” Moira said flatly, Charles snorting.

“Please, Moira. Can you blame me? He’s hot. Exponentially hot,” Charles said, Moira groaning.

“Yes, you made that clear when you were mentally undressing him in the studio. Charles, I’ve heard enough college stories from you to know that you’ve got a track record miles long, and I wouldn’t have a problem with that if you weren’t an incredibly famous, recognisable public figure whose fan demographic has an average age of 15.”

“15-year-olds have sex, Moira. It’s not a foreign concept to them,” Charles said, Moira internally groaning in frustration.

“Yes, but Charles, you have a reputation and an image to uphold,” Moira said.

“Yes, I’m aware,” Charles said, scrunching up his nose. “Virginal and upbeat, basically overtly gay but ‘oh-so-straight’. A twink that can flirt with girls and be happily invited to your grandmother’s Tupperware party.”

Moira shot Charles a look, the 24-year-old levelling one back at her with equal force.

“Moira, I get that you’re just doing your job and looking out for me. Or, at least, looking out for the image Shaw has curated for me, but I’m a fucking 24-year-old paid to appeal to underage girls. That’s way more fucked up than me being interested in a man that’s actually legal. And insanely hot.”

“You… You have a point,” Moira said, Charles grinning. “But! Charles, your image right now is clean and scandal-free. Imagine what the paps and the public would do if they catch you with your tongue stuffed down the throat of someone like Lehnsherr. They’d never leave you alone, and in the end, we both know that you’re a regular guy. You’re not the caricature of a person Shaw paints you to be. You said it yourself once, remember?”

“I’m just a guy who likes writing songs about ramen and singing into my loofah,” Charles said, Moira smiling a little now, nodding warmly.

“Yeah. You’re that, and a regular 24-year-old guy. But, at least partially, you’re also a public figure. So just… be careful, okay? I’m not telling you not to go for it – as in Lehnsherr, because yeah, I’m not blind – but… be careful about it. I care about you, and I don’t want you to turn into one of those stars with major issues,” Moira said, Charles nodding, smiling at his friend.

“I know. Thanks for caring about more than just my image, Moira,” Charles said, kissing the woman’s cheek as the interviewing door opened, revealing Erik. Strangely, Darwin and Sean were still in the room, and when Charles craned his head to peek in, they were staring at each other like they had just seen their lives flash before their eyes.

Erik must have grilled them until they turned to stiff charcoal.

Erik’s eyes narrowed when he saw Charles standing by Moira, who just gave Charles one last look before heading into the interview room to check on the catatonic Sean and Darwin. She nodded at Erik when she passed him, but the man ignored her and made his way straight to Charles like a man on a mission.

And on a mission he was.

***

The other four band members that weren’t Charles Xavier weren’t terrible. They each had some semblance of a personality, even if it had taken Erik basically verbally abusing them to get them to break the boy-band façade.

In the end, though, Erik thought of them all as appetisers, just obstacles to get over before reaching the main course.

Charles Xavier.

In one look, Erik knew that there was more to him than the plastered pop smile and carefully styled hair. It wasn’t only that he was, to Erik, the most attractive one out of all of them (or, maybe the most attractive man Erik had ever seen, period), but he was… intriguing.

Erik didn’t put up any pretences. He had been rude during the group interview, and he knew Charles had picked up on his less-than-subtle jibes. Charles’s reactions could have gone one of two ways, Erik had imagined. On one hand, he could have crumbled to pieces with the slightest piece of criticism, one of those thin-skinned celebrities that cowered before the public. Opposingly, he could have been the type of celebrity whose head was too far up his ass to think that he was anything less than godly, the celebrity of all celebrities, and that any criticism Erik had was just because he was jealous of his fame and fortune.

But Charles Xavier had been neither of those. He had been something else entirely.

Charles had listened to Erik’s questions carefully, humming and nodding as he asked them. His devilishly red mouth even smiling at them, insults and all, like he enjoyed it. Erik had made a mental note that an eye-catching but not clickbaity title would be ‘Charles Xavier is a masochist who like being insulted (and not only in bed)’.

Charles had answered all of Erik’s questions thoughtfully, like he actually thought about the answer for himself and didn’t just read off a pre-planned ‘Pop Q&A Guide’ like the other members had. Charles defended his work, highlighting the nuances in the differences between genres featured in this album and their last, talking about how their choreography was difficult this time around because of how it drew upon European ballroom dancing styles mixed with hip-hop – which Charles had endearingly and self-deprecatingly said he was rubbish at – before going on to talk about how one of the last tracks was inspired heavily by Bossa Nova. He even drifted into an in-depth music analysis on the topic, one that Erik had unwittingly been drawn into, almost in a daze.

Erik did notice that Charles never explicitly said that their music was good. He just commented that some of the stylistic choices had been ‘interesting’ or ‘different’, but he hadn’t been like other artists who just said that their music was the best thing to ever happen to the industry since the dawn of time.

Erik even thought that, in the slightly amused quirk of Charles’s mouth, that he agreed with some of Erik’s thoughts on their music. Charles, maybe, also thought that Sweet Love was a slew of recycled notes strung together, but he balanced out that thought by saying that the choreography was challenging and a wonderful mixture of styles. Charles hadn’t quite sold out to the industry, but he was definitely a little complacent.

Erik was glad that Charles hadn’t been roped into one of the other duos he interviewed, somehow being scheduled to talk to Erik alone.

“Erik! How have the interviews been going?” Charles asked, a little bounce in his step. Erik noticed that he had changed clothes since the group interview (in which everyone had still worn their dance clothes), and was now wearing a pair of neat light-wash denim jeans, a white T-shirt and… a frumpy, baby-blue cardigan that, though horribly out-of-fashion, matched his eyes and made Erik’s arms itch to crumple the shorter man into his arms.

Erik ignored that thought.

“They’ve been alright,” Erik said, shrugging. Charles just raised a brow, silently calling Erik out on his lie, the man smirking. “Well, they’ve been pretty boring. But I’ve sat through worse.”

“Ah, are you talking about your piece on Warren Worthington?” Charles asked, chuckling a little. Erik blinked, surprised.

“You read that?” Erik asked, Charles nodding, a small smile playing on his lips.

“I wasn’t lying when I said I was a fan of your work, Erik,” Charles said, touching Erik’s arm, the touch seemingly friendly on first glance, but lingering a little too long, heat a little too warm. Erik melted into it. “Did he really say that he was the new Elton John? Because if he did, you calling him a ‘self-obsessed and delusional twat’ was much deserved.”

Erik choked on a laugh at Charles’s cheeky expression, not expecting something like that to come out of his mouth.

“I can confirm that he really did say that. I was going to add a few more choice words in there, but my boss, Emma, didn’t want him to sue the Brotherhood for defamation,” Erik said, Charles letting out a loud, genuine laugh that made his eyes crinkle in the corners.

“Would it still be defamation if it’s all true, though?” Charles replied, Erik chuckling now.

“Emma didn’t want to risk it, and contrary to popular belief, I actually do like my job,” Erik said, Charles’s eyes softening then.

“It is obvious that you like your work, though. You wouldn’t be able to write articles with that much passion if you didn’t love music,” Charles said, Erik speechless for a moment. He regarded Charles carefully, and it was like he was seeing him for the first time.

‘Is this the Xavier charm all of those teenagers and menopausal women keep going on about?’ Erik asked himself, a little pained. Erik was not going to be one of those people, even if he thought that Charles was very, very attractive even in that atrocious cardigan, and that his mind was more interesting than the last 100 musicians Erik has interviewed combined.

“Yeah,” was all Erik said to that, but Charles didn’t seem to mind. “Anyway, your interview?”

“Oh! Of course,” Charles said, Erik beginning to turn back to the interview room, but was stopped when Charles reached out to grab his wrist. G'tt, his grip is actually pretty strong for such a tiny person. I’m sure he’d grip my cock firmly if he-

Verdammt.

“It’s already 1:15, and I haven’t eaten since 6am. I’m absolutely famished,” Charles said, eyes impossibly wide, almost pleading. ‘Stay strong, Erik. G'tt.’ “How about you conduct your interview over lunch? It’ll be on me. I know a great café just down the road from here, it’s usually less busy by half past 1.” Erik opened his mouth to protest, but Charles barrelled on, like he knew what he had to say to change Erik’s mind. “They have really good coffee, beans from Jamaica, apparently.”

Coffee. Charles just had to play the good coffee card.

“I’m Jewish,” Erik suddenly said, Charles blinking. “The café has kosher options, right?”

“Oh! I’m actually not sure,” Charles said, brow creasing, looking genuinely concerned. Erik’s heart may have squeezed, just a little.

