#poor advisor has been trying to reach me for a fucking month
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And suddenly I'm doing all the things this week
#kite rambles#oil change tomorrow phone call with uni advisor tomorrow pharm tech exam tomorrow#and then Wednesday phone call with director of the library about potentially using patrons as a learner group for that research project#FINALLY#god i feel pathetic with how long it takes sometimes to just fucking DO things#i was meaning to reply to this guy's email since FEBRUARY#i am too ashamed to say how long it's been since my last oil change (in my defense i still haven't reached 3k miles >>;;;;)#poor advisor has been trying to reach me for a fucking month#why can't i just DO THINGS#i know i shouldn't feel pathetic i know it's part of the disability but good GOD i wish i could just get things done#anyway my exam is tomorrow i SHOULD pass i got like a 70% on a practice exam#if i pass i become a CERTIFIED pharmacy technician and get a two buck raise#which brings me to what McDonald's offers 🙃#anyway#might finally get some things done v_v
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dance me to the end of love (i)
word count: 4.3k
warnings: fem!oc, cursing, potential spoilers for the west wing if you've never seen the show
series masterpost: here
a/n: hi!! i am so incredibly happy to finally be putting this fic out into the world. it means an awful lot to me and i can't wait to share the little world i've created :)) x
Magdalene is content with where she’s ended up.
Denver is wonderful. Her friends are there, her cat is there, and it’s the perfect place for a fresh start. She arrived in the city nearly six years ago – a wide-eyed University of Denver freshman and has stayed put ever since. Her hometown of Aspen holds a few too many bad memories, but is close enough that she can return if an emergency calls for it. So far she hasn’t left, too engrossed in finishing her degree and moving on. There’s a job offer lined up with the university’s library upon graduation that Magdalene is ecstatic about. It means she gets to stay right where she is – where she’s comfortable.
☼☼☼☼
The sun might be shining as she exits her apartment building, but it’s cold for March. Magdalene pulls the thick scarf her best friend Bette got her for Christmas higher up her face and walks as quickly as possible to campus. There’s a brief meeting to attend with her advisor before grabbing lunch with Bette, and then her plan is to spend the rest of the day holed up in the library working on her thesis. It’s due in two weeks, with the defence in just over a month, and Magdalene is incredibly nervous. Though she’d gone through submitting her undergraduate thesis two years ago, presenting her master’s research was going to be a lot harder. She’s heard through the grapevine that the committees are being tough this year and she doesn’t want to fail.
Dr. Williams is waiting for her in his office with a smile on his face. He’s a tall man, with thin facial features and wire glasses that box him perfectly into the intimidating professor stereotype. “Miss Stevenson, please sit,” he gestures to the chair across from him.
“Gerald,” she sighs, “You can call me Magdalene, I don’t mind. Besides, it makes you quite the hypocrite if you insist I call you by your first name but you won’t use mine.” There’s no malice in her voice, just a decent amount of teasing.
The older man scoffs but concedes. “I suppose you’re right. Well then Magdalene, tell me, how are your final edits coming along?”
Magdalene spends nearly twenty minutes detailing all the elements she has tweaked since their last meeting, from the title to the citation style. She’s out of breath by the time she’s done, rambling at an impressive speed, and takes a big gasp of air while the professor mulls over her words. Dr. Williams doesn’t say anything, causing Magdalene to shift anxiously in her seat. “Sir, is there something wrong?”
He shakes his head. “Absolutely nothing,” he beams, “Everything is perfect. It’s a shame you don’t want to continue researching. You’d make a fabulous academic.”
The compliment makes Magdalene’s heart soar. It means a lot, especially coming from the person who has seen her cry over the oxford comma. “Thank you sir, but I belong in the practical realm. Someone has to file all the documents you obsessively scan.”
She leaves the building soon after, promising to stop by after she drops off the final draft in a few weeks. It’s a bit later than she expected and hopes Bette won’t be mad. There’s nothing the blonde hates more than poor time management, but Magdalene prays she’ll understand. It wasn’t that long ago and Bette was scheduling her own appointments with advisors on how to graduate. Barn Owl Book Company is located halfway between the school and her apartment, making it the perfect spot to meet. In addition to being a used book store, Barn Owl sports one of the best cafés in downtown Denver. Bette is perched delicately at her friend’s favourite seat, a bay window converted into a small nook, and typing furiously on her phone.
“Sorry I’m late,” Magdalene apologizes, “Williams talked a lot more than I expected him to.”
Bette looks up and smiles, shoving a cup in the other girl’s direction. “As always. How is he?”
Sliding into the booth, Magdalene fills her friend in on what’s been going on in their former professor’s life. Bette graduated with a minor in Classics, and it was Magdalene's major, but the former decided not to further her education and is instead doing full time charity work for the Colorado Avalanche. Her boyfriend Tyson is one of their star players, and the two of them are so smitten it makes Magdalene sick. Conversation quickly turns from school to life, which she’s grateful for.
“So,” Bette says, “Are you in for the trip this summer? I’ve got to confirm the reservation in a week or something.”
“I don’t know Bee, I'm going to be the new girl. Asking for time off like two months into the job would be rude.”
“Linny,” the blonde whines, “Please? I want you to come.”
Magdalene scowls. Bette knows just how much the nickname sours her mood but she chose to use it anyway. “Don’t call me that,” she snaps with quite a bite. “Can someone else take my spot if I decide not to go a little closer to the date?”
“Of course! Gravy said he’d fill an extra spot if one comes up so we don’t lose the deposit,” Bette blabs before trying to switch gears entirely. Magdalene cuts her off.
“Who’s Gravy?”
If her friend is exasperated by Magdalene’s lack of knowledge surrounding hockey, she doesn’t show it. Bette calmly explains that Gravy, who’s real name is Ryan, is a defenceman with the Avalanche and a good friend of Tyson’s. She also makes a point of mentioning that he’s single, to which Magdalene rolls her eyes. Bette has a masterplan for her life – which includes her best friend becoming romantically involved with an Avalanche player so the two of them can live the better half life together. As the best friend, Magdalene is constantly barraged with potential players who are looking to date. Once she went on a few dates with Mikko, but that ended fairly quickly when the two realized they were better as friends. Every time since she’s turned Bette down as gently as possible, not wanting to get involved with anyone. Her life is just starting, and Magdalene wants to be secure before settling down.
