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amjustagirl · 3 years

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CHAPTER 2 - FALLEN

Fic Summary:

The sky Oikawa Tooru’s heart seeks is a world away from the earth yours is buried in. You are a fool to trust him with your heart anyway.

Where Oikawa Tooru tries to recapture your heart.

Chapter 1 // Chapter 2 // Chapter 3

Pairing: Oikawa Tooru x fem! reader

Genre / Wordcount : Angst (7k words), cameo from MSBY 4

Warnings: One non-explicit bedroom scene.

Masterlist link here!

Tag list link here!

You catch sight of Oikawa Tooru as you bustle through the hospital’s sliding doors, your usual cup of coffee in your hand that you buy on the way to work. He’s seated in the waiting area next to a middle aged man you guess must be his manager, from the way he jumps to his feet immediately to act as a human shield as you call out breathlessly -

“T - Oikawa? What are you doing here?”

Tooru’s head swivels around to meet your gaze, and you’re shocked by the lifelessness in his eyes until you glance at the bandages wrapped around his swollen knee.

Oh.

You try not to stare, but you do so anyway. The sight of your ex-boyfriend makes you feel as if you’re seeing a ghost, a specter from some past life. You last saw him when he was twenty one, young and proud, wax wings fully spread, a speck in the skies. What a difference five years makes. His shoulders are still broad, and the tilt of his jaw is still proud, but the light in his eyes has faded to darkness, and the pallor of his skin suggests far too much time spent away from the sun.

Icarus, Icarus. Your hubris has led you to such heights, but look how far you’ve fallen.

It’s surprising there’s no news of his injury, considering he’s one third of Japan’s trifecta of setters in the volleyball scene’s monster generation. With the Olympics rapidly approaching with just over a year to go, an injury must be devastating, especially to Oikawa Tooru, with dreams of Olympic greatness and victory on his native shores.

A nurse materialises to usher Oikawa away for surgery before he can respond to the pity in your gaze. You look around. He’s alone, save for his manager. No one deserves to be wake up alone after surgery, so you call after him -

“I’ll check in on you after you’re done! Gambatte!”

He responds with a thumbs up and a weak smile.

You flip through his medical files once you get the chance.

Oikawa Tooru, twenty six. Pro-volleyball player for EJP Raijin previously, currently playing in the Argentinian league. Narrowly missed out on making the cut for the previous Olympics, but went on to represent Japan in the last three World Cups, alternating with Miya Atsumu and Kageyama Tobio. Obviously hoping for another shot at the Olympics, but that’s looking bleak from what you’re gleaning from his medical records.

His right knee has always bothered him, even during his high school days. Now, a decade later, it looks like he’s managed to tear his tendon to shreds.

Volleyball is a cruel, demanding mistress, especially for one not born a genius.

The surgery to repair a torn knee ligament is delicate work, requiring an experienced surgeon, and the road to recovery requires extensive physiotherapy. It’s no wonder he’s resorted to the modern Tokyo hospital you work in rather than returning to his native Sendai to recuperate. The downside of doing so though, is that he’d have to recover alone.

You wrinkle your nose. He may be your ex-boyfriend, but he doesn’t deserve that.

The sun is setting when you finally find the time to slip into his room.

As expected, he’s still asleep. The anesthetic will take some time to wear off. From the looks of the surgeon’s notes, the surgery was a success - though you know from the nature and extent of the injury that his road to recovery will be long and winding.

So you seat yourself in the visitor’s chair with a hot cup of tea and an onigiri to stave off your hunger at not finding time for a break any earlier. You had an awful day at work today, two of your patients puked on you, another tried to fight you when you drew his blood, and the senior registrar in the ward assigned you a mountain of paperwork that you only just managed to complete, so you give in to sleep yourself as exhaustion settles into your bones.

“Princess?”

You snap awake at the familiar nickname, ignoring the flush working its way up the back of your neck as you leap to his bedside to check his vitals, only relaxing when you’re satisfied everything’s fine.

“You’re just waking up after a surgery, Oikawa”. When his forehead crinkles in confusion at the sound of his surname, you correct yourself. “I mean - Tooru”. The corners of his cracked lips tilt up in satisfaction.

“Will you stay with me?” Tooru murmurs, eyelids beginning to droop again.

You smile fondly despite yourself. “Do you want me to?” you ask.

He manages to pout even as he’s falling back asleep. “I asked, didn’t I?”

You smooth his hair from his forehead, slotting your hand into his. “Fine, fine. Go to bed, sleeping beauty”.

He huffs an amused breath from his nose before he closes his eyes, contented. Trust Tooru to be shameless enough to cling on to his ex-girlfriend without a shred of awkwardness. You end up staying in his room for hours, watching him sleep.

The heart that you’ve locked away behind bars of bone and steel twitches, just once.

You frown when the nurse catches your sleeve. “A patient’s looking for you” she says, just as you’re about to go off on a short break.

“Who?” you reply, wondering whether it’s Sato-san who vomited this morning, or Imai-san whose blood pressure niggles at your mind. You do not expect the nurse to flush pink as she replies - “Oikawa-san”, describing the sweet young man with lovely brown eyes and such a charming voice.

You slip back into his room when your shift ends. You expect to see a shadow of a man with broken wings, and you do catch a fleeting glimpse of Tooru staring wistfully out of the window, face tilted towards the sun before he turns to you with a wide smile and a pleased - “you came!”

This is the Oikawa Tooru you are accustomed to dealing with. “Stop flirting with the nurses”, you tell him briskly, bustling over to look at his files. “They have jobs to do, don’t use them to carry messages to me.”

“But I’m boredddd.”

“I’m sure you have volleyball videos to watch.”

“I watched them all day today. ‘Sides, I watched all the matches on today already, twice – and I have plenty of time to watch them a third time. I have plenty of time to catch up with you, I haven’t seen you in so long!”

Five years since you broke up to be exact, but you sidestep that fact neatly, pouring over his medical file instead. His doctors’ notes indicate his recovery is promising. He brightens up when you tell him so, playfully complaining that hospital food is shit in a thinly veiled attempt to steal your food, a habit he’s clearly not outgrown. But you’re not all that hungry anyway, so you split your pork bun in half and hand it to him, dropping into the visitor’s chair.

“So how’re you feeling?”

“Like shit. My knee hurts so muchhhh.”

You shrug, careless. “That’s pretty expected, to be honest.”

“Hmph. I thought they’d have taught you some bedside manners in medical school”, he snipes, though the effect is rather lost when his cheeks are comically round and full of food.

You laugh, the stress from your day lifting from your shoulders.

“I seem to forget them when it’s you.”

“So mean”, he pouts, hiding the familiar gleam in his eye that appears whenever he’s trying to analyse his opponents, take them apart. “As punishment, tell me about yourself. What have you been up to these days?”

You decide to treat him like any old friend, giving him the condensed run down of your professional life, how you’ve graduated from medical school (with top marks I bet, he interjects), how you chose to stay in Tokyo instead of returning to Sendai (your parents must miss you he says, and you brush him off with an airy they have other children, they’ll survive), how you chose to work in this hospital because you’re considering a specialisation in Orthopedic surgery (because of your grandma, I bet, he says, and you choose not to correct that, using your silence as a lie).

He in turn tells you about the highlights of his career, how he’s spent a year at EJP Raijin before he was headhunted to the Argentinian league, how he spent four years overseas save for summers back in Japan to train with the national team, how he’s hopeful, even now, of recovering and fighting for his spot on the Olympic roster next year.

You already knew all of that from news alerts on your phone you never forced yourself to delete, diverting him instead with a question about life in Argentina, nodding as he reminisces about his apartment in San Juan where he gets to watch the sun set over the Andes mountains, the kitchen that he stuffed full of Japanese groceries like daishi and mirin and sake and miso in his first year there just so he has a tangible reminder of home.

You stop yourself from wondering whether he thinks about the little home he shared with you with such fondness. That time has passed.

His voice wavers as he spins you stories about his teammates - Matteo, whose family owns a vineyard and taught him to appreciate wine like a proper Argentinian, Miguel, who makes the best empanadas and gets roaring drunk every time they win a match, Gabriel, who takes him to his family’s home in the mountains every other weekend because his grandmother is convinced that a single young man without family in the city will starve if he’s left to his own devices.

It seems his wings were durable enough for him to soar across the oceans, his grit and determination the foundation of the new life he’s built, whole continents away.

“It’s funny how the world works”, you remark off hand. “I never expected to see you again.”

His eyes gleam again. “The universe seems to work in funny ways.”

You start spending breaks in his room, scarfing down your lunch and dinner while he talks your ear off about the horrible sitcoms or ridiculous game shows he’s watched today. You catch him watching a video of Kageyama’s serves and you’re amused when he practically hisses when you comment idly that his kouhai has certainly improved since his high school days.

You ignore his spluttered protests that service records aren’t everything and besides, his own spike serves have definitely won Japan a game or two last year until, with the air of a boy king, he commands you to sit next to him on the hospital bed so he can pull up a compilation of his serves and his best moments.

Years might have passed, but you’re still hopeless at refusing him. Besides, isn’t it better that you distract him from the sorry state of his knee? So you do as he says, ignoring the faint flutter of your traitorous heart as he leans into your side.

“See? I told you my spike serves are amazing?”

“Yes, yes. I already knew that. I watched so many of your practices in university, remember?”

He looks at you strangely. “Did you?” he asks, leaning his head on his hand, eyes boring into yours.

You think of evenings spent sitting on the bleachers, homework in your lap as you watch as the boy you love builds the strength in his wax wings in preparation for his eventual flight. “Yes”, you admit, sheets rustling as you shift away from him, avoiding his perplexed frown. “You were probably too focused on practice to notice.”

You already know you shouldn’t spend so much time in his room, but you’ve spent most of your life doing what you should instead of what you want to so just this once, you ignore rational thought in favour of sentiment.

After all, he’ll be discharged from hospital in a week, then you’ll never see him again.

Tooru promptly proves you wrong the day before he’s scheduled to be discharged.

“I need someone to help me move into my apartment.”

“Hire a mover”, you tell him. You don’t even look up from your notes.

“Already did”, he chirps, undaunted by your apparent disinterest. “But it’d be nice to have a friend who I know will be nice enough to help poor old crippled me put my stuff away.” Then he grins cheekily, “plus I checked with that pretty nurse – Yuna-san was it? Anyway, she told me you’re off tomorrow, so you might as well spend the day with me.”

There goes your excuse to wriggle out of having to spend your rare day off with your ex.

“I have a mountain of sleep debt to pay off”, you protest, but faced with wide brown eyes and an embarrassing wobble of his lip, you comply. Still, you manage to get the promise of a free dinner out of him, so you suppose it’ll do.

Tooru doesn’t have much to unpack, a couple of cardboard boxes of clothes and books, probably because most of his belongings are still in Argentina. He laughs and raises his hands in an attempt to placate you when you lift an eyebrow, first at the lack of kitchen equipment in his furnished apartment, second at the weights and volleyball he tries to smuggle in behind your back.

“You’re not supposed to exercise for at least a month or two”, you cluck your tongue, sighing with disapproval at the furtive look he casts at the volleyball sitting at the corner of his living room.

“I can set while sitting on a stool! Don’t scold me, my heart can’t bear it”. He throws a hand across his face, brow creased dramatically.

Icarus, Icarus. You’ve already fallen once. Will you seek out the sun again?

A string of familiarity loops into a knot over your heart. If you close your eyes and count to ten, you can imagine that you’re eighteen again, chiding the boy you love for practicing too hard. But you’re twenty six now, a full fledged adult who should know better than to dabble in sentiment again (especially when it comes to brown eyed boys who only dream of the sun), so you slash through the threads connecting you to him with a flash of your teeth, bury your beating heart deeper into the dungeon you’ve built years ago of white bone and solid steel.

“Do what you want, but your neighbours will hate you if you keep thumping that damn ball against the wall.” You say, simply, dismissively.

“No one could ever hate me”, he declares with bravado. “I’ll charm them all with my charm and good looks.”

“Ridiculous”, you huff, dumping the last of his clothing into the cupboard. “Where’s the dinner you promised? I want ramen and gyoza at least.”

“So demanding”, he lilts. “I’ll order in. Tonkatsu ramen with char siu, bamboo shoots, extra spring onions with gyoza on the side?”

Your heart struggles against its shackles. He still remembers your order.

“Yes”, you finally say. “You got that right.”

He grins at you cheekily, as if to say of course.

After you gulp down your ramen, devour your gyozas, you pack up, ready to leave. You have an early shift tomorrow, and you’re already dreaming about your soft bed whilst dreading the cup of coffee you’ll have to down tomorrow morning just to stay awake.

He catches your wrist, presses the spare key to the apartment into your hand. “Come back. I want to see you again”, he says, an order and not a plea.

You are about to make up an excuse, tell him anything but the truth that you suspect it’s bad for your heart to keep seeing him again.

“Please” - he adds with a tint of fragility to his voice.

“I’ll be back when I can”, you finally say.

“Tomorrow?” he looks up at you with hopeful eyes.

“We’ll see”, you pry your hand loose from his grasp, slip out the front door.

You stay away for two days, citing your work schedule as an excuse until he wears you down with a barrage of cutesy line stickers aimed at driving home how lonely he is and how much he misses your presence. You’re being dramatic as usual, you text him dryly, but you turn up anyway at his apartment on a Friday night, letting yourself in with an armful of reports and a bucket of oden.

“How’re you doing? Are you listening to your physiotherapist? Eating properly? Sleeping well?”

“You sound like my mother”, he grouses, rolling his wheelchair to the dining table.

You flick at his forehead, he slumps back in his wheelchair. “Stop bullying the cripple’, he wheezes through his chortle.

“You deserve it”, you retort. “Don’t run away from the question. How’re you feeling?”

“It still hurts”, he admits with a mock sniff. “It should stop hurting by nowwww.”

You push your glasses up the bridge of your nose. “That’s to be expected. Your sinews just got stitched together two weeks ago. Not sure why you’d expect any less.”

“Bah, rude. At least you didn’t say I told you so”, he grumbles, spooning oden into his mouth. “That would be insufferable.”

“Well, maybe you’ll listen to me now that I’m actually a doctor”, you inform him pertly, batting away memories of a teenage boy with hazel eyes shouting indignantly at you after practice in the Seijoh gym.

Tooru snorts. “I can’t believe my eighteen year old self was dumb enough to open my future self up to a jab like that”, he complains, chewing on a cabbage roll grumpily.

“We’re all dumb at eighteen”, you remark. “You’re no exception.”

“You were dumb enough to date me”, he teases with a mocking smile.

Your spoon slips from your hand momentarily. It’s the first time he’s alluded to your past relationship.

“I was, wasn’t I”, you say lightly, before turning the conversation to Tooru’s physiotherapy sessions.

You have no wish to delve back into the past, but you’re willing to be his friend since he seems to need one for now.

Tooru’s knee recovers enough for him to shift from his wheelchair to crutches, which he points at you playfully, mimicking a gun every time you pop by for a visit. He seems to plan his physiotherapy session around your schedule, just so he can wheedle you into paying him yet another visit when your shift at the hospital end, bribing you with a cup of coffee with a hint of chocolate from the café across the street that you’ve never found the time to visit.

“Thank you, kind sir”, you say, accepting the coffee with a laugh.

“You’re welcome, my lady”, he answers with a smirk, motioning you to follow him for yet another evening to be spent in his home sitting across him, red ink smeared on your hands as you mark up the reports in your lap.

His façade that he’s coping with his injury just fine slips every so often. You catch him more often than not watching compilation videos of Kageyama and Atsumu at the World Cup this year with a strained expression on his face, or resting his chin on the windowsill whilst staring wistfully at the birds in the sky.

He does not confide about his worries to you. You’re not sure you want him to.

But you can’t explain to yourself the impulse to purchase a bird feeder for his balcony, nor the glow-in-the-dark poster of the constellations that you cart into his bedroom until your heart has to scramble for equilibrium when he thanks you, his smile soft.

“In exchange for all the coffee you’ve bought me”, you reply, turning away to hide all evidence of your heart’s betrayal, the diffusion of blood in your cheeks.

A month passes. Then another.

The crutches get kept in the storeroom. A limp remains, but the degree which his knee can bend increases by the day. His mood improves even further, and you constantly find yourself swerving to avoid his affectionate gazes, his attempts at flirtation.

“You’re looking so pretty today!” he lilts, fitting his arm snugly into the crook of your elbow as you walk down the neon lit streets of Tokyo. He insisted on this outing, and in the custom of your rekindled friendship, managed to convince you to accompany him on your off day so he can get crepes from Harajuku notwithstanding the fact that it takes forty five minutes on the train and his knee still acts up from time to time.

“It’s my first time downtown in a month”, you tell him. “Of course I’m going to dress up.” You don’t tell him you spent far too long in front of your closet, tossing outfits on your bed until you found one that complements you just right.

He buys you trinkets, hair accessories that you’ll never wear, tries to win you ridiculous stuffed toys from the claw machine.

“You’re wasting money”, you scold, wiping the whipped cream from his mouth.

“It’s not a waste if it’s for you”, he tells you, with startling sincerity that you still doubt.

He doesn’t mean it, you tell yourself. It’s just Tooru being Tooru.

You refuse to admit what’s staring you in the face until you have to duck your head to avoid his attempt at pressing his lips to your cheek.

“Goodnight, Tooru”, you manage to say before you bolt off into the night. You check to make sure your heart is still under lock and key.

It is, but it beats resentfully. Tooru, it beats against its bars with frightening intensity. Tooru. Tooru.

You ignore it. You know what’s best for it.

You stay away from him for a fortnight, requesting for a change in your schedule without updating him, taking the other exit from the hospital so you don’t have to see him. You stay away until he manages to wear you down yet again, texting you the most ridiculous conspiracy theories about your absence from his life – you must be abducted by aliens, he texts you once, or your mother forced you to marry some stranger, I can break you out if you just say the word.

He has a guest, you hear another voice, deeper, filled with gravel and intensity, so different from Tooru’s lighter lilt. You do not mean to eavesdrop, but you don’t want to interrupt Tooru when he has a rare guest over, and there’s nowhere else for you wait save for the dusty front step, so you settle yourself in, pen poised to continue your work.

“What did the doctor say? When are you coming back for practice?”

“I’m doing good! The physiotherapist thinks I can try light exercise next week. If all goes well, I’ll be back to practice in a month.”

“Sounds promising.”

“I had a good medical team. And I’m actually resting properly!”

“Shittykawa. Stop sounding so proud about doing what’s necessary for your recovery.”

“Iwa-channnn, stop being mean to meeee!”

Ah, Iwaizumi, of course. You haven’t seen him in years, but you remember him from school, a stoic boy with a good heart. You wonder if he’s changed.

“Are you planning on heading back to Argentina?”

Tooru answers without hesitation. “Of course”, he says airily. “As long as they take me back.”

Your foolish heart shudders with disappointment. Of course. If you run your fingers down his spine, you’ll probably find blooms of wax attached to his very bone.

You are about to stand up and leave when Tooru speaks up again.

“But I’m going to enjoy my time in Japan while I’m back. Did I tell you I reconnected with my ex? She’s great, it feels like I never left.”

The firestorm of blood in your ears nearly drowns out Iwaizumi’s growled ‘piece of shit’ (he truly hasn’t changed after all), the clatter of glassware as Tooru protests that he’s not playing with your heart, he truly cares about you, his sullen silence when Iwaizumi demands what’s going to happen when he leaves Japan for Argentina, when he inevitably leaves you behind (yet again).

Of course.

You know his heart longs for the sky. There is no space for you.

You barely have time to react when the door swings open, Iwaizumi on the verge of storming out. You plaster a smile to your face that does not fool him, but you hang on to it nonetheless, cracks appearing only when he gives you a wide eyed look of sympathy that only pours oil onto the flaming war between your brain and your heart.

“It’s fine”, you say, and though he clearly does not believe you, he bows and leaves anyway.

Tooru stares at you, mouth open, stumbling over himself with apologies and demands for you to tell him what you’ve overheard, but you motion for him to just stop with your hand, wave aside his protest that he means what he said, he truly likes you.

Your heart screeches in delight, but your mind is firmly in the driver’s seat.

“Let’s just pretend I never heard you say that, and we can continue just as before.”

“As friends?” he says, twisting his lips as if the words taste sour in his mouth. He clutches at your shoulders.

“I want more. I want you.”

Your heart thrums in agreement, but you recall assembling the remains of your heart back into your chest whilst kneeling on the cold bathroom floor half a decade ago. The span of five years should have molded you to view your shared past with pragmatism, but your heart seems to have forgotten its lesson. You shake your head.

“There’s no way you truly want me. I don’t think you’ve only ever had space in your heart for anything but your goals.”

Your response emerges more bitter than you intend.

“That’s not true”, he weakly protests. “I care about you.”

Not enough, you refrain from telling him. “Let’s remain friends”, you do say, and he opens his mouth to object again, but at the hard look you give him, he slumps back with a defeated nod.

He tries to respect your decision, never complaining when you keep a careful arm’s length distance from him, though you can feel his heated gaze on you whenever he thinks you won’t notice, hear his quiet sighs whenever you shy away from any accidental touch. He droops when you turn down his invite for lunch with his family when they come down for a visit, citing work even though he knows you’re off for the day.

Still, it’s manageable and he says he needs you, so you return for visits, at least twice weekly, offering encouraging smiles and friendly words when he returns first to light exercise, then to rehabilitative practice a month later, just as he predicted.

He carves out time for dinners with you, taking care to ask about your day, preferring to spin you stories about the pigeons and doves and crows crowding his balcony rather than talking about volleyball or his practice. He insists on escorting you to his apartment after work when you allow him to, offering you his arm with a soft smile that disarms you, dissolves any resistance.

It’s an uneasy equilibrium, but it’ll suffice.

The careful balance you’ve maintained in the space between you and Tooru is shattered when you find you’re not the only one who’s decided to pay him a surprise visit on a Friday night.

“Tooru, ya didn’t say ya got yerself a pretty girl during yer break”, a man with bleach blonde hair wolf whistles appreciatively when you step into the apartment.

“I’m just a friend”, you reply confusedly before Tooru’s shout “Shove off, Miya” confirms that one Miya Atsumu has decided to invade Tooru’s apartment. Well, him and what seems like half the MSBY team, with Hinata Shoyo, Bokuto Koutaro and Sakusa Kiyoomi squashed uncomfortably on Tooru’s tiny sofa, long legs stretched across the living room.

It turns out the MSBY team just finished a game in Tokyo, and Hinata dragged his teammates to visit Tooru in a wholesome bid to cheer him up. You try to excuse yourself after exchanging nods with Sakusa (he hasn’t changed much from his university days) when Miya Atsumu blocks your retreat with a drawled invite for Izakaya and the promise of karaoke after.

Tooru mouths playfully at you don’t leave me alone with these clowns (you’re tempted to point out that he’s very much one himself), and before you can even blink, you find yourself dragged along to the nearest Izakaya, impressed by the amount of food each man polishes off - skewers of chicken hearts and cartilage, bowls of potato salad and rice with braised pork belly, listening to stories of their exploits on the national team together, stumbling into the karaoke bar tipsy from the beers that Miya Atsumu pressed into your hand, head heavy enough to allow him to wind an arm around your waist.

“She’s too old for you, ‘Tsumu-kun”, Tooru trills, inserting himself in between you and Atsumu, mouth taut with aggravation.

“I’m not old, just a year older”, you roll your eyes, as the blonde setter backs away, lips turned up in amusement. Tooru is not placated, muttering how the younger setter is a douche and a sleeze bag as he drapes his jacket over you like a blanket. You nestle against his side, head on his shoulder as his arm rests protectively around you.

Atsumu watches this with raised eyebrows, whistling slowly, opening his mouth to remark that he’s never seen Oikawa so smitten before when Hinata interrupts with a chirped “‘Tsum-Tsum, join me!”, handing him a microphone while bouncing on the balls of his feet.

Karaoke is the most fun you’ve had in ages. Hinata and Bokuto and Atsumu sing all their favourite anime theme songs with gusto - Atsumu even gets misty eyed when he croons Sparkle by Radwimps, reddening when everyone teases him for being a romantic sap, Bokuto shaking his hips to Western pop hits, Hinata showing off his Spanish skills. Sakusa refuses to even touch the microphone but you suppose it’s a win that he’s even in the karaoke booth with all of you.

Tooru slaps away Atsumu’s attempts at handing you any further alcohol, forcing you to down cups of water until you are no longer glassy eyed, but still tipsy enough to agree to sing ridiculous K-On songs with Hintata and Bokuto, not stopping even when Tooru whips out his phone to video the entire performance with an indulgent smile.

“Delete it!” you squeal, losing your balance when you try swiping the phone out of his hands, tripping into his lap instead.

“In your dreams, princess”, Tooru chuckles, his arms snaking around you like a vise.

“Anndd that’s our cue to call it a night”, Atsumu quips, herding Hinata and Bokuto out onto the street, Sakusa heaving an audible sigh of relief. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, kids!” he calls over his shoulder, throwing you a wink.