“No, I… I’m not strict about keeping kosher, but I do try to adhere to it as much as I can,” Erik said quickly, suddenly wanting to smooth out the crinkles between Charles’s brows. “As long as there are non-pork options, it should be fine.”

“I can definitely say yes to that, my friend,” Charles said, and Erik really should have been more put off at Charles’s casual term – because what 24-year-old actually calls someone ‘my friend’ – but he wasn’t. He really wasn’t. “They have an amazing steak sandwich. The vegetable pancake with salsa is also great, and it’s meat-free so that should definitely be fine.”

“Let’s go then,” Erik said, Charles beaming at him. Charles stopped by what looked like his locker before they left, pulling out a cap and some sunglasses. On the door of the locker, Erik noticed that Charles had stuck some pictures of him from what looked like college – Oxford, even. Erik did a minute double-take. No, that was definitely an Oxford shirt Charles was wearing as he… chugged the biggest vessel of beer Erik had seen in his life, and he was German.

Another picture was of Charles cross-dressing at what looked like another college party alongside a pretty blonde girl, and another picture was of him and the same girl, but when they looked quite a bit younger (and Charles already looked young to begin with).

These were versions of Charles that had never appeared in TMZ articles or fan pages.

And Erik decided that he liked them. He liked them quite a bit.

Next chapter (2/3) →

#cherik #charles xavier #erik lehnsherr #boy band au #x-men #xmen #xmen fic #james mcavoy #michael fassbender #ao3 fanfic #ao3

[eversall]

prompt: jimon + childhood friends AU !! always like those, and i always wonder how that would like... impact jace and simon if they had been childhood friends from the start

best friends for a long time is my ultimate weakness

“Hey.” Jace says, inviting himself into Simon’s room and sprawling onto his desk chair. “‘Sup?”

Simon’s lying on his bed, earphones half in, and he glares at Jace as hard as he can - which isn’t much, given the fact that his mind is currently drowning in sorrow, and he just wants to curl up and die.

“Don’t pretend like you didn’t hear what happened. You’re here to gloat, aren’t you?” Simon snaps, and Jace shrugs. 

“I told you in fifth grade that that dude was bad news, it’s been seven years since then.” Jace reminds him. He’s looking at Simon’s posters now, not even looking at him as he says, softly, “You didn’t even think about listening to me.” 

“Sorry, yeah,” Simon bites out, “except he was the only one who invited me to prom and unlike you, I don’t have dates just lined up? So I can’t afford to be picky - “

“Will you shut the fuck up?” Jace says, exasperated, and Simon sits up in bed, furious, when Jace continues, “You would never let any one of us say that about ourselves, but you can say that about yourself? Anyone would be lucky to have you, Simon, you can’t settle.” 

Simon’s stunned into a furious silence, glaring petulantly at Jace, because Jace is right, and he hates that, hates that Jace knows him almost as well as Clary. And this boy, with his infuriatingly gorgeous body is nice to Simon in his own way, surprisingly sweet, and fuck it’s just not fair and it doesn’t help Simon get over the feelings he’s had for Jace for years. 

“Whatever.” Simon sighs, and flops back into bed. 

“I’m right, aren’t I?” Jace asks, and Simon rolls away from him so he doesn’t have to look at Jace sitting in his room like he belongs there. 

“You always are.” Simon says dully. 

There’s silence, and then the sound of Jace moving, the bed dipping as he sits near Simon. A tentative hand comes up to stroke his back, Jace’s long fingers burning a path through the thin material of Simon’s shirt. 

“You’ll be okay.” Jace says quietly. “You will.” 

“Like I was okay in middle school when Georgie Chen dumped her juice all over me for not being a cool enough date to the movies?” Simon asks wryly, and he hears Jace laugh, the small, throaty one that makes little dimples appear in Jace’s cheeks. 

“If I’m remembering correctly, I also dumped my juice over Georgie Chen for that, so I think that went fine.” Jace remarks, and Simon smiles at that, shaking his head as he sits up, sitting cross-legged on the bed and facing Jace. 

“Yeah, but that cemented your popularity. ‘Ooooh, I’m Jace Herondale, I’m too cool for the cool kids, I wore tiny leather jackets when I was in elementary school and my hair swishes in the wind like I’m in a commercial - “ Simon sings, adopting a falsetto and ducking as Jace throws a pillow at him, laughing. 

“I’m Simon Lewis,” Jace says, deepening his voice and turning his nose up, “I corrected the math teacher in ninth grade and now I’m the math nerd and I know ever single Nicolas Cage movie like nobody’s business but I like to wear graphic tees and pretend I’m a punk rocker - “

“I’m a superstar and you know it.” Simon says, making finger guns. 

“Damn, and we’re all just along for the ride.” Jace says, propping his chin up in his hands and looking at Simon fondly. Simon grins, because Jace is his best friend, and maybe prom didn’t work out, but - he still has this, still gets this side of Jace that no one else gets to see. And that’s enough for him. 

.

Three weeks later, his phone shrilly and insistently rings, rousing him from his Brooklyn 99 marathon on prom night. He blinks down at the caller ID, frowning as he picks up. 

“Hey,” he greets Clary, “shouldn’t you be getting read to go to prom, Fray? Izzy’s picking you up soon, isn’t she?” 

“Yes.” Clary says, and she sounds like she’s out of breath and running. “But change of plans, I’m getting ready at your house.” 

“Uh - “ Simon says, but then his front door rings and he slowly pauses the episode on his laptop as his sister goes to get it. 

“Clary?” Rebecca’s surprised voice echoes. Simon jumps up and runs to the front door, where he sees Clary lugging a huge duffel bag and two large dry-cleaning bags, whispering furiously to Rebecca. “Oh my god - yes, I approve - Mom’s not here - well, I’ll just do all the - yes, I love this plan!”

“What plan?” Simon asks immediately, narrowing his eyes at his sister and his best friend. “Don’t like the collusion that’s going on here, no, nope, betrayed by my very best friend in my house, under my roof - “

“No time for yapping, Simon.” Rebecca says impatiently, one hand on her hip as she makes a shooing motion. 

“She’s right.” Clary hums as she dumps the dry cleaning in his hands and tugs on his hands. “Come on, we’re already behind schedule.”

“Behind - what?” Simon asks, bewildered, as he follows her to his room. She throws the duffel on his bed and takes one of the bags, the plastic riding up to reveal the shimmery green dress he helped her pick out. “Clary, what?” He repeats helplessly. 

“You’re going to prom.” Clary says, beaming at him. “There’s someone that’s wanted for a very long time to go with you, and in a burst of bravery - and pain, because someone slapped some sense into them - they’ve decided to use the tickets they bought for the two of you and take you to prom!” 

“Who - what - you slapped someone into going to prom with me?” Simon blinks, feeling like he’s rapidly losing control of the situation. 

“Not me.” Clary says airily. “Though I wish I had. I promise its a good date, you’re definitely going to like it. Now go change into your suit, please.” 

“Suit - “ Simon looks at the bag in his hands and slides the plastic up, revealing midnight-blue fabric. “Holy shit this is way out of my price range, where’d you get this?” 

“Magnus, of course. Raphael picked it out from Magnus’ selection.” Clary answers. She pauses, and then very seriously takes Simon’s hand. 

“Hey,” she says quietly, “trust me, okay? This person really likes you, and all of us think that they’ll be good for you. You’ll like them. Let me help you get ready?” 

“All of you guys?” Simon swallows. “Even Jace approves?” 

Jace, who’s notoriously hard to please; Jace, who’s obnoxiously insulted everyone who’s looked twice at Simon; Jace, who’s quietly helped Simon through every disappointment and made Simon fall harder and harder for him - 

“Even Jace.” Clary smiles. “Ready?” 

Simon’s silent for a second, looking at the suit and thinking about how even if it’s not with Jace, he deserves to be happy. Maybe he should give this mysterious suitor a chance. 

“Alright.” He answers finally, and can’t help but smile in response to Clary beaming at him. “Alright, alright, you win, Fray!” 

“Damn right I do!” She says, pleased with herself. “Now go.” 

Clary manages to get him and herself ready in record time, and they’re both dressed, hair styled, in less than forty minutes. Simon stares at the person in the mirror, and can’t quite believe it’s him. The suit fits like a dream, makes his legs look longer and his torso broader. Logically, he knows he’s not bad-looking, but the suit makes it much easier to feel that way too. He looks at his carefully coiffed hair, and he nods, sliding his glasses off. 

“What are you doing?” Clary asks, slipping into her heels and fixing one of her earrings on. She looks gorgeous, impeccable in her makeup and curls, and Simon’s not sure what black magic she worked to get herself ready at the same time. “Keep your glasses on.”

“I look better with contacts?” Simon asks more than he says. He’s pretty sure that was the consensus among his friends. Clary shakes her head, smiling. 