The conversation eventually shifts to what Magdalene plans to wear for both her thesis defence and graduation. Bette is fashion savvy, while Magdalene is decidedly not. Her everyday wardrobe consists of collared button-downs and sweater vests, which is supposedly never going to back a comeback, according to Bette at least. The blonde eventually wears Magdalene down, and secures a position as stylist for the graduation ceremony. There was an attempt at the thesis defence, but the other girl insists she needs to be as comfortable as possible on such a stressful occasion.
A glance to the clock on the opposite wall has Magdalene stretching her arms and giving an apologetic glance to her friend on the other side of the table. “I should go,” she says. “I’ve got to put in some serious work on my citations today, and you know Caligula doesn’t like it when I’m gone all day.”
Bette rolls her eyes, but there isn’t any frustration behind the gesture. “I swear to god Mags, your cat has more separation anxiety than I do. Speaking of, I’m supposed to pick Tyson up at the airport and I’m running behind.”
“Tell him I say hi,” Magdalene says as she wraps her arms around Bette for a quick hug.
The two girls part ways on the sidewalk, with Magdalene heading back to campus and Bette sliding into the sleek Audi she shares with her boyfriend. Headphones find their way into her ears, and Magdalene listens to a random comedy podcast. Once tucked safely inside the library she’ll put on her favourite lo-fi playlist and concentrate, but for now she just enjoys the funny anecdotes of stories past.
It’s quiet in the library for a Tuesday, though Magdalene isn’t complaining. Her favourite table, the one she swears up and down is the only reason she ever gets anything done, is open, and she all but sprints to place her bag on the worn leather chair. While setting up her work station a few of the librarians come over to offer their congratulations for her upcoming job. News certainly travels fast around here, Magdalene thinks, but accepts their generosity with a smile on her face. They leave her alone soon enough and the tedious work of double checking the formatting of every single citation in the sixty-five page paper begins.
Hours pass, and Magdalene stays working in the library until as late as she possibly can. Caligula is going to start to worry about the length of her absence soon and his anxiety response of knocking over plants is not a mess she feels like cleaning up. She packs up her laptop and walks the short distance home as fast as possible.
“Little boots, I’m home,” Magdalene parrots in a sing-song voice as she slips her jacket off her shoulders and onto the hanger. At the sound of his nickname, the small cat bounds into the entryway. “Hi darling, did you miss me?” Magdalene gets an obnoxiously loud purr in response that she takes it as a yes. She reaches down to pick up the tiny animal before continuing further into the apartment, scratching behind his ears as she does so. The two of them settle into the respectably sized couch, where they stay for the rest of the night watching reruns of The West Wing before Magdalene falls asleep.
☼☼☼☼
“You fucking did it!” Bette shrieks as she bounds towards her best friend. Magdalene braces herself for the oncoming assault, and manages to keep them both upright after Bette jumps into her arms.
Her thesis defence had just finished, and the committee found Magdalene a worthy candidate for the Master of Information Science qualification. The presentation itself was open to the public, so Bette and Tyson sat in the front row to support Magdalene, but were escorted out for the conversation that followed. The two girls had developed a code so the news could be shared in a subtle way, though Bette threw the original plan out the window as soon as she saw her friend give a sneaky thumbs up when the conference room door opened.
“Congrats Mags,” Tyson says sincerely, doing his best not to add to the growing spectacle, but Magdalene can tell he wants to give her a bone crushing hug.
“Thank you,” she smiles softly, “And thank you guys for coming. It means a lot.” As two of her closest friends, both Bette and Tyson know that her family situation is rocky at best, and having them act as her support system means more than she’ll ever be able to articulate.
The couple shares a knowing look before engulfing their friend in a hug. “We’re always going to be here for you,” Bette whispers, “No matter what.”
Magdalene’s smile is so genuine it crinkles her eyes as she wraps her arms around Bette and Tyson’s shoulders and leads them out the door and into the sunshine. The group continues to the parking lot, where they climb into Tyson’s car and drive off campus in the direction of Magdalene’s favourite restaurant. Though she had tried to convince her friends they didn’t need to celebrate, she failed, and Magdalene soon finds herself laughing hysterically over a plate of carbonara as Tyson tells a story about the shenanigans the team got up to on their last road trip.
There’s a game tonight, and Bette has somehow convinced her into attending. Magdalene knows she should go, expand her social horizons a little, but all she wants to do is curl up in bed and sleep for three weeks. Her one condition is that she can go home straight after the game without being guilted into following the group to whatever nightclub they’ll celebrate the win or drink away the loss in. Tyson has to get ready so he drops the two girls off at Magdalene's apartment complex. She’s in charge of getting Bette to the rink, and she’ll leave with her boyfriend after the game.
Once inside the confines of her home, Magdalene promptly lies on the floor. “Holy shit,” she sighs, “I did it. I fucking did it.”
“You did!” Bette says as she lies down beside her best friend. “I’m so fucking proud of you, and Tyson is too. Even if he won’t tackle you in public to prove it.”
The comment garners a laugh from Magdalene, which alerts Caligula to the presence of others in the apartment. He pads over the rug currently being occupied by two adults, and snuggles into the small space between them. Bette and Magdalene continue to lay there, petting the cat and looking back fondly on all the times Magdalene called her friend in tears because she didn’t think she could push herself any farther. Bette was always there to pick up the slack, editing whatever section Magdalene was working on or to bring over a hot meal. Her support earned her the top spot in the acknowledgements section of the thesis.
Ball Arena is already crawling with people when Magdalene pulls into the small lot for player’s and their families. Normally she parks with the general public, but Bette insists they watch this game from the better halves box, and these spaces are closer to that entrance.
“Stop dragging your feet,” the blonde chastises as Magdalene takes her time cutting the engine. “I want to get a glass of rosé before they sell out.”
Sighing, Magdalene follows her orders. “Don’t you have a special bar in the box?” she asks while locking the car.
“Yeah, but the other girls are absolute fiends. They’ll drink it all before we get there with no remorse.”
The girls climb the stairs to the better halves box, Bette chatting excitedly about the game, but Magdalene stops just before the entrance. She’s met most of the others on multiple occasions and has nothing to worry about, but she can’t help but feel anxious. Her life is so different than everyone else’s in the space, and it feels like cheating when she’s there because she isn’t romantically involved with anyone on the roster. Bette likes to joke that she’s her better half, but Magdalene knows it’s said just to calm her nerves.
“It’ll be fine,” Bette whispers while squeezing her hand, “And if you get too uncomfortable we can find some seats in the nosebleeds.”
Once inside Magdalene’s nerves dissipate. Most of the other wives and girlfriends pay her no mind, but the ones that are especially close to Bette congratulate her on passing her defence. It warms her heart a little, and the small group Magdalene finds herself in settles down to watch the game unfold.