“I’m technically his senpai, cheeky brat”, Tooru mutters, the irritation in his voice washing away as you giggle. “C’mon, it’s too late for you to get home and my place is nearer to the hospital so you might as well stay over tonight. You can take the bed, I’ll take the sofa.”

You shake your head, arguing that you couldn’t possibly turn an invalid like him out of his bed but he huffs at the insinuation that he’s anything but well, his knee almost whole again. You give in after he convinces you that it’d be more inconvenient for him to escort you all the way to your own home rather than put you up for the night, and you allow him to loop his arm around yours and lead you back to his apartment.

It’s not the first time you’ve been in his apartment this late, not by a long shot, but it is the first time you’re over with the intention of staying over. The t-shirt you borrow from Tooru hangs off your frame, the scent of the fabric softener Tooru uses is familiar. You would’ve preferred being tipsier to dull your senses, but alcohol would only impair your logic, allow your heart to prevail, so you try to quell the thrumming of your blood in your veins by curling up on a seat by the window with a cup of tea when Tooru emerges from his shower.

“Ready for bed?” he asks, towelling off his hair, frowning when you shake your head. “It’s late, you have work tomorrow, even if it’s the afternoon shift.”

“It’s fine”, you say without turning your head to face him. “Go to bed, I’ll take the couch.”

“I’m insulted, princess. What kind of a man d’you think I am to make his guest sleep on the couch? ”

It’s less dangerous to ignore him, so you pay him no mind, choosing instead to lean your chin in your hand and look up towards the night sky. It soothes you, the moon an old friend, reminding of five years’ worth of quiet nights spent in your own flat, filtering your younger self into adulthood.

“What’re you looking at?” He takes a step forward, kneels down next to you.

“The moon and the stars”, you say dreamily. “They’re pretty tonight.”

A myriad of weather conditions must coincide to allow the stars to even be visible in the polluted Tokyo night sky, but tonight of all nights fate intervenes, the stars align. The sky is cloudless, the full moon hangs heavy, the stars shimmer and dance.

“Are they?” Tooru whispers. “I haven’t noticed.”

You finally turn to look at him. “Why’re you staring at me?”

The unconscious echo of your past - a boy and a girl, falling in love under the same night sky makes his mouth twist wistfully, eyes faded gold.

“Because you are my sun, my moon and my stars. I love you better than anything in the sky.”

Your mouth falls open, your heart suddenly roaring, pounding against its restraints.

“You can’t mean that”, you whisper. “Don’t say it if you don’t mean it.”

“I do”, he says, with heartbreaking sincerity. “And I always will.”

Nostalgia, aided by the lingering alcohol in your veins opens the gate to your foolish heart. You want to pretend that you are eighteen again, without a care in the world, indulging in the warmth of his hand on the small of your back, the caress of his breath on your cheek. Your lips beckon his, swallowing the catch of his breath when your hands slide under his shirt.

“Are you sure about this?” His eyes are hungry, almost ravenous, but his hands still hover at the hem of your top.

“Yes”, you murmur, pressing open mouthed kisses to the column of his neck. “Please, Tooru - please.”

He carries you into the bedroom, undresses you with shaking hands, chanting your name with reverence, almost a prayer. His eyes darken with desperation and need, unwilling to allow himself any release until you fall apart boneless, caged in his arms.

“Stay with me”, he murmurs, after you’ve both cleaned up a second time, tugging you into bed.

It’s laughable. Five years on, Oikawa Tooru still has the power to make your mind lose all reason (however temporarily). With a single heated look, he commands your heart to break willingly in his hands. How could you not have learnt your lesson? The conversation between him and Iwaizumi merely confirms what you’ve known all this while.

(The sky his heart seeks is a world away from the earth yours is buried in)

Even now, you can see the glimmer of golden wax feathers budding along his spine, gleaming under the pale moonlight.

You lie under the covers until his breath evens out, then you stumble out of bed. You force your heart to relinquish the keys to its freedom, handing it back to logic and rationality, pulling on your clothing, folding your borrowed clothing aside.

Tooru mumbles your name, his hand outstretched towards you. “Come back”, he says in his sleep, fragility tinting the edges of his words.

Your fingers miss the doorknob by an inch. You dash your foolish hopes against the darkness of the room, put on your resolve like armour, leave your spare key on the kitchen counter.

Without looking back, you slip out into the night.

271 notes · View notes

spiltscribbles · 3 years

Text

Worth It

~Notes: Oof, I know I have so many prompts in my inbox and I appreciate them so much! But I wanted to write something after dinner in dedication and a gift to the lovely Remus-John-Lupin!!!!!!!<3<3<3 I love you RJ and I appreciate you and your friendship so fucking much, so this is just a strange little gift from me to you in thanks for how kind you’ve always been to me since I joined this crazy fandom, ILY and you’re my favorite slag!!!!

Sirius silently reminds himself that he in fact likes Lily, he thinks she’s a total knock out and is happy that his brother is finally getting to date the girl of his dreams. He likes her damn it,! And one does not commit battery to folks that they like.

Assured that his pure irritation won’t bleed through his words, Sirius tries again in his most charming of inflections. “All I want is his number.”

“No,” she repeats, casually steadfast while poking at her salad— Not even bothering to flick her gaze up at an increasingly irate Sirius.

“Why are you being so fucking difficult!”

“Why are you still bitching about this,” she counters, finally giving him her undivided attention, even if it’s her glaring at him like she’d like to skewer Sirius on a stick.

“Hey guys, let’s chill.” James tries to mediate, laughing awkwardly between the pair of them, hand raised in concession and glasses going a bit skewed.

They promptly ignore him.

“I like him. What is so difficult to understand Evans? Aren’t you like supposed to be some brainiac or some shit?”

“It’s been like two months Black,” she says pointedly, grip on her fork tightening while her mouth curls unpleasantly. “That’s way past your ordinary infatuations, so why the hell do you still even care.”

Sirius bares his teeth, pinning her with a glower that once made an old school yard bully of Regulus’s actually piss his pants. So of course Lily doesn’t even flinch. “He’s cute.”

“You’re a dog.”

“You’re being a total ass.”

“And you’re a bastard.”

“But you love me though.”

“Just barely.”

“So you’ll give me Remus’s number?”

“Dream on.” she says with a lofty sniff and haughty flip of the hair, discarding her barely eaten lunch before swaggering over to where a group of her friends from the STEM club are sat, including Alice Flores and Dorcas Meadowes.

“Guess you’re back to square one Pads.” James says, unhelpful as fuck, so Sirius only flips him off before snatching back his calculus homework from a pitiful looking Peter.

“Fuck this.”

Sirius thinks of himself as a reasonable sort of guy.

He isn’t one for holding grudges or obsessing over perceived slights. He’s brilliant whether he’s playing linebacker on the field or taking a exam in class.

For fuck’s sake, Sirius can be plumped down in any and all social situations without warning, and can have the room eating out the palm of his hand within the first five minutes.

In layman’s terms, he’s decent and driven and downright charismatic. Mix this all together, and well Sirius thinks he’s a pretty fantastic fucking package— if he does say so himself. He can have his pick of the lot, truly. Especially when walking down the halls flocked by his best friend turned second brother on one end and little Petey, who’s a great hype man, on the other. So its only poetic justice that the one person who’s been able to swallow up all his attention is the one person who doesn’t even give him a second glance most days.

And that’s fucking ridiculous.

This is ridiculous! He is fucking ridiculous! No, record scratch. Remus fucking Lupin is the most ridiculous part of this all!

Remus lupin with his delightfully disheveled hair the color of gold and his crooked grin that’s everything darling in the world, and his big doe eyes that sometimes flare with green specs when he’s especially passionate in class or when he’s chatting with Lily in the halls. Remus lupin who’s only just moved here to Murray Hill from a small town in southern Illinois and who toppled Sirius’s world upside-down while he was at it.

The first time they met was completely on accident.

It was the week before classes began, and Sirius had only just come back from his family trip to their villa in Rome, and he was only meant to meet James at the coffee shop that Lily was working at now. They were suppose to head to the city and go out drinking to celebrate the start of their senior year. Sirius was suppose to find a nice, college aged girl to fuck because he’s given up on the boring lot that infests Hogwarts these days. It was suppose to be easy and fun and he was suppose to stay stringless and unattached as ever.

But that didn’t happen.

Instead, Sirius walked into the Howling Moon and was met by the sight of the most lovely, most gorgeous boy he’s ever met. Hand to God, it felt like one of those slow motion moments in a Romantic Comedy when the disgruntled, wayward lead first sets their eyes on that love interest— the one to out shine all others, the one who turns everything inside out and makes it all glitter gold.

“Hey there,” Remus had grinned like the fucking sun, slipping the pen from his ear and hand poised over the cups lining the counter. “What can I get ya?”

“Oh, erm— Yeah. Just a caramel macchiato, iced.”Sirius’s ordinarily smooth baritone almost fucking cracked while ordering, and Remus’s beautiful eyes had glittered.

“Would’ve taken you for a dark roast sort of guy.” He said, and Sirius swears that it was playful and flirtatious and a little mischievous too.

Sirius was in love.

“I’ve been known to partake in sweets, you know, if they catch my eye,” he replied, eyes lingering meaningfully up and down Remus’s slighter frame.

“What a come on,” Remus had laughed, head thrown back to show off his long neck and Sirius was so fucking gobsmacked at how it quite literally sounded like all the most splendid instruments woven together.

He had ducked his head, so unordinary bashful but so beyond pleased. “What can I say beautiful, you bring it out of me.”

“”Cute.” Remus had chuckled, cheeks going a fetching red and scribbling down the order. “Definitely one of the more interesting one liners I’ve gotten today.”

Sirius ignored the flare of jealousy over that, considering that he hasn’t gotten to even kiss him yet, and he should probably take this slow if he doesn’t want to screw it up. “Has anyone of those bastards mentioned how your eyes put the brownies on sale to shame?”

“No one as hot as you if I’m being honest,” Remus retorted, ringing him up and sinking his teeth into his plump bottom lip. And fuck, Sirius knew he was in trouble from then on.

They had talked for over half an hour about nothing at all in that tiny bistro while Remus was busy exchanging the coffee pots for a fresh batch and rearranging the baked goods, and it was amazing.

Sirius has always been someone who couldn’t sit still, who had to be fluttering all over the place to feel like he was actually headed somewhere, like he was getting something finished. But for the first time in too long, just sitting there, still and silent and besotted while Remus chatted about his hometown and moving half way across the country and his eccentric mother— Well Sirius felt completely balanced, completely calm. He felt like just as long as Remus was their chatting with him and smiling in that beguiling way of his, that Sirius could actually breathe without pressure. Like he knew what it meant to have a center.

So of course, right when he decided that he was going to snatch him up— to ask him out on a date before anyone else from their shitty class filled with degenerates and dick heads could— Lily of all people had swaggered in, and gave him a caustic sort of glower that plainly said, keep the fuck away.

Ordinarily Sirius would’ve completely ignored her warning, would’ve unashamedly and excitedly chased after the cutest fucking boy he’s ever laid his eyes on with an absurd sort of zeal. But he under estimated just how much sway Lily was able to cater with Remus in the few weeks they worked with one another before he had met him. So instead of starting off the year with a brand new, insanely pretty boyfriend wrapped around one arm, Sirius has just spent the past nine weeks pining like a fucking love sick loser. Like he was starring in some cheesy John Hughes movie from the damn 80s!

And this will not do, this is not all right, not okay at all.

Sirius needs to figure out a way to get close to Remus, and outside of Lily’s overbearing claws. Something that only Remus likes, that Sirius can partake in to prove himself worthy.

As he promenades down the hall towards his free period, Sirius creates a mental check list of the things he knows Remus enjoys.

Remus enjoys poetry, and Sirius knows that he’s part of the school’s award winning Forensics team. But they meet during the football practices so Sirius couldn’t even try to impress him in that arena until the spring. He also knows that Remus likes history, that he’s going to end up majoring in classics in University, but Sirius really doubts his ability to memorize the Iliad in the matter of a few hours— He’s good, but not that good.

“Jesus fuck is this hard,” he mutters nastily to himself, tugging at the ends of his dark hair before ramming straight into a display outside the southern wing of their preparatory school’s building.

He winces, not so much for the throbbing in his toes, but because of Marlene’s snappish attitude when he makes it so that the table shakes.

“Keep your head out your ass Black,” she scolds before going back to filing her nails. And Sirius is about to snipe right back at her— That is until he catches on the bright poster adorned with small rainbows and the words, GSA FOOD DRIVE spelt out in large lettering.

And oh!

“Eureka!”

“Pardon?” Marlene asks, nose wrinkled indelicately as she eyes him like he’s about to puke on her brand new Doc Martens again like last weekend. Holy shit, she should really get over it by now.

But Sirius is smart enough and tactful enough not to mention his thoughts on the matter, only smiles down at her with pure elation. “Marls, what if I said I had a brilliant idea to help our lovely GSA.”

“I’d accuse you to only doing it to try and get in Lupin’s pants since he’s our new VP.”

Sirius grapples for his chest, feigning indignant. “You pain me my old friend.”

Marlene snorts. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

“That’s neither here nor there.”

“So are your chances with Lupin.”

“You’re a sick fuck McKinnon.”

“What do you want from me you gnat.”

“Let me help with the fundraiser.”

“What’s in it for me?”

“I’ll tell Lily to get Meadowes to notice you?”

Marlene glares at him now. “We’ve been fucking for like a month you prick.”

“Oh— Erm, then for some of that good old Bi unity?”

Marlene suddenly looks so very shrewd and Sirius hates how every fucking woman in his life could eat him whole for breakfast. “Absolutely not.”

“Fine, what the fuck do you want.”

“You cover Fabian’s costs for the goods when we go to that rave for 2KBABY in January.”

“Eh, didn’t you guys use to fuck?”

“Yes. But I don’t see the connection?”

“He won’t even give you a discount on the good shit?”

“Oh he does,” she leers, blue eyes glinting wickedly in the hallway light. “But I’d rather see you pay full price for’m.”

Sirius glares down at her, and repeats himself. “You. Are. A. Sick. Fuck.”

Marlene just lies back in her seat and returns to manicuring her nails. “Well if cheekbones isn’t worth the bother?”

“Fine,” Sirius all but growls out. “But we do this my way.”

“Scout’s honor handsome,” she absolutely beams, and Sirius reminds himself that this is all for Remus and that’s worth it at the end of the day.

It’s a week later, right before Thanksgiving break hits, and Sirius is sat in front of the cafeteria, smirking at the line of mostly pink faced girls and a few others amongst their midst, who have all queued up in front of him. A dollar in each of their hands, though he does see that a few have fives and even tens or more, and he doesn’t know how to subtly tell them that all he’s promising is a quick peck of his lips, and absolutely no other groping— including of his legendary ass or admittedly perfect abs.

“You’re just really enjoying yourself, aren’t you.” James hisses besides him after the latest girl— a blonde sophomore who’s decked out in Lulu Lemon for their only non uniform day of the week— scurries off. “Just a ego trip.”

“Jealous Jamie darling?” Sirius boasts, tipping back on his chair while Marlene collects the cash from the next five in line so that they can clammer closer towards him.

“I can’t believe all of them want to kiss you,” Peter marvels, round eyes completely in aw.

“I can’t believe you think this is how to get Remus’s attention,” Lily interjects huffily, lips set in a moody pout while perched on James’s lap to Sirius’s left.

“I bet you would’ve been in line if you weren’t dating Jamie here.” Sirius counters, smug as all get out, and laughing when all Lily deigns as a adequate response is her middle finger.

Sirius is on cloud nine. He can’t believe he didn’t think of this sooner! Remus loves all this shit, from the club to the charity. This is perfect! This basically guarantees that he’ll finally get a good smooch on him. And once their lips finally touch, Remus will surely feel the swarm of butterflies in his gut just like in those Harleyquin romance novels his cousin Narcissa would always read with a dreamy look on her face during their various Family vacations.

“You’re not gonna get him this way.”

“He’s not gonna know what hit’m Evans,” Sirius retorts, completely self assured.

One should never bet against Lily Marie Evans.

Sirius knows this now. But he still hates it with the passion of a thousand burning suns.

By the end of the lunch hour, Sirius’s earned over sixty bucks to the GSA’s fundraiser fund, and absolutely zero potential boyfriends who look like golden angels and make Sirius’s knees weak.

“I told you,” Lily says in that sing-song sort of voice that is so not appreciated right now. “Remus is not the type to kiss you in front of a huge crowd and after like a bunch of others. That’s not his style.”

Sirius is moody as all get out, and he’s irritated that he’s just wasted five dozen perfectly fine kisses on folks who aren’t Remus, so he doesn’t bother to hide his irritation when he gripes back at her, “Then tell me what the fuck is his style.”

Miraculously, that actually proved enough to get Lily to slow down her stroll, and cock her head curiously at him. “You actually care.”

“What the fuck have I been trying to tell you Evans!” He nearly shouts.

“I just thought— You know. That it was a game.”

Sirius’s face goes stoney, and he juts his chin away from her. “It’s not always a fucking game, all right. It’s not a game with him— I like him. I like Remus.”

“Oh,” Lily says very quietly, her face pulled in a thousand different directions before settling on something akin to solemn. “You should go to the music room for your free period today.”

Sirius quirks a brow at her, frowning while he asks, “Why?”

“Just trust me S,” she says, reaching over her hand to squeeze his forearm.

Sirius watches her walk off, hand in hand with James, and he feels a strange twisting to his heart when he imagines a very similar image— only with him and Remus and punctuated by plenty of kisses to the cheek, and jawline and lips too.

The music room is towards the back of the school, in a separate building along with the theatre and main auditorium.

The early autumnal chill lashes against Sirius’s face while he makes the track to the room, continuously chanting to himself that he actually trusts Lily and this is gonna be worth it if there’s a merciful God up there.

Once Sirius clammers in doors, he rubs his cold hands together, and shakes out his hair.

The first thing he hears is the soft strumming of a guitar, and finds himself in front of the music room after following its melodic toon.

Through the window he can spot the form of Remus bent over the instrument, his thick curls getting in his eyes and his steady hands plucking a few chords as he sits cross legged atop the piano.

Sirius feels his heart lodging in his throat at the sight of him, so beautiful and perfect and warm looking in that scarlet sweater. And he knows in his bones that this is some sort of unspoken blessing that Lily’s given him, so with a deep breath, Sirius opens the door and strolls in.

Remus starts slightly, going flushed once his eyes catch on Sirius’s own.

“Oh Sirius,” he greets, the corners of his mouth tipping into a smile that doesn’t ring true. “You pulled away from the haram?”

“That’s a bit much? Calling them a haram,” Sirius says cooly, hitching up besides him and swinging his long legs. “I just did it to help you.”

“Oh— Yeah,” Remus nods. “The GSA appreciates all the help we can get.” His words are quiet, and he’s rinsing a hand through his curls, so Sirius can tell that he’s a bit nervous. And it’s impossibly cute, but also not on. He doubts that he’ll ever get his kiss if Remus won’t even look at him in the eyes.

Gingerly, Sirius sets the pad of his pointer finger beneath Remus’s chin, lifting his gaze upwards. “Not the GSA— Though I appreciate the club’s work and your part in that.”

“Oh,” Remus says again, lips pursed and his throat pulsing when he swallows down. “Then—“

“I did it for you Remus,” Sirius repeats heatedly. “I did it because I’ve been mad for you since ever meeting you in August, and I can’t get your fucking face or name or lips or ass out of my head. And I thought that if maybe I pulled a dumb stunt like that, you would actually kiss me along with the lot of those idiots who can’t even hold a candle to you.”

“M—My ass?” Remus questions, voice going pitchy and face bright with emotion.

Sirius laughs, booming and bombastic. “You have the best ass I’ve ever seen Remus Lupin and it’s really obscene.”

Remus shoulder checks him, looking down and then back up through his lashes at Sirius and it’s a sight Sirius wish he can keep with him for the rest of his days.

“So you thought I’d want our first kiss to happen after you’ve just made out with half the school?”

Sirius grimaces, bending down so that their lips are only inches apart. “Listen, I can be a complete dumb ass on occasion.”

“Don’t forget arrogant.”

“Okay, fair.”

“And brash too.”

“Right.”

“Also you tend—“

Sirius places a soft hand over Remus’s supple lips, glaring teasingly at the other boy, who’s grinning like the cat who’s caught the canary, his eyes teeming with laughter.

Remus Lupin is going to be the death of him, Sirius knows it.

“Listen Lupin, I’d like a shred of self respect here, so I can actually muster up the courage to ask you out on a proper date already.”

Remus perks at that, so Sirius moves his grasp.

“You wanna ask me out?”

“Depends…. You wanna continue that little rant until I’m blue balled and gutless.”

“Hmm,” Remus inches closer, setting his hand over Sirius’s on the piano. “Nah, I think I’d rather do this.”

He leans forwards and Sirius barely has enough time to gather his bearings when he feels Remus’s mouth over his own and it’s literally every starlit promise and sugar burnt secret and sunlit afternoon all rolled into one. And Sirius feels his heart thud an uneven staccato when he grabs for either end of Remus’s waistline and plunges his tongue into his own and he lets himself get lost in the overwhelming feeling of it all.

#WOLFSTAR #REMUS LUPIN #SIRIUS BLACK #MARAUDERS #HARRY POTTER SERIES #💜rj💜#SPILT INK

213 notes · View notes

maybe-your-left · 3 years

Note

Skiing day two with Dr Ren and Gucci please 😘

Skiing - Part 2 Gucci & Dr. Ren M.D.

TW: INFIDELITY (only Gucci)

You barely slept, unable to swallow the guilt that had settled. You slept with a married man, who had you meet him in an extra room. Separate from his family, so he could fuck some random woman he met.

It felt disgusting, knowing you were that random woman.

What felt even worse, was how his touch lingered. His fingertips tracing every line of your skin, plush lips tasting every inch. Tongue laving at your nipples while you cried, legs open wide for his cock.

Maurizio made you cum three times, fucked you on the bed, on the couch, bent over by the fire. Digging his hands into your hair, cracking your back so you would arch for him.

Cumming deep inside your cunt, moaning when he saw it dribble down the back of your thighs. A thick finger swiping it up, to bring it back where it belonged.

No amount of hot water could scrub the shame, the tingle of your skin from his words. How beautiful you were, how he loved your cunt, ‘such a wonderful little dove’, ‘you taste of heaven’.

Wiping your tears away with the pads of his thumb, a soft kiss as you walked out. You looked back from down the hall, seeing him leave moments later. Hair put together, glasses back on, barely looking like he spent the past hour fucking someone.

Must be a normal thing.

———

“Holy shit,” you groaned, legs sore from more than skiing. Barely able to get dressed for another day, you debated just staying in the lounge. But you spent so much to be here, and all your friends were going.

You didn’t want to be alone, in case Maurizio decided to see you. You promised yourself you would t indulge him again, it was wrong. Even though it felt so right, so delicious.

Maybe one kiss wouldn’t hurt.

“Come on, let’s go get food,” your friends yelled, filing out the doors to the halls. Ski suits dangling around your waists, you carried your boots under one arm. Hooking arms with one of your companions, he knew you were having trouble walking.

Didn’t know why, but he was helping you.

Making you laugh, smile, feel so much better. You had almost forgotten about your shame until you made it to the lounge. Making full eye contact with Maurizio, who looked just as shocked.

You stalled for a moment, gasping at him. On his arm was a child, maybe 4-5 in age. Clinging to her father, and there standing next to him was the woman on the slopes. Who was wearing all red, now dressed in even finer clothes.

Maurizio smirked at you, seeming to not care that he was with a child and wife. “Trouble on the slopes?”

You opened your mouth, shocked he even spoke to you. Weren’t you supposed to keep things like this under wraps? Next to you, your friend piped up, “She must’ve fallen yesterday. You know how it is, women are clumsy.”

“Real women aren’t,” the woman sniped, snatching Maurizios free arm and dragging him away. You glared after her, wounded by her calling you a fake woman. Who did she think she was?

“She seemed high strung.”

“Yeah,” you mumbled, “I’m sure she’s a bundle of joy.”

———

You spent the rest of the day with no incident, didn’t see Maurizio or his frigid bitch of a wife on the slopes. Nor did you see his adorable daughter, instead you could focus on the landscapes.

The sloping mountains, snow banks, pine trees, fresh air, little tracks from animals burrowing for the winter. You were in awe, it really was a luxury. Something you wish you had more of, like Maurizio said.

You deserved it all.

Dinner was beautiful again, all of you mourning the end of your trip. Knowing that tomorrow you’d have to drive back down the mountain. To head to your small apartments in the bustling city of Milan.

You excused yourself from the group, needing to use the powder room. Not paying attention to your surroundings, leaving you alone on the walk down the dimly lit halls.