“This person specifically told me to make sure you didn’t take them off, because - and I quote - they’re a part of you.” She says, and Simon can’t breathe for a long second, because that’s just about the most damn beautiful thing he’s ever heard, and it makes him feel like he could fly. 

“Okay,” he croaks out, sliding his glasses back on, “okay, this person’s a romantic.” 

“Hey,” Rebecca sticks her head into his room, “they’re all here, Simon’s date is ready.” 

“Finally.” Clary grabs her purse and moves to the door. “I’m gonna go out first, and you can follow right after, yeah?”

“Okay.” Simon says, his mouth suddenly dry and his hands clammy. Clary squeezes his shoulder before she takes off, and he’s left with just Rebecca. 

“Becks.” He says weakly, gesturing to himself. “I - “

“You look good, Si.” She says softly, smiling sadly at him. “You look just like Dad, you know. Except for the nose.” She taps his nose. “That’s Mom all the way.”

“Aw, Becks.” He says, flushing. 

“Don’t get sappy on me now.” She teases, and then she gestures to the hallway. “Well? Go find your date.” 

Simon nods, and bites his lips as he moves to the front door. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath with his hand on the door handle. 

This is going to be fine. This is going to be fine. 

He opens the door and looks out into the night; the path to the front door is lit brightly by the front porch lamp, white light glowing softly around a figure with soft blonde hair and unbearably adoring blue-brown eyes. 

“Hey,” Jace says, holding out a rose to Simon, a blinding smile on his face as he looks at Simon, “wanna go to prom with me?” 

“Jace?” Simon croaks out, taking the rose numbly, his mind not quite comprehending. 

“I got it on very good authority that all the time I was pining, it wasn’t actually as hopeless as I thought? So, uh,” he gestures to Simon, “I wanted to give you the prom you deserve. And I want to - try to be the boyfriend you deserve. If you’d let me.” 

Jace is wearing a black suit with a tie to match Simon’s, his eyes hopeful and sincere. He looks good, like a dream out of some fairy tale, and more importantly - 

He’s the boy that hit Simon in the face with a basketball in fourth grade and then led him around school for the rest of the day, holding his hand, because Simon couldn’t see out of his swollen eye; he’s the boy that taught Simon how to play the guitar in middle school and encouraged him to try for his first gig; he’s the boy that stood by Simon through everything. Simon’s never felt this way about anyone. 

Heart in his throat, he steps forward and curls his fingers in Jace’s tie and yanks him forward, kissing him on the porch, slow and sweet as the crickets chirp around them. 

.

Six years later, Jace leads him on a walk through his old neighborhood. 

“Hey.” Simon says, nudging him as Jace shivers. “You’re thinking too hard.” He reaches over and tightens Jace’s scarf around his neck, his fingers lingering against the underside of Jace’s jaw. 

“You don’t think enough.” Jace responds, smirking, as he catches Simon’s wrist and tangles their fingers together, squeezing reassuringly. Simon hums and drives his foot down against a pile of dry leaves, relishing in the crunch that sounds from it. 

“Did you remember to drop the truck off at the mechanic?” Simon asks absently. Jace’s coffee truck is doing well enough to have expanded into two more trucks, run by his employees. 

“Yeah.” Jace abruptly stops, turning to look at Simon. “Hey, remember this wall?” 

Simon looks at it and laughs. It’s a little alley tucked away behind the driveways of the houses, and it’s got graffiti from the generations of kids that have lived there; Rebecca and her friends are by Simon and Clary’s heart with their initials in it, Jace’s barely legible scrawl across it all, with Izzy and Alec beneath that.

“I was so angry when you wrote over our names.” Simon recalls, and he squats down and traces over the heart he and Clary drew over their names when they were eleven. “Here Clary and I were, promising to marry each other when we grew up, and you just came in and scribbled all over it.”

“I was jealous.” Jace laughs a little. “I wanted to have all your attention, and instead she got it.” 

“You always had my attention.” Simon stands up and smiles at Jace, who grins and hooks his hands in Simon’s pockets to bring him closer, walking him backwards at the same time until they’re pressing against the wall, kissing softly. 

They break apart when they hear a car passing by, and make the trek to the Lewis house, bumping shoulders. 

“You think I can go back and scribble the heart out even more?” Jace wonders as they climb the front steps. “I don’t want our kids to one day find that Aunt Clary and Dad had a heart thing going on.” 

“Our kids?” Simon grins, something warm and soft fluttering in his chest. Jace looks at him like he’s the stupid one. 

“Of course.” Jace says. “I’ve had you for thirteen years, Lewis, you think I’m ever going to let you go now? Is it not obvious that you’re stuck with me?” 

“It is.” Simon kisses him again, quick and chaste, before he rings the bell, his heart swelling. “It is.” 

.

That night, before they go back home to the apartment, they add a postscript to the graffiti heart: 

P.S. - JH + SL Forever

#jimon #shadowhunters #jace herondale #simon lewis #sh fics #i write sometimes #i love this trope #<3

[the-revisionist]

a good fixed star

LTiH, Caroline/Gillian. 

Prompts: “things you said under the stars and in the grass” and “things you said while we were driving.”

Notes: Chapter title quotes are from letters of Virginia Woolf to Vita Sackville-West, except for the last chapter, which is from Vita to Virginia. And the longer italicized quotes in text are from Virginia’s letters to Vita. Apologies for any errors of transcription or misattribution; a scholar I am not.

For my dear @farminglesbian, who suggested the prompts.

i. “The whole thing is very splendid and voluptuous and absurd.” 

Gillian first saw Clash of the Titans with a group of friends at a movie theater in Manchester during the summer of 1981. She was 16 and stoned and—to the delight of her parents—finally growing out the purple streaks in her hair. The previous year—not to the delight of her parents—she’d had an abortion. She was, she thought, done with boys. For a while, anyway. So in spite of the heat she wore a motorcycle leather jacket over her Gang of Four t-shirt and hoped her profuse sweating would repel the idiot sitting next to her, a friend of a friend named Derek who wore a pink Lacoste shirt and whom she barely knew, and who kept trying to convince her to give him a hand job. While she did not appreciate this constant distraction from the smoldering beauty of Harry Hamlin and the troubling voluptuousness of Ursula Andress, eventually she gave in toward the end of the film because he was everyone’s ride home, including hers, and she knew otherwise there was no way she’d get back otherwise. At least he bought her fish and chips afterwards. 

Since then she’s seen this guilty pleasure of a movie so many times that it’s become a family joke; this morning Raff had texted Clash of T on telly 2day but u probs already know. So some 35 years later here she is, watching the same bloody film, ignoring that unsettling summery feeling somewhere between restlessness and lassitude, and thinking that her life is on repeat with only the most pathetic of variations—this time she’s alone, divorced, sprawled on the couch with her head hanging off the cushion so that she’s watching Lawrence Olivier upside down, and wearing nothing but a t-shirt and underwear because it’s hot as hell outside and she hasn’t the faintest intention of really working today. The sheep are fed, watered, and sheltered; that’s all she cares about. A bottle of lager sweats on the table in front of her and creates a puddle that dams against the mobile, which rings at the crucial moment when Olivier famously intones, “Release the kraken.” 

Cursing and flailing, she reaches for the mobile and falls off the couch in the process. Eyes on the kraken, she swipes the damp edge of the phone against her t-shirt and answers with a grunted “Yeah,” assuming it’s Raff and he needs a babysitter because no one else really calls her unless some sort of favor is required. 

This is true even of Caroline, who messages her regularly and usually about Flora or work or some random bad date she’s had—I loathe women a recurring motif as of late and leave it to Caroline to casually drop the word loathe in a text—so Gillian bobbles the mobile when she actually hears Caroline purring, “Make yourself pretty for me.”

She laughs. In addition to the texting they actually see each other more now than in the past couple years and if Gillian actually trusted anyone other than Caroline for confession, she would swear that to her complete and utter consternation, the woman in question actually flirts with her now. She has a hundred reasons why this cannot be true, but two primary counterarguments suffice: (1) it’s delusional wishful thinking on her part and (2) Caroline doesn’t really mean it and is simply practicing flirting techniques on her—and not doing such a grand job if all her dates are shit, apparently. The situation, such as it is, percolates within her, giving rise to a fluttery feeling at best and, with cheap lager in the mix, outright nauseous terror at worst. Men are easy, women are complicated; this is normally her blanket excuse for why she had never seriously attempted a romantic relationship with a woman. In Gillian’s mind there is a Venn diagram comprised of two circles: one labeled flirting and the other women, and the convex sliver where they deliriously conjoin is marked oh fuck and this maddeningly curvy demimonde is where one Caroline McKenzie Hyphen Fucking Dawson currently resides in her jumbled brain.  