It’s a fairly intense one between Colorado’s division rival St. Louis. Both teams are fighting for first place in the conference, and a win for the Avalanche would put them three points ahead of the Blues instead of one. Players from both sides are amped up, and more than once a scrum at the net has turned into a dog-pile. Colorado is outplaying the other team, but have still managed to find themselves a goal short heading into the final period. At the buzzer Tyson takes the face-off and is immediately shoved by a member of the opposite team. He goes down hard, and Bette squeezes Magdalene’s hand so tightly she fears it will lose blood flow. Silence falls over the arena as Tyson doesn’t immediately get up. The inside of lip finds its way between her teeth and Magdalene bites down hard, worried about her friend. She’s so focussed on Tyson that she doesn’t notice a fight breaking out.
“Holy shit, Gravy is going to town!”
The remark is made by someone Magdalene recognizes as Gabe Landeskog’s wife, and it makes her peel her eyes off of Bette’s worried features and scan the ice for some action. Sure enough, a very tall man is laying right hooks to someone who looks significantly smaller than him on the Avalanche blue line. The referees let the fight continue until Tyson drags himself off the ice and onto the bench before separating the men and throwing them in the penalty box. Magdalene can tell words are still being exchanged from both sides of the glass, but she’s more focussed on the fact Tyson doesn’t make his way to the dressing room – a good sign that allows Bette to drop her hand and let out a shaky breath.
Nothing of great importance happens until MacKinnon ties the game with seven minutes left. It happens while the Avalanche are short handed, and the goal seems to light a fire beneath the team. Magdalene may not know much about hockey, but she’s smart enough to notice the insane amount of energy all the players suddenly have. Time ticks by slowly and before she realizes it, the final face-off is taking place. Luckily it’s in the St. Louis zone and won by Colorado. The puck is tipped back to the same player who got in the fight for Tyson, Gravy, and he one times it right into the back of the net. The buzzer goes off not a second later, and the entire team piles on top of the player who just won them the game.
Bette and Magdalene join in the shrieks of the other partners, jumping from their seats in excitement. Eventually they make their way down to the hallway outside the locker room and lean against the brick while they wait for Tyson.
“You don’t have to stay,” Bette insists, “I can wait by myself.”
Magdalene shakes her head. “No way. I want to make sure he’s okay too. What good is a friend with a black eye?”
The other girl laughs at her friend’s stubbornness but doesn’t shoo her away. Once Magdalene has made a decision it’s hard to get her to sway from it, and Bette knows better than to push. Besides, who is she to deny her friend a bit more social interaction? Magdalene has spent the past six years practically holed up in the library and deserves to stand in a crowded hallway.
The friends chat idly while they wait, with Magdalene sharing some of the most ridiculous questions she got asked in her defence interview that morning. She’s mid story when Tyson exits the dressing flanked by a man dressed sharply in all black.
“Hey guys,” Tyson greets, dipping his head to place a kiss to Bette’s cheek before doing an elaborately goofy handshake with Magdalene.
“Good game baby,” Bette compliments sweetly. She then turns her attention to the boy standing awkwardly on the fringes. “You too Graves.”
He smiles shyly, muttering out a small thanks. It’s then he seems to notice the final member of the group, and offers his hand in greeting. “Hi, I’m Ryan.”
“Nice to meet you. I’m Magdalene.”
She puts two and two together on the walk to her car. The Ryan Magdalene just met is the same who will take her spot on the trip, fought someone in Tyson’s defence, and scored the game winning goal. Though they’ve only said a few words, she likes him. He seems genuine, and those people are the rarest to find.
☼☼☼☼
Magdalene is walking across a graduation stage for the final time in two days. However, she can’t find anyone to take the third ticket. The University of Denver has a stupid rule where all graduates must have three guests attend the ceremony. Bette and Tyson are obviously occupying two of Magdalene’s seats, but she’s having trouble filling the third.
“I can ask Tys if one of the guys is free,” Bette shrugs. The two girls are sitting in the window of Barn Owl drinking iced lattes and discussing what Magdalene should wear to the ceremony.
“It’s okay,” Magdalene says, “I don’t want to bother anyone. Maybe I’ll just ask June.”
Her friend’s eye roll so far back into her head Magdalene isn’t sure they won’t stay there. “You can’t ask your boss to watch you graduate Mags! Besides, Gravy owes Tyson a favour and was already looking for something to do. I’m sure he won’t mind wasting a few hours as long as he gets drinks out of it.”
There isn’t a better option, so even though she barely knows the guy, Magdalene agrees. “Make sure he gets this?" she sighs, handing her friend an envelope with a single ticket in it. "I have to go. Caligula should be done at the vet soon.”
“Say hello to little boots for me,” Bette giggles as she waves goodbye.
Hours later, tucked into her couch with a glass of wine in one hand and Caligula playing with the fingers on the other, Magdalene realizes she invited a complete stranger to her graduation and how that could be a terrible idea. Sure, Ryan sounds like a great guy from the way Bette and Tyson talk about him, but he’s only ever spoken three words to her. Since that game she’s gone out with the team a few times, but the man with the piercing stare is yet to make an appearance. Magdalene considers that perhaps he’s more like her than his profession gives him credit for, and she feels a twinge of guilt about being worried he’d cause a scene at the ceremony.
There isn’t any more time for her to fret over the third and final guest on the list. At the last minute Bette decides there’s nothing in Magdalene’s closet that’s suitable for her to wear, so a trip to a local second-hand store ensues. While it’s nice that her friend has taken their carbon footprints into consideration, Magdalene wishes it didn’t have to happen an hour and a half before the ceremony is supposed to start.
“We have to be there in twenty minutes Bette,” she frets, tapping her foot nervously against the tile flooring.
If they can’t find whatever it is Bette’s looking for, Magdalene will have to walk across the stage in denim cutoffs and a faded t-shirt with Neil Young’s face on it, which is something she’s hoping to avoid at all costs.
“Have no fear, Mags,” she says with a knowing glint in her eye, “For I have found it.” Bette holds up a hanger that is holding a beautiful long sleeve dress adorned with a whimsical floral print.
Magdalene can’t help the gasp that escapes from her. “It’s beautiful,” she breathes, “But let’s hope it fits.”