A whistle drew your attention, spinning around to see the culprit. Much to your surprise, Maurizio was walking down the hall. Hands stuffed in his pockets, a lush black turtleneck, some tight pants. Even under the darkness you could see his smirk, blue eyes devouring your form.

“Dove, you’ve been avoiding me.”

You scoffed, “I wonder why?”

He shrugged, now standing directly in front of you. The smell of his cologne filling your nostrils, the cut of his shirt showing his impressive frame. Lowering your defenses, “Why did you have to be married?”

“That’s not important.”

“Your wife is here,” you hissed, “She knows you did something!”

“I’m sure she does,” he brushed a stray hair from your face. Cupping your with a warm palm, “It wouldn’t be the first time, but you’re the first one I’ve come back to sweet dove.”

“Oh.”

“Shall we go for a walk,” he held his arm for you to take, “That way we can discuss our future.”

———

You don’t know how it happened, but you ended up in his bed again.

Panting and wailing under him, ankles on his strong shoulders. Cunt filled repeatedly by his cock, babbling how beautiful you were. So perfect, fit so well with him. His sweet dove, no one else could have you now.

He filled you with his cum over and over, well into the early morning. Telling you his wife didn’t matter, not when he had you. She could be handled tomorrow, bought off with another trip, maybe another child.

Maurizio walked out with you, telling you how wonderful you were. You assumed that would be it, you were his holiday romp. Never to be seen again, that was better to keep it how it was.

In the past.

You slept soundly on the drive home, smiling happily when you were dropped off. Grabbing your bags from the car, they felt heavier than before. But you were tired, from being thrown around in every position Maurizio wanted you in.

Throwing your bags on the ground of your apartment, you walked to the answering machine. A few messages, you clicked yes to listen.

Hello, this is Collette from Mr. Maurizio Gucci’s office. He was hoping to hear from you, there’s a package being sent to your residence that he wanted to discuss. Here’s his direct line for your convenience. Have a nice rest of your day!

You almost pushed Belle down the mountain, face flooded with embarrassment. Of course, your daughter heard you begging to be fucked. And of course, it had to be when you called her dad, Daddy. Because you have daddy issues, hence the husband who is 14 years your senior.

Its fine.

This is fine.

“Hey mom,” Belle stood with you at the base of the mountain, watching Ren and Odin play in the snow. “Do you want to hear my new ringtone?”

“Sure.”

“I think you’re gonna love it,” she smiled, “It’s for you and dad.”

She held it to your ear, “Fuck my ass Daddy!”

You snatched her phone, furiously locking it to stop the sound of you wailing loud enough to hear through the WALLS. Completely ignoring how she recorded her dad growling afterwards, you ran off towards Ren.

Belle squealing when you took off, “Mom! Give it back!”

“No!”

“MOM!”

“Kylo!”

Ren looked over his shoulder, frowning when he saw you running over the snow. Your hand extending Belles phone as high as you could hold it. Even though Belle was taller than you (thanks Kylo!), a hand square on her chest to hold her off like a rabid dog.

“What the fuck is going on over there?”

Belle screamed, probably alerting the resort security.

“Mom took my phone!”

“Were you being a shit?”

You wiggled away from Belle, throwing her phone as hard as you could towards Ren. She paled when it slid to his knees, Ren was holding Odin. Looking down at it with little interest, even though his daughter now had you pinned to the cold snow.

She cackled when she got you down, sitting on your back. “Dad, can I have my phone back?” You squirmed under her, jesus. What were you feeding her? Is she always going to be this strong? Is it just in the Ren genes, would Odin overpower you??

You heard snow boots coming over, accepting your fate. Maybe the cold snow would cool the heat rising in your cheeks, because Belle was absolutely going to show her dad what she heard. And he would probably laugh and say something gross.

Odins little body fall over yours, mimicking Belle. You heard your back crack, groaning under their weight. Now you would be hurt, emotionally and physically, all the way in Italy. With your demon children and Satan himself.

“Why are you tackling your mother?”

“Because she’s a whore.”

Ren growled, “Don’t call her that! Who do you think you are?”

Belle scoffed, “You call her that all the time! You just don’t think I can hear it!”

“Kylo,” you whined, “Get them off me please.”

The children stood, soon you were lifted by your husband. Looking down at you concerned, brow furrowed as he brushed snow off you. “Belle, apologize to your mother.”

She rolled her eyes, “You guys should be apologizing to me.”

Ren scoffed, “What is going on with you? We’re on vacation, do I need to send you home to go be with your birth mother?”

You grabbed the phone from Ren, stuffing it in your breast pocket so neither of them had it. “I need a drink,” you push past the stalemate. waving kisses to your son who was holding Rens hand.

———

Belle hounded you all evening for her phone, but you kept it tucked away. Staying on Rens arm the entire night, at dinner in the lounge you were half on his lap. Your children sitting across from you, Odin snoring by the fire pit after having a s’more.

You clung to Ren, kissing behind his ear while the flames flickered out. He chuckled at you, “What’s wrong, Love?”

“Nothing,” you trailed a finger up his arm, “I’m just tired.”

“Let’s get them to bed,” he kissed your forehead, standing up without you. Ren ushered Belle out of her chair, even though she was half asleep too. You listened to her groan, “I’ll carry Odin, you can carry her.”

You both dragged the children up to the rooms, Belle was dead weight in her fathers arms. Carrying her like she was nothing, while you struggled to hold your 60 pound baby.

Ren carried Belle in carefully, setting her on the bed, you watched him with tears eyes as he laid her. Like she was five all over again, kissing her forehead. You tucked in Odin in the same fashion, swapping with Ren so you could love on your daughter.

It was hard to believe she wasn’t yours, you’d spent so much time with her. Belle was your baby, before you had a real baby. Defending her from Callie, wanting to share moments with her. Fighting to be a mother figure in her eyes, and it paid off.

“Come to bed, love.”

You let Ren carry you away, throwing you on your large bed.

He pulled off his clothes, “So, why did Belle attack you earlier?”

You laughed, curling into the sheets, still fully dressed. Ren grumbled at that, tugging your clothes off as your tried to burrow.

“Lovely,” he cooed, burying his face into your bare breasts. “Why did Belle upset you today?”

You shushed him, letting out an exhausted sigh.

“Why’d we get an attached room?”

———

i fucking love gucci. also DIDNT PROOFREAD

TAGGING: @finn-ray-nal-beads s @onlykyloscenes @candycanes19 @historyandfandoms50 @caelum-phyriina-vermillon @ghoulian13 @mrs-kylo-ren @millenialcatlady @mrs-zimmerman @relationshipwithmybed @dancingmicrobes @wayward-rose @contesa-lui-alucard @daydreamsofren @insufferablelust t @ohdamnadamm @mariesackler @caillea @safarigirlsp @jalexunderthestars @shesakillerkween @glassythoughts @zimmermansbrat @not-the-teen-witch @jynzandtonic @roanniom @celestiasin @glassbxttless

#tw: infedelity #adam driver #kylo ren #adamdriver #maurizio gucci #house of gucci #doctor ren #doctor kylo ren #my writing v #ask fridays #3.12.2021

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greyspilot · 3 years

Text

no one asked but here’s a little bit of chapter 2 of set my heart on fire (like gasoline) (rated E)

“You expect me to be professional when you just told me you fucked a guy in a bathroom? Not likely,” she sniped back and then, just for dramatic effect, added; “My, my, how the king has fallen!”

Rolling his eyes, Steve said, “Oh shut up.”

“No, really, I take back everything I ever said about you having any class,” Barb leaned over the counter, resting her chin in her palm as she squinted, studying him, “How does it feel to be just as trashy as the rest of us peasants?”

Steve huffed an indignant scoff at this and placed a hand on his cocked hip as he turned to fully face her. “Please, you’re not trashy.”

Barb raised a brow at this, and Steve-

Steve knew that look. It was the look Barb gave him the first time he managed to drag her to a party and he had said I don’t think beer pong is really your game right before she kicked his ass. It was the look she gave him when he questioned her course load their freshman year and she passed every class with top marks. It was the look that said wanna bet? right before she proved him wrong.

“No way!”

She gave a small shrug in response.

“In a bathroom?”

A nod.

“Who?”

“Megan Roberts, senior year,” she said and when Steve’s jaw dropped open, ready to voice his disbelief, she spoke louder, “But we aren’t talking about me, we’re talking about you! And, all joking aside, at least tell me you didn’t let him pop your cherry in there.”

#i just think small text is neat !#stranger things #harringrove #steve harrington #billy hargrove

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rowanwhitethornisbae · 3 years

Text

Faking It Ch 2

A/N: Thanks for all the love on chapter one! I’m defiantly going to make this at least ten chapters so buckle up haha. TW: Language

Aelin couldn't remember when she’d lost count of the number of shots she’d taken. All she knew was that the alcohol coursing through her veins offered temporary relief from the breathtaking pain. The pain that had her sobbing so hard that she vomited her guts up each and every night. These pointless high school parties were her only escape from reality. Her parents were dead. Who gave a fuck about anything. Stumbling a little, Aelin made her way over the kitchen sink, prepared to vomit if need be.

“Are you okay?” A low voice asked from behind her.

“Fine.” She muttered and leaned against the counter for some semblance of balance.

“You don't look it.” The stranger said kindly.

“Well isn't there some saying; Don’t judge a cover by its book or whatever.”

The mystery man laughed and Aelin finally lifted her head to look at him. He was handsome. So much so that if she hadn't already been leaning on something she might have swooned. His eyes were green, the colour of a pine tree in the dead of winter. The sleeves of his white shirt were rolled and a tattoo crawled down the length of his arm and decorated the edge of his collarbone.

I like men with tattoos. She thought.

“Thanks.” He said, laughing awkwardly under his breath.

Oh shit. She avoided meeting his eye, instead landing her gaze upon his silver hair.

“Do you dye your hair.” She asked casually.

He seemed slightly taken aback, but smiled all the same. “No. Do you?”

She gasped as if it was the most preposterous thing he could've said and ran a hand through her long blond hair.

“I’d sooner eat snakes.” Aelin grinned.

“People all over the world do that voluntarily.” The green eyed man mused.

An image of someone eating snake popped into her head and Aelin suddenly felt bile rise in her throat. Before she could vomit on the perfect stranger, she bolted from the kitchen and into a vacant bathroom. Gagging, she fell onto her knees and was violently ill.

So gently that she barely even noticed, her hair was pulled back from her neck and shoulders as her stranger eased himself onto the cold tile beside her. When Aelin had finished vomiting, she wiped her mouth on the back of her hand and slumped against the wall.

“Thanks.” She said, tying her hair into a messy bun with shaking hands.

“I’m Rowan.” He answered, extending a hand.

For the first time in weeks, she felt a smile tug at the corner of her lips.

“Aelin.”

“Miss Galathynius are you even listening.” Her math teacher’s voice snapped her out of that very unwelcome flashback.

“Do you want me to lie to you?” She asked, earning a few laughs from her classmates and an elbow to the ribs from Aedion.

“Take a walk.” He snarled, and Aelin breathed a sigh of relief. She needed fresh air anyway.

The hallway was practically empty, save a few students on their way to the bathroom, and Aelin started towards the side doors to the parking lot. She passed a locker that had been decorated for someone’s birthday. Streamers flowed down from the top, framing the collage of photos perfectly. The girl in question looked to be a freshman, with a bright smile on her face and eyes that screamed innocence. The things Aelin would do to go back to freshman year. To live with that lack of knowledge and trauma that she so desired. But she couldn't.

She was rounding the last corner when something made her stop dead on her feet. There, leaning against the wall in a way she’d seen so many times before, was Chaol Westfall. Still, it wasn't the sight of him that send her heart into a flurry. It was the girl fiddling with her hair opposite him. It took Aelin a minute to recognize her. Nesryn Faliq, they had advanced chemistry together. She laughed at something Chaol said and reached out a hand to brush his arm. Shivers ran down Aelin’s spine at that hint of a touch. Chaol smiled back at Nesryn and leaned in to whisper something in her ear.

Unable to watch anymore, Aelin turned on her heels and bolted to the women's bathroom. She was breathing too hard, her heart racing much too fast to be healthy. God this was an awful time to have a panic attack. Slowly, she managed to calm her breathing enough to splash water on her face.

This was bad. Really fucking bad. They’d broken up barely 24 hours ago and Chaol was already flirting with the entire female population of Terrasen High. Fine, maybe that was a bit of an exaggeration.

Clearly Lysandra had been right. Aelin slumped down against the wall and curled her knees to her chest. She needed a rebound, and fast. Aelin pondered names as she ran her fingers through the grooves in the bathroom wall. Name after name came forward and she found herself subconsciously shooting them all down.

Nox, Fenrys, Sam, Lorcan, Sartaq. None sounded right.

In fact, the only one she could ever see herself with was Rowan Whitethorn. The silver haired senior who’s heart she’d held in her hands sophomore year. Held and crushed. She deserved every ounce of the hatred he had for her.

Still, he wasn't a bad option. She knew he found her beautiful, he’d told her as much. The only problem was that he would never go for her again. People tended to put up a guard after having their heart shattered.

Flirting with him would be futile and unfair. The only way she could ever get him to date her was if she gave him something in return.

“Holy shit.” Aelin swore, jumping up so fast that she nearly hit her heat on the sink.

If there was anything Aelin knew about Rowan, it was that he wanted to play on the football team. He’d gone on and on about it before. According to him, he had been deathly ill during tryouts and had ended up vomiting off the side after one hit. He’d begged and begged the coach to let him try out again but it was four years later and Rowan still wasn't on the team. Lorcan, Fenrys, Vaughn, and Gavriel all were and Rowan was half miserable because of it.

There it was. A plan. She’d get him a tryout, somehow, and in exchange he would help her beat Chaol in whatever sick game they were playing. With a newfound purpose, Aelin washed her hands and walked back to math class.

Lunch. She’d make her move then.

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

The cafeteria was mostly empty, a normal occurrence for Tuesday afternoons. The lunch provided was some weird crossover of meatloaf and mashed potatoes that had most students eating out. Unfortunately for Rowan, Fenrys had convinced them to eat in the cafeteria today in his attempts to stalk a blonde girl on spare in the lounge.

Now, he was picking at his food as his friends discussed the football game tomorrow. Rowan was just beginning to think his day couldn't get any worse, when he felt a gentle tap on his shoulder.

“Can I talk to you?” Someone asked from over his shoulder. He knew that voice. Had heard it in both his dreams and his nightmares. Rowan’s grip on his fork tightened and his knuckles went white. His foot began drumming against the floor as he braced himself for impact. Everyone else at the table was rapidly flicking their gaze between Aelin and Rowan.

“No.” He said harshly, not daring to turn around. Rowan didn't think he’d have the will to deny her anything if he was forced to meet her eye.

“Please.” Aelin pleaded. “I have something to say to you.”

“Well that’s too fucking bad because I have nothing to say to you.” He responded, voice carefully exempt of any emotion.

“Then just listen.” She begged. “If you don't like what I have to say than we can go back to ignoring each other like you wanted.”

“I wasn't the one who wanted that.” He snapped before he could take it back.

Rowan felt more than saw Aelin stiffen behind him. Lorcan was drumming his fingers on the table, as if prepared to hold Rowan back if called for.

But it was Fenrys, the friend who was kind to everyone, who spoke. “I think you should go Aelin.”

She swallowed audibly behind him. “Alright.” She relented. “I’ll be at the Starbucks during fourth for spare. Come find me if you want.”

Rowan didn't bother to nod. Instead, he gripped his fork harder, letting up only when the sound of retreating footsteps subsided. He looked up slowly to find all eyes on him.

“So that just happened.” Lorcan mused.

“Yes thank you so much for that observation.” Rowan sniped sarcastically.

“Woah.” Lorcan replied, throwing up his arms in mock surrender. “You’re mad at Galathynius, not us remember.”

“Whatever.” He mumbled and went back to picking at his food. After a few seconds he threw his fork on the table and let out a groan of frustration.

“This food is the worst thing I have ever eaten in my entire life. It is terrible and horrible and fucked up and I have no idea what to do with it.” Rowan half-shouted. Heads swivelled in his direction and he ignored them. Judgement from people he didn't know was the least of his many concerns at the moment.

“Is that supposed to be some sort of metaphor for your life?” Vaughn asked, dead serious.

“Excuse me?”

“Seriously Rowan. All I've heard for the last year and a half is Aelin Galathynius this and Aelin Galathynius that and now she’s finally speaking to you and you’re not going to do anything about it.”

“I don't talk about her that much.” Rowan mumbled under his breath. Lorcan shot him a look as if to say “Yes. Yes you do.”

“I know I'm normally not one to get involved in deep shit, but Vaughn’s right. I’ve never seen you nearly as happy as you were for those few months in tenth. And honestly, what’s the worst that can happen. You hear what she has to say. You like it, great. You don't, fuck it and forget about her.” Rowan had never heard Fenrys speak for so long without sarcasm in his life.

“To be fair,” Gavriel said, always the buffer. “We’ve also never seen Rowan as broken as he was after Aelin. Maybe the risk outweighs the reward on this one Fen.”

Rowan didn't reply. He was too busy struggling to get the memory of those painful few weeks from his head.

“Just talk to her man. Who gives two fucks it’s high school.” Despite being mainly in an attempt to end this conversation, Lorcan’s words made sense. It was just high school. In one more year he’d be out of this shit hole and hopefully across the world in Rithfold. Talking to Aelin was just one step along the way.

“I’m going to.” He said, willing his tone to stay confident.

“Great man.” Fen said, patting him on the back. He barely felt it though. Barely felt anything as the rest of the day passed by in a blur, his thoughts occupied by a beautiful blond haired girl.

---------

It had been twenty minutes and Aelin was starting to think Rowan wasn't coming. In all honestly she should've expected that outcome from the beginning. Even though she understood, the way he had acted towards her at lunch had hurt more than she was willing to let on.

Instead of wallowing in her own self pity, Aelin took a long sip from her coffee. It seared her tongue and burned her throat, the pain helping to ground her in a way nothing else ever could. She was picking at her fingernails, head down, when he arrived.

A metal chair scraped against the cobblestone, a bird sung from a oak tree, a paper bag rustled in the wind, Aelin Galathynius blinked. That’s all she had time to do. One blink to compose herself before she was looking dead into the eyes of Rowan Whitethorn.

She allowed herself a brief second to take him in up close. His high and defined cheekbones, perfectly crafted nose, striking green eyes, and silver hair had always made for a truly stunning combination. He looked the same as ever. Except he didn't. His eyes no longer possessed that unbridled joy and love that she’d seen whenever he looked at her. Instead he just looked done. Done with life and done with her.

Aelin swallowed audibly and handed him a coffee. “Cream and sugar.” She smiled, trying to lighten the mood.

Rowan’s hands tightened slightly. “You remembered.” It wasn't a question. After a brief moment of hesitation he accepted the coffee and went back to staring at the table.

“What is this about Aelin?” He asked softly. Although his voice was gentle, his tone was hurt in a way anyone else would’ve missed. She hated that. Hated that now, even a year later she was still somehow hurting him.

“So you know I broke up with Chaol. Or, he broke up with me.” She tried to keep the tremor out of her voice. Rowan nodded once, nearly imperceptibly, and she took that as a sign to continue. “Anyway, Lysandra says that I need a rebound and I need one first because Chaol is the one who broke up with me.”

Rowan’s eye flared with surprise and something else she couldn't place. “I won't be your rebound. Please don't disrespect me by asking.”

Her heart nearly cracked open at the pain lingering in his words. “No no I would never.” Aelin paused for a brief moment to regain her bearings. “Here’s the thing. I don't want a rebound. I’ve been in a relationship for as long as I can remember and I'm in desperate need of a break. But, I’m also the most competitive person you'll ever meet. Like seriously it’s an issue, once -”

“I know.” Rowan interrupted. “Once you sprained your ankle 8 km into a 10 k run and still finished first because you couldn't stand the thought of losing. You told me already.”

Aelin just stared at him for a second, her chest unbearably tight. Rowan’s eyes looked her up and down and she could've sworn his eyes flashed in satisfaction at the pain written on her face.

Not wanting to look at him anymore, she went on. “I figured maybe instead of me actually doing the whole dating thing, we could fake date.”

She held out a hand as Rowan opened his mouth to protest. Begrudgingly, he restrained from commenting and gestured for her to go on.

“That way I'd beat Chaol in whatever this is, I wouldn't have to answer everyone’s condolences on my being dumped, and I’d be saved from the whole post breakup dating fiasco.”

Rowan’s voice was hoarser than before when he finally spoke. “What do I get out of this.”

She took a deep breath in. “I’ll get you a football tryout.”

His knee slammed into the table and Aelin couldn't help but flinch. His eyes were wide and lit up with hope. “Seriously? How the hell are you going to do that?”

“I have a plan.” She tried to sound confident despite her growing doubt.

Rowan let out a small laugh. “The last time you said that we ended up in the back of a police cruiser covered in raw eggs and paint.”

Aelin’s face broke into smile and she began to laugh. For a moment she could almost pretend they were back in sophomore year, lying on Rowan’s lawn and watching the stars. Neither of them had known anything about constellations so they’d made things up based on what they looked like. By the end of the night, Aelin’s stomach hurt from laughing. She wondered when the last time she’d been that blissfuly happy was.

Just as suddenly as they had arrived, their smiles and laughs died on their lips. An uncomfortable silence seized the air and Aelin began to play with the hair elastic on her wrist.

After a few more seconds, Rowan cleared his throat. “I’ll do it.” He announced, although it sounded like he was still trying to convince himself.

“Great.” Aelin smiled. “Why don't you come over tomorrow and we can work out logistics.”

“Don’t you live with Aedion?” Rowan asked cautiously.

“Yeah but he’ll be at Ren’s place tomorrow for a project. I checked.”

Rowan nodded slowly and rose from his chair. “Alright.”

They stared at each other for a moment, Rowan standing and Aelin sitting. “I’m going to uh... go.” He said at last, severing the quickly brewing tension.

Without waiting for answer, he turned and fled, leaving Aelin to do nothing but watch. So they were actually doing this now. What’s the worst that could go wrong?

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#rowaelin #rowaelin au #rowaelin angst #throne of glass #rowan whitethorn #aelin galythinius

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royalsunshinehotel · 3 years

Text

“quit distracting me,” (Neal Sampat x f!oc)

Nannie gets together, it’s a long time coming. Redone 3/13/21 for @hecuba-of-troy

Livid doesn’t even cover it.

To say that Annie MacDuff had a strained relationship with Neal Sampat was an understatement. Since the day she had been hired, they had been at each other's throats.

He insisted on calling her Annie, which she was fine with. Marianne MacDuff is a bit long, and she’d used Annie before.

He insisted on getting the door for her, which she could live with. She was a feminist and it was a bit strange that he only did this for her, but she can live.

But the thing that they were squabbling, the world’s dumbest disagreement, was how Neelamani “Neal” Sampat kept changing the colors for the ACN website.

He’d ask her opinion, but he’d move the color up half of a shade. The difference in shade was undetectable to the human eye. Neal, in his limited wisdom, had become somewhat obsessed.

Outside of work, they were friendly, but not quite friends.

Neal and Annie had been out for drinks after work, with the senior staff. It was simple, something they did every other weekday.

Everything was normal.

Jim had made it known that he was something of a “big brother” type. Any time a creep would start a conversation, he would intercept her and drive the creep off.

He dropped the ball.

She had looked to Jim across the bar, glaring and trying to telepathically summon him over, but Jim had simply made a U-Turn. Annie felt a jolt of panic when the creep in question put his hand on her knee.

Enter, Neal.

He had come in swinging, no plan, no idea of what to do next. It was just a reckless, reflexive action that resulted in Annie kicking the creep in the shin, and dragging Neal out of the bar.

She had gotten them a cab, and the ride home was silent.

Neal’s still quiet when he unlocks his door and flicks his lights on. Annie watches carefully as Neal slides off his jacket, and walks over to his half-kitchen to dig out his first aid kit.

He hadn’t used that kit in two years, he hoped it was still stocked.

She follows close behind, boots clicking on the wooden floor. Neal’s fumbling trying to get the kit open, and she doesn’t hesitate helping him. Annie unsnaps the case, and pulls out alcohol wipes and gauze.

Neal’s holding his breath as she takes his hand in hers.

“What the fuck were you thinking?” She says quietly. Annie’s slowly dabbing at his bloody knuckles, while gently tugging on each finger. His hand was too puffy to tell if he’d broken anything yet.

“He was all over you!” Neal tries, half-heartedly.

Annie was a grown woman, and likely knew how to handle that situation, whenever Jim wasn’t around at least.

“I had it handled.”

“Then why didn’t you handle it?” He snipes back, making Annie clench her jaw. She’s glaring and her eyes could cut him in half.

“You could have gotten killed!” Neal winces at this. Maybe he did overreact. It’s just that she looked so scared, he couldn’t not.

He huffs, taking Annie’s wrist firmly.

“Don’t be dramatic.” She finishes off the last bandage, scowl cutting deep across her face.