Gillian watches the kraken thrash around onscreen while Lawrence Olivier quietly contemplates a professional nadir. “What’re you on about? Don’t you have a thing today? Work conference?”

“Canceled!”  

“Oh. Why?”

“Outbreak of food poisoning!” Caroline says with unabashed glee. 

“Hurrah for salmonella.” 

“Actually it was staphylococcus. Had dinner with them all last night and everyone put mayonnaise on their chips, I noticed, except for me.”

“You’re like the Sherlock Holmes of bacteria.”  

“So I’m a free woman this afternoon. Let’s do something.”

“Do what? Too bloody hot to do anything.” 

“Which means you’re just sitting around in your underwear drinking beer and watching some shit movie.” 

“Do you have a spycam in my house?” Gillian takes a moment to glare suspiciously at her mobile. “Or are we Skyping by accident?”

  “I cannot tell you how impressed I am that you know what Skype is.”

“Twat.”  

“Come on. We’ll go for a drive somewhere. Didn’t you say you wanted to go to that weird bookstore—the one in the old church?” 

“Caz, that’s like on the other side of Leeds. One of those little villages where they’ve probably filmed a hundred episodes of Miss Marple.”

“So? We’ll make a day of it. Put on pants, I’m five minutes away.” She rings off. 

Gillian stares at the phone. Indeed, the kraken has been released. “Oh fuck.”

She runs upstairs. Her jeans are all in various stages of smelly, filthy, and unwearable, so she throws on a dress—subtly flowered and linen, the only dress she owns that has earned some kind of positive response from Caroline. Distinctly she remembers the time she wore it last summer: family dinner al fresco at the farm, Caroline’s smiling appraisal with head tilt and cool murmur of approval—you look nice—and the resultant blush fire blazing across her face. She could not remember the last time anyone made her cheeks burn like that. She pulls on battered Chuck Taylors, looks in the bedroom mirror and sees all these overlapping iterations of identity, an entire life visible in one weary reflection: punk wannabe, mother and grandmother, survivor, slag, widowed farmer, and, currently, middle-aged idiot smitten with her stepsister.  She groans “oh fuck” one more time and goes downstairs, finds a cooler and dumps some ice in it along with the only bottle of white in the fridge, and then strides outside just as the Jeep Cherokee pulls up to the house.  

Caroline rolls down the window. She wears aviator sunglasses that bring Mad Men’s Don Draper to Gillian’s mind and, no surprise, carries them off just as well as he did. While she may not be as successful with women as Don Draper, she is certainly garnering a lot of attention from the scant lesbian population in the area because lately she’s going out on dates with seemingly random and vaguely energetic young females every other week or so. Gillian knows this because she is always the one assisting with the dismal postmortem every time, nodding sympathetically as Caroline ticked off romantic defects:  She thinks “The Archers” are a boy band. She used the wrong fork for the entrée. She asked if I was interested in rock-climbing. She admitted she drinks wine out of cans. She said I reminded her of her aunt. 

To Gillian’s unbridled delight she once again gets the head tilt and the compliment: “You look nice,” Caroline says. She nods at the cooler. “What have we got here?”

“We’re having a fucking picnic,” Gillian says. She puts the cooler in the back seat and climbs into the Jeep.

“Fantastic. What did you pack?”

“Pinot grigio.” 

“And?”

“Ice.”

Caroline puts the Jeep into drive. “Hell of a picnic.” 

Before they even turn around, however, an argument ensues about the air conditioning: Caroline wants it on, Gillian wants it off. 

“What’s the point of having a summer drive if the windows aren’t open, if we aren’t feeling the breeze?” Gillian says. 

  Caroline looks at her uncomprehendingly. “My hair will get messed up.” 

“Oh, the vanity.”

“I’m not vain, I just don’t want to look like an escapee from the mental ward.” 

“No one’s going to see you, just me, and maybe a bunch of nerds at a bookstore. And you always look b-b—um, really good anyway.” Gillian folds her arms and glares straight ahead. “And it’s f-freezing in here,” she adds, even as another blush rampages across her face. “It’s not healthy, we’ll get summer colds and I can’t afford to get a cold because—”

“—you’re a farmer and you can’t afford to take off a single day because you’re hard-working salt-of-the-earth-blah-blah-blah—yes, I know, you’ve run that line on me before and yet here you are, abandoning your precious farm on the hottest day of the year.” 

Gillian pouts. 

“It’s the hottest day of the year,” Caroline repeats in the vain hope that reality will weigh in favor of reason and air conditioning.  

Gillian ratchets up the pout into a sulk. 

Caroline sighs and relents: The air conditioning is turned off, all windows glide down. “Right then. We’ll be smelling sheep shit until we hit the M62.”

ii. “But I do adore you—every part of you from heel to head.” 

Women belong to summer. Or so Caroline thinks. In this season of bounty her heightened senses take note of women to delirious distraction: curling hands and lips, swirling dresses around bare legs, swaying hips, swelling cleavage, all of it—sweat and fading perfume commingle sweet as honeysuckle, throaty laughs, rich, wine-soaked voices. She has always attributed her frustratingly inexplicable attraction to Gillian to this summer madness—especially in that fucking dress, oh God—but the fact remains that she has desired this sullen, stubborn sheep farmer clad in any variation of plaid shirts, torn jeans, grotty jumpers, mechanic overalls, and even Elmer Fudd-esque winter caps, all of which render her desperate self-diagnosis null and void. 

On the motorway they’ve gathered speed, creating a roaring hot-air wind tunnel within the Jeep’s interior. When Caroline looks in the rear-view mirror all she sees is the Medusan rage of her hair and barely restrains herself from melodramatic groaning. 

Gillian leans out the window, almost dangerously so—half-perched off the seat, gripping the doorframe, and screaming woo-hoo into the void of the surprisingly sparse M62 traffic. Even as she takes quiet joy at the sight of Gillian—hair wild, squinting into the sun, wind plastering the summer dress against her strong thighs—this hanging out the window like a demented Labrador makes her nervous and she shouts,  “For Christ’s sake, sit down.”

To her surprise Gillian plops into the seat with uncharacteristic obedience, even putting on the seat belt. She looks at Caroline, hair streaked across her tanned face, laughing, and Caroline thinks I will remember you like this always. 

“Sorry,” Gillian hollers into the din. 

“I just don’t want to scrape you off the road.” 

“It’d put a damper on everything, wouldn’t it?”  Still smiling, Gillian leans back and closes her eyes for a moment while pushing hair out of her face. A tendril remains curled along her cheek and across her lips, a bit of ornamentation run amok outside its prescribed patterns. Caroline notices her stereotypical farmer’s tan—bronzed arms, face, and neck in contrast to bare white legs, upper bicep delineating the pale and the tan courtesy of dozens of t-shirts. The edge of her dress flutters tantalizingly around her thighs and Caroline forces herself to look at the road. Her relationship with Gillian has always possessed an inevitability about it—a fantastic, fatalistic entanglement courtesy of their star-crossed parents—but she has never loved anyone or anything so wildly unpredictable as this woman who now sits next to her in so deceivingly still and innocuous a manner that Caroline’s naturally suspicious mind expects that her next move will be to climb onto the roof of the Jeep and start singing “Sempre libera” from La Traviata in homage to Priscilla, Queen of the Desert. Except that she knows Gillian loves the movie, but hates opera. Nonetheless Caroline’s feelings remain a source of trouble, so much so that not only has she mindlessly thrown herself into dating and then ridiculously rejecting out of hand any woman who shows the least bit of interest in her, but also that at the present moment she misses the correct turnoff from the M62 and they end up meandering around the outskirts of Leeds in search of the tiny Miss Marple-ish village for a good half hour despite the continual hectoring of both the GPS and Gillian. 

“How could you miss the bloody turnoff?” Gillian grumbles again as they pass a sign that says WARNING: OWL SANCTUARY, LOW-FLYING OWLS for the third time. 

Wisely—just like an owl, yep, that’s me, Caroline thinks, who are you kidding, you pathetic numpty?—Caroline declines the option of admitting the truth, which is that she was so distracted by the continuous sensual writhe of the dress around Gillian’s thighs that she would drive around for hours just to witness the play of shadow, sun, and linen upon her skin and imagine how satisfying it would be to remove that dress and— 

“Maybe we should visit the owl sanctuary,” Caroline manages to suggest after loudly clearing her throat. 