The dress does in fact fit, and the workers are kind enough to let her wear it out of the store. Bette drives at a speed that might not be the safest to travel at in downtown Denver, but she gets to the school with minutes to spare. She shoos her friends out of the car so she can go pick up Tyson and Ryan, and Magdalene checks in with little hassle. The pool of graduates is fairly small, so she chats with a few classmates while they wait for the call to put their gowns on. Time passes quicker than expected, and soon Magdalene is being directed to her seat. She zones out while the dean gives a congratulatory speech and they go through the first few names. At one point she looks backwards into the crowd to find Bette, Tyson, and Ryan all giving her a thumbs up. The nerves she didn’t even know she had settle.
A faculty member signals for Magdalene’s row to stand up, and she smoothes her dress before dutifully following the person in front of her. Giddiness bubbles in her stomach at the thought of being done school forever. A hand from the stage crew give a cue, and Magdalene appears on the stage as her accomplishment is broadcast through the microphone.
“Magdalene Stevenson is being awarded a Masters in Information Science in Archival Studies and Records Management.” It feels so good to finally be finished that she lets a tear slip as she shakes the hand of the staff member handing her the package with her diploma in it.
The rest of the ceremony passes in a blur, and before Magdalene knows it her friends are approaching to congratulate her. Bette and Tyson wrap her in a tight hug, murmuring praise in her ears. Ryan stands awkwardly to the side before Bette drags him into the celebration. The four of them stand in the courtyard where the ceremony was for much longer than needed. Bette is crying enough to refill Sloan Lake if there is ever a drought and is yet to let go of Magdalene’s figure.
It’s only when the event staff ask them to leave so they can tear down the stage does Magdalene turn to leave campus for the last time as a student. She’ll be back in a few weeks as an employee, but deep down she knows this is the last time she’ll ever feel such a deep connection to the place.
“Victory is mine, victory is mine! Great day in the morning people, victory is mine!” Magdalene yells, quoting Josh Lyman as she skips down the path towards Bette’s car.
Both Bette and Tyson are confused at the sudden outburst, not knowing what she’s talking about, but Ryan responds without missing a beat. “Should I bring you all the muffins and bagels in the land?” His response doesn’t clear anything up, but it elicits a giant smile from Magdalene, who laughs and nods in confirmation.
Sitting in the back of Bette’s Audi, on the way to a graduation party she’s supposed to know nothing about, Magdalene decides that she wants to get to know Ryan Graves better. From what she’s garnered from Bette and Tyson he’s a class act, standing up for friends and giving good advice. He likes The West Wing and showed up to a stranger’s graduation, so how bad can he be?
☼☼☼☼
additional notes: see what magdalene's graduation dress looks like here // the quote from the west wing is from 1.02 if you were curious!
☼☼☼☼
taglist: @scrunchmakar @marcoscandellas @toplinetommy (add yourself to the taglist!)
#ryan graves imagine#ryan graves x oc#ryan graves fic#colorado avalanche imagine#nhl imagine#nhl fic#hockey imagine#hockey fic#cwrites#dmtteol
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Save Yourself
Pt. 6/?
A/N: we've made it to part six, lovelies! I hope you enjoy. Let me know what you think and if you want more!
Listen while you read.
TW: Oswald Mosley. He deserves one
PART ONE. PART TWO. PART THREE. PART FOUR. PART FIVE.
Walking up the stairs to the offices, Tommy was preparing you, Michael, and Arthur for what was to come, Michael asking what the strategy was. It must have been the fifth sentence you’ve heard him speak all day. He didn’t say a word to you the entire trip over to London, only staring out of the train window, not daring to look at you.
Tommy speaks to Michael next to you as you climb the stairs, “ You and Prudence can smile,” Tommy looks at Arthur, “And you, don’t smile.”
The four of you walk into Tommy’s spacious office, Tommy taking his chair behind the desk, Arthur standing by the window, you and Michael sitting with a vacant chair between yourselves as per Tommy’s direction. You didn’t know why the seating arrangement had to be so specific.
Arthur asks the question of the hour, “So, who we meetin’?”
Tommy answers, “The man we’re about to meet is the minister for the Duchy of Lancaster. He is also deputy to the Chancellor of the Exchequer and Cabinet adviser to the Prime Minister of Great Britain.” Now you knew why the seating arrangement was so important.
Tommy continues to speak, “You three have met bad men before. The man we’re about to meet is the devil.”
You glance at Michael while the phone rings, trying to gauge how he was feeling about the encounter that was about to happen. All you find is the cold exterior he always had during business meetings with strangers; a true businessman, Michael was only warm and friendly with clients he knew. He was always stern with new clients so he or the business was never taken advantage of. So far, his strategy has worked. You had seen it first hand. He and you worked together as a team during business meetings, able to work together seamlessly; this was a stark difference.
“Send him in.” Tommy sighed loudly across from you. You never saw Tommy nervous, he always appeared collected even if his mind was in shambles. Today, he looked nervous, and that sat a fire of panic in your stomach.
Everyone in the room was in suspense, Michael turning to look at the door as it finally opens as a tall man sporting a mustache enters. You and Michael stand to greet him, warm smiles on your faces as you were previously told to do so.
The man speaks as he sits down between you and Michael, “I never seem to get to meet you without your family.” Family. You were still a part of the family, never seeming to be able to get out of its clutches. Once a Shelby, always a Shelby.
Tommy speaks sternly, “I understand you know a man called Jimmy McCavern.” At the mention of Jimmy, both you and Michael start to fiddle with your hands, uncomfortable with the meeting already.
The man, Oswald Mosley, doesn’t bother to answer the question right away, asking for a cigarette instead. Taking one and lighting it, he throws the lighter on the desk, the thud echoing through the room.
“Who on earth is Jimmy McCavern?”
Tommy sharply inhales, “Over the last 12 months, you’ve been making approaches to various men across the country who you think might be able to help you in your cause. McCavern is one of these men. He runs the East Glasgow shipyards. He killed an associate of mine.” Associate, apparently to Tommy that’s all Bonnie was.
He continues speaking, “I want to know what your strategy is.”
The man ashes his cigarette on the floor, bits of it floating onto your shoes; you roll your eyes, Michael notices.
Motioning his head over to Arthur, the man speaks, “That one’s your brother, yes?”
Michael speaks to Mosley, “Yes. And I’m his business advisor, next to you is the assistant business advisor. We would like to talk business.” So, it turns out he can acknowledge you.
“Michael. Michael Gray. You lost all your cousin’s money in America playing the fool. A night club in Detroit called the Gladiator is your regular. You lost the money...and found a wife there.”
You jerk your head towards Michael, needing him to see the expression on your face. Pain, disappointment, and shock are etched into your features as Michael stiffens, looking at the man. Michael catches your eye as Oswald begins to speak again, this time looking at you.