“People in this city have been killed for less.” She snaps, offset by the fact she hasn’t let go of his hand.

Her mind takes her to those terrible scenarios she’d gone over in the taxi.

What if the man had a gun? What if Neal had been stabbed? What if he died and no one could change the color on the website! It’s not like she knew how to do it.

He tries not to react when she tugs on his fingers again, almost mindlessly. Annie’s thinking about how his knuckles are as purple as his bedspread.

And his bed’s right there.

Neal’s not going to lean forward enough to smell her hair. He doesn’t need to, Annie’s floral perfume is soft enough to float up to him on it’s own. And yet he does. Her perfume paired with a coconut shampoo nearly kills him.

“You could have gotten killed!” Annie feels her throat start to tighten. Neal doesn’t even understand. She opens her mouth to say something, but halts and thinks better of it. Emotion crawls over her skin, crawling up and coiling around her neck, stealing the air.

“Why did you do that?” Annie’s voice breaks, and it feels like Neal’s been hit in the face. She was about to cry, and he did that. He never wants to do that.

Neal’s pretty sure he’s going to die.

‘Say something. Tell her something. Explain why you did what you did.’ He tries to find the words, but the air is too thin. The words don’t come.

She lets his hand go, and turns to head for the door. If Neal let her go, he’d never have a shot like this again. If he wasn’t gin-drunk. If his hand wasn’t about to fall off, maybe he would have gotten his point across by now.

Annie gasps as two large, warm hands, turn her right back where she was. Neal has two arms tight around her waist, and she’s not pulling him off. That had to be a good sign, right?

“Explain.” She snipes flatly.

“Do I need to say it?” How could she not know? He’s done everything he could to show her.

And the sinking feeling hung off his shoulders. He failed.

Neal leans down quickly, pressing his lips to yours. The two of them take a step back, so Annie’s trapped against the counter. Neal’s puffed up to his full height, and yet she doesn’t feel trapped.

All of the fear that had been sitting in Annie’s stomach turned to butterflies in a single moment. He’s soft. Softer than she’d thought. The tip of his nose is cold.

Annie wasn’t sure where she was for a moment.

Neal pulls back too soon.

“Oh.” Annie gasps. Neal’s usual bravado had been flattened by fear. She’d seen him at every office party with some new girl, pawing at them like he was putting on a show. Neal’s not shy.

But apparently, he is.

“Okay.” Annie took a moment, letting her eyes focus, before standing on her tiptoes, and kissing him right back. The redhead wavers for a moment, only to catch a grip on Neal’s sweater.

He moans softly into her, and it shoots right down to Annie’s toes.

“I’m still fucking mad at you.” Neal laughs lightly, running his palms across her torso. Underneath, her skin was burning, but he didn’t need to know that.

Neal’s pressing kisses all over your face and she’s not sure whether she wants to laugh or to cry. He’d had her so stressed and now this.

“He was twice your size!” She protests, and yet with every bite, every touch, the trademark edge that Marianne MacDuff had worked so hard to cultivate, was being drained from her voice.

It’s a distraction. Neal’s hands run down her sides, palms shaking even though he’s been plotting this in his mind for months.

“He wasn’t!” Neal shoots right back, moving his soft mouth to her neck.

“You’re a twig! He could’ve hurt you!” Annie tries again, but Neal’s more focused on how your hands feel, wandering under his shirt.

“I’m invincible.” Neal realizes that Annie wasn’t mad, but scared. It nearly knocks him over. Annie’s not sure how she could be tangled up with someone who was this reckless.

“I’m invincible!” He presses the words into her mouth, making Annie giggle. She’s arching her back into him and he’s meeting her in the middle. Neal’s trying to get her as close as possible, and it still doesn’t feel real.

He made a powerpoint for god sakes! He’d made twelves slides with half-baked logic as to why Annie MacDuff should go out with him. The two of them were solid enough, but now she was grinding against him, and he didn’t know how he got there.

How did he get this lucky without the powerpoint?

Everything is hazy and he doesn’t know what to do.

Well he knows what to do, but he doesn’t know how to go to work tomorrow if this is a one-time thing.

How is he going to look at her again if this was a one time thing?

Neal’s going to cross that bridge when he comes to it, but if this was a one-time thing, Annie was going to remember him.

But he had to move, he had to strike back. It felt like she was everywhere at once. Her hands in his hair, her teeth on his collarbone.

‘Do something, Sampat.’ He tries to prompt himself, but Annie was taking hungry bites out of his exposed chest. He had nothing.

But once again, Annie saves the day.

“It was still dumb,” she snapped, only to be cut off when Neal took a tight grip on Annie’s hair.

“Got us here didn’t it?” Neal lets his voice take a lower, quieter tone, making Annie shiver in the best way. The low, raspy accent made the fake indifference seem even harder.

“N-Neal.”

The sound of his name in your mouth, barely more than a gasp, is what breaks him.

He’s back in his body with a bone-chilling clarity of where to start on the list of what he wants to do to you.

Neal drops to his knees.

He hums as you push into his touch. You’re trying to push into him as hard as you can.

“I’ve wanted you for so long, and now...” I’m going to be worth it, I promise.

Annie doesn’t quite register when Neal dropped to his knees, or when he rolled up her skirt. She knew when Neal dipped two fingers inside of her, taking his sweet time dragging them out, and putting them right into his mouth.

He groans and Annie’s eyes close.

Annie’s arching her spine and trying to reach down, but the scrawny web designer was stronger than he looked, holding her back with a large hand on her torso.

“Can I put my face here? Can I make you scream for me?” She fights the urge to slap him for making everything sound so simple.

“Y-yes.” Of course you can.

He takes a beat, resting his face on her thigh. The contact hits Annie all at once, Neal’s between her legs.

Neal.

“G-god.” He slurs when he takes his view, it’s unreal. She’s not real.

“You know you drive me crazy.” She’s so sweet and warm, and there’s so much of her he hasn’t touched.

Neal cleared his roster for Annie the first day she came in to work. He never looked back.

“I always wanted to bend you over my desk, but now we can just do … this.” The words flatten Annie’s lungs, breath leaving her in a gust.

Annie makes a sad, filthy cry as Neal drags a calloused finger over her slit, groaning at just how wet she was for him. Her legs tremble as he starts in with his mouth. He’s mumbling against her pussy. Just as usual, Annie doesn’t give a shit what he’s saying.

He’s humming, satisfied.

Bastard, Annie thinks. He was sending shockwaves through her with so little effort. He could have gotten seriously hurt tonight! Just because he wanted her, that makes it okay?

“I just think we’d be good together is all.” A low, raspy accent rumbles into Annie’s legs.

“Quit distracting me.” She barely opens her mouth to speak, and Neal’s on there, pushing his fingers up into you, and drawing out everything that he can.

“I’m trying to . . . “ She wants to say words, but nothing is coming.

Annie digs her hands into the counter, and whimpers.

Marianne MacDuff from Minnesota doesn’t whimper..

Annie from ACN does.

“Trying to what?” Neal smiles into her legs, this can’t be real. There’s no way the recipient of his affections was leaning against his counter, drenching his hands.

It’s impossible.

“Fuck,” gasps Annie. Neal’s digging his hands into the redhead's ass, and she’s realizing just how large his hands are. He’s also supporting her as her knees start to give, but Annie’s not focused enough for that.

“What a coincidence, me too!” He’s so damn chipper.

Annie leans down and smacks him on the back of the head. She’s shivering and he likes it. Asshole.

He takes a bite of her leg to retaliate, earning a high-pitched gasp.

She gives him something between a whine and a moan, because Neal pushes his face into her with a kind of desperation Annie had only seen when he was pursuing a story.

Neal is babbling about how tight she is, how good she tastes, and how he’s been dying for this, and she just wants more.

But then it shifts.

He tells her all of the things he’ll do to her if she wants.

Fuck this boy has a mouth on him.

She only takes in about half of it, as he was muffled by her pussy, but the rest she understood and took to heart. Annie’s blood runs hot, fingers scrambling for a grip on Neal’s shirt.

She tries her best to brace herself, but the best she can do is a grip on his hair, and his strong support on her rear.

Annie clamps down hard on his tongue. The only thing Neal feels is heat. He doesn’t let up, keeping pressure on her clit, curling his fingers inside her, trying to drink all that he can.

The sob is strangled because Annie’s about to throw a fit. He’d been so good to her, his hands were amazing but she still needed more.

The redhead opens her mouth to ask, but all she can do is whine. Neal’s nose pressing into her leg, breath puffing out over her skin.

He has to wait a moment to recover. She’s not one to tell a drowning man what to do.

Neal uses the counter to get up off his knees.

“Come to bed with me.” Internally, Neal cringes at how small his voice sounds. Annie opens her eyes to stare up at him.

She exhales slowly, resting her head against his chest, before giving him a warm smile.

“Okay.” Neal moves slowly, taking his time sucking at her lips.

Annie takes this opportunity to push the rumpled plaid shirt off of his shoulders, not forgetting his injured hand.

He loosened his grip on her waist, just enough to see if she could stand on her own.

She does, but it takes a moment.

Annie takes slow, deliberate steps toward Neal’s bed, pulling her skirt down, and her shirt over her head.

Neal’s practically salivating.

Annie wasn’t sure where her underwear had gone to, but Neal sure seemed thrilled about the bra.

It was a demi-cup, white, unlined.

Annie was thanking every version of god there was that today was the day she was trying out a new set.

Neal could see everything, and he was fucking thrilled.

“That-that’s quite pretty.” He calls across the room.

“Thanks.” Annie runs both of her hands over her nipples, getting them hard through the sheer fabric. She might have put in an extra gasp or two, just for the sake of her audience.

“Really good craftsmanship.” Neal says. ‘My hands can do that too’ He means.

Annie could have burst out laughing, she had never seen someone look that happy before. And she hadn't even taken it off yet!

She takes a seat on the edge of his bed, crossing her legs.

Neal’s over by her in an instant, kneeling down, taking off her boots. Annie gets up, and pushes Neal flat on his back, crawling on top of him.

It was at this point that Neelamani Sampat was pretty sure that at some point that night, he’d died and gone to heaven.

“You look pretty good on your knees, Sampat.” He’s smiling at that.

“I know.”

And with that, Annie leans down for a kiss. Initially, it was supposed to be soft, but it turned a bit more heated the moment she tasted herself in his mouth.

Neal’s smooth and warm and Annie doesn’t want to leave. She likes being above him, and having him look at her like that.

Had he had that expression before? Or had she just missed it.

Neal’s hands were starting to wander, grabbing and squeezing wherever he wanted. He was trying to work his way to her bra, without coming across like a complete teenage boy obsessed with breasts.

He was a 22 year old man who was still obsessed with breasts. Annie’s specifically.

But he’s thwarted. The clasp required too much flexibility from his right hand. It felt as if his entire arm had been struck by lightning.

“Aw FUCK.” Neal’s face twists in pain. Annie fights the instinct to panic, and instead redirects his arm above his head.

Why did women wear those things? Why didn’t they just stop?

Why didn’t Annie just stop wearing bras all together, to be … convenient. She’d save money at the stores too!

“Are you okay?” Annie practically shouts. If Neal was going to die, she’d tell Jim he died from an impossible bra. Neal would like that, she thought.

Annie curls over Neal, taking his injured hand in her own. She’s checking every finger carefully, being thorough like she always was.

“Yeah, yeah I am.” He tries, finding it hard to breathe. Neal’s clenching his jaw and trying to act as if that jolt of pain from his hand didn’t go straight to his skull.

Neal feels his cock twitch against his leg. Fuck.

“Do you need to stop?” She tries, but he vigorously shakes his head. ‘He looks cute on his back’, Annie thinks.

Annie puts his hand on his chest, arching her back, and unlatching her bra.

“Does this make you feel better?” Annie puts his hands on her chest, and arches her back, finishing the job of unlatching her bra.

Gravity kicks in and Neal can’t respond to any logic.

When Annie moved to New York, she’d tried to convince herself that her and her peers were ‘adults’. Neal looking at her chest like he’d just been set loose on the M&M store in Times Square was not helping this though process.

She laughs at him, and he doesn’t mind. He grabs them, cupping them and pressing sweet kisses

“It was still stupid,” Something flips behind Neal’s eyes, colder, more serious. He takes her wrists for a half-second, eye contact sending a chill through her.

He takes a grip on Annie’s waist, and flips the smaller woman onto her back. The mattress takes the hit effortlessly.

“Neal, I-” But he starts in on her chest again, biting and licking her in a pace and touch bordering dangerously close to vicious.

The sounds falling out of Annie’s mouth are too pretty for him to slow down. But he has to. He has to ask a question.

The sparks sitting on Annie’s skin catch fire as Neal grunts getting on top of her.

“Neal what the fuck?”

He was only slightly regretting what he’d done, but then Annie scrunched up her nose in the way she did when she was mad at him.

Neal senses that she’s going to break him in half, so he takes each of Annie’s wrists and pins them up above her head. This plan backfires immediately. He feels himself start to shake, and he needs to close his eyes.

“TellmeonlyIgettotouchyou!”

Annie’s eyes widened, Neal was nervous? Weren’t these his usual evening plans?

His breath made her feel hotter than she already was, and she wants to ask what the hell he’s doing.

“Tell me only I get to touch you,” Neal brushes his nose against hers. Annie opens her mouth, as if to say something, but the words don’t form.

“Kiss you, hold you, only us.” A broken cry makes its way out, and it makes Neal question everything.

“I need to hear you say it.”

“Neelamani Sampat, you better be serious.” Everything was too hot, too loud. Annie could have reached up to snap his neck, or kissed him until nothing made sense anymore. She’d wanted him since her first day on the job, and all of that time put them both here.

Together. Like this.

He just confessed feelings! Big feelings!

“Fucking tell me, please.” He pleads softly, getting self conscious. Neal rests his nose in her neck, like it’s a good place to hide. His skin's starting to get cold, and Annie’s starting to wiggle against him.

Nothing is fair. He’s an absolute fool to think she’d want him, especially with his reputation.

“Please…” Neal’s voice sounds shattered. Annie’s head starts to buzz.

“Tell me your mine.” His voice is just honest. It’s overwhelming. This couldn’t be a move he pulls with other women. Neal from ACN isn’t this good of an actor, there’s no way.

It’s Neal

“I’m yours. I promise.”

“Still want this?” He asks, and she practically rolls her eyes, soft hair clashing with his bedspread. She wants everything he has, but she won’t say that yet.

“Of course I do.” Annie wants to grab at him, but her hands are still shaking. The kiss she manages to pull him into is messy. He’s ecstatic, like a puppy.

“Let me get a-” Annie cuts Neal off, putting all of the days she’d walked to work to use, trapping him with her legs.

“Birth control, wanna feel you.” Neal’s jaw drops, and Annie has to laugh. She takes advantage of his open mouth.

Neal doesn’t waste any time pushing up into her, the blunt pressure of him… was almost overwhelming. Annie was already winded from being flipped on her back!

But she was shocked, stunned, in disbelief. It felt as if he was somehow hitting the back of her throat, and Annie made a note to revisit the various pieces of office gossip she’d heard about Neelamani Sampat.

Just a few short movements turn the backs of Annie’s eyelids into white. Neal’s hands stopped hurting a while ago, and he’d dig it into her ass for support. The other is still on her clit, determined.

How could she feel like this in two moves? Extensive practice? Who cares!

It was a simple command.

“Let New York know who fucks you like this.” Annie squirms under his weight, whining.

So she does. Writhing, moaning, scratching because she wasn’t afraid of anything. Nea’s neighbors were going to hate him, but even if she was never invited back, they’d remember she was here.

Even if he wouldn’t.

Annie was a bruised, gasping mess, and Neal doesn’t let up. He fucks into her like it’s what he was born to do.

“Fuck. That’s it.” Her back is arch, and yet the two of them can’t get close enough. Neal doesn’t notice that Annie’s practically pulling out his hair.

Neal’s clearly gone, but he knows it. He’s murmuring a string of curses and compliments into her mouth and neck.

Annie wants to tell him how good she feels. How she loves this, how she wants more. But Annie MacDuff can’t speak.

“Let me feel you come undone for me…” and as if on cue, she bares down around him again,” ...fuck… with me.”

Neal follows her all the way down.

He fucks her through the haze as best as he possibly can. The first words Annie hears for certain are,”no one else can have you, I’ll scare them off.”

Neal leans into Annie’s neck again, teeth grazing gently, as if he was holding back. His teeth made Annie calm somehow, the little gasps in her ear felt like music.

“You wanna mark me up, Sampat?” She mumbles into his neck. Her hands smooth over his chest.

“You wanna let the people know?”

“Know what?” Annie’s eyes widened for a moment, as she forgot what she was actually trying to say.

“I-I forgot.” She feels Neal crack a smile in the crook of her neck.

“Good.”

Annie lets out a large yawn, and Neal’s eyelids are getting heavy. She could feel it, whatever it was.

She has to force herself to get up, be responsible, even though the exhaustion said otherwise.

Neal’s a little tired, but still afraid.

“I need to go home and change.” The first clear thought of the night pokes through the haze that Neal had hung around the two of them. It must have been two hours before they were both needed at work again.

Annie runs her hands around the bed, trying to find out where any of her clothes ended up. Being responsible sucks.

“Annie tomorrow’s Saturday.” He grumbles, flat. If she wanted to leave, he’d be fine.

Right?

“Oh.” Annie cracks a smile, and it feels like the sun’s just come out.

She doesn’t hesitate. Neal pulls his comforter back and she crawls right to him. Annie rests her head on his warm chest, he leans his cheek against her. A few heartbeats pass and she’s fast asleep.

In a way, it feels like she’d always been here.

#mine mine mine #neal sampat #neal x reader #for Genevieve #hoe things #dev patel #dev patel imagine #dev patel preference

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dreaminae · 3 years

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We All Need The One Friend. Chapter 3

"Alright, enough about my last two weeks. I want to know what happened between you your man, Asher, when you ditched me in Vegas." Kia bomb rushed Liv, who'd dodged the question ever since her return from visiting Asher in Mexico.

"A lot happened." Olivia shrugged, not in the mood to talk about everything that changed between her and Asher since she last saw him.

"Nope, you do not get to leave me hangings after you made me come back home alone. I deserve the full story." Kia demanded playfully, not minding the extra time she was allotted in Vegas.

"Didn't you come here to help me paint?" Liv sniped, trying to force Kia to leave it alone.

"Was it that bad?" Kia inquired sensing the reason Liv did not want to talk might be because of a terrible outcome.

"Not really. It just wasn't what I expected." Olivia explained vaguely. "Look, let's just say I went down there to surprise him, only I am the one who got surprised."

Flashback --- 2 Weeks Ago In Mexico------

After talking to Asher's mom, Olivia managed to plan this impromptu visit for Asher. His mother picked her up from the airport and helped her get settled in. They spent the early afternoon eating and catching up. Liv detailed her summer events of enjoying art lessons, continuing her podcast, hanging out with friends from Crenshaw, and preparing for senior year.

"I'm glad to hear you're doing well." Asher's mother complimented, "But I am not going to lie, I wished you came out here with Asher."

"Me too." Liv agreed thinking how easy things would've been if she hadn't spent the summer growing closer to Spencer, rather than working on things with Asher. Her expression faltered, displaying her depressed demeanor. Quickly recovering, Liv forced a smile on her face. "But I am glad to hear that you and Asher are getting along. That's what this summer was really about."

"Thank you for understanding that." His mom gratefully responded. "I am glad Asher has you in his life."

Liv nodded, silently agreeing, unsure how long things would remain that way. How long would Asher stay in her life once he found out about Spencer?

His mother dropped her off at the beach that Asher spent most of his time at. Insisting she could find him from there, Liv waved goodbye to Asher's mother as she pulled off.

Strolling through the sandy grounds, it didn't take long for Olivia to locate her boyfriend. Tanner skin, untidy hair, but still the same Asher. She saw him, but he did not see her as he horse played with a curvaceous brunette.

She was a pretty girl who put a smile on Asher's face.

At that moment questions rumbled through Liv's mind. Who was this girl? How close were she and Asher? Did he have feelings for her? Was he cheating on Olivia with her? But then a strange feeling crept over Liv as she witnessed her boyfriend fondling another female.

Liv observed Asher's tranquil expression as he enjoyed his summer fun. She smiled slightly at how free he appeared, like the terrible things from last year never occurred. He was happy, and strangely enough, so was Olivia.

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

"So you're happy he is cheating on you?" Kia scoffed, puzzled by her friend's strange behavior.

"It's not like that. It's complicated." Olivia vaguely elucidated, slumping her shoulders.

"Whatever. Like I said about your relationship with mister unfortunate --good ridden." Kia mocked, unsympathetic to the possibility of Liv leaving him. "Now back to what I asked you when you picked me up earlier. Where does this leave you and Spencer?"

Her question went unanswered as Olivia's eyes danced to the certain young man that currently held a part of her heart.

Feeling eyes on him, Spencer glanced over into Liv's direction. Meeting her stunning, chocolate orbs, Spencer felt himself freeze under her intense watch. Vegas forced them into avoidance these last two weeks, so to even meet her gaze was a miracle to him.

"Simone is having the baby." Jordan's excitedly announced, gaining his best friend's attention. Spencer's eyes pulled away from Liv's sight, falling onto a panicked Jordan.

"Oh my God, she's having the baby!" Jordan suddenly began to dread. "What do I do?" He implored, entirely forgetting where he was.

"First, breathe," Spencer advised, grinning at Jordan's anxiety. "Then put the paintbrush down and go to the hospital."

"The hospital, right." Jordan nodded in agreement as if he didn't know what to do next. "I gotta go to the hospital."

"Yeah, you do." Spencer laughed as Jordan bolted without another word.

"Good luck!" Liv called out, cheesing at how overjoyed her twin emerged running past her. Her head quickly swung in Spencer's direction at the sound of Spencer and Chris chuckling in reaction to Jordan's hyped mannerisms.

"Yep, that fool is in love, alright." Spencer chuckled watching Jordan jog down the hall, before glancing back over to Olivia to find her staring at him yearningly.

"You would know," Chris muttered, jokingly rolling his eyes at how desperately Liv and Soencer pined for one another.

"What?" Spencer choked, knowing he'd been caught gawking at Olivia.

"Nothing man," Chris chuckled at a flushed Spencer. "Listen, I don't know what's going on between you and Liv these days, but I do know what it feels like to sense that your girl is in a relationship with more than just you."

"What are you talking about?" Spencer questioned, determined to claim innocence.

"I am talking about how ole boy will notice that you and his girl are more than close friends when he gets back from his summer vacay," Chris predicted firmly. "Just...I don't know." Chris groaned not wanting to sound like a nosey friend. "Asher won't be back for a few more days, right? Which gives you time to solidify whatever you and Olivia have going."

"Ain't nothing going on between me and Liv." Spencer continued to deny.

"You and I both know Liv is too good of a girl to be tangled between different guys. She deserves a good, reliable relationship." Chris added, ignoring Spencer's denial.

"And what if she is the one doing the tangling," Spencer questioned, indirectly acknowledging there was something between him and Liv.

"Then cut the strings, man," Chris replied like it was common sense. "Either cuff her or leave her alone."

"That is what I've been telling him all summer." Darnell joined in. "He got Liv hanging on one end and Layla on the other."

"That's a damn shame, Spence." Chris chuckled, patting Spencer on the back.

"It's complicated," Spencer grumbled.

"That's why I stay single. No buffing, just fuc, -"

"Right, and the fact that you have no game has nothing to do with it." Chris snickered.

"We will see which one of us has game when I start this year, while you keep the bleachers warm." Darnell insulted back.

"Save it for the field." Spencer moaned, annoyed by their bickering.

Chris and Darnell shot each other competitive glares while Spencer pined for Liv.

#spencer and olivia #olivia and spencer #all american #3x07 #olivia baker #spencer james #spelivia

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thatsamericano · 3 years

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Magnus and the Football Team in this Fic

So, I am thinking of beefing up the presence of Magnus (human Denmark) in this fic, because I picture him as Alfred’s closest friend on the football team, so he’d eat lunch with Alfred and his other friends and do things with him occasionally the way his other friends do. In my head, Magnus was this huge, tall freshman playing another sport in the spring of his freshman year, and the football coach saw him and was like “okay, this kid could make an amazing defensive tackler.” He starts trying to recruit him, and Magnus is like “That’s very flattering, dude, but I just moved here from Denmark and don’t know anything about American football.” He plays on the JV level the next fall after doing a lot of intensive training, likes it, and is good enough to make it onto the varsity squad in his junior year. Right now, he’s a senior and one year older than Alfred.