Slouching and petulant, Gillian folds her arms. “If they give me sanctuary from your fucking driving, I’m all for it.”

iii. “I try to invent you for myself”

Finally they discover the bookstore—in its former incarnation known as St. Botolph’s, a modest, squat, moss-covered stone church—in a village with a blink-and-you-miss-it name: Marston Something, Offnor, Colward, Fuckward, who knows. So Gillian takes it upon herself to dub the unknown hamlet Owlshitshire: “Say it fast three times,” she dares Caroline. While Caroline parks across the road from bookstore-church and fusses with her hair, Gillian stares at the building with newfound apprehension. “You think we’ll spontaneously combust, entering a church together? The lesbian and the slapper?” 

Caroline adjusts—but does not remove—her sunglasses. “As if the joint force of our sins will merit our ruin? It’s deconsecrated, isn’t it?” 

“Reckon so. I’m just worried this will end up like The Omen.” 

Caroline sighs. “Everything is a bloody movie with you.” 

“Thought that was one of the things you—liked about me.” “There are,” Caroline replies slowly, “many things I—like about you.” With the Jeep at a sweltering standstill, sweat sprouts upon Gillian’s upper lip and falls in a tingling wave along the edge of her scalp. The white noise of her heart becomes clearer as Caroline leans in toward her—one more hundredth of a millimeter, one more sliver of a hairsbreadth and I swear to Christ or whatever pagan deity hanging about that I will kiss you, sweaty lips and all— Inscrutable as an Italian film star from behind those bloody sunglasses, Caroline grins as she hits the button releasing the seat belt, which slithers off her body in perhaps the dorkiest strip tease known to humankind but that, unsurprisingly, still leaves Gillian breathlessly and idiotically aroused. “Alas, my dear, that is not one of them.” The bookstore is second-hand—damp and disorganized, marinating in the sweet reek of old paper, wood polish, and pastoral, Anglican ideals long past. As she happily waltzes through the chaos, Gillian’s eager fingers tap random piles of books as if she is a pianist lazily running through scales and contemplating a piece for performance. Then her hand hovers above a heart-stopping find: The Letters of Vita Sackville-West and Virginia Woolf.  Before picking it up, however, she glances around with a stiff furtiveness that would be screamingly obvious to anyone witnessing her blatant, nervous interest in the love letters between two women. But there is no one in the store except an elderly couple and the proprietor behind the cash register, who is chatting up Caroline. Apparently he has discovered that she is a headteacher and is going on at length about the ruin of the education system thanks to political correctness and multiculturalism. Briefly Gillian considers swooping in for a rescue, but she knows damn well that Caroline can decimate this type of bloviate without working up a sweat; indeed, she leans in and murmurs something to him that shuts him up right quick. So Gillian turns her attention to Virginia and Vita, her thumb ruffling musty tea-colored pages while fearful of the dive into words that she suspects will only grant more clarity and substance to the inchoate feelings within her.   I always have such need to merely talk to you. Even when I have nothing to talk about—with you I just seem to go right ahead and sort of invent it. I invent it for you. Because I never seem to run out of tenderness for you and because I need to feel you near. Excuse the bad writing and excuse the emotional overflow. What I mean to say, perhaps, is that, in a way, I am never empty of you; not for a moment, an instant, a single second. It’s like standing in church when the bell tower rings and the vibrato rattles your bones and stiffens your spine with a clarifying chill. And I’m in church right now, Gillian thinks, kind of appropriate, I reckon—then Caroline is beside her, so close that her breast brushes against Gillian’s upper arm. Her pale skin is flush with warmth, her fancy sunglasses glint on her head like a hipster crown and she smells good, like sun and sweat and grass and Gillian doesn’t know how she does that, she hasn’t been anywhere near grass unless she rolled around in a field before showing up at the farm, and Gillian’s senses riot and the beautiful words she just read tumble out of her head, the glue of their cohesion melts away. “What’re you looking at?” Caroline asks casually.    “Oh—um.” She tilts her head to look at the cover and Gillian stares at the shade of her jawline, the golden down along her cheek, and the strong lines of her throat because it seems the safer to look at these things rather than the freckled pointillism on her chest leading one astray into cleavage—though I walk through the valley of cleavage, I shall fear no evil, for the thought of wine in the cooler comforts me—or even the bracing blue of her eyes, those dangerous lodestones that, for some unfathomable reason, have always drawn out the deepest measure of truth from Gillian. 

“Interesting.” Caroline nods at the cover. “Do you like her writing? Woolf, I mean?” “What I’ve read, yeah. I mean, I’ve not read much. Just a couple novels,” Gillian mumbles. “They kind of made me aware—” Now Caroline touches her elbow and she devolves further into a stammering, sweating mess. “—of, um, the interior life? Interior lives? How they could, er, work. How the mind kind of works some-sometimes.” She looks around frantically—why is it so bloody hot in here? “Sound like an idiot.”  

“Not at all. Have to admit I haven’t read much of her writing. You can blame John for that. Every time he wanted to prove he was a feminist he would quote from A Room of One’s Own.”    Gillian laughs, and looks down at her ragged old Chuck Taylors. “That would do it. I—I’m sorry he ruined her for you.” “Should probably give her another go, what do you think?” “Yeah.” Gillian gnaws at her lip. On one hand, she wants to sit around and talk about Virginia Woolf and books and everything under the stars and sun with Caroline but on the other hand, she wants to be alone with the book and let it continue speaking to her like an eloquent oracle sans riddles. The latter might be best because right now words for her are scarcer than crow’s teeth. Usually she can turn on the tap and let language run rampant, not give a toss what she was saying to anyone about anything. More often than not, this got her in a fair amount of trouble; this time, she wants to find the right words that will lead into the right kind of trouble. Caroline’s fingers tap playfully against her forearm and Gillian glances at this invisible tattoo, patiently waiting for some intricate design inked in a riotous rainbow to blossom on her skin. “Tell you what—I’m going to dash out and find us proper sustenance for a picnic.” Gillian busts out a nervous, relieved smile. “You bored already?” “Not in the least.” When Caroline replies to her stroppiness with a certain kind of lovely seriousness it always prompts in her innate, immediate trust. Then, predictably, Caroline goes off and sounds the schoolteacher and mum that she is: “But it’s probably not wise for us to consume nothing but a bottle of cheap white wine on a day like this.” Why not? Gillian wants to say, but no—this is not a time when she wants wine rendering her into sloppy foolishness. “Right.” “Be back before you know it.” As she walks away, Gillian experiences such a ridiculous tightening in her throat, her chest, a physical manifestation of an irrational sense of abandonment—even though she knows Caroline is not some stupid toff boy with a fancy car who would leave her stranded in a big city or even, like here, the middle of nowhere—that she cannot prevent herself from blurting out Caroline’s name, even though she stops herself from bleating pathetically, you’re coming back, right?   Caroline stops and turns around expectantly. The precise spin of her heels, the way she pitches forward as if she’s a dandyesque soldier determined to enter a fray she’s entirely unprepared for—the cumulative effect of her movement assuages Gillian, is more than a guarantee of her return. Relieved, Gillian smiles. “I may be cheap,” she says, “but the wine’s not.” Caroline laughs at the easy joke and Gillian then permits herself the lusty luxury of watching her walk away. Alone, she tucks herself into a dusty corner of the bookstore on a faded burgundy settee with the Virginia and Vita book in her greedy hands; when she looks up again the sun slants suspiciously low through a high stain-glass window and casts jeweled baubles on the wall near an aged reproduction of a George Lambert landscape. The bookstore is empty, silent. Cursing herself for entering some kind of literary fugue state, she drops the book on the settee and commences working her way to the front of the church-store, dipping and swaying around so many claustrophobia-inducing shelves and tables and piles of books with such careful, sweaty precision she feels as if she’s performing an elaborate renaissance court dance. At the front of the store sits the bookstore proprietor in all his balding, cranky glory. He squints at her and ruffles the pages of his newspaper, perhaps hoping its scant breeze will somehow propel her away on a powder-puff of air. She stares at the old, heavy doors barring her way and is strangely bereft.    I suppose it is good for the soul to be hurt and perplexed perpetually. I know at least that I miss you damnably: that is a good fixed star. Amused, the owner watches her frowning at the door and then drawls sarcastically, “Oh, don’t worry, love. I’m sure your wife will come back for you.” Gillian laughs. Of course, Caroline must’ve told this tosser they were married when he was bothering her earlier. After the divorce from Robbie came through earlier this year, she firmly declaimed to no one but herself that she was done with marriage; being Caroline’s imaginary wife for a day is, however, a union more satisfactory than reality has ever granted her. “Yeah. Damn right she will,” she says. “Know why?” He shakes his head. She leans heavily against the cash register. “ ’Cause I’ve got the only keys to the sex dungeon in our flat.”

iv. “It seems to me that I only begin to live after the sun has gone down and the stars have come out.”