“Prudence Jones. You were once engaged to Michael, then he left you while he was in America. You then ran off with Bonnie Gold before his unfortunate end. Truly heartbreaking.”
You sit shocked, both at how he knows that and at how uninterested he seems with the entire conversation. He really was the devil. You can see Michael look at you sympathetically, confirming for you that he actually still did have a heart. But the expression left as soon as it came.
“And poor old Arthur Shelby, standing there at the window, - is afraid his wife will never return.”
You can hear the wood chair creaking behind you as Arthur clutches onto it.
“My spies tell me she’s been seen with another man.”
Arthur continues gripping the wood, starting to splinter under the weight, Tommy calming him in Romani.
Next to you, the man begins to speak again, “And...bingo. Twenty seconds in, and I have them speaking their lingo. Mr. Shelby, I do have plans. I will have need of men like you. Except, of course, there is no other man like you. You, in particular, I need. But please. Don’t imagine I would trouble myself with turf wars. You have many other enemies. Shuffle the pack and pick another card.”
He stands up, reaching into his inside breast coat-pocket pulling out a letter and tossing onto Tommy’s desk. “That investigation of the dead journalist, I've made that go away. Read it and, uh, come back to me. Next time, bring only an open mind and a cigar to celebrate our union.” At that, Oswald Mosley throws the cigarette onto the floor, stomping it out with his shoe and walking out.
Normally you didn’t smoke, but after that encounter you did today. Reaching for the container of cigarettes in front of you, yours and Michael’s hands brush, him reaching for one too. You pull away first, Michael taking a cigarette out and handing you one before grabbing another for himself. You weren’t going to read too much into it because if you did, you would give yourself a headache and only break your own heart even more than it already was.
Tommy opens and reads the letter, throwing his glasses onto his desk, sitting down, exasperated.
Michael, who was standing in front of you leaning on the desk, breaks the silence first, “What the fuck was that all about, Tom?”
You hear Tom whisper ‘fuck’ and Arthur shoving the chair over, breaking a small table and the china set sitting atop of it.
Tommy yells at Arthur, immediately giving you a headache. You hated yelling, as did Michael. He never yelled in front of you, and the rare times he did yell, he asked you to leave the room before doing so. This time you didn’t have a chance to leave as Tommy continued to yell.
“Arthur! Do not let them get inside your head! That’s exactly how these people work.”
Arthur again asks the question everyone was thinking, “Who the fuck are these people? Hmm? Who the fuck are they?!”
Tommy sighs, “I’ve just been invited...to become the deputy leader of a brand-new political party. These people say they are the future.”
Behind you, Arthur huffs loudly, anger rolling off him in waves, as you and Michael finish off your cigarettes while Tommy was clutching his eyes, trying to think of a way to fix this. All of you were fucked.
Tag list: @multi-fandom-iimagines @liviakomtrikru20
#michael gray#michael gray imagine#michael gray x reader#michael gray fanfic#michael gray fanfiction#peaky blinders#peaky blinders imagine#peaky blinders fanfic#peaky blinders fanfiction#peaky blinders x reader#bonnie gold#bonnie gold imagine#bonnie gold x reader#bonnie gold fanfic#fanfiction#save yourself#animal kingdom#j cody#j cody imagine
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Do you have any recent fic recs? 🥺 I just finished reading Baby Blue and now I don’t know what to read next. (It was amazing by the way).
hii!!! I'm so happy you liked baby blue! thank you so much for reading and for reaching out! :)))
I don’t have any specifics on what you like to read, so I'm just going to give you a bit of everything - I hope that’s alright! if you want more you always know where to find me ;)
--
recently read fics (July 2020) -
✰ sleeping on our problems (E, 67k, bL) by @risthebrave / falsegoodnight
Louis sleeps with Harry and they have more than just catching feelings to worry about.
✰ tell it like an old song (E, 26k, bL) by @outropeace
where Harry is a bit lost (just like his memories), his best friend is hiding something, the love of his life is gone and love... love is like flowers.
✰ soaked in the blood of angels (E, 40k, bL) by @crazyupsetter / whoknows
The boy looks drugged, caught between a man who’s almost twice his size and a girl who looks like she wouldn’t even break a sweat snapping him in half despite her small stature, eyes closed and mouth open as he pants, arching up between them almost as if he’s trying to escape.
Normally, Harry would ignore it and continue on his search for someone to drink from, someone who wouldn’t mind his sharp teeth and rough hands. He’s seen plenty of boys like this one, ones who picked the wrong playmates, and if he stopped to rescue every single one of them he would have died from thirst a long time ago.
This one, though. There’s something about this one, the sheen of his bright blue eyes as he blinks slowly, looks around as though he doesn’t know where he is, the weakness of his hands as he tries to push the girl off of him and make his escape.
✰ like the earth around the sun (E, 23k, bL) by astrangepurplefairy
the one where Harry bursts in on Louis in heat and things only get more complicated from there.
(*personal note* if anyone happens to know if this author has a Tumblr please let me know!)
✰ we both got nothing to hide (E, 43k, bL) by lovelarry10 / @chloehl10
Omega Louis has a secret nest. Alpha Harry keeps losing his clothes.
✰ move so pretty (you’re all I see) (E, 10k, bL) by @risthebrave / falsegoodnight
Harry’s pretty content with his life. He loves his job- a veterinarian at a local clinic who’s already built up a name for himself despite his young age. He loves his gorgeous flat with its wide, open space and minimalistic, yet still homey feel. He loves his family who he talks to and visits as much as possible, not bothered by the long hours of driving to Holmes Chapel from London he endures multiple times a month. He loves his friends and his coworkers and his neighbors- especially Allison, the little old lady next door who brings him and Louis cookies on holidays and who always comments on how “strong and handsome you are, Mr. Styles,” everytime he sees her.
And most importantly, he loves Louis, just- maybe in a slightly different way.
✰ maybe, baby (M, 16k, omega!L) by @thoughtsickles
Louis runs away. Harry finds him.
✰ when tomorrow comes (E, 11k, bL) by @jacaranda-bloom
the one where Louis is an Omega who has been keeping himself pure for his Alpha, Harry is a traditional Alpha focusing on his studies while he waits to find his bondmate, and Niall is a sneaky bastard who keeps borrowing Louis’ clothes and never returning them.
✰ in a world alone (E, 50k, bL) by @risthebrave / falsegoodnight
Harry’s breath catches as the glow grows bigger and bigger until he’s squinting his eyes and blinking at the sudden intense brightness. He closes his eyes, rubbing at them helplessly. When his eyes open again- he gasps, grip loosening on his bow as he gawks at the sight before him.