The reason Alfred and Magnus became friends is that they’re both outsiders on the team. Magnus is from another country and really likes American football now that he’s started playing it, but he wasn’t into it his entire life the way most of the guys on the team are. Alfred was into football his whole life and is a very good player (he’s the head quarterback in his junior year after the previous guy graduated), but he’s also a huge frickin’ math and science nerd. I might not get into Magnus’s sexuality in the story, because it doesn’t really matter, but Alfred is clearly not interested in the cheerleaders or popular girls most of the guys on the team are, so it’s generally assumed he’s gay and just not out yet. Some guys on the team might be a little homophobic, but they don’t actively say anything to Magnus (if he is into guys) or Alfred, and only a couple would ever get weird about stuff like showering or changing in front of them. For most of the team, they don’t have an issue with their sexuality, but it’s another way Alfred (and/or Magnus) might not fit in with them. Most of the team are friendly to Alfred and Magnus during practices and games, respect their skills on the football field, and will invite them along to all team hangouts like the one some guy named Bryan was talking about in the story before the asshole OC revealed he was going on a date with Savino that night. But Alfred and Magnus are not someone these guys would choose to hang out with socially or have lunch with.

About the asshole OC: Dylan is openly gay, and that might gross out some of the guys on the team, but he’s also the coach’s son, so he’ll get suckups trying to be his friend just because of that and get more leeway from the guys who are kind of homophobic because of who he is. He’s basically a stereotypical asshole football player from a high school movie, except that he’s gay. He treats the guys he hooks up with like shit (and is predatory in that he generally goes after naive freshman when he’s a senior and makes it seem like he’s super into them but then ghosts them and hooks up with someone new within a week), bullies less popular students for the hell of it, and tries to con “nerds” like Kiku (who he might have tried to do this with because he is smart, quiet, and Japanese, and this dude might be low-key racist too) into doing his schoolwork and cheats when he takes tests so he won’t get scholastic probation. He also takes credit for whenever the football team does well like he “won the game” all by himself and is quick to blame other people when they lose. A lot of people on the team, including Alfred and Magnus, don’t like him because he’s a jerk to them and an all-around asshole to other people. They also resent how the coach, teachers, and the principal let Dylan get away his BS because of who he is and don’t like the way he’s presenting a bad, stereotypical image of a football player to the entire school (especially the nicer guys, like Alfred and Magnus, who are actually friends with the so-called nerds and losers he bullies).

How I see Magnus factoring into the Romerica plot: Right at the beginning of December in his sophomore year, just before Alfred started to figure out he was into Savino in a non-friendship way, Savino showed up in the stands at a football game wearing some replica jersey with Alfred’s number that the school sells. Alfred got so distracted by seeing Vinny in “his jersey” that he just stood there with the football like a dumbass and let himself get tackled instead of completing the play he was supposed to. The coach called a timeout and yelled at Alfred to “get his head in the game,” and he was really ticked off because this was their last game of the season and Alfred was filling in for the first-string quarterback who had gotten injured. Magnus was on the sidelines because he’s a defensive player, so he got a pretty good view of why Alfred was distracted. At this point, he’s known Alfred since the first football practice of the year, when Alfred was like, “I saw you on JV last year and you were really good. I’m glad you made it onto varsity this year.” They chatted a little, Magnus may have mentioned something about being from Denmark and not fitting in super well with people on the JV football team because of that, and Alfred is like “Come hang out with me and my friends at lunch then, ‘cause you’ll fit right in. There’s a couple Europeans there and a guy from Japan.” They start eating lunch together and hanging out outside of school occasionally, and then Savino starts eating lunch with them shortly afterwards (because Alfred had to pester him into it since he met Savino by accidentally hitting him with his locker, so Savino really didn’t like Alfred based on that first meeting). Magnus just assumed Alfred was being friendly to Savino like he’d been friendly to him, because apparently Al is just super nice and welcoming to people from other countries. But then after the jersey incident, he thinks Alfred has a crush, and his suspicion is confirmed once Alfred starts acting weird around Savino as he’s figuring out his feelings. He doesn’t say anything to him about it, because Alfred and Magnus have a more casual “bro” friendship than he does with Tolys and Kiku, and they wouldn’t talk about their deeper emotions with each other like Alfred might with Kiku or Tolys since he’s known them for much longer. Magnus also doesn’t say anything when he sees Alfred pining while Savino is dating Emma, but he does feel bad for him. When Alfred tells him Savino is his new stepbrother, he might be complaining about something else related to this (like his dads shacking up with this other dude all of a sudden). Magnus is like, “Damn, bro, that sucks,” but he’s thinking what really sucks is that Alfred is now stepbrothers with a guy he’s been super into for at least seven months.

Magnus might say something to Alfred about his feelings prior to where I am now, and it will be in October when Alfred is acting crazy jealous over Savino going on a date with the asshole OC. He was there in the locker room when Alfred referred to Savino as “my Vinny” and silently trying to console him/keep him from attacking Dylan when he was talking about Savino in a crude, very sexualized way and taunting Alfred for being jealous. (Dylan didn’t know for sure, but he may have picked up on something, and Dylan is such a jerk that he wants to antagonize Alfred any way he can, and this would clearly work even if Savino is just his very close friend.) Magnus had to pull Alfred off Dylan when Dylan made him snap and break Magnus’s hold by using the word “Fredo” on him mockingly, which is Savino’s and his family’s nickname for Alfred that always makes Alfred happy when he hears it. Magnus tells him to let it go and that Dylan’s not worth it, because he doesn’t want his friend to get in trouble for beating the crap out of the coach’s son, which is what Alfred clearly wanted to do. Alfred waits until Dylan’s gone to finish changing and wants to immediately confront Vinny at home about going out with this guy Alfred and Magnus have both complained about occasionally at lunch because he’s such an asshole and they hate having to deal with him all the time and play nice with him because he’s the coach’s son. Before he leaves, Magnus catches up to Alfred and is like, “Bro, I’m sympathetic to the fact you’re in love with Vinny and he’s going out on a date with a total shithead, but try not to go nuts on him when you get home.” (He might want to ride to Alfred’s house with him to help reiterate the point that Dylan is bad news to Savino and keep him calm, but it would change things too much if Magnus heard the “at least he wants me” line, so I’ll say that he has some thing he needs to do after football practice and can’t go with Alfred.) Alfred is shocked he knows and starts to panic like he always does, and Magnus explains how he knows and reassures Alfred that he doesn’t care about the stepbrother thing because Alfred is his friend and because he knows that Alfred liked Savino for months before he found out that Savino and his family were going to move into Alfred’s house. The conversation is pretty short, since Magnus has some urgent thing to get to, but he warns Alfred one last time to not go nuts on Vinny. (Which he does, just like he did in what I’ve already written.)

Magnus will have a presence during the lunch scenes, and his most important role in those scenes will be during the lunch right before Savino goes out with the asshole OC and Alfred and Savino are sniping at each other over it. He’ll look at Alfred like “dude, I told you not to go nuts on him” and help reiterate how Dylan is an asshole and Savino shouldn’t go out with him (maybe stealing some dialogue that was originally Alfred’s). I also picture him maybe looking concerned after Savino storms out of the cafeteria but letting Tolys console Alfred since Tolys obviously knows what’s going on. He might skip the football team party to hang out with Alfred the night Savino goes out with Dylan, because he knows his friend has got to be feeling like shit, and he’ll be in the room trying to console Alfred before Savino gets home and explains that he didn’t have sex with Dylan and that Dylan was such a jerk he won’t be going out with him again. When Savino explains what happens on the date, he’ll be like, “Vinny, why were you going out with that dude anyway? You knew he was a piece of shit who would want to fuck you as soon as he was done seeing a movie.” Savino says some BS about not wanting to be a single loser, but Magnus didn’t have much of an idea of his feelings prior to this because he was closer to Alfred through football. He starts to think that maybe Savino likes Alfred too, because something is not adding up about the fact that Savino randomly went out with this asshole both he and Alfred have complained about yet is acting disappointed with the fact that Dylan acted in a very predictable way. He doesn’t say anything to Alfred about his suspicion because he doesn’t want to get his friend’s hopes up if he’s wrong. He does tease Alfred when Savino wears his bomber jacket to a game in November and he’s looking up at the stands all starry-eyed, and it’s a short comment because they have to go out and play a game. After Romerica get together, Magnus can sense that something happened between them because they act goofier around each other than they were before, and he’s glad Savino liked Alfred too and that they’re together now. But he doesn’t say anything to them, because they haven’t publicly announced it yet and seem to be under the delusion that their friends who eat lunch with them have no clue what’s going on.

The day after Christmas, Alfred calls up his friends from school to chat with them and so he can thank them for the small presents they’ve exchanged with each other near the end of the school year but agreed not to open until Christmas Day. (I’ll be adding this in as a small mention before they go on the trip.) Alfred has been busier than usual with his Roman holiday, so he hasn’t kept in touch with his school friends like he normally would, and since he’s not dating them he didn’t make an effort to regularly Skype with them the way Matthew does with Katya. Since Santa Stefano in Italy is traditionally a day for people to go visit their friends after a huge family holiday, Alfred might be at Nonno Vargas’s house (to have a conversation with him about Romerica that I’d planned for a long time to occur right after Christmas), and people are just going in and out and doing whatever they feel like. (Some people might stop by a church to give a charitable donation, which is also a tradition on this day.) Alfred calls up Magnus to thank him for his present, which was a Lego space-related model kit (because I think it’s funny if Magnus likes Legos since they’re from Denmark, and he knows how Alfred likes space-related model kits a ton and won’t think he’s too “mature” for a simpler one that may technically be designed for younger people but Magnus could afford to get for a friend from school.) They chat a little, Magnus asks if he got any other space related stuff for Christmas, and Alfred starts rhapsodizing about the telescope from Savino and going into details Magnus may not be able to get (because I’m thinking he has a scientific interest too, because of the famous Danish scientist Niels Bohr, but it’s not space specifically). Magnus interrupts his friend to go, “Hey, Al? I didn’t want to say anything in front of other people since you were trying to keep it a secret, but I’m really happy for you that you got with Vinny sometime after Thanksgiving.” Alfred is surprised Magnus knew, but it’s not angsty since he knows Magnus would be okay with it (like Tolys, who also mentioned Alfred’s feelings before Romerica got together). Magnus explains how they were acting really sappy with each other at lunch in late November/early December to the point he thinks Feliciano’s boyfriend Ludwig might know what’s going on even though he knows Alfred and Savino peripherally through his boyfriend and isn’t close to either of them. But nobody cares, and it’s all cool. Alfred might tell him some vague things about his dads getting suspicious and freaking out over a hickey Savino had during Christmas Eve dinner, but he doesn’t get emotional or go into the level of detail he would with Katya, Kiku, or Tolys since he and Magnus are friends, but not the kind of friends who get into deep, emotional conversations with each other. Magnus is like, “It sucks you had to deal with that. If you guys ever need a break from your parents, you can always come chill at my place. You know how huge my house is.” I’m thinking one of Magnus’s parents is a Danish architect, and he lives in a nice, very large contemporary Scandinavian home and maybe some/all of the Nordics Magnus knows from somewhere other than school (because I don’t want to worry about adding them to Alfred’s friendship group) are there when Romerica runs away and goes to his house on New Year’s Day. If the other Nordics find out about Romerica being stepbrothers in a romantic relationship who had to run away from home when their parents found out, they might think it’s a little weird but not say anything because Romerica are Magnus’s friends and they don’t want to piss him off (and the other Nordics are just not confrontational like this). Eduard might show up after Romerica start to get comfortable because he’s going to visit his best friend/possible boyfriend Timo, and when they see him Romerica are very tense around him because his initial reaction to them is the reason why they didn’t even consider going to Tolys’s house. If he’s there, Eduard gets to explain that he’ll probably always be uncomfortable with the idea of them because of his family situation, but that he didn’t say anything to anyone after Tolys told him not to and gets that it’s not creepy the way Tolys and him hooking up would be. He won’t give them crap about it anymore if he sees them around school or if they’re at Tolys’s house visiting their friend, and he was never so much of a dick that he would be mean to people who just ran away from home. Because Eduard is uncomfortable around them, he might go hang out with Timo somewhere else while Romerica is around.

#this got long as hell but i really need to flesh out magnus more #realistically alfred would have at least one friend from his sports team i think #i don't want to invent too many ocs so i came up with this explanation for why a danish kid is playing american football #it's pretty much off screen except if magnus vaguely references he wasn't into football before the coach recruited him #and even that initial convo with alfred would take place off screen since it has nothing to do with romerica #so if it's in the story it's a reference of a reference lol #also i do want to redeem eduard a little because he's not an asshole just a guy who is uncomfortable with step sibling romances #and it's because of his stepbro he thinks of as his bro #tolys is uncomfortable with step sibling relationships in general but not romerica because he is their friends #and because he witnessed all the pining and understands the circumstances better than eduard did when he was like that's weird man #romerica stepbros au #tw stepcest #hetalia #hws denmark #hws estonia #romerica #hws america #hws romano #hws south italy #aph america #aph romano #aph south italy #aph denmark #aph estonia #fic spoilers #my writing #original post

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grifalinas · 3 years

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It is baked into the nature of all teenagers to assume three things:

That they are right about everything, or at least more right than their adults,

That adults just don’t understand them or their struggles, and that

They have it all figured out, and it is only a matter of time before they can really show the world what they alone have realized.*

((*Coincidentally, twenty-somethings have a stage baked into them where they look back on their notions as teenagers and think, “Oof, yikes 😬”)

Sadie Thorn was seventeen.

While it is generally agreed that transferring a teenager away from their friends and classmates just before their senior year can be damaging, Sadie wasn’t particularly bothered by this. She didn’t have much in the way of friends- certainly not close friends that she would ache to be near- and her classmates and teachers were always on her case about one thing or another. And, ever since puberty had hit, she hadn’t really been getting along with her mom properly.

Going to live with her dad and stepdad and stepsister and transferring to a new school seemed like a good idea. Maybe the fresh start would be good for her. Maybe she would actually make some friends. Maybe she would find that something she was looking for to fill up that space in her that felt so empty!

(Spoilers, she will. But hoooo boy she’s in for it before she gets there.)

The whole family was waiting for her the day her mother drove her to her dad’s house, all of her books and clothes and stuffed animals crammed in an array of containers in the bed of the old pick-up, and for just a moment as she watched them come out to meet her she felt a sense of trepidation. She got along with her stepdad and stepsister, of course, but that was when she only saw them sometimes and talked to them on the phone. What if they didn’t like her when they were around her always all the time?

And what about her dad? She had chosen to live with her mom over him after the divorce, and only really spent time with him on holidays and the occasional weekend visit, what would he think? Would he still like her? Would he hold her original choice against her?

“Hi, Pumpkin,” he said, scooping her up into a hug and spinning her around as soon as she had poured herself out of the truck. He squeezed her tight, then held her at arms’ length and looked over her with a fond sort of mistyness in his eyes. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

...okay, so maybe she didn’t have anything to worry about.

“Derek-“

“Yeah, I’m coming.” He grinned at Sadie once more, and said with a wink, “Gotta go talk to the whipcracker.”

She giggled. “Be nice.”

“I’m always nice.” He ruffled her hair, and sauntered around the truck to talk to Mom in relative privacy, while Sadie gave her attention to her stepdad and stepsister.

She’d spent time with them, of course. Nicholas had been adamant that marriage to a parent was marriage to both parent and child, and insisted on having a relationship with her as soon as it was clear they were actually serious. And that had come alongside a relationship with Skye, for similar reasons.

But there was so much different in having a relationship with someone in another city, and with living with them.

Sadie gave them a wobbly smile. “I’m sorry if I’m causing a fuss.”

“Oh- no, honey, never.” Nicholas came over and scooped her into a hug as well. She melted a little. “Derek’s been so excited you were coming that he hasn’t been able to sit still.”

“He was practically vibrating at breakfast,” Skye added. Sadie pulled away from Nicholas and gave Skye a teensy little smile. She was never quite sure what to make of Skye, who was pretty and polite and kind of stuffy and a little aloof in a way that Sadie could never be sure was a Skye issue or a her issue.

A weak laugh did bubble out of her, though, and she remembered that Skye didn’t like to touch people so she didn’t try to hug her like she kind of wanted to. Hugs had broken her tension with the other two.

“-no worries, Sybil, we’ll take good care of her,” Derek was saying as he and Mama rejoined the group. He tossed an arm around her shoulder. “I mean, look at Skye. We haven’t fucked her up too bad, how much worse could we do with Sadie?”

“Language, Derek,” Mama said automatically.

“She’s seventeen, Syb, I pinky promise she’s heard the fuck word before.”

“That’s not the point.”

“I think seventeen is plenty old enough to understand why some words are only appropriate in certain contexts.”

“You’re supposed to be setting a good example. Let her learn through watching.”

“Ah, criminy.” Dad rolled his eyes and turned to the truck, grabbing the first plastic tub his hands landed on and hoisting it over the side, effectively shutting down his conversation with his ex-wife in favor of carrying Sadie’s things into the house.

Sadie sighed and scrambled up into the truck to get a container as well. She wasn’t the sort of kid who went around wanting her divorced parents to get back together, but it would be nice if they could be around each other for a little while without sniping and bickering.

-/-

Since their house was only a two-bedroom and Nicholas worked from home, he had converted the attic into a large room for Skye when they’d moved in, and now a partition had been put up across the middle on one end, separating Skye’s bed from a new one set up opposite it. Skye had also moved her things from half the room, clearing space for Sadie.

“There’s curtains here, too,” Skye said, showing her the curtains that could be pulled across the two partioned off spaces, creating a bit more privacy. “Sorry you have to share, we don’t have an extra bedroom.”

Sadie shrugged. “Sorry you have to give up half your room.”

“It’s fine. There’s enough space for two up here. There’s no closets up here, so my father put a wardrobe in here for you. There’s a dresser too. I hope it’s big enough.”

They were not big enough. Sadie had a lot of clothes. On the other hand-

“I’ve been thinking of getting rid of some of my clothes anyway,” she said. “Mama won’t let me buy stuff I like, and now I’m not living with her I can get rid of some of it.”

“I’m sure Father and Daddy will be happy to take you shopping for things you prefer,” Skye said.

Sadie frowned. It was weird hearing someone else call her daddy such. It sort of made her feel how much she was missing in his life.

“We gotta put an escalator up here,” Dad puffed as he came in with another container. “Can’t keep tramping up and down these stairs like this.”

“I think the escalator would be more trouble than when we just only occasionally have to bring things up,” Nicholas said, coming up behind him with the biggest container. “This is the last one. We’re going out for dinner tonight to celebrate, so I’d like you both to be ready to go by six.”

“Yes, Father,” Skye said.

“Sure, no problem,” Sadie added.

And then they were alone again. Sadie sat on the end of the bed and stared down at her feet. After a moment, the mattress dipped as Skye sat beside her, about six inches between them. She scooched over to give her stepsister more space.

“May I ask you something?”

Sadie shrugged. “Ask away.”

“Why did you decide to come here? I overheard our fathers discussing the matter and they implied it was not simply a desire to be with us.”

“Oh. You know.” She shrugged again. Hunched a little. “I got expelled from my other school. It was either this or homeschool, and Mama couldn’t really homeschool me. Not really.”

“I see. So had you not been expelled, you would have stayed with your mother?”

Sadie eyed her in her periphery, looking for whether this was disappointment or pleasure or simply observation, and met with nothing. She sighed, and flopped back.

“I guess.”

-/-

The girls spent the better part of the afternoon unpacking Sadie’s things- her clothes came last, since she wanted to go through them as she unpacked them- and around five it was time to get ready to go out.

“So what’s the dress code here?” Sadie asked, uncapping the container holding all of her underthings. “Casual or dressy?”

Skye was already in the process of setting aside a nice blouse and skirt. She paused.

“I don’t know. They didn’t say. We’ll probably go to Ovens In the Deep, as that is our go-to going-out place.”

“That’s that pizza place, right? The one where they got engaged?”

“And where they met. Daddy was working there at the time.”

“Right, right.” Sadie turned her attention to her clothes. A second later, a black corset landed on her bed, followed by a matching tank, and then sheer black stockings. Skye watched her curiously, while she uncapped the tub that held her dresses and took out a black sundress with enormous blue flowers on it.

“You wear a corset?” Skye asked. “Why?”

“Well- you know.” She shrugged, glancing down, and said a bit sheepishly, “I have a- you know, a lot.” Another glanced downward, hoping Skye got the point. “Regular bras hurt my back. So.”

Her gaze flickered over- Skye was broad across the back and shoulder, but her curves were not particularly pronounced. This was probably not a problem she could relate to.

“Anyway.” She shrugged again, and scurried over to pull the curtain, granting her some privacy, both to change clothes and to be alone with her thoughts, inasmuch as would be possible in a shared attic bedroom.

“Sorry,” she heard Skye say quietly, and then the pulling of the other curtain.

-/-

It being a Saturday night, and Ovens In the Deep being a popular place for the local youths to congregate, it was crowded when they got there. They joined the other groups waiting for a seat in the dining room, and no sooner had they taken seats on the benches than Skye beckoned her close and whispered to her, “Do you see that boy bussing that table over there?”

She nodded subtly toward the boy in question, and Sadie looked openly up at him. He was long and lanky, with clouds of freckles across his face and hair dyed a washed out grey-blue. He looked familiar.

“Yeah? What about him?”

“His name’s Malachite von Steele. He’s kind of a dickhead.”

There was something intriguing in her tone. She didn’t seem to be saying ‘dickhead’ with as much judgment as one would expect from the term. Sadie found herself very interested.

“I think I’d be a dickhead too, if I got saddled with a name like Malachite von Steele,” she said. “Oh, he’s coming over.”

He was indeed. “Thorn-Summers, party of four?” He said, and then on seeing Sadie, grinned. “Well well well, if it ain’t Shady Sadie.”

Sadie bristled immediately. “Listen buddy, nobody calls me Shady Sadie but-“ She broke off. “-wait, nobody’s called me Shady Sadie since I was like eight.” She squinted at him. “Do I know you?”

“You don’t remember me?” He cackled and led the family to a booth, bowing them into it with unnecessary formality. “We used to be inseparable, too. I’m hurt.”

She raised an eyebrow at him, and squinted again, trying to figure out who he could mean. It wasn’t as if she had a plethora of friends from her childhood, at least not ones that she could be said to be ‘inseparable’ with. In fact, the only friend she’d had had been-

Oh. Oops.

“I do remember you!” She said. “You weren’t going by Malachite at the time, though. And your hair was longer, and black.”

“Yeah, well, ten years is a long time. So what are you doing here, then?”

“I’m living with my daddy now! And my stepdad,” she added, gesturing the couple, who had been politely perusing their menus to give her a modicum of privacy. On being referred to, Dad set his menu down.

“You know this kid, Sadie?”

“Yeah! You remember! He’s- oh. He?” She raised an eyebrow to Malachite, who nodded. “-he’s my friend from before me and mom moved away!”

“It’s okay, sir,” Malachite said, a nasty sort of smile setting in. “You don’t have to remember me. It’s been ten years, and I don’t look the same, and you weren’t really around that much to get me locked in anyway.”

Dad looked unimpressed. “Actually, think I do remember you. You might’ve changed in a lot of ways, but you’re still a cocky little smart-mouth.”

“I do my best. You guys ready to order, or shall I take off for a bit to give you time?”

“We’d like some time, thank you,” Nicholas said.

“Sure.” He took their drink orders, and once he’d written them down, shoved his hands into his pockets and slouched off with a parting shot of, “See you in a few minutes, Shady.”

“He’s the cutest boy in our school,” Skye said once he was gone. Sadie gave her a pleased look.

“He is pretty cute, isn’t he?”

“Still a mouthy little so-and-so if you ask me,” Dad said, clearly less impressed with him than Skye was. His annoyance stilled at a touch of Nicholas’ hand, though.

“Speaking of cute boys-“ Sadie said, eyes widening as a group of approximately fifty-seven of them went by. (Well, four, in a party with several girls, adults, and younger kids as well.)

One boy in particular stood out; even under a dress shirt and sweater-vest she could make out the bunch and shift of back muscles. Oh… she was weak for back muscles…

“That’s Tarquin Camden,” Skye said. “And the whole Camden family, as well. They live up on Camden Hill.”

“I think I remember something about the Camdens,” Sadie said, racking her brain to recall, but all that came up was that she’d heard her mother on the phone once, talking about ‘those damned Camdens again-‘ before she’d remembered Sadie was there and changed the subject.

“They say odd things go on at Camden Hill,” Skye filled in for her. “Raucous noises, odd visitors, and more dogs than anyone can actually count.”

“They’re a big family who mostly stay close to home,” Nicholas said, with a slight tone of- correction? Admonishment?- under his words. “With that many young people, noise and visitors are only to be expected, it creates a hub for extended family returning to the nest, and people who breed dogs can only be expected to have a constant fluctuation of the dogs they have. There’s nothing about them that can’t be explained by rationality and reason, if you aren’t giving legs to the monster of rumor and gossip.”

“Kooky weird stuff sure sounds more interesting, though,” Sadie said, resting her head on one fist and watching the large party of Camdens gathered around their table, slowly coordinating to take their seats in an orderly way. Her eyes were glued to Tarquin…’s back muscles.