The rush of sunset brings cooler air through the Jeep, which runs parallel to some tributary of the River Aire. Venus glints in a layer of darkening sky above a thinning band of vermillion while Gillian sits with an open bag of brandy snaps in her lap. She’s already eaten half the bag despite Caroline’s admonishments not to spoil her appetite. The weakening sun jabs through the green interlace of tree branches and in those brief outbursts fills her eyes with light. Somewhere along the river they find the right spot, kick off their shoes, and sit on an old blanket retrieved from the boot of the Jeep. They drink cool wine from a bottle blistered with damp and eat bread, cheese, and berries, and Gillian’s tongue loosens enough so that she talks haltingly about To the Lighthouse and of time passing, then she stops abruptly when the wind flutters the hair along Caroline’s serious brow—she listens so intently, Gillian notices, and it’s unnerving—and Caroline’s eyes resonate as a cynosure in the deep blue evening. In that moment everything stirs wild within her and she cannot keep still because she fears what she’ll say next. Barefoot, she walks through the grass to the river, the alternate swish and crunch of grass wet and stiff underneath her gait give way slowly to soft dirt and pebbles that press into the pads and arches of her feet as if pearls desperate to remain embedded in soft sanctuary. All while Caroline yells at her about the dangers of ticks and other hazards such as snails, broken glass, and used condoms. At the edge, she stops. In darker times now past, she thought of drowning herself. Like Virginia Woolf, except without the eloquent note or a death notice in the papers. She doubted anyone would really miss her. Even Raff. Still, she could not, would not, do that to him. Bad enough the millstone of his father’s death hung around his neck; to have both parents labeled as suicides—regardless of the truth—would be too much to bear. She likes to imagine that if she had drowned herself back then, her body would have found its way to the freedom of a sea—silly, she thinks, but largely due to a proverb that always stuck in her mind: The sea refuses no river. She always liked that one. Many of the proverbs and verses she heard in church as a child seemed focused on judgment, control, condemnation, behaving in a certain way. But in the embrace of the land and the water, well, you belong to it—and not the other way around. Its silence carries no censure. Dusk drizzles over thickening clouds and she tastes the heavy humid air. A smattering of stars now attend Venus. The river has led her to this moment—not to drown, but to declare herself. She turns around and glances quickly at Caroline, who is on the old blanket in an elegant sprawl, legs crossed at the ankles, calm demeanor belied by the continual flexing of her calves. “It’s beautiful here,” she says. “You’re beautiful,” Caroline replies. Uneasy, Gillian laughs. She’s been called a lot of things over the years, but beautiful has never been one of them and she’s old enough now that she mistrusts any easy compliment—even from the likes of the unimpeachably honest, unrelentingly forthright Caroline—and she is not to be won over that easily. Or so she thinks.   “Well now. Your game’s gotten strong—all those girls you’ve gone out with lately, eh?” “I’m not interested in games. Or those girls, really.” Caroline sits, draws up her knees, and adds softly: “You must know that.” “Do I? All I know is, here we are, picnic on the river, you saying nice things—” “How dare you,” Caroline says with mock indignation, “I’ve said only one nice thing to you thus far.” “—a woman could get the wrong idea.” “Or the right one, as the case may be.” Gillian frowns, bites her lip. Even in the face of blatant confirmation, her nerve falters spectacularly. Because nothing and no one has mattered so much to her in such a long time, she cannot remember. “Gillian.” “W-what?” “Tell me all the things you have in your head, that won’t ‘stir by day, only by dark on the river.’” The words ring clear and true. She sees them in her mind once again, feels the soft, foxed page at her fingertips. 

Look here Vita — throw over your man, and we’ll go to Hampton Court and dine on the river together and walk in the garden in the moonlight and come home late and have a bottle of wine and get tipsy, and I’ll tell you all the things I have in my head, millions, myriads—They won’t stir by day, only by dark on the river. Think of that. Throw over your man, I say, and come. Caroline pulls the book out of her purse. Of course, she bought it. When earlier she had triumphantly returned from her shopping excursion to the bookstore, she thrust a bag of brandy snaps at Gillian, ordered her to wait outside by the Jeep, and demanded use of the WC from the bookstore owner, who stammered consent in the face of this wild, dungeon-owning lesbian deviant schoolteacher. And here Gillian thought it had taken her so long inside the store because she was doing number two. The grass murmurs protest under Gillian’s feet and she winces when something sharps bites into the ball of her right foot, so as she stands there in front of Caroline she may be bleeding, her foot may become infected and she’ll get gangrene and end up spending the rest of her days gimping around as Yorkshire’s One and Only Peg-Legged Sheep Farmer, but none of that matters now because she can hardly get past stating the obvious. “You bought the book,” she says to Caroline. “Yep.” “You know that—that quote.” “Yep.” As words continue to fail her in a way they never quite did for Virginia Woolf, she kneels upon the blanket, cradles Caroline’s face in her hands, and lays on the kissing equivalent of a Woolf sentence: long, glitteringly complex, sustained and full and magnificent and, in its aftermath, leaving one breathless and lingering sweetly over every fine detail, every bright facet. Everything rushes by in splendid sensate tandem: the light that fades and glows all the same, the whishing of the river, the wine limning her mouth, the corner of the book digging into her knee, her thumb caressing Caroline’s cheek, the star of Venus blessing the entire enterprise.

“God.” Caroline finally manages speaking. “If I’d known you’re going to kiss me like that over one old book, I would have bought out the entire bloody store.” It is nearly dark, it will rain very soon, and Gillian is quite certain that her bare, dirty foot is bleeding. “Don’t need a book for that. In fact, you should know—I’ll kiss you like that anywhere, any time you want, for as long as you want, every day for the rest of your life.” “Go on then,” Caroline says.

#last tango in excessive woolf quotes #ltih #are we cool vincent

[b-sidemusic]

INTERVIEW: STRANGER THAN FICTION - REAL LIFE VICTORIANA WITH THY LAST DROP

Once upon an evening stormy, as I pondered there before me A quaint and curious band of fellows gathered close within As the rain outside was lashing and the lightning bolts were flashing And the rolls of thunder crashing through the walls so old and thin The leader raised his glass and turned towards me with a grin Quoth the Crowe: “Let us begin…”

Thy Last Drop are as unlikely a group of vagabonds as you’ll chance to meet in Bury St Edmunds – a band of storytellers who weave their tales through toe-tapping tunes and morbid, gravelly vocals. Friend of the band Sivy named the genre 'Victorian Murder Punk', and it stuck. Inspired by Poe, Hogarth and a slew of folk styles from Cornwall to Russia, the band’s songs cover subjects from witch-hunts to insane asylums, grave-robbers to hangings at Tyburn.

I joined Thy Last Drop in one of the members’ place of work, a printing warehouse that he’s turned into an extension of their Odditorium. I noticed several bird cages, various dismembered mannequins, a dodgy looking leather contraption, and Donald Trump’s head in a jar. Ask nicely and you’ll get a demonstration of a 1920s gramophone - in my opinion, a far more interesting audio throwback than the current vinyl resurgence.

Thy Last Drop came to be after singer/guitarist Mr Crowe and accordion player Squeezy met up after years of musical inertia, both having come out of a decades-long drought to discover a desire to play some folk music. They ‘made noises’ for about a year before picking up first bandurrian player Amil (an occupational therapist/heavy metal musician from the Philippines) and then bassist Momo (former founder/producer at Vibe FM), who – after some coercion - each brought their own style to the outfit.  

The band is a favourite in Bury, but is more often called out into surrounding areas for gigs. This is partly because Bury St Edmunds just doesn’t have that many big venues, although the newly revitalised Constitutional Club, their old haunt The Hunter Club and a willing Oakes Barn have meant a few more local gigs of late.

B-Side: So, who’s in charge here?

Momo: It’s Mr Crowe.

Mr Crowe: I’m a diva. They humour me.

B-Side: Do you all get on pretty well, though?

Mr Crowe: Yeah, it’s easy. I mean, we’re older as well – we’re not chasing the same things as a younger band. We couldn’t do ten months of tour without dying.

B-Side: How did the band get from anonymous noise making to being booked several times a month?

Mr Crowe: We started out in open mics and folk nights – but we became a bit loud and energetic for them. So we started setting up things and working with other bands and things went from there. We now only try to do the things we want to do.

B-Side: So, the Victoriana aesthetic and matching themes in the music – going largely by moustache here, Mr Crowe, I’m guessing it comes from you?

Mr Crowe: It’s definitely a major obsession of mine. There’s such a dark side to Victorian history. Hogarth was a major influence for some of the songs – I’ve always loved that satirical artwork from the 18th and 19th Century. Then, literature-wise, Edgar Allen Poe and Dickens. When I say my stuff’s historical, it comes from a literary side of history – I want to reinvent the gothic stories rather than reflect reality.