Because the swan is gone.
And in its place is the prettiest omega Harry has ever seen.
-
A Swan Lake AU
re-reads -
✰ like a siren in the night (E, 24k, bL) by @crazyupsetter / whoknows
“There is an infestation in my home,” Louis hisses, righting himself quickly and pushing his way past Harry, heading directly for the kitchen. He’s rather haphazardly dressed himself, a coat thrown on over a loose flannel shirt and black pants, slippers on his feet.
Harry resists the urge to sigh, closing the door and trailing behind him slowly. “What kind of infestation?”
For all he knows, Louis is going to claim that there’s a ghost infestation. Harry has no idea what the end game is here – all he knows is that Louis has found at least three complaints a week to bring up since he’s been living on Harry’s property, and he’s been living here for six months.
It’s way too many fucking complaints, is what Harry is saying. Especially when most of them are ridiculous to start with.
✰ ours are the moments I play in the dark (E, 20k, bL) by @holdingthornsandroses / edensrose
Jane Austen's Persuasion AU. Nine years ago Louis Tomlinson was persuaded to break off his engagement to Harry Styles, a poor sailor. Since then Louis has come to regret being so easily convinced to give up his one chance of happiness. Now Louis' family is in debt and his childhood home is being sold. In a complete reversal of fortune, Harry has returned to England a wealthy bachelor looking to settle down. Events conspire to bring them together once more though Louis is- must surely be- the last man on earth that Captain Styles would think of now.
✰ pretty please (with sugar on top) (E, 113k, bH) by @angelichl
Harry is a sugar baby omega who cons rich alphas for a living. Louis is a rich alpha with too much self-control.
✰ dance like warriors on a battlefield (E, 20k, bL) by @crazyupsetter / whoknows
Down in the arena, the triumphant gladiator places his foot on the back of the loser, holding him there as he waits for instruction on his next move. Kill or let live. It’s barbaric, really, the bloodlust involved in this sport. Louis is pretty sure that if it wasn’t for his distaste for the killing there would be a lot more blood soaking that sand.
As it is, his father rarely gives the kill order anymore. He gives the order to let the loser live. Louis rolls his eyes, turning away. He doesn’t miss the way the gladiator’s eyes linger on him.
fics on my list to read soon -
✰ until (E, 38k, bL) by @allwaswell16
Rural Eagle County, Colorado wasn’t the type of place to find a famous musician or actor. At least not until songwriter Louis Tomlinson showed up with pop star Niall Horan to visit his uncle’s horse ranch, and they just happened to find themselves next door to a reclusive former movie star.
(*personal note*- I'd put off reading this until I finished my own cowboy fic so that I wouldn’t subconsciously copy anything but I’m so so excited about this one!)
✰ smells like omega spirit (NR, 11k, omega!Louis) by @lululawrence
Louis is an omega doing a test run on neutralizers for a class project. Every time he talks to Harry he smells completely different.
Harry is an alpha who can't figure out if he's going crazy or his sense of smell is broken, but all he wants to figure out what Louis' real scent is.
Somehow they figure it out.
✰ ever since I tried your way (E, 25k, bH) by anonymous
In 1949 Harry left his bride at the altar, running away from the only life he'd known. When a kindhearted farmer offers him a ride in his truck and a place to sleep the two find themselves inexplicably drawn together. Isolated on Louis' farm with nobody but a field of dairy cows to intrude, the men are finally able to explore the parts of themselves they've spent their lives hiding away.
✰ was in no hurry, had no worries (E, 21k, bL) by @larrywmi / defencelouis
The year is 1999 and Harry can’t stop dedicating songs to Louis on the radio. Or the one where Harry hits Louis with his car.
✰ the murmur of yearning (E, 93k) by @mediawhorefics
Four years ago, Harry Styles was forced into a marriage of convenience to enrich and ally both his and his promised's families. The sudden, and slightly suspicious, death of the Marquess of Haxshire, however, brings great disturbance to Crescentfield Hall and, as his late's husband's closest male relative, Harry unexpectedly finds himself the head of a family he never felt he belonged to. Between a meddling distant cousin hellbent on inserting himself in Harry’s life, his wicked and mistrustful mother-in-law and his late husband’s advisors refusing to help or take him seriously, Harry struggles in the fight to keep what he’s earned and make the Estate finally feel like home.
Luckily, he doesn’t stand completely alone and finds himself an unlikely ally in Mr Tomlinson, the elusive Land Stewart who has been taking care of the property in the shadows for years. Louis Tomlinson is caring, patient, and unlike everyone else, he doesn’t seem to think Harry committed a murder.
--
as always, please let me know if I tagged anything incorrectly etc. and I hope this helps you a bit!! I hope you’re well and happy reading! :)
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peppermint
pairing: yaku x gn!reader;
genre: fluffy winter-ish fluff, safe for work, your child can read this;
warnings: kenma being a salty hoe, some swearing here and there, poor writing, 2 cool 2 beta test;
winter is cold, but a hot peppermint mocha can keep you warm
a/n: idk what is this BUT n e ways mah boi mori needs more content
15/01
cherishing your friends is the most normal thing on earth, would think morisuke, twirling in his hands the lucky charm you gave him before the match with nohebi. after all, it’s a nice sign of support and faith that gave him a pretty big boost of confidence. an average reaction, yaku says with a nervous smile while looking away from kuroo. one thing tetsu knows about his friend for sure - he can’t lie to someone’s face.
the evening started to fade out, replacing ruddy sunset with the haze of nightfall. all of nekoma’s members were already on their way home, minus one particular third-year libero, who was standing at the bus stop, checking his phone. tonight wasn’t such a big of a deal - after all, it’s been years since he started coming to your house and sleepovers were a casual event for you both.
ding
[17:43] y/n: moriii
[17:44] y/n: where the f r u
[17:44] y/n: it’s cold
the moment he saw the display lighting up with your name on it, a warm feeling spread through his soul.
[17:44] mori: at the station 🙄
[17:45] mori: freezing my ass while waiting for you
yaku, indeed, is quite a straightforward and a confident person - he never hesitates to give you his honest opinion on whatever the topic is. but since the day he caught himself thinking about you it was fairly difficult for him to express all the thoughts on his mind. and still, he’s sure you already caught up on that, right? you wouldn’t be so sweet and flirty with him otherwise. or are you just trying not to hurt his feelings? or…
“morisuke!“ the cheerful expression on your face rapidly changes into a worried one. “why are you even standing? your ankle needs a rest, don’t you remember?“
gosh. yes, he does remember about the ankle. but he can’t control his hands reaching out for your bag, so you dodge him.