“I think I dated one of those guys,” Dad said, following Sadie’s gaze. “Right after the divorce, trying to get my gay-feet wet.”

“Was there ‘kooky weird stuff’ going on on the Hill?” Skye asked, Sadie’s suddenly delighted expression begging the same question.

“Dunno. Never got invited to the house.”

“Isn’t that weird?”

“Not for the kinda dating we were doing.”

This statement was met with identical looks of horror from the girls; he cackled.

“Everyone dates a Camden at some point if they live in Sleeping Bear while single,” Nicholas said, peering over at the now-seated family. “I’ve dated at least three.”

“Yeah, but you got a lot more exes than the average bear.”

“I have a perfectly ordinary amount of exes, thank you.”

“Yeah, that’s why everyone I meet says I’m the guy that finally got you to settle down. Face it, big man. You got a slutty history.”

“We are sitting right here,” Sadie said, horrified. Beside her, Skye sighed.

“They’re always like this. You get used to it.”

“Hey, I gotta watch my babies get all gooey over cute boys, y’all can stand your old man flirting a bit,” Dad said, jabbing a finger at them. Sadie giggled.

“We’re teenagers, Dad. We’re supposed to be gooey.”

“Yeah, well, I’m a happily married man. Gooeyness comes with the territory.”

This got more laughter, and the family settled down to the Herculean task of getting four people to agree on their pizza toppings. While they bickered back and forth about the merits of pineapple, shrimp, and goat cheese versus teriyaki chicken and spinach, Sadie’s thoughts drifted to watching the Camden party. They were suprisingly well ordered for a large family with a lot of kids.

Malachite came back while she was watching, and followed her gaze to Tarquin and his back muscles. He scoffed.

“Wanna watch it with that one, Shady. He’s the biggest ass this side of the Sticks.”

A blush crawled across Sadie’s cheeks. “W’s jus’ lookin’,” she mumbled.

“Don’t think you got a lotta room to talk about someone being an ass, kid,” Derek said, bristling on Sadie’s behalf. “If this is the quality of service we can expect, Manu’s really let his standards drop since I was here.”

“Oh, excuse me, sir, I’m so sorry to have disappointed you. Here, let me make it up to you. Would you like to speak with my manager? I’m sure he’ll fire me, will that make you feel better?”

“Maybe we should just ask for a different waiter,” Sadie said. “Can we do that without getting you into trouble?”

“Nah, you’re stuck with me. But I’ll be on my best behavior if you ask me to, Shady. I don’t wanna ruin your night :)”

He looked expectantly at her. She gave him a weak smile.

“Please be nice? It’s my first night in town. I want everything to be perfect.”

“For you? Anything at all.” He adopted a customer service smile, and said to them, “So, what can I get you guys this evening? We’re having a special on twelve inch deep dishes right now, you can buy one and get the second half off.”

He didn’t drop the service smile the whole time they were ordering, which was unnerving on a lot of levels, but the main one was that despite being a close-lipped smile, it had given the distinct impression of teeth.

“God, I wish our economic system wasn’t shit bricks so I could tip that kid poorly in good conscience,” Dad said once he was gone.

“Well our system is shit bricks, so he’s getting a full tip. But I didn’t like his behavior either,” Nicholas added, soothing his husband’s feathers as soon as they ruffled. “That wasn’t very professional of him.”

“I wonder what made his mood take a dive?” Sadie wondered. “He wasn’t so sour when he first got here, just kind of bitchy, but in a friendly kind of way.”

“He hates Tarquin Camden,” Skye said. “They’ve been suspended for fighting on multiple occasions. I imagine seeing him in his workplace can’t be fun. Besides, you scolded him when he was just being friendly with Sadie.”

“Still unprofessional,” Dad groused, but his feathers had been suitably smoothed, so when Malachite eventually returned with their pizzas- one of each topping choice- he was much more polite to the boy, though Malachite was locked into service mode for the rest of the night, so there was no more friendly back and forth.

While they waited at the counter for Nicholas to finish settling their bill, he passed by with the plates from their table and cracked a grin at the girls.

“So I’ll see you at school Monday?”

“Yes! Maybe we’ll have some classes together :3!”

“Tch, maybe. Hey, tell your old man thanks for the tip.” He smirked and headed on back, leaving them both watching. Once he was gone, Sadie looked back over to the Camdens.

“Why does Malachite hate Tarquin?” Sadie asked.

“Not sure. But if they talk to each other long enough, Malachite starts swinging.”

-/-

Sadie’s first day in her new school was Monday. She and Skye had spent the weekend going through her clothes, and Nicholas had said he’d take her shopping for new clothes that weekend, so for now she was stuck with the things her mom had picked out for her that she could tolerate.

“What classes do you have?” She asked Skye on the way to the office that morning.

“I’m in History first period,” Skye said, and to the secretary said, “This is Sadie Thorn. It’s her first day. She needs her schedule.”

While the secretary got the schedule for her, she took a seat and rested her chin in her hands, staring at a spot on the carpet while her nerves piled up inside her throat.

“Is this a very nice school?”

“For the most part. I’ve never had any trouble here.”

“Well yeah but…” Sadie trailed off. She very much doubted Skye had ever been thrown out of school, so what sort of frame of reference could she have for whether the school was nice? Skye was probably the teachers’ favorite darling. She probably had loads of friends. She probably was popular with all sorts of boys.

While Sadie tried to find a way to articulate that Skye was probably not the metric to determine her school’s niceness, the office door opened and Malachite came in, a bloody wad of paper towels pressed to his nose. The secretary looked at him and rolled their eyes.

“Were you and Camden fighting again?”

“Not my fault the guy’s a prick. Hey, Shady~” He winked. “What’s your first class?”

“Oh, um-“ She took her schedule from the secretary, who was already fetching a wet towel for Malachite. “I’ve got Biology first thing.”

“Boo, no fun, I’m in History. Let’s see-“ He peeked over her shoulder. “Well, we’re in English Lit together, that’s fun, and then we share a lunch period- oh, lucky, you’ve got Harrow for Biology, he’s way better than Holliday-“

The secretary had returned with a wet towel. They handed it to Malachite.

“Where’s Camden?”

“Nurse’s office. For some reason Doc Holliday felt we shouldn’t be sent to the office together. Something about me trying to get through him to mess the prick up more. Can’t imagine what he was implying.”

He gave them a pointy smile, made more leery by the blood beginning to dry on his chin. The secretary just rolled their eyes, and handed him the towel.

“Go on then, get to class. Miss Summers, you have History this period as well, correct? Would you mind making sure he gets there?”

“As you like.” She gave Malachite a shy smile and brushed a lock of hair behind her ear. He cracked a cocky smirk at her and mock-bowed.

“After you.”

After they left- with a parting shot of ‘see you in Lit, Shady’ from Malachite- Sadie turned her full attention to the secretary. “Um, where’s the Biology room?”

“All the way to the end of the hall, hang a left, and then a left, out the doors, and all the way to the end of the breezeway, last door on your left.”

“Okay…” Sadie thanked them in a meek little voice and hurried out, squinting at the room numbers on her schedule and trying to remember the directions the secretary had given her-

-she’d made it about halfway down the hall when she ran into a solid, blistering hot mass. She hit the floor with an ‘oof’ and looked up to see what she’d hit.

She’d faceplanted a wall of back muscles, which on impact had felt a lot more like an actual wall. The wall turned, revealing the owner to be a tall boy with a mop of sandy hair and the prettiest blue eyes she’d ever seen.

“Sorry,” she squeaked out. “I wasn’t looking…”

“It’s okay.” The boy knelt and picked up her schedule, offering a gallant hand to help her to her felt. “You’re not hurt, are you?”

“Just my pride,” she admitted.

He nodded, and glanced at the schedule in her hand. “First day? What class are you headed to?”

“Um. Biology. With Harrow.”

“What luck, I’m on my way there too.” He brandished a paper of his own; Sadie vaguely recognized it as an excuse from the nurse’s office. “You can distract Harrow from how late I am. I’m Tarquin, by the way.”

“Sadie.” She hugged her bookbag straps a little close. “Sadie Thorn. You were fighting with Malachite, right? He came into the office while I was getting my schedule.”

He huffed. “Know Mal, do you?”

“We were friends when we were little kids. Before me and my mama moved away.”

“Yeah? Well just to set the record straight, anything he tells you about me is a lie. Okay?”

“He said you’re a prick.”

“If I’m a prick, he’s a kettle. But I’ll leave you to draw your own conclusions.” He offered his arm. “Let’s head to class before Old Man Harrow has a conniption.”

A flush spread up Sadie’s neck at that, and down into her shirt; with a mumble that even she couldn’t interpret, she took the proferred arm and let him show her the way to Biology.

-/-

Malachite was quiet for most of the walk to History, but as they approached the classroom, he said, “Hey, listen. It’s Skye, right?”

“Yes.”

“Yeah, Skye. Look, I’m sorry about being such a bitch to you guys last night, yeah? I just remember what Shady’s old man was like back when we were kids and I guess I just couldn’t bring myself to be nice.”

“Understandable, I suppose.” Skye stopped outside the door and looked to him. “I am aware of the sort of man my stepfather was when he divorced his first wife. He has been honest with us on that front. However, I am also aware that he has worked hard to unlearn his harmful habits. To hold his past against him when he has become an entirely different person now would be unfair.”

“Yeah, well.” He shrugged one shoulder, a little uncomfortable now. “I guess you’d know better than me. He good to you and Shady?”

“Very good. He’s very excited to have Sadie here, so they can have a real relationship.”

“Good. Maybe I’ll think about giving him a chance, then.” He gave her another smile, a little less cocky and a little more genuine this time, and opened the door to their classroom, gesturing for her to go on in ahead of him. “For Shady, at least. Don’t wanna upset her.”

-/-

#what i've got so far #it's slow because i'm trying to get to know the characters while i write #anyway i have at least introduced all the relevant players #so y'all should read this and talk to me about them #help me get to know them

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ellie-writes-things · 3 years

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The Lemon Tree (memoir)

As a child of about six or seven years in age, my father owned a little red piglet.

Though mis abuelos had six of their nine children in San Jose, California, they moved them all back to Ajijic, a city in Jalisco, Mexico where mi abuelo owned land and livestock, even a mercado, as I’m reminded periodically when my father and I discuss family. Abuelo trained Arabian horses to dance in the shows there, and there was an instance where he beat my father when he lost one of his prized stallions for the day.

But, my father had a small pet pig.

He has told me this story several times, over the course of my life. I was about fifteen years old when he first mentioned this piglet. We sat in an IHOP, surrounded by his replacement family, my step-mother to his left hand my new siblings around me like bookends made of flesh. I fidgeted in my combat boots and fishnets--a decision made in haste to spite my father--my pale face flushed under the layers of foundation I wore, aware of my otherness compared to the vibrancy of the newly formed clan. The smattering of Spanish and English blended to buzz in my ears, and I felt dizzy.

The first Spanish phrase I remember learning from my father is, “Enrique es mi héroe.”

Despite the ritual retelling of the tale, I never remember how he managed to acquire this tiny ungulate. He never told me what he named it, either

He cared for this pig. He massaged it, bathed it, and fed it corn and cornmeal. After some time passed, the pig grew to a considerable girth and adored my father.

He has told me this story a dozen times.

On his way home from school, my father walked past the town’s butcher, where his gaze caught on an animal skin on display in the window. The skin reminded him of his pet at home, but he did not think much of the coincidence at the time and continued to walk along the cobblestone and dirt roads with the sun beating down on his diminutiveness.

He arrived at the large double doors of his family’s house as the sun dipped low on the horizon, drifting down into the earth. His pig did not greet him in the foyer, and he searched out his mother, who he found in the kitchen. She busied herself with ordering my two aunts, who were old enough to help with household chores, on how to serve dinner. He asked his mother, in Spanish, if she knew where his pig went.

Abuelita only rummaged her hands in her pockets and produced, for a child, a rather significant sum of money and handed it to him. She said something to him to the effect of, “This is your cut.”

Every time my father tells me this story, he says that the only thing he asked her is if he could get another pig. And he laughs.

My father, a man named Enrique--though most of the world knows him by the Anglicized Henry--works at Santa Clara University as the Head of Fire Safety. My parents, at this point, have been divorced longer than they were ever together, and I am the only lasting product of that union. Even the house they purchased together in Santa Clara has since been gutted and remade in the image of my father’s current family. I have scant memories of my parents married, and the few I have are tinged with the haze of sentiment or bitterness. I talk to my father once, maybe, a month by phone. We text more often. Once every couple of weeks, to make sure the other is alive, though I rarely initiate a conversation. If we were to stand side by side, we have the same eyes, the same features, the same unfortunate Roman nose that, while attractive on a man, stands out and appears garish on a woman.

I could be his doppelganger.

We both enjoy trivia and telling bad jokes, and, at times, delight in others’, and our own, misfortune. We’ve also both been emotionally absent in nearly all of our relationships. “Almost no one in our family has ever been married less than three times,” my father jokes, often, slapping me on the back afterward. I point out his older brother who has been married for over 50 years and my dad shrugs.

I visited my father recently with my partner and drove the three-hour trip for a visit that lasted two hours. We sat on the loveseat, Rory and I, backs straight and shoulders stiff as I spoke, my voice high and thready and the sound of it reverberated through the room. My dad nodded along and Rory left for the restroom, abandoning the two of us in each other’s company. My father inquired about my schedule, and I remarked I recounted my work and school schedule. He nodded again, humming along to the tune my words set. I sighed and asked how work was going for him. Last we spoke he confessed to being fearful of getting fired. He assured me things smoothed over. I told him he was just paranoid. He mentioned that my step sister and her family finally moved out of his spare bedroom. I rolled my eyes and exhaled through my nose, the force of it tickling my upper lip. He grew quiet and settled back down into the sofa. By the time Rory returned, my father and I looked at the television screen, where one of his old westerns played. Something with John Wayne, I think. I crane my head to gaze at the photos that lined the walls, out of habit more than sentiment. An old picture of my step-sister, Adriana, the one closest in age to me and who recently vacated my father’s home, at her quinceanera; a couple photos of Esmeralda, my stepmother, from her younger years; their wedding photo, just the two of them; two family portraits from the same day; and my photos are conspicuously absent among the throng of photos that detailed their lives together.

I did go snooping, one time, a few years back, and found my senior portraits jammed behind the printer stand, a thick layer of dust covering the frame.

I never asked about it.

The house, otherwise, still remains the same as it ever was. White walls, muted colors, blinds without curtains, and the laminate flooring that replaced my mother’s polished planks. The living room is neat, tidy. Not too different from how it appears in my old family albums, but a world apart.

My father’s shoes laid against the leg of the coffee table, propped at an angle, and flecks of dried mud dotted the sides of the rubber soles. His glass of water dripped condensation onto the surface of the table on which it rested, creating a ring on the glass. He leaned forward, his arms resting on his knees, and whispered, after he glanced down the hall towards the master bedroom, “Are you guys doing okay with money?”

“God, yes, Dad. We’re fine,” I bit out. Rory nodded next to me and I struggled to keep from sniping at him as well.

He dug through his pocket and pulled his wallet out. He told Rory to move closer and shoved a pile of gift cards into Rory’s palm. He stammered a thank you to my father, the tips of his ears glowing. I crossed my arms and said, “Ditto.” Rory leaned into me, nudging my arm with his elbow and I shrugged away from him and scooted closer to the opposite edge of the love seat, clutching my purse on my lap.

In the bedroom, I heard my niece, Esmeralda’s granddaughter, move around, the bedsprings creaking and the sound of the sheets rustling echoing down the small hallway as she roused herself from sleep. Sixteen years old, she is the daughter of my oldest step-sister, but she resides full time in my father’s house while my sister lives somewhere in Fremont with her younger two children. There, too, are photos of my niece that line the wall opposite of the family portraits. Soccer, softball, school portraits that show the same girl in ascending ages grinning, wide and toothy, at the camera.

Smaller photos, in paper frames, are lower than that from various trips to San Francisco. The type of photos you get after you take the Red and White tours at the Embarcadero out into the Bay and listen to someone drone into a headset, listing the various sites of historical interest and how many people died building the Golden Gate Bridge, that is discarded immediately after boarding the boat because you’ve heard the guided tour enough times to recite it word for word.

I would sit and gaze out the window, the skyline in constant view and wondered what it would have been like for the people who first arrived to San Francisco, to see the city for the first time as they stood above on the deck of the ship, with salt and mist lashing at their cheeks, leaving them inflamed.

Before his new family arrived, and before my father trusted me enough to stick by his side on a trip to San Francisco, we fed the ducks together at whatever park we decided to go to for the day. One--whose name I cannot for the life of me recall--we frequented more than the others. There was a large man-made pond and mallards would flock to it in droves, likely to the dismay of the property owners nearby. My father ignored the signs that I now know tell passersby to desist from giving the ducks bread, and we would go to the nearest 7-11 and he purchased a discounted loaf of Wonderbread and gave me carte blanche to do as I willed with it. This usually involved me eating one slice and then ripping the remaining slices to shreds, laughing when the ducks surrounded me.

One instance stands out more than the others, perhaps because it was the last time we did this, but I cannot know with any certainty as the memory of a five-year-old is fickle: The clouds lay low above us, and the breeze carried a taste of warmth in it. My father’s mustache and beard tried to make another appearance at this time, as they did periodically through my childhood, and he wore his large aviator glasses for his near-sightedness that shielded the eyes that were like my own. We walked along the side of the pond, my pink-clad legs burning as I kept up with his strides. My father picked me up and swung me around over the water. My heart pounded within my ribs and I begged him to put me down, waiting for his grip to slip and struggling to hold onto the sleeves of his windbreaker with my hands that became slick with sweat. He laughed and told me that he saved me when velocity and his arms brought me back into his body. My lungs hurt and I felt like I swallowed sand, but I wrapped my limbs around his torso and felt his hand rub circles along my back, the fingers pressing into the knobs of my vertebrae.

When his then-girlfriend-now-wife moved in with him, we ceased doing anything alone together. Any trip after that needed to involve her children as well, as they all needed to be treated the same. Occasionally, we made it to San Francisco alone. Somewhere, long since lost, there are photos of my father and I, at various ages, much like the photos that hang on his wall today. As we both grew older, along with Esmeralda’s children, the time we had shortened and, eventually, it ceased. I still came over to his house for a while still, but Adriana was involved as well. Sometimes Vicente, the youngest.

There was a night, when I was seven or eight, and we just finished my father’s weekly ritual of scratching off lotto tickets. I won five dollars out of the fifteen or so cards he purchased. The house was still being remodeled, so the floor was scuffed and there were gaps between the rooms in the floor, showing the concrete interior. Outlets were exposed, and I felt the grit of construction dust under my nails every time I went over to his house. I kept my sneakers on, anxious that I would step on a nail, or get a splinter, and I stayed to the one area of the floor that appeared the cleanest. I wanted to go to the movies that night, but no one else wanted to go, or they didn’t want to see the movie I wanted to watch, so we stayed in for the evening and indulged in my father’s whim. At the end of the night, before my dad took me home, he went to hug me but I shrank away and crossed my arms in front of my chest, and wrapped them around my ribs. My father shrugged and hugged Adriana. He turned to me and said, “See, Adri loves me? Why don’t you?”

I didn’t say anything else to him, I just sat down in the front passenger seat in his Honda and waited for him to take me home while I bit the insides of my cheeks, the tang of copper weighing my tongue down.

As a child, I was fraught with emotions that felt too large to be housed in my body that scratched and tore at my flesh and crawled out of my mouth and eyes like serpents slithering down my face and form. More than once, my mother scolded my father for saying the wrong thing to set me off and would spend an hour or so consoling me by rubbing my shoulders as they trembled and shook. He eventually started paying me to tell my mother we had fun.

I took the money and told my mother the truth anyway.

My dad laughs at something on the screen: a baby food commercial. He turns to smile at me, and my face twitches in response, baring my teeth when my lips pull back.

“You know,” he began, “When you were that small,” he cupped his hands in front of his body, “I used to take naps with you just laying on my chest like this.” He leaned against the sofa and patted the center of his torso a couple times. My stomach roiled, the acid sloshing against the lining of the walls, and I nodded, shooting a glance to my partner. His lips twitched. I let out a puff of air. I itched, my clothes tight and bunched around my body. I tugged at them to relieve some pressure, and crossed and uncrossed my legs several times. My hair felt greasy despite washing it that morning and my skin felt heavy. I ran my fingers through my locks to smooth them down and I asked my father if Esmeralda felt alright and we could always leave if need be. He shook his head and stated that she’s just taking her time and last night was rough for her. I hummed and leaned forward, my legs bounced on the balls of my feet as my breath came in several deep inhalations. Across from me, my father sat back, his fingers tapping the beat of an unheard tune. He coughed, every so often. Rhythmic wheezes escaped his mouth as he cleared his throat, while my own tickled in response and I swallowed against the spasms of my diaphragm. The noise that emanated from the television hung in the air, filling the room and clogging my ears with static.

My father refuses to install an air conditioner in the house and chooses to keep the doors open and instead lets the aroma of grass waft through the home, sticking to the walls and furniture.

I swallowed a lungful of summer-perfume air and the band that knotted itself around my esophagus shifted.

Rory moved his hand to my knee and rested it there: a hot weight that clamped onto my leg that I tried to extricate myself from, but then patted his hand with mine for a couple strokes before disentangling completely. I flashed him a smile, a grimace, and scooted a bit further away, the fabric of the loveseat grabbing my pantlegs. The sound grated on my ears and I winced at the racket my body made in the echo chamber living room. Rory said something to my father, and he responded, voice pressed and rushed. He asked questions about work to Rory, asking him if he’s thought about doing IT consulting for the university he works for. I stifled the groan that bubbled up in my throat, and told my dad that Rory’s family lives in the exurbs of Placer County, so it would be hard to move with his family life and my school. He said that he knew, but it was a thought. Business is bigger in the Silicon Valley. I told him my life is in Sacramento.

I can’t keep uprooting myself.

Before Rory and I left, we said our goodbyes to the inhabitants of my father’s house, and he walked with us outside. He shook Rory’s hand, and I let him press me in an embrace. I squirm, my skin prickling while I hold my breath. He chuckled and asked me, “I guess I won’t see you for another year then?”

I shrugged away from him and ducked my head. “We’ll try to get back down here sooner. We’ve just been busy. You know how it is.” I scuffed my shoes against the sidewalk.

He stared at me for a long time, the lines of his face more prominent outside under the sunlight. The light glints off the thinning, greying hair that has started to make an appearance. His eyes followed the contours of my face, and I brought my hand up to smooth back my hair again, my fingers catching on the knots there. I swallowed and laughed and turned to Rory to say we better get going so we don’t get caught in traffic.

Rory turns on the engine to let the air conditioner soothe the balmy interior of the vehicle. The air is thick and clogs my lungs. I turn my gaze out the window as Rory puts the car in drive and creeps away from the sidewalk. The sun washes the landscape out and reflects off the stuccoed exterior of the house. My father forms a stark silhouette against the brightness of his abode. An empty place exists in the front lawn, an indentation with little growth in the otherwise verdant lawn, where the lemon tree he planted to celebrate my birth once stood, its roots growing and coiling around each other for years. Chopped down a couple summers ago because of an infection it got that he didn’t want to spread to the other plants. The hedges that line the house and the roses my stepmother planted years ago bloom and rustle in the breeze, their leaves catch the sunlight as their branches wave along to those who visit, but never step inside.

#original work #ellie writes #original content

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popculturebuffet · 3 years

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The Critic Valentine’s Day Double Feature (Pilot/Sherman, Woman and Child)

Vivia Jay Sherman! Viva Quebec! Viva Valentine’s Day! And Viva WeirdKev who as happens for a good chunk of my content payed for this wonderful double feature for one of my favorite shows. The Critic was created by Al Jean and Mike Reis of The Simpsons fame, a comedy team supreme. While I knew the two wrote for the simpsons, more on that iin a minute, I had no idea just how many classics the two churned out: There’s No Disgrace Like Home, Moaning LIsa, The Telltale Head, The Way We Was, Stark Raving Dad (Sadly tainted by it’s guest star being a horirble monster but that’s not their fault), Mr. Lisa Goes to Washington, the treehouse of horror segments The Bart Zone and Clown Without Pity (The second of which may be my favorite treehouse of horror segment), and later coming back to write the story for one of my all time favorites Round Springfield and to outright write the classic “SupercalfragalisticexpalliDOHcious”. And to his credit Jean would later go on to write some classic post-golden age simpsons episodes during his tenure as producer: Lisa’s Sax, Mom and Pop Art, and Children of a Lesser Clod, which is notable if nothing else for this gag.