Amil: I’ve learned a lot of history. Even if I don’t learn the words to the song I’ll ask “What’s the song about?” and it’s always interesting.

B-Side: How do Thy Last Drop’s songs get written?

Mr Crowe: Most of the songs get written around a phrase I particularly like and mull over in my head for a while. I write lyrics and melody at the same time – not one before the other. Then it goes to the band, who add twists that I didn’t imagine.

B-Side: Your music is definitely very upbeat for the morbid subjects it covers.

Mr Crowe:  Yeah, absolutely – but that’s folk music for you. Folk music’s storylines often have awful things happening, but it’s set to a dance because that’s what the peasants wanted. And that’s what it’s all about: drinking and dancing.

B-Side: Who are your peasants? What’s your audience demographic like?

Mr Crowe: Very varied. We’ve got a bunch of 40-and-overs, but also a lot of young people who like to come and bounce around. We’ve done a lot of festival stuff (Latitude, Maui Waui, Strawberry Fair, Secret Garden Party), so it’s that kind of crowd.

B-Side: How have you found the local music scene? Is East Anglia a good place to do music in?

Squeezy: It’s changed a lot since we were kids. When I was a kid in a band it was very hostile, the punk scene. People were envious of each other and a bit scornful of folk. But since things like Washing Machine started, Bury St Edmunds has had a really nice crowd, very supportive.

Mr Crowe: Although there are some great venues there are certain restrictions – residents, time restrictions – in Bury that can be difficult, especially for the younger lot who play heavier music. But across East Anglia, in Ipswich and Colchester, there are some great venues for them as well.

Amil: We played Oakes Barn recently, which is good - it was absolutely packed. Apparently it was so good that some of the people who just popped in got so excited that they ate daffodils.

B-Side: What?!

Amil: Yeah.

(The band offers no further explanation.)

B-Side: Right, okay then... outside of daffodil season, do you have a favourite venue to perform at?

Mr Crowe: The Coronet Theatre in London. It’s a fantastic venue.

Momo: We actually perform best on a tiny stage, or tent, or whatever it is, though – it’s the atmosphere.

Amil: Anywhere, I don’t care, as long as we don’t mess up.

B-Side: Ooh, have there been any big mess ups?

All: No, no!

B-Side: Hmm.

Momo: You probably can’t tell when we’ve messed up, unless we’re up there laughing.

Mr Crowe: We can tell if we’ve messed up, because our fans know all the words – so they’re standing there staring at us if we get it wrong.

B-Side: What’s the most memorable gig you’ve had?

Amil: The first time I saw Hallowe’en was at the Coronet Theatre. I thought it was crazy – people were naked, wearing only antlers and glitter. I’d come from the Catholic Philippines and thought the UK was a proper pagan country!

Squeezy: We played the International Burlesque Festival, that was a bit crazy. There was someone dressed as David Icke, doing a routine to a backing track of him. It was perfectly choreographed.

B-Side: So you’ve ended up doing some pretty weird shit.

Mr Crowe: Yeah, weird is our remit. Having said that, the one that stands out for me, really, was the album launch at Moyses Hall. It was a home crowd for us, and the resonance in that building is fantastic.

B-Side: Speaking of which, it’s been two years since (debut LP) ‘Tales from the Triple Tree’ was released – when are we getting a new record?

Mr Crowe: We’re working on it. It’s in the pipeline.  We’ll be re-releasing our first EP – ‘Dead Drunk for Two’ – properly first. Look out for new material next year.  

B-Side: Any idea which media you’ll be releasing onto?

Mr Crowe: We can’t really afford this vinyl stuff. Maybe mini-discs. Phonographs. But come to see us live if you can, that’s really what it’s all about. We try to contain it on a disk, but it’s really all about the mistakes, and the laughs, and the live noise.

Amil: The pressure of cracking cables. The buttons getting stuck. “Amil, you have small hands, fix it!” Ah, the excitement.

B-Side: Who are your musical influences?

Mr Crowe: 80s bands such as New Model Army; Justin Sullivan is one of my favourite songwriters ever. I’m influenced by really dark music from that era. I love Abba, obviously. Also things like Strauss, though – I probably listen to classical music the most. I just don’t like anything that has apathy.

Squeezy: Classical music, of course. My parents listened to a lot of folk music as well. I’m married to a Russian, so there’s also the whole Eastern European/Asian thing going on at home.

Momo: Mine’s very eclectic. The punk scene was my thing, it was when I had my first proper band – not loud punky stuff, more like The Police, The Stranglers, The Jam. I moved to London in the 80s and the whole decade went over my head, so I started again in the 90s. I also listen to a lot of classical and jazz stuff.  

Amil: I respect so many bands but honestly I can’t often remember the names of them. Everything I hear around here is foreign to me. Some of the groups we’ve been able to play with have been so great, though. We played with The Thinking Men for Washing Machine and they are so good. These guys also introduce me to lots of tunes, like The Rolling Stones.

Mr Crowe: Oh, god, Amil’s point of reference is amazing. Coming from the Philippines we’ve been able to introduce him to all sorts.

Amil: Lots of British music got to us, but we always just assumed it was American. I told my mum that Eric Clapton was British and she was so surprised. I was in Ireland before I was in England, and it was amazing to see people singing a capella in pubs and things. But then again, in the Philippines, you’ll get karaoke machines in bus stops.

B-Side: I suddenly desperately want to visit the Philippines, so we’d better wrap up. Let’s have the cliché question: do you have any tips for our readers that want to go into music?

Mr Crowe: Just. Do. It. Don’t second guess yourself, just get out there and get involved. Sitting at home going “I’m not good enough” for 20 years is no good. Getting out there can lead to anything. Nowadays around here, everyone’s so supportive – you don’t have to be good!

Momo: What he said with an extension. Do everything. Don’t just say “I’m going to be a rock God”. Do everything and learn from it all, so you can get back to a point and say “that’s me”.

Squeezy: It’s a bit like a foundation course in art where you try everything and then you find something you want to be.

Mr Crowe: Yeah, don’t be a genre snob.

Amil: Anyone who wants to get into music needs to know themselves.

Mr Crowe: As Ashlene said on Big Brother…

Amil: No, wait: you have to know yourself. In particular if you’re in a group. If you’re starting a band there could be lots of personalities and styles. If you’re comfortable with how you are musically and artistically, you can always stand back and let the song writer write the song with no clashes.

Squeezy: One extra thing that’s so important: just be mates.

Listen to Thy Last Drop on Bandcamp (https://thylastdrop.bandcamp.com)

THE LOWDOWN: THY LAST DROP Members: Mr Crowe (lead vocals and guitar - the guitar is arch-top, strung like a mandolin with only five strings – and twirly-moustaching), Squeezy (accordion, manic grinning), Momo (bass, drums, vocals, multi-tasking), Amil (bandurrian, vocals, prancing), Swampy (unofficial member, Carnival Minister and roadie). From: Bury St Edmunds Listen to: ‘Tales From The Triple Tree’ album, CD and download, out now. See them live at:  Bury St Edmunds Constitutional Club, 7th October (Fundraiser for Gatehouse with Scare The Normals) Keep up with them on: Facebook - Twitter

Words by Francine Carrel Photo by Towillen.com

#interview #Interviews #francine carrel #thy last drop

[nightbuzz-blog1]

Night Buzz

Exciting New Female Pop Music Artists

The Way Brand New Female Pop Music Artists Are Creating A Brand New Pop Era

The pop music industry is taking on new female pop music artists that are and forming the world of pop in a whole new way. It's time to have a look at how the new female audio artists are shaping the business, as well as the pop ladies who are breaking those boundaries.

As the years went by, music has taken a new course. You may observe the shift in music televisions and you can listen to it on the radio. Artists like Lady Gaga, Ke$ha, and Beyonce are only some of the new female music artists who are taking the music world by storm and at precisely the same time shaping the entire pop culture around their manner of sound. They are establishing a new route for pop and they're leading young future brand new female pop audio artists in the process. To tell the truth, they may be the last possibility that the pop genre has.

New Female Pop Music Artists and The Industry

We all know that the music industry is one of the biggest and the most immune businesses there are in the world. They have mastered the strategies of creating music, documenting it, and distributing it to the masses. They tell us what's popular, unlike a few years ago when new female music artists - and guys alike - were actually famous for their hard work and talents. If the radio station couldn't afford fresh new pop music, then they seemed for local and unsigned artists' songs - most of those being the most alluring pop music girls out there today - both female soloists, and bands alike.

These days, the music industry is striving hard to keep what they had built, and in precisely the same time they are struggling to fight piracy. Since the styles of music change during the years, the sector has also suffered its own ups and downs, and today, the expense of music production and production has decreased as well as the expense of distribution and promotion.