“no, winner, you think i will let you do that?“ the nickname you gave him made his pale cheeks turn into a cherry-ish tone. Miyagi’s icy wind was doing its job.. yeah, the weather today was pretty chill. “i’ve got you the simpson biscuits.“
the sudden mention of that damn cookies makes a little giggle escape yaku’s mouth, following a burst of loud laughter.
“thanks, i hate them.”
29/01
something about mori’s presence never fails to make you feel safe and cozy. maybe those are the results of spending the past two years near him, maybe it’s just yaku himself, but god does it feel nice to curl your body into his while laying on a futon sofá. his steady heartbeat felt like a lullaby, mixing with background noises of “nightmare before christmas” and wind blowing outside. if someone saw this scene from the far without knowing you both, they would definitely think it’s a sappy couple’s pastime. thought, kai already thinks you’re a sappy couple.
a starbucks cup of peppermint mocha with morisuke scribbled on it was cooling on the chabudai.
your eyelids started to get heavy under the weight of accumulated fatigue and stress. the last thing you could sense was the light touch of the roughened fingertips on your thigh and soft kiss on the hairline.
[1:23] ken: why did you leave the server
[1:23] ken: dont tell me u r as lame as kuro and fell asleep
[1:27] mori: stfu you don’t even crop your memes fuck you
[1:28] ken: stop babying ur boo and come back kei team is beating my ass
[1:28] ken: im alone
yaku audibly gasps at the “boo” and bite his lip, trying to calm down the urge to snap at kenma through voice messages. it’s not like he listens to them anyways.
[1:30] mori: they’re not my boo or wtv bleached loser
[1:30] ken: yaku idfc who they r just join already
his gaze glides over your body, stopping on the parted lips. datemate, huh? maybe it was something special going between you two. maybe not. you always left him with a bunch of unanswered questions and a blunted feeling of hope. yaku has no doubts about his libero skills, about his grades or how damn attractive he is, but social interactions weren’t exactly his strength, let alone romantic ones. the first and the last time mori overstepped his pride and asked for advice was two month ago in the discord group chat. let’s just say kuroo isn’t the best romantic advisor out of here.
what will change if you actually start dating?
ice crystals slowly began to melt in yaku’s hands as he formed a snowball. the clock showed it’s half past four of the evening, half an hour later than the time you both agreed to meet.
winter is mori’s favourite. the way his heated body collides against january cold, warm khaki parka his mom got him on his 16 birthday, snow angels and even KFC chicken he despises doesn’t taste so bad. you were supposed to go on a cute and cliché coffee-shop date, that nishinoya strongly recommended. it was still a mystery to morisuke how yuu found out about his little crush, but the idea of being able to sit down and look at you peacefully drinking hot drink while the snow covered the streets of tokyo seemed quite nice.
but yet, you are a sleepy head.
and he knew it better than anyone else.
rubbing your eyes, you tried to focus your gaze on the phone’s display. it’s thursday. evening. the evening. your maybe date with yaku was supposed to happen like half an hour ago, if not more. and he’s probably waiting for you while freezing himself outside. abruptly getting up from the warmth of the bed and ignoring the darkness in eyes, you approach the window.
the moment you decided to get your head out and look up if he’s here, a sharp sensation of prickly frost burst your cheek.
a fucking snowball?
staring blankly at your hand, you blink twice in disbelief.
“good morning, y/n l/n, i hope you slept well” a loud voice cuts through the dead silence in your neighborhood. well, it definitely woke you up from your daydream, won’t lie.
briskly going down the stairs, meanwhile wrapping yourself in a warm and fluffy cardigan, you cursed yourself for being such a mess. oh gosh, how could you totally forget about such a thing? after getting so hyped about it and spending 3 hours choosing the clothes you would wear?
standing right in front of him feels awkward. as it should, you think, especially after making him wait for you for 30 minutes straight. trying to escape his curious look, probably because of your new pajamas, you sigh.
“well, do you still wanna get something hot with me?”
libero chuckles and the annoyance he was feeling not so long ago disappears.
“bet.”
taglist: @oof-she-needs-therapy @ennoshitasimp
#haikyuu scenarios#haikyuu fluff#yaku morisuke#yaku x reader#yaku x y/n#yaku x you#haikyuu x reader#haikyuu x y/n#haikyuu x you
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Proposal HCs
This is so cute!!!!! As soon as I saw this, I realized I’ve never really figured Nyx’s character out, so I must apologize in advance if he seems ... strange. But I will still try! I won’t get better if I only write for characters I’m comfortable with!
Proposal HCs
WC: 1720
Prompto Argentum
(Note: this will take place in the first five years after Noct is taken by the Crystal)
You and Prompto have been together for about four years after you two literally ran into each other in the Citadel lobby.
He had just started his Crownsguard training, and you were an assistant to one of the King’s council members.
You were carrying papers that were stacked pretty high, and he was so nervous about training that he didn’t see you walking towards him. When y’all collided, you were fine, but your papers flew everywhere. And I mean everywhere. They were still finding papers a few months later.
As soon as you hit each other, Prompto was snapped out of his daze and his beautiful blue eyes were wide with fear. He’d already fucked up, and he hadn’t even started!
He was quick to try and help you gather the papers, and it was when he looked you in the eyes that he accidently asked you out. Even years later, you would tease him: “How do you accidently ask someone out?” “It just slipped, okay?!”
Coming back to present, he was really nervous. It had happened during a pretty peaceful day about a year after Noct disappeared. You two were just chilling in Hammerhead, waiting for your next hunt. You were inside Takka’s old diner, sitting in one of the few remaining booths.
Prompto’s arm was around your shoulders, keeping you close against him, and you had rested your head against his shoulder. As he watched you fall asleep, he knew that he wanted to marry you.
The thought was surprising, to say the least, and he immediately tensed up, which woke you up.
“What’s wrong, Prom?”
“It’s nothing, (N/n). Get some rest, ‘kay?”
He sat on that thought for almost another five years before he actually asked.
This time it was after a hunt. The daemons had been getting stronger over the past couple years, and this was the first night he thought he wouldn’t come back alive. And as soon as he saw you in Hammerhead, waiting for him, he almost broke down.
You two had been intimate before, but that night was ... something else. Prompto was frantic, almost like he wasn’t sure he was still here with you. (You wouldn’t know what had happened on that hunt until a few years later). And it was rough. Not like he was never rough during sex; he’d get that way sometimes, more often than not after a taxing hunt. But that time he was sloppy, and afterwards he was more cuddly than usual.