So yeah the guys are legends and were right to start their own show under Simpsons producer James L Brooks over at ABC. The show followed the adventures of film Critic, Jay Sherman, a parody of film critics with high brow tastes, impossibly high standards, and a huge opinon of himself, having won the pultizer at least once. Despite this he was also constnatly spat and shat on by society, divorced, lonely, depressed and eats like a thousand pigs combined in some horrific science accident. And given the last three parts describe me, as well as my profession of b eing a critic, naturally I love the guy and this show. I’ll get into his cast as we go as the first episode does an excellent job of introducing the entire cast so there’s no sense repeating myself. But the show’s style I can and will talk about: It’s basically Golden Age, i.e. season’s 1-10, simpsons, but with more pop culture refrences and movie parodies, since the show would often feature multiple on Jay’s show coming Attractions and took place in the celebrity hot spot of new york and was a love letter to the city.. and sometimes a hate letter but only when those digs at the city would be funny, which to be fair depsite never having been to or lived in new york most really are. That’s the series key asset: while a LOT of the jokes haven’t aged well as a lot of the celbreity refrences are dated as are some of the movie parodies, most are hilarious wether you get what their making fun of or not and to me tha’ts a good parody: where knowing what their making fun of HELPS, but you can laugh regardless. The show had the charm and pace of the Simpsons while having it’s own unique style and cast that was just as charming and I love it dearly. The show sadly only lasted two seasons, with ABC canceling it after one, and Brooks having it moved over to FOX, which was a good idea and lead to what’s probably my faviorite simpsons episode, a Star is Burns. Ironically despite you know, the show being created by two simpsons writers, backed by one of their producers and perfectly in line, creator Matt Groening was against the idea, publicly ranted about it to the press, and generally was an ass about it. Look I love the guy and even Brooks, Jean and Reiss were all nice enough in thier criticsim of the guy, but sitll very much understandably pissed off. .and i’m with them.

It gave what’s again, my faviorite episode and what is not a “30 minute add” but an episode that easily stands on it’s own and also you know, pokes fun at itself for being a crossover a few times. You don’t need to see the critic to enjoy it, and episodes most iconic gags, Boo-Urns, Man Getting HIt by a Football, Senior Speilbergo, all don’t involve jay. And again the shows were not at all dismilar: While the critic was it’s own thing it still had the simpsons sense of humor and pacing so I saw it more as a petty rant against having a crossover in general more than a legit critcisim. Especially since Groening had no such complaints decades later with the family guy crossover after both shows had all tehir talent surgically removed and had the gall to NOT remove a cheap shot at Bob’s Burgers. And yes i’m still bitter about seeing that in a promo for the special, Bob’s Burgers is fantastic, to the point that now, in a fabulous case of history repeating itself, it’s got it’s OWN show like the critic made by talented former crew members using a similar but sitll throughly unique comedy style , The Great North. My point is that controversy pisses me off, and The Great North is spectacular go watch it while you read this.

So yeah the Critic is awesome, me and Kev are both fans, and there are plenty of romantic episodes abound as the show digs into Jay’s love life quite a few times and has episodes about his son’s first love, his boss finding a wife towards the end of the series, his parents rekindling their spark and in what’s easily my faviorite episode, his sister dating a grunge rocker. So there was no shortage of choices but the choice made was brilliant.. and i’m not saying that because i’m being paid to, as my review of splatter phoenix’s first episode in darkwing duck and woops should show, paying me does not guarantee that I have to LIKE what your paying me to review. But here I did and he pointed out the first episode of each season, with season two being a soft reboot that while keeping the premise and supporting cast changed a few things around and added two new main characters, and both involve jay finding a new love intrest and intorduce a lot of the cast. I found him to be right, so where we are and after the cut i’ll dive into the good and bad of both episodes and see what changed inbetween seasons.

That gag will make sense.. later. Right now it’s time for our very first episode, the show’s very first episode as you could probably tell by the title.

Pilot: The pilot starts with Jay getting touched up by his Makeup Person Doris. Jay is played by legendary comedian John Lovitz, who this show gave me a deep and lasting appreciation for. Lovitz was at the time best known for his 5 year long stint on SNL, and film wise is best known for Three Amigos, the Brave Little Toaster, The Wedding Singer and Rat Race. Sadly while I do geninely love the guy.. he has been in enough crap to destroy the New York Sewer system, as everyone needs money and sadly not everyone appricates the talents of John Lovitz like I do.

So naturally he’s also been in The Stepford Wives remake, Grown Ups 2, The Ridiculous 6, Eight Crazy Nights, North, Benchwarmers and Benchwarmers 2: Breaking Balls. Yes that’s an actual movie, though it’s already better than the first one for virtue of not having Rob Schnider and David Spade starring in it despite.. that title. The irony is not lost on me that Lovitz has essentially made his money starring in the kinds of films Jay was forced to see for his job. Still a VERY talented, very lovely man.

Before we get to our next voice actor up, no profile of Jon would be complete without mentioning that time he slammed Andy Dick’s face into a bar. To make a very long story short, Lovitz was friends with the late great Phil Hartman, who even did some voice work for this very show, whose wife who had severe drug and mental ilness killed them both. Phil had told Lovitz he saw Dick give his wife cocaine, so after Phil’s tragic murder when Lovitz and Dick ended up on the same show, Lovitz ended up exploding at the guy out of grief and blamed him for her death, but later apologized like a gentleman. Living up to his name though Dick later went up to Lovitz at a restraunt Lovitz owned and said “I’m giving you the Phil Hartman curse, you die next”. Granted he was drunk but still...

Naturally Lovitz banned the guy and Lovitz later demanded an apology when the two ran into each other when they ran into each other at Lovitz regular gig at the comed store. Dick not only refused to apologize even when Lovitz put him against a wall, but said it was because “you blamed me for her death”... which was a decade ago with change by this point, the actions of a man GREIVING for his best friend whose wife’s relapse you caused which inadveradntly lead to her and her husband’s death, and something HE APOLOGIZED FOR. Naturally Lovitz took this how you would and did what we’d all like to do in general and broke the shit out of his face and only didn’t do more because they were seperated. IN short this man is a hero and I wil lbring up this story at every opportunity. Doris was played by the late voice actress Doris Grau, a script supervisor who worked on a LOT of films as one , the most notable I could find on wikipedia being Clue. This is a fact I just learned today but boy if it isn’t neat. Grau mostly did aditional voices for shows, most notably Ducktales and the Simpsons, where she played Lunchlady Doris, and of course this show. Still she seemed like a very funny and talented woman and it’s sad she’s gone. The two start the series mostly sniping at each other and while that never ENTIRELY goes away, Doris gets more supportive after a spotlight episode where she and Jay bond and Jay thinks she might be his mom. And while she’s not this surprisingly sticks and for the rest of the series while still not above making potshots at him on occasion, she’s far more supportive. She also informs him she’s out of spray on hair “I’m bald and ugly, get more!”. This show is naturally comedy gold and a lot of it relies on Lovitz sense of timing, though the rest of the cast aren’t slouches but we’ll get to them as we go. She ends up putting a hat over him and we get our first film parody, Rabbi PI starring Anuld, which is alright. Not one of the series best but passable and gets the gimmick of having film parodies on jay’s show across, which was a nice way to set it apart from the Simpsons. Jay reviews it on the Shermometor, a gimmick jay hates and that disappeared by season 2, giving it a bellow zero to the ire of his boss Duke Phillips. Duke is one of the best parts of the show, an unhinged southren billlonare who was a modeled after Ted Turner, down to the mustache, who built up his fried chicken franchise into a multimedia congrlomorate and is also mildly nuts, though that part would be more of a thing in season 2. In season 1, he’s mostly there to make Jay’s life hell, with about half of the seasons episodes having him either fire jay or put his job in jeapordy versus 2 the next season. He’s still not unfunny, but most of his best stuff is in season 2 when Charles Napier’s allowed to cut loose a little more and the character wasn’t shoehorned into just being a clueless executive. Charles Napier is a longtime character actor who showed up in TONS of films and tv shows too many to list.. and trust me with some of the lists of credits before and after this that’s saying something, his biggest voice rolls being in this series and Men and Black the Series as Zed. But needless to say he was ALWAYS this awesome and sadly passed in 2011. Jay’s guest for the day is Valerie Fox, an up and coming actress whose first film kiss of death is coming out soon.. and whose age is an engima and it’s only a problem because if she’s 20, like the episode mildly suggests giving her starting career and her voice actress being that age, then this gets really gross as jay is 17 years older than her then. But given she looks older than that and sounds certainly older than that, i’m going more with 30, since she looks more like it, and sharon stone, who she’s mildly based on given she stars in a basic instinct knockoff and does the leg thing, was 32 at the time of basic instinct. Valerie is voiced by Jennifer Lien, aka Kes from star trek voyager who I only know about because of reviews done by SF Debris and Allison Pregler. She was the childlike love intrest of Nelix, the ship’s resident pain in the audience asses who made them BEG for early seasons wesley crusher and who once, and I saw footage this wasn’t SF Debris exagreated, lunged at a crewmate in a jealous rage, unfounded by the way since Tom was AVOIDING kes depsite being attracted to her as he just wnated her to be happy and to not mess up her relationshpi, and screamed “i’ll kill you!”. Point is she hasn’t had a huge career, but was still worth noting and does a fantastic job here. Again I did not realize she was that young at the time by her voice, and that means she did a great job.

So Jay’s smitten with her, finds her super attractive and she asks him out.. but to the show’s credit, and Jay’s he does try to rebuff her because he knows ther’es a conflict of intrest there.. but ends up giving in. However at least the show not only is upfront that there’s an issue here but that ends up being the thrust of the last act. Granted there’s still some.. questionable stuff like when she does the basic instinct leg cross and he says “can we get a shot of that”, which no.. Jay.. no you can’t. Ewwww. Seen far worse, like It’s Pat, which was a VERY real SNL sketch about people trying to guess the titular pat’s gender because that’s not creepy or invasive even for the time. And they made a movie out of it because Wayne’s World was popular forgetting that Wayne’s World, one of my faviorite movies by the way and one I need to cover here sometime this year now the thought’s occured to me, was a labor of love, with a talented director and actual ideas from it’s two leads who actually fleshed out the character versus a concept that was NEVER funny to begin with and has gotten down right horrifying with age. And wasn’t I talking about the Critic? Not the abusive jackass mind you, Jay Sherman.

Ah yes so Jay takes Valerie to a date at Lane Riche, the rich jackass where we meet Vlada, a vaugely european man whose your typical hollywood suckup. As Jay puts it in a later episode Vlada: I love you too Jay: You only love my money Vlada: That’s true but it is a love that will never die. He also naturally scoots Jay to a less nice table in the Critic’s section once Conan O’Brian shows up... which WAS supposed to be a different kind of joke, as at the time Conan was just a writer on the simpsons and SNL, but now given he has a decades long career in late night and famously said fuck you to NBC during that whole Tonight Show debacle, which netted him his own show on TBS, it comes off more as the kind of self deprciating gag Conan makes about himself. So in other words it’s actually funnier now?

As for the critic’s section that’s a part of the series I’ve neglected to talk about so let’s do that: The kind of critic Jay is, one who plays clips of the movie and reviews them.. on television. And were usually academics who looked down on popular film, the kind Siskel and Ebert popularized, and both suprisingly had a huge guest apperance in season 2 and even reviewed the show on their show. This kind of film criticism just dosen’t exist on tv that i’m aware of anymore, and mostly lives on with internet reviewers , many of whom were inspiried by critics like this, and who range from acadmeics to average joes to some mixture of both. It never went away just simply went to a younger generation. Some of which squandred it and somehow still have a career like certain abusuive jackasses i’ve mentioned enough with that one gag a few paragraphs ago. Point is it’s a much more varied and different game now so the critic ended up as one of those shows or movies where the main characters very job feels like an artifact of it’s time, like our heroes in Wayne’s World hosting a public acess show, when nowadays they’d just put it up on youtube or the entire idea of a UHF station in well.. UHF. It’s not a BAD thing, just something to note.

But the date goes well as Valerie shows she’s really into jay and even takes him oggling her in stride, though we do get an utter classic of a gag when Jay says something about women being drawn to him.. and cue an old woman asking to rub his nonexistant hump for luck “You hunchbacks are all alike”. She does so anyway to his understandable annoyance.

But the two go back to Jay’s place, talk about his acomplishments including a pulitzer and then well.. the obvious happens they go to bed together and the next day after Valerie is horrified at his just woke up fac,e he gives her an easy out but she’s fine with it. It honestly shows just how low the poor guy’s self esteem is that he just.. assumes a woman will regret having slept with hima nd walk out and while played for laughs it really gives a clear look into Jay’s mental state: He’s so full of self loathing, not helped by the world being out to get him, that it’s really oddly endearing. And VERY releatable. The two are interupted by Jay’s son Marty. Marty is played by the very recognizable and very wonderful Christine Cavanagh, who sadly passed away in 2014. She voiced Chuckie Finster, Gosalyn Mallard, Oblina, Dexter from Dexter’s Lab and the titular pig from Babe. She decided to retire in 2001, so while her career was only about a decade she made quite the impact and is sorely missed. Unsuprisingly her usual voice is perfect for the very awkward Marty, who Jay asks to tell eveyrone about the beautiful woman in his bed especially his unfaithful and utterly loathsome ex wife ardith.

This scene demonstrates two problems. The first is just the pilot as Jay’s kind of sleazy. While Jay being thirsty wouldn’t go away, especially in the episode Lady Hawke, it’d be made more awkwardly endearing. Here there are moments of him just plain being creepy like the aformentioned oggling, which while not bad in itself, if a bit awkawrd, also has him creepily muttering to himself while doing so which removes any charm or relatability and just sends it straight into needing 10 showers just to wash this scene off. The rest of the series would just turn him into a bit desperate at worst. It also explains why the only other romantic story the guy has in the season is a pastiche of misery. Thanfully this would be GREATLY adjusted next season but we’ll get to that.

The other problem is just the tone... we get a good half a minute of Marty talking about how he calls Ardith’s boyfriend “Uncle Al” because he likes him a lot.. to his dad’s face. And granted his dad is being creeptastic this episode but the early episodes just pile on the Jay hatred by the world a bit thick, to the point one episode puts him as “worse than hitler”. Granted the audience is full of idiot teens who have no idea who hitler is, and the gag is kinda funny, but it makes my point: Jay is just utterly shat on by the world, and while he does get a few wins, most are undercut by something awful and it gets taxing sometimes. The guy is just too loveably pathetic to hate, too relatable even as a teen and not snobish enough to be really loathsome or WANT to see him knocked down by the world. It’s not overwhelming enough to ruin the first season, it still has good episodes but this episode does highlight a LOT of these problems. He does get to spend the day with val though, dancing outside the trump buliding, seriously even back then he was a joke and his lack of money half the time was well known.. how did the last four years happen, and they tell each other they love each other. I’d aww if I didn’t know how this ended. So jay relates the good news of how he feels to his best friend, Jeremy Hawke, played by Maurice LaMarche. LaMarche is one of the most talented voice actors alive, a master of impersonations paticuarlly orson welles, who was naturally brought on board because they knew they were going to need a lot of celebrity voices for the film parodies and needed one or two guys to do them to keep it cheap. The guy is like most of this cast a legend in the industry, having voiced the Brain, Squit, Dizzy Devil, the Human Ton, Big Bob Pataki, Egon Spengler, Sleet, Kiff Kroker, Headless Body of Agnew, Morbo, Various other Futurama characters because that list is long, Mortimer Mouse, Blue Falcone, Father, Yosemite Sam, Vincent Van Ghoul, Doctor Doom, Abradolf Lincler, and Odval. Point is the guy has been engranged in my childhood and adulthood and will probably even after he’s gone come back from the grave to do some voices. He even got the part of Jeremy Hawke here because he happened to do a REALLY good australian accent depsite not being australian. Jeremey was a combination of paul hogan, the star of the Crocodile Dundee movies and at the time sex symbol and at this time known anti semite Mel Gibson. Obviously neither of those refrences has aged paticuarlly well, but since hollywood ALWAYS has room for a super hunk from australia, just ask Chris Hemsworth or before him Hugh Jackman, the character still works and his breakout role, Crocodile Ghandi is so ludcrious it works. I.e. a white australian man playing the mahtma and saying before he brings peace “First a tasteful shot of my bum for the ladies. Jeremy, while sometimes increidbly oblvious, is still a fairly nice easygoing guy and an extremley loveable character. And whie Jay worries about Valrie meeting him because he’s sex on a cracker she ignores him and jay gloats for a bit, paticuarlly with the great bit “take your genatalia right back to australia”. And while Jeremy’s happy for him he tries to reign Jay in when Jay talks asking her to marry him. As Jeremy later relates on Jay’s fire escape “Bubala, i’ve learned there’s two things you should never do: Marry an actress and wear blackface to the naacp image awards. Two things I found out the hard way. “

So Jay takes her to meet his parents and finds out he’s adopted.. and their also rich. Jay’s waspy parents are his cold and overly honest mother Elanor, played by Judith Ivey, his kooky dad and THE best part of the series Franklin played by Gerrit Grahm and his loving and free spirited teenager sister Margo played by Nancy Cartwright. Okay (cracks knuckles) here. we. go. Judith Ivey is a tony wining stage actress and has also directed numerous plays and is mostly known for her stage work but I know her from Designing Women where she played BJ in the last season. Garret Grahm apparently shows up in a lot of brian depalma movies, including Beef in phantom of the paradise, a lot of tv work and to my shock the asshole dad from Child’s Play 2. Another thing I genuinely love I wasn’t aware an actor or actress from this series had a part in. Finally there’s Nancy Cartwright, who you DEFINTELY know from the Simpsons, where she plays Bart, along with Nelson, Ralph, Kearny, Database, and Maggie, and Kearny. Other credits include Pistol Pete, Mindy from Animaniacs, Chuckie Finster picking up for Christine Cavanagh ironically enough, Lu and Rufus from Kim Possible. She’s a talented lady and i’m glad sh’es still around. Whew.

Okay so yeah I do love the shermans and fraknlin is again easily the best part of an already excellent series and unlike Duke that’s in full display here, with him saying, when his wife mentions they were going to give jay back at one time, “Son if I’ve said it once I said it a thousand times.. who are all you people. “ and he’d only get better. Sadly he’s NOT in sherman woman and child. Our loss really. But he’s in pretty much every other episode of season 2 thankfully and most of this season so eh, fair trade off. Also we get the classic line, after Jay says he’ll love valrie even when he’s decaying in the ground, his mom quips “Cna’t we go one meal without talking about your rotting corpse?” Though Eleanor understandably thinks Valarie is using jay for a good review. Margo suspects her of the same and takes her on a horse ride, though all she can gleam is that Val genuielly loves jay and welcomes her to the family. Jay however does decide to duck out of the inteview by faking sick, which leads to a really sweet moment where Valerie visits him and they dance, in a hilaroius but oddly sweet parody of Beauty and the Beast, Beauty and King Dork. Despite the title and the song insluting him a LOT it’s still just endearing. This is a problem but we’ll get to in just a moment WHY all these touching moments are a problem. So naturally things don’t go that well for Jay as Duke has a tape of the film sent to him “My shrink was right: GOd does hate me!”

Naturally kiss of death is bad and valrie is bad in it and Jay is left uncertain what to do, but eventually decides he has to do what he feels is right,.. though he does take a picture of her while she’s sleeping. “In case you do leave”

So in a tender and heartbreaking moment Jay is honest, the movie does suck and she’s not good but he does compliment her, for her personality not her body despite his skeevy behavior and say she could get better. Instead when he arrives home.. she dumps him to his face and leaves never to be seeen again while he assumes she’ll come back. And that’s the issue it’s GENUINELY hard to tell if we’re supposed to side with Jay. On one hand he genuinely loves her and does the right thing and on the oth er he’s kinda creepy. It’s a mixed tone that just sorta hurts thing and something the series DID fix after this, as it found a better ballance of the guy being pitable while also still being an ass and ONLY usually being punished when he does something actually wrong, the only exception being Dial M for MOther which is easily the weakest episode of the series. The episode does close on a really funny moment as Jay’s dispondent because “I’m sitting on top of a volcano of rage and I don’t knwo where to direct it”. Marty mentions a new Sylvester Stallone movie where “He plays a concert pianst who” And jay dosen’t even need the rest of that to shout “To the multiplex!” The man is back

Final Thoughts for Pilot: This episode is not bad. It has it’s flaws as I said, mostly in tone, but the series would iron that out and it’s still a great pilot that organically introduces the entire main cast in one episode and really gives us the full idea of who Jay Sherman is. It’s also REALLY funny, as the series should be and it would get better, but i’d still put it over some more awkward first episode like Letterkenny’s “No Reaosn to Get Excited”, even with it’s brilliant ending or Bojack Horseman’s first episode whose title is way too long to put here in an article that’s already long as hell about about to get longer. But like those series this pilot worked pass the awkwardness and the result is a damn good series. but if you want a better idea of what it became.. wellllllll

Sherman, Woman and Child: So yeah as you can tell JSUT by contrasting images a few things were changed up between seasons, part of it at network instance. The designs were softened , the color palette was brightened with jay being the most noticably alterted between seasons.

The execs wanted jay a bit warmer, so his face was given wider more expressive eyes and was also scrucnehd down a bit. He was also made slightly less of a jackass, with his elitisim toned down a bit and his creepeir moments gone. For instance he no longer had a split personality/imaginary secretary named ethel. That was actually a thing. It didn’t even really change Jay as a person, this very episode mentions him not liking the Lion King, and he’s still snooty, he’s jusst not as punchable about it and that was for the best. But the cringe comedy in general was taken down a peg and replaced with more fun weirdness, which wihle present in season 1 really pops more here, especially with Jay’s dad who sadly dosen’t show up in this episode, but at various points dresses up like El Kabong, puts on the mask from the mask (”He did the same thing at Nixon’s funeral”), and blows up famous works of art while babysitting. But yeah things get a bit more surreal like the simpsons from season 4 onward, ironically enough given these guys left to make their own show, and it’s to the show’s benefit.

But besides a lighter tone, they also wanted two things to hook viewers in: A permenant love intrest for Jay, and an adorable kid character. The former.. was acutlaly quite resonable, as i’td both give jay a “win” as it were, allow the cast to have another femlae character and give him someone else to confide in besides Doris or Jeremy, to give those characters a break. The other was less so and we’ll get into why when we meet her.

This episode really is a second pilot, reintroducing about half of the main cast. Marty, Elanor, Margo and as I said Franklin are all absent. But their reintroduced soon enough with the fourth episode in both broadcast and dvd order, and my personal faviorite “A Song for Margo, is entirely focused on Jay’s parents and sister, while Lady Hawke has marty breifly at the start for broadcast order and he’s in the frmaing device for Sherman of Arabia in dvd order. So the characters all get a proper reintroduction to new audiences, but it was the right call to NOT shove them into this one, still introducing new people to the new cast, but letting the two new additions to it breathe and get properly intergrated into this universe.. well more Alice than Penny but we’ll get to that. It’s part of why, besides the genuine extra coat of polish aand seasonal changes I feel this is the better episode.

So we open with Jay on his show and two parodies in a row. The first is a few good men but with Jack Nichelson making fun of Christan Slater for sounding like him even though. they honestly aren’t too similar other than both doing that pause thing a bit. So yeah not their best but the second segment makes up for it “The Nightmare Before Channukah” a parody of the nightmare before christmas that was so beautifully animated and funny, that they actually bumped it up to the season premiere. But while the parodies are good Jay’s show is once again, this happened a LOT in season one, in jeapordy, being beaten by the Benedictine monk variety hour. Which while the Bendictine Monks are VERY much an artifact of the 90′s a choir of monks that somehow went mainstream, the whole segment is so absurd and wonderful it stands on it’s own and is still funny to me in 2021. Duke comes in anda fter trying to softball things shows the change I mentioned: He’s actually sorry the show is in danger and is genuinely sincere that he’s sad he’ll probably have to cancel it versus season 1 where he was ready to cancel it what felt like every other episode. And I prefer this, where he can still mess with jay or flex his power over him, but is more cordial with the guy and it allows more jokes between the two.

So Jay’s not doing so good.. and during his crappy day he spots a 30 something woman and her young daughter struggling in the rain and stops his cab to help. And gets maced for it “MMM, Jalapeno”. Though Alice does apologize and Jay does understand as it is New York and she graciously takes the offer. It’s in the cab their properly introduced. Aliice thompkins and her daughter penny who in a great bit punches jay in the nose for not liking the lion king (”rex reed did the same thing”) and then kissing him on the nose in apology (”Rex did that too” And he acompanies them in.. and also gets conked on the head by a potted plant and put in a materinity dress.