Pop Music Ladies - A Bit Of History

In the last couple of decades a great deal of new genres have grown, and the industry has known them "micro-genres". Lots of them are combination's of existing music styles. As an instance, the brand new genre ska is described as a fast punk with some Jamaican inspiration. Other micro-genres consist of Nu-metal, which combined hip-hop and hardcore into a song.

The rise and fame of those micro-genres was the start of the way the Internet changed the music industry. These days, it's extremely difficult to stereotype listeners, because you no longer needed to be portion of a single genre-you can now listen to both kinds and much more. Children who listen to metal and hardcore may also listen to house music any time they want. The Internet has also made it possible for everyone to discover new songs with only a click of a mouse.

Today it is clear that the industry is taking on a new wave of female pop music artists and talents who focus more on their appearance rather than their music. They've taken control of the pop culture and they now decide what is "sexy" and what isn't. A decade ago, it wasn't like this.

New Female Pop Music Artists Leading The Way

Pop stars such as Lady Gaga, Ke$ha, and Beyonce are letting other new female pop songs artists have a run for their money. They've created numerous songs that have made its way through the top charts. Although they dress In an odd way, their lovers know that this is a new era - one to be possessed my pop music girls, and this is the newest pop culture.

However, other than just paving the way for prospective new female music artists to the new era of pop culture, these musicians are showing the audio industry that one thing never changes-artists still write in their own experiences in life. Their songs still have that substance, and they still like to add personal stories and experiences as inspiration for their own songs. This makes their music even more close to the hearts of their fans because they can relate to exactly what their favourite artists sing about.

You Are Right To Wish More Original New Female Music Artists!

But one thing is always right and most significant- me and you as the fans. All of the artists indicate, the fans know what they want. Despite what many record labels and music directors may make of this change that you as fans are asking of these, there is no debate that YOU as a fan are correct to love originality, uniqueness and personality in fresh female pop music musicians, and the guys of pop equally.

Pop music is audio that is actually contemporary music. Today whatever music you hear, songs that's moving with the times, all it's pop music. Fifty five years before, the music which was contemporary in that age was also pop along with the dads of pop, Bob Dylan etc dwelt. But now's music can also be called pop, so pop is actually a genre of contemporary music throughout all ages, which can be flexible enough to change its shape from one to another and still maintain some integrity.

That means you can have rock, jazz, blues, R&B, dancing numbers and many other genres influencing this one particular genre of music. Sometimes even elements of country and folk music was found to be within pop. The basic trick that pop music undertakes to keep its prevalence is utilize melody that would stay in the minds of individuals. They do not use catchy tunes but tunes and rhythm which compels you to remember it. Also, the songs are barely full of lots of music, there's 1 speed which goes through the whole song and does not change. But this is an element which has attracted much criticism around the tune. Critics often say that soda is too simple and therefore maybe worthless.

Nevertheless, popular music is characterized by what people love in general and what they have full access to. It is a social representation, a social category of its own and it is not just another kind of music. It's a music that's intended to be heard again and again. This happens with me always, Matthias Matt Zemlin whenever I hear any pop song for the first time I don't really enjoy it since it seems to be too simple. But as I listen again and it kind of grows on me and I am hardly able to get rid of it. Now pop is simply popular music and once it grows on you, you barely think of any other music.

The very best thing about pop up is the fact that it is a massive music industry. The production and sale of pop is by far more than any other form of music. The rhythm, the simplicity, the beats, everything combine to produce the magic that we call popup. Mostly, all the best selling tunes are such of the pop genre and quite seldom does other Genres make it on the top of the top ten listing.

With time nevertheless pop songs has changed a whole lot. With the coming of the various recording devices that can now create a variety of forms of sounds pop has entered a new era. These recording devices and also the ability to modify the tonal quality of listeners has really set pop aside from the several different kinds of musical genres such as jazz etc..

Pop music is the most amazing and favorite genre of music. This genre is very famous and is acclaimed world wide. It is the music style of contemporary times and has led to a wonderful revolution in the world of music. It's the wonderful category of music that has broken various barriers of traditional and traditional music. This music is outside the formal schooling in music or typical music styles. The only real reason of the immense achievement of this sort of music is the way it can muse and amuse people.

The audio is created with a goal to attract and appeal the masses. Anyone and everyone is able to enjoy this music with no expert and connoisseur of songs. It focuses more on entertainment than the artistic and expert conceptualizations. This music does not highlight on the some particular music form. But, it only provides the artist freedom to experiment with the several types of music and express them in their particular styles.

The genre is immensely famous amongst the kids and the teens. Its design is now the favourite of the masses due to its flexibility. People are able to easily comprehend it and relate to it. Pop tunes are written with sheer objective of entertaining the viewer. This music genre can't be typified or categorized according to one's style. This exquisite style includes of different moods and it's sheer expression of the artist's imagination that matters the most.

Pop Music is gaining popularity since 1950's that this fantastic music style has overshadowed all of its contemporaries. Played with the typical musical instruments like Guitar, Drum and electronic keyboards, the audio is all about higher spiritedness and fun. These music rings are extremely famous and individuals throughout the globe admire them. The orchestra and the singers together comprise the pop ring.

Many popular artistes of the music genre have ruled the music world. Its fans keenly await the launch of the records from their favourite artistes. The Beetles has been one of the very popular music bands in the world. They have mastered the music charts and people have loved their music crazily. Through the years the singers, song writers and the artists played a vital part in the growth and growth of the genre. Everyone loves to listen to this incredible music genre.

We are the World, Careless Whisper and Footloose are some of the very rocking strikes of the 1980s. It was the age where the genre gained its greatest position. In 1990s, the audio gained new heights with feminine artistes coming up with awesome pop music movies and songs. There were some magnificent female singles released that outclassed the male performances. Vogue, The energy of Love, Hold and the Hero are the few outstanding numbers.

Madonna, Shania Twain etc were some of the most revered pop stars of the last ten years. Elton John came up with a few of the most astonishing Pop classics that gave the audio immense popularity. Michael Jackson gained the best fan following with his distinctive design and amazing pop numbers.

In the current times, the pop songs has dominated the music world. No other genre Is popular and admired by the people. With youthful pop stars coming with advanced and attractive numbers, this music is all set to attain new heights. Britney Spears is one of the hottest pop icons of the new generation. Her mortal music movies like Oops! I did it Again, I'm a Slave For You etc have made her the most desirable Pop icon amongst the teenagers. Beyonce Knowles' Crazy in Love, White Flag along with other strikes have also rocked the music fans the world over.

Jennifer Lopez, Boy Zone, Spice Girls along with other pop stars have given excellent amusement to the people across the world. Shakira has set a new fad with her personal style with the smashing strikes like Hips Don't bend and Whenever, Wherever.

Hip hop based pop music movie made waves, with great hits like Hot in Herre, Don't Phunk With my Heart, India Club and Chocolate Shop. Latin Pop additionally became significantly popular with all the wonderful hit by Enrique - Hero. The Ketchup Song was also a great hit in 2002. Pop music has enthralled people throughout the globe. Everyone should listen to pop songs to get good entertainment and rejuvenation

Though we should be seeing great new male artists popping up here and there, and boyband fans will always remain boyband lovers, from where I am looking, female music artists are destined for both topping charts and pushing the boundaries of pop music this season!

Have a look at the scene to get female music artists right now - the likes of Taylor swift, Rihanna, and Lady Gaga, all solo guys, completely eclipsing any type or male behave, and bringing some of the edgiest and punchiest fresh pop songs around.

But who to watch for sexy new tunes?

A number of other gifted female pop audio artists are all set to take the stage in 2010 - you will have heard vibrant and fun tracks from Ke$ha, whilst the well known first ladies of pop are dominating individuals playlists once more.

Can anyone really tell me they did not like Beyonce's completely new image, and how feisty alter-ego Sasha Fierce really came through in her songs?

Madonna has once again taken the pop world by storm, increasing the attention on female pop music musicians by pairing forces together with the infamous Britney - who's thought to be releasing some new material this March!

So - you've been seeing and listening to the proof for some time today - lady pop music artists are the ones to keep your eye if you want to be the first to hear brand-new pop music.

But if you're a true pop fan, and want to encourage the ladies in climbing up the music charts, why don't you go a bit further to make sure you're the first person in the know about who's the next female music artists in the top will probably be before they get there - utilize what's infront of you, the net!

How do I get my hands on their albums first?

A simple Google search for fresh female pop audio artists, or even a browse around Myspace is all that's required for you to discover, listen to - and also contact - exciting brand new up and coming talent in the pop market.

This is a great way to do it, and also my personal favourite - only because when your buddies are listening to their tunes on the radio, you'll have already had a few personal chats with the new favourite female. Trust me, it's a good feeling!