So we get to know Alice and what her deal is: Alice was once married to and supported the career of country star Cyrus Thompkins who was.. less than subtle in his music about how faithful he was

Easily one of my favorite gags of the series if in part for Pat Overall’s delivery. So she moved from Knoxville to New York to prove to her daughter a woman can make it on her own, and proves she’s smart, talented and driven she just needs a break. She seemingly gets one in a man in a bright white outfit who says “this is your ticket out of this rundown flophouse” only for him to cheerfully exclaim “Your being evicted!”... PFFFTT. Cue where the commerical would be

So during this lull in the action let’s talk about Alice and Penny’s voice actresses: Alice is voiced by Park Overall, though for some weird reason I thought she was voiced by Hollly Hunter. Dunno why. Park is an outspoken liberal, supporting my boy bernie sanders in 2016 and in general seems like a fascenating lady. Naturally like with Jay’s parents I know her from something more oddly specific, the sitcom Reba, as I did not realize she voiced alice depsite using a similar voice for her character there, Reba’s best friend Lori Ann.. And while Park TRIED her best.. the character didn’t work out: a combination of it being simply funnier that barbra jean tried to wedge herself into the roll and the fact Reba really didn’t need a horny abrasive sidekick meant the charcter had a very short shelf life and the audience had very low patience for her. I did like her constnatly insulting Brock as he was not a good person andi t was nice SOMEONE besides Reba actually got to roast him on a regular basis.

Penny was voiced by the one and only Russi Taylor, who sadly passed in 2019. She voiced Huey Dewey and Louie, Webby Vanderquack, Minnie Mouse, Fantasma, the imcomprable martin prince...

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Among tons of smaller rolls. She’s sadly missed. We’ll get more into what they add or subtract from the show in a minute, as the next day at work Jay wonders how to help, though Duke’s interjection gives us two great gags: his “30 second workout” which involvees throwing jay around like a medicine ball and.. well this.

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The man is a legend for a reason. He earned that golden statue. So Jay TRIES slipping alice the money only to give it “To my good friend crazy postman”, and Alice refuses the money due to pride.. even if you know, she has a small child and new york is expensive but Jay finds a better solution, hire her.. even if it’d make it impossible for them to date. For all of one episode. What keeps the power dynamics from feeling EUGUUUUGGHH here is that Jay treats alice like an equal partner at work and dosen’t let their relationship really impact things outside of one episode, and dosen’t use his position to get into a relationship with her nor does she use being responsible for a turn in his fortune for hers.

And yes turn in fortune, as a makeover and a change of attidue under Alice’s direction, which is utterly amazing to watch and wow’s duke and hte audience, wins back his fans and his job is secure. Duke meets alice and we get more great duke stuff. including something truly iconic...

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I want bears who sing for me, doo dah, doo dah. But yeah things are well though Jay ends up admitting to Jeremy he can’t stop thinking about her “Her merest smile is like pedals of the empreror’s bathwater, BATHWATER I TELL YOU BATHWATER. “ So Jeremey encourages him carpe canum “Seize the dog”. He does so.. and the day but instead finds Alice with her ex Cyrus whose trying to win her back. Wuh oh. Once the asshole leaves, and agrees to give her the night to think, Alice admits the only reason she’s considering it is she has a weakness: his singing melts her like butter on a bagle (”God i’ve been in new york too long”. ) Jay tries to talk her out of it at the critics meeting for “Dennis the Meance II Society” which involves Dennis pulling a drivebye on mr wilson.. why wasn’t this the second live action dennis the meance movie? WHY I ASK YOU. But Jay gets a good idea, as Alice TRIES to tell the asshole to get to stepping (And to see penny often, she’s not a monster), he works his evil song magic.. only for Jay to undercut it with his own amazing song on acordian. “Cyrus is just a virus, he wants to tie you down while your still young. Your potetial, is what’s essential, you could someday be another connie chung!” And that ultiamtely shows WHY jay is the better man. He just wants what’s best for her and dosen’t care if it’s him, he just wants it not to be THIS asshole. He’s not even trying to win her over, which a lot of these gestures creepily lead to. He just wants to help her be who she’s MEANT to be. And that’s why this works better: Instead of a fake relationship built on lust and someone conning the other person, it’s a real one built on genuine chemistry. Also Alice you know dosen’t just.. vanish after an episode but is a permenant part of the cast. I mean she does for the webisodes but we don’t talk about those.

So our hero undercuts Cyrus one more time Cyrus: “Loverrrr, without you there’s no other” Jay: Give him a chance he’ll do your mother....

I mean he’s not worng, So Cyus is sent packing and we get a nice romantic moment between the two.

Final Thoguhts: Sherman, Woman and Child This one is truly excellent. It relaunchs the show on all cyllanders. And frankly Alice was a fine addition to the cast: her own fully fleshed out woman with her own personality outside of jay, who was tough, smart and a good counterpoint and confidant to Jay and it felt like she’d always fit. Penny on the other hand, apologizes to the late Russi Taylor who tries her best, just dosen’t work and feels ultra cloying and out of place in the series and unspurisingly is barely used after this. But overall a better pilot than the actual pilot was already pretty good and a fine pair of episodes. Check em out whenever the series eithe rgets on a streaming platform or pops back up on youtube as Sony’s struck it down... despite not putting it up anywhere i’m aware of. Seriously sell it to HBO Max or Disney I want a reboot. But for now this series is awesome check it out and until the next rainbow, it’s been a pleasure.

#the critic #jay sherman #alice thompkins #marty sherman #duke phillips #pilot #sherman mother and child #jon lovitz #the simpsons #mike reiss #al jean #abc #fox #animation #the 90s

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kayr0ss · 4 years

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Elder Scrolls Academia: A Series of Stories

Book One: The Dragonborn’s Fire and the Lady of Ice

[Diakko, SkyrimAU LMAO, action, adventure, cute goofy fluff, and romance, and dorkiness]

Summary: Diana was unprecedented in her talent for magic, even from her home town of Daggerfall among Breton nobility. But to sharpen her skill to its most lethal, she'd have to train where the cold bit the hardest--Skyrim. Now, the College of Winterhold's foremost student is crossing the threshold from apprentice to full-fledged mage, but her arch-mage mentor had tasked her with one last act to prove herself: Guiding the Dragonborn.

Except, the Dragonborn was hardly what she expected them to be.

[A gift to PyroTato]

---

“Hey, you.”

She blinked through her bleary vision. The first thing she felt was the harsh bite of the cold. Next was the sound of horseshoes clicking against what must have been mud and stone, followed by a view of she could only describe as… white.

“You’re finally awake.”

It wasn’t just white. There were hues of gray and blue, but it was all just merged back into an endless expanse of… white.

She was jolted upwards by a bump in the road—ah, I’m on a carriage—and she tried to right herself but seems she’s been restrained by the wrists. She should have been more panicked, but it wasn’t like this was anything new. Something about her foreign features and red eyes made her an easy target for picking; what’s worse than a foreigner is Skyrim? A foreigner whose origin was a mystery. But she supposed others still had it worse, she was at the very least, as far as she could tell, from the blood of man.

She looked over to the space beside the carriage driver (an Imperial solider, looking still wet behind the ears) to find a locked chest of what must have been their belongings. It looked standard—nothing too hard to pick—made of wood like all the others, and hinges that would give if she pulled hard enough. It was secured onto the cart with two straps of thick leather. Her red eyes scanned the perimeter of the cart of for a sharp object she could use, but her observation was cut short by the thick voice of the Nord who had woken her.

“You were trying to cross the border, right?” He said. His eyes were deep-set, and the dirty blonde of his hair and beard was styled in the proud norther tradition. “Walked right into that Imperial ambush. Same as us and that thief over there.”

She mulled over the words quietly, still a bit too disoriented to engage. She was hungry, and much too focused on trying to flee. The rest of the men had fallen into conversation, with the thief bemoaning his luck while the Nords seemed to take captivity with dignity. She blinked up at the mention of Ulfric Stormclock—apparently he was the sulking large fellow to her right.

And—oh—they were going to be executed?

No thank you, she tested the strength of her bindings. She’d like to live to eat another sweetroll.

The solider called out that they were arriving soon, and that this was a small town called Helgen. Their reception was less than spectacular and a little mixed—some came out to watch like bored spectators, others screamed, “murder!”, and a handful of parents rushed to drag their children back home; hopefully sparing them the trauma of heads casually lopped off in the name of the Emperor. It was a pity. It seemed like a quiet town with people who weren’t nearly as aggressive as farther up north. There weren’t too many buildings, although all of them were imposing with their stone walls and high beams. Not to mention the Imperial fort at the center, which didn’t look tolerant of any kind of trouble.

And she was trouble in every way that counted.

But also so, so hungry!

They were ushered out of the cart with no small amount of roughhousing, thrown into the ground and yelled-at to fall in line and present themselves to a young officer holding a list. There were several soliders on standby, with a woman donning the helmet of a senior Imperial officer barking out orders for the block to be readied. There rattling of chains mixed in with some commotion—the thief had tried to escape.

Mistake.

He fell limp on the ground, not given a second thought after the arrow sniped him square in the back, through where the heart must have been. She gave a low whistle and looked over at the archer, thoroughly impressed.

“You.” The young soldier called, and suddenly she was shoved forward—closer to that damned execution block—and asked to present herself. “Who are… you?”

She stared back at him, red eyes determined and stomach grumbling persistently.

“You don’t look like anyone I’ve ever seen on the continent.”

That was probably because as far as the stories have said, she wasn’t. She had to live through a rough life of never belonging with anyone for it—and so she sized him up and for the first time, spoke her name:

“Atsuko Kagari. Who is seriously very hungry.”

---

The mage took a deep, chilling breath. Her blues eyes were fixated on the flute glass of water that sat at the center of her desk. She was tucked away in her study, happy to wait out the winter storm with some semblance of warmth within the tower. But it was always cold in Winterhold, and by now it didn’t bother her one bit.

Slowly, the water began frosting over, solidifying under the sheer force of her will and the careful turning of her hands and fingers.

Gentle movements—no fancy gestures. The water froze and slowly crystalized upwards and towards the center into a haphazard cylinder, but then it twisted into itself, the ice moving in shards forming a frozen whirlpool that began to splinter along the top—branching out it as though it were alive, taking the shape of the dead tree in the middle of Whiterun that she had seen while coming to visit Farengar for advice.

It was a near-perfect replica.

She sat back, satisfied with her work. Shooting out a crass bolt of ice was easy. But this? This was control—and with the way the branches had curved in all the right places, the control was absolute.

Back in High Rock, among the Bretons of high society, she was Lady Diana Cavendish of Daggerfall, whose noble house held property in the Duchy of Cumberland where they grew the most potent plants for medicine.

Her person was synonymous with her name and where she had come from. Even on the years of her life spent travelling between Wayrest and Daggerfall for study, she had been measured by the weight of her name and not her magic.

But she excelled quite handsomely at both. It served her well—Bretons were made of diplomacy and trade in one hand, and magic in the other.

But it wasn’t real enough for her.

Not anymore—not in a country where the most a mage could be was the advisor of a king in court, or a glorified cannon on the battlefield.

She left the warm rolling hills of High Rock for the unforgiving cold in the far, far North.

---

Atsuko was just contemplating the effectivity of rolling out of the way of the very big sword meant to take her head when a giant dragon had swooped in and rudely interrupted her untimely demise.

Alright. Perhaps it wasn’t all that rude.

She knew to take an opportunity when it was handed to her, and she bolted straight for the fort where all the soldiers were taking cover.

It was chaos. Utter chaos. There was a roaring overhead that her blood seemed to recognize, but Shor’s bones, she wasn’t going to take the chance and look. The young officer was yelling instructions to protect the citizenry. The ground was shaking! Stone toppled over as the buildings gave in to the monstrous black claws that swatted them away like brittle clay pots.

But the worst of it all was the fire.

The air was scalding even when a few feet away from the plumes of hellish flame raining down from the dragon’s maw. She cursed her luck, wondering if she really escaped death a moment ago only to die as pile of ashes in the next.

“These goddamned bindings!” She hissed, her breath shaky while she pressed her back against the wall. A shadow shaped like wings blocked out the dreary sunlight and she closed her eyes—praying to every single one of the nine, Azura, and anyone who would listen in between.

There was a guttural rumbling coming up from above and—no. She still wasn’t going to look.

Staying close to the wall was a good idea. The dragon shot down a pillar of fire hotter than anything she’d ever felt burning down the buildings opposite her hiding spot. Just because she was expecting it doesn’t mean she was prepared—her hands shot up to cover her face, and though the heat was overbearing; her skin didn’t burn.

It was over, and the dragon flew back up to douse another part of town in an inferno.

“Foreigner!” A loud, clear voice called out. It was—it was the young officer? He held a dagger, beckoning her to hold out her arms. She thought he’d finish the job that the executioner and the dragon seemed to have left undone, but to her surprise he cut the bindings off and dragged her into the fort though a small entrance at the back.

“Follow me if you want live.” He commanded.

They barged into the relative safety of the fort—Atsuko saw the chest of their belongings from the corner of her eyes. She scrambled towards it, eager to retrieve the only belonging she had carried through the years, but the young officer held out his arm in front of it before she could reach it.

“I’ll unlock it.” He reassured. “Take what’s yours—there should also be some armor along the racks.”

“Why are you helping me?” Atsuko looked over warily, helping herself to the now-opened chest. The axes and shields didn’t interest her, neither did the potions, but—ah. There it is.

“Two can survive the dungeons and the caverns down below better than one.” He looked over towards her. “My name’s Hadvar. I think I—” His eyes widened at the sight of the old, worn sword that she held near her.

This reaction was nothing new, and she’s had her fair share of fending off thugs who thought it was theirs for the taking. They had another thing coming. She knew how to use this, at the very least. The blade was curved and slender, a stark contrast to the heavy, wide swords of Skyrim. The grip was wrapped in dark leather, crisscrossed with finely-embroidered cloth of a deep red, making a pattern of diamonds. The guard was simple, and so was the pommel, and the worn blade itself was dotted with seven, in-laid stars. It seemed the sheath was missing—Atsuko would later scavenge for cloth to wrap it with.

“That’s an Akaviri blade.” Hadvar looked in poorly-concealed surprise. “Where did you truly come from?”

Atsuko rolled her eyes—feeling annoyed despite the threat of a rampaging dragon outside. “I’ve asked myself that question more times that you can ever imagine.”

Atsuko had woken up in the house of a blacksmith in Riverwood. With a bit of a headache, she sat down with her head in her palms trying to remember it all. She was hungry. Oh, and about to get executed. The—dragon? Hadvar was leading her through the caverns.

He brought her to his uncle and aunt, and they were kind enough to open their home to her and feed her. They only favor they asked in return was for her to ask Jarl Balgruuf of Whiterun for help.

Of course she’d help! She crossed her arms at how tentatively they asked. Did these wonderful people really think she’d turn them down after feeding her the best venison stew her taste buds had ever been graced with?

And so she found herself hiking to the capital of Whiterun Hold. Addvar fashioned her a scabbard out of wood and leather, and her sword hung snugly across her back. The travel was easy, save for the pestering of some wolves, and soon she found herself past Honningbrew Meadery, just about to cross the bridge that led to the slope coming up towards Whiterun Stables.

For the second time in a few days—the world around her was suddenly shaking.

There were… voices. Wailing. Calling. Pounding into her eardrums and her head so strongly that she had lost her balance and nearly fell over. She caught herself on the wooden railing of the bridge that ran over a small stream. Her breathing became erratic, and she clawed at her chest, feeling her knees give in.

Dohvakiin!

Her eyes snapped up, looking around for its source. Her soul felt like it knew that voice but—how?

And why did it sound like a call into battle?

---

She was summed for a meeting by no less than her mentor, the arch-mage, herself.

"Did you hear it?"

Holbrooke looked out from atop the bannisters of the College of Winterhold. Her hands were folded neatly at her back, holding her staff across it, while the wind whipped at their cloaks; cold and merciless from the Sea of Ghosts. The view was always white. One could barely see through the thickness of snow and slat, which would have cut deep into Diana's bones if she hadn't learned the art of befriending the cold from the moment she could cast a spell.

"Somehow." She replied curtly. It was an honest answer; she didn't so much as hear than she felt it.

"The Greybeards call." The arch-mage looked towards her. "The Dragonborn has been summoned."

Diana nodded silently. She looked out into the Horizon, across the dying town at the base of their castle, towards the peaks which she knew was the Throat of the World. It was barely visible on most days, but it seemed the howling winds and frost would reign themselves in to make way for a pronouncement which struck fear as much as it did hope: there is a god amongst men in Skyrim.

It was no longer a legend.

"Did you hear?" Holbrooke began. "Or did you feel?"

Diana turned sharply towards her mentor.

"Because the rest of us could hear, but I reckon you're a little bit different."

"I'm not quite sure I understand—"

"Lady Cavendish of Daggerfall," Holbrooke looked up to her with a burning intensity. "Within the bounds of Skyrim, you will be Diana of the Frost—A proper mage. A proper master. But first—"

The smaller woman stomped the base of her staff into the cold, icy stone of the castle. The action was weak in its physicality, but the waves of magic it had sent cackled like lightning.

Diana's foot inched back a little to keep herself steady against the pulse.

"—you will seek out the Dragonborn and guide them."

---

The arch-mage had sent out word of their search for the Dragonborn of legend, and many responded with cynicism or outright disinterest. Thankfully, there was still brotherhood amongst the College’s alumna and they had agreed to keep their search a secret.

Farengar was the first to respond with any promise. The magical letter he sent was a rather enthusiastic one—of no surprise to Diana. He always spoke… so much.

She rode gracefully on her steed, intent to make up for the few days she spent fixing her affairs with the College before riding out towards Winterhold. It would take more than a half-a-day on horseback, and she had started early, hoping to arrive in the afternoon for some rest before presenting herself to the Jarl, and in turn, her colleague. The icy crags of Winterhold slowly melted away the closer she got to the Pale, and the sight of mud and greenery was more welcome than she thought it would be.

Wolves stalked the roads, but they were a nuisance at best. It was the frost trolls she had to watch out for—her area of expertise in magic was painfully ineffective against them, but she could hold her own if push came to shove. Ice wasn’t the only thing she knew how to weaponize.

She pulled on her hood, her breathing coming out in puffs of thick, misty vapor while she took a moment of respite. She’d been going at it for a few hours now. The land was beginning to turn into an expanse of green and yellow—she was at the border of Whiterun Hold. She could see spires at the top of a walled city on a mountain. Dragonsreach was clearly within view. It reminded her a little bit of High Rock, and riding through Rivenspire and Glenumbra when her mother visited for political affairs.

She bit at her lip, pulling on the reins of her horse as it began to whinny and buck. She didn’t actually know what guiding the Dragonborn meant. How did one guide a human with the soul of a dragon? What wisdom could you impart the mortal incarnation of no less than Akatosh himself?

She had studied many things in the world—more than just magic. She’s seen statue upon statue and endless sketches of Tiber Septim. The conqueror—always standing coldly in stone, uncompromising in his just crusade to unify all nations of Tamriel.

Diana was never one to doubt herself but—what guidance can a mage possibly impart on someone with such power?

She surveyed the land ahead of her, noting there wasn’t much left to cover. Something caught her eye.

It was smoke. And… fire?

She prodded her horse forward and into an urgent gallop, riding straight into the fray of what looked a small skirmish happening on the outskirts of the city walls, near the watch towers.

She was a little bit closer now but then—she gasped. It took everything in her power not to choke up and pull her horse into a full stop as a large, reptilian figure shot upwards from the ground with the beating of wide, leathery wings.

It was horrifying.

Her throat had constricted into tightness—but she grit her teeth and rode on. The closer she came, the more horrible the scene had become. Nameless guards had been gobbled into the drake’s hungry mouth, their helmets falling off and into the dirt, disappearing in a cloud of dust where once a whole man was standing. It looked like the fighting had been going on for some time. She whipped her rains, pressing her feet into the sides of her horse to push him onwards—faster. She could hear their voices now. Screams. There was a dark-elf woman who seemed to be in-command, along with a handful of what must have been the Jarl’s elite guard.

There was also a… a woman with brown hair, whipping around ferociously in tattered imperial leather armor. It looked like it was too large for her, but she wore it masterfully. She was brandishing a curved sword that looked vaguely familiar—but the dragon’s claw was coming down onto her fast and Diana was too far away to stop it and—

“Look out!”

She yelled, the exertion making her lungs burn. The woman was cued in by her shout and had rolled to the side, taking the opportunity of the dragon sinking its claw into the ground to land a clean slice at the underside of its arm.

It roared. That made it angry.

She hopped off her horse now—throwing self-preservation away with reckless abandon. She vaulted into a run, her hands growing cold, ice at her fingertips buzzing with power and anticipation. A cold shot of death waiting to be unleashed.

When the dragon pulled itself upwards to fly back into the air, Diana sent a sharp bolt of ice towards the exposed underside of its torso. Reptiles tended to have soft hides on the underside—and if memory served, dragons were reptiles all the same, albeit overpowered.

All it managed was a small gash, but the creature staggered, losing the momentum it needed to take to the skies. An arrow from the dark-elf general got it straight in the eye. There was hack from a solider at one of its hindlegs. It reared, smoke billowing from its nostrils, and Diana eyes widened—the next thing that would come was fire!

And it was going straight for the brown-haired woman.

On instinct, she reached out, a wall of ice encasing the stranger protectively. It would give her enough time dodge out of harm’s way but—

“By the eight divines, what are you doing?!” Diana yelled. She wasn’t moving at all! She was standing there, biding her time behind the wall of ice while flames engulfed her at every other direction. The dragon was getting frustrated, inching by nearer, and by the gods Diana was good but she wasn’t that good—not yet. That wall was going to melt very soon—it was already starting—but the woman kept steady while the it began to give way. Her left hand was splayed between herself and the dragon and—she had flames.

Flames of her own.

There was a pause where Diana caught a glimpse of red eyes.

Who is she?

The woman made the slightest opening with what she recognized as the gesture for the fireball spell, but how could it—? Against a dragon?

It seemed like it was more of a distraction than it was a hit for damage—it soared through the plume and straight into the dragon’s mouth. In the split second that the fire sputtered out, she lunged forward with her sword, stabbing it straight through the dragon’s throat, gruesomely forcing the sword down, and down, and down to cut an incision all the way through.

The strangled yelping didn’t last very long—the creature soon after collapsed on top of the woman.

Diana’s instinct was to hold the dragon’s body upright with pillars of ice lest it crush the woman completely. She was already falling unconscious. Diana strode forward, noticing that the armor was singed, but she was otherwise unburnt. She was covered in sweat, her breathing was ragged and uneven.

Her hand glowed in the warm light of restoration, holding it flush against the woman’s forehead.

She pulled her gently away from the giant carcass as the soldiers began to gather around them.

“I don’t believe it.” One of them muttered.

She couldn’t either, to be honest. That was a dragon. A full, proper dragon.

And she was alive.

Then the woman began to… glow.

“What’s going on?” Diana muttered to herself, eyebrows knit in confusion at the sight she was seeing. The dragon—it was also glowing. There was something similar to a link in-between them and—

“She’s…”

Diana’s stared in utter disbelief.

“…the Dragonborn.”

---

She’s the Dragonborn.

Diana told herself for the tenth time that evening, watching the woman (Atsuko with remarkable recovery) gouge herself with her third platter of sweetrolls within fifteen minutes of waking up from unconsciousness.

“You’re going to give yourself a stomachache.” The mage carefully offered.

She had frosted butter at the edge of her lip, and those red eyes were round and… charming.

There was no sign of authority.

Not even of ferocity.

She wouldn’t believe this was the same woman from that fight if she hadn’t brought her back into Dragonsreach herself.

“Nah!” Atsuko mumbled through a mouthful of food. A servant came by with a platter of roasted deer—Atsuko’s eyes glazed over. “I can like… eat. A lot. I love food.”

“I’ve noticed.” Diana said evenly.

“So who’re you supposed to be?” Atsuko said absent-mindedly, reaching for the platter which was next-in-line for devouring.

“I’m Diana Cavendish, from the College of Winterhold.”

“Oh.” Atusko blinked. “Okay, awesome.”

Awesome? Diana blinked. She shook her head, clearing her throat and speaking with every ounce of professionalism the life of diplomacy and schooling offered: “Dragonborn—”

“Akko.” She waved her hand.

“—you and I are… going to be stuck together, for a little while.”

fin

A/N: Pyro - we did it buddy. We did it. This is for you. And all your memes.

Hey guys - no one asked, but I'm writing it anyway, if only because of how much fun and joy this AU has given me. This first chapter is as serious as it gets, unfortunately, because this is gonna be a one-shot dump of SkyrimAU Diakko where they kind of goof around like dorks, except they're overpowered, and sometimes Akko sneezes but shouts 'FUS!' by accident and Diana has to clean it up. The format I'm looking for is each chapter is a separate story about their adventures, much like the books scattered around in Skyrim (because I have no commitment and will focus on Appointments I'm sorry huhuuuhu). You could probably read them on their own - save for chapter 1 which is for context of the rest of the tales of the Dragonborn and her Ice Lady girlfriend.

But if you read it anyway - I hope y'all enjoy and if you wanna share headcanons, by all means, let's make it happen!

#Diakko #Dianakko #Diana Cavendish #Atsuko Kagari #LWA #Fluff #Romance #Skyrim AU #Actino #Adventure #Humor #Wlw #fanfic #LWA Diana #LWA Akko

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