That’s when it slipped.
“(Y/n),” Prompto mumbled into your shoulder, your back flush with his chest as his lips ghosted across your skin. His arms around you tightened as his nose nuzzled into your hair. You hummed, consciousness quickly fading. You were nearly asleep when he spoke up.
“Marry me.”
That got you awake, and you shot up, bringing him with you. You turned to face him, to maybe find some sort of sign that he had been joking or not. But he hadn’t been; his eyes were focused on you, and you were quickly falling into them.
“(Y/n)?” Prompto frowned. You realized you hadn’t said anything, and shook yourself.
“You’re serious?”
“Of course I’m serious,” he retorted, his frown deepening slightly. “I want to marry you. I’ve known for years, but I never--”
“Yes.” His ocean eyes were wide as saucers as you took his face in your hands. You brought your face before his, your lips barely touching “Of course I’ll marry you, Prompto.”
“Gods, I love you,” he groaned, capturing your lips in a tender kiss.
Ignis Scientia
Ignis would probably be the most romantic when he asks you, to be honest. (He’d also be kind of like Kunikida from Bungou Stray Dogs (at least, I think so) in the fact that he’d only ask you after a certain amount of time has passed.)
When he asks, you two had been together for six years, knowing him when he was a teenager. It surprised Noct when he found out his future advisor had a significant other. The poor boy was speechless when he first met you. You were a snarky little spitfire that rivalled Ignis at every turn, even in cooking, and the crown prince had difficulty deciding who he was more scared of enjoyed having over to cook.
You got along with the prince right from the start, and you rarely treated him as royalty, which he appreciated.
The day you met Gladiolus Amicitia was the day Noctis swore off every trying to spar with you. For having no formal training, you kicked ass. Gladio’s, to be specific. And Ignis was just watching with a smirk, like he knew what was going to happen.
N e ways, you joined the boys on their journey after they had reached Lestallum to meet up with Iris. You had gotten out with the young Amicitia, and during your travels to Lestallum, you regaled her with the stories of you kicking her brother's ass (yes, it happened more than once)
Ignis was loathe to let you come with, but after he had watched you tear into a man that had gotten too close to Iris, his was miraculously fine with it (in actuality, he knew you’d kick his ass if he tried to talk you out of it, and he decided that letting you come with would lead to less broken bones for the bros, specifically him tho)
When he asked, you were in Altissia (Cliche? Yes. Romantic? Fuck yes)
Y’all were to help with evacuating the city the next day, and they all thought that you all deserved a little breather before then. So you and Iggy went walking around the city. (okay, he doesn’t really ask you, per se, but you’ll see what I mean...)
“(Y/n),” Ignis called, and you turned (e/c) hues to him. You were smiling broadly, which caused him to smile in return. “How was tonight, love?”
“It was perfect, Iggy,” you cooed, hugging his arm and resting your head on his bicep. Your eyes turned to face forward, and Ignis reached into his pocket. His touch was featherlight as he slipped the ring onto your finger.
At the feel of cold metal on your hand, you looked down and your heart nearly stopped. He had placed a beautiful band on your ring finger. It was carved to match Ignis’s daggers, complete with an emerald gem flanked by two smaller and paler green jewels.
“Ignis--”
“I love you, (Y/n),” he interrupted, and you cocked an eyebrow. He exhaled a quick breath before coming to stand in front of you and taking your hands in his. “I had planned to do this when we had gotten back to Insomnia, but then the Empire overtook the city and I thought you lost to me.
“I was so, so happy when I learned you were with Iris, and that you were alive and well,” he continued. With each word, his voice grew smaller and his eyes strayed from yours to gaze at the ground. After a pause, he met your eyes once more and gave you a delicate smile. “So, allow me to ask: would you marry me, (Y/n)?”
The tears fell from your eyes before you could stop them, but you were quick to wipe them away and give the man your brightest smile.
“Yes. Yes, Ignis, I’ll marry you,” you sputtered, wrapping your arms around the man that had stolen your heart oh so long ago. “It’s always been yes.”
Nyx Ulric
(Okay, here’s where I hit a bit of trouble. I tried to research what Nyx’s personality was like, and I think I found something? But I’m not sure, and so I’m going to be using a lot of artistic liberty with this one, along with some things I found on the FFXV Fandom Wiki (yeah, I know you can’t always trust it, but it was the only lead I got after researching for half an hour😑). Okay, obligatory warning over. Enjoy 😋)
You and Nyx were from the same area of Galahd. You grew up with him and Libertus, had even fought with them when your homeland was occupied by the Empire.
You were just a year younger than the fearless man, and it was known that wherever one of you was, the other couldn’t be far behind. And that was pretty accurate, actually. After his sister died, you were always at his side; both to reassure him that you were safe (cuz at that point he thought of you like another sister) and to keep an eye on him (he’d get pretty reckless sometimes *cough* saving Libertus from Cerberus *cough*)
It was only when you both joined the Kingsglaive that his feelings for you changed. Not that it surprised him, really, but what did surprise him was how little time had passed between him realizing his feelings and him knowing he wanted to marry you. Seriously, it was like a month, tops.
After that, it only took him four months to work up the courage to ask you.
In Galahd, they had different marriage customs, and that included asking for one’s hand in marriage. And each custom differed depending on the area one lived in Galahd. For him to ask you, he’d have to have something made for you; something with the symbol of his family on it. In this case, he had decided on a metal cuff in the shape of a Galahdian Coeurl -- the symbol of his family. The Coeurl’s one visible eye was a pale, almost icy blue to match his own, and it would coeurlurl around your wrist to bite its own tail.
You groaned as you rolled onto Nyx’s chest. You did not want to get up and go to work, especially after your and Nyx’s escapade last night. (E/c) eyes travelled down to your wrist, a soft smile reaching your lips as they were met with the bangle carved into a Coeurl. You felt the man below you stir, and you lifted your head to meet his gaze.
“Morning, Nyx,” you cooed, pressing a kiss to the tip of his nose. You watched with a laugh as his face scrunched in disgust. The man sent you a glare, and you laughed more, almost wheezing when Nyx’s lips latched onto your throat.
“Morning, (N/n),” he groaned, nipping lightly at the skin. Your eyes went wide and you started to smack his back.
“Nyx! Don’t do that there! Everyone’ll see ‘em!” you hissed. Even though you had told him no, you were still disappointed when he retreated, but not for long. Nyx placed quick, light kisses all over your face with a smile until you had devolved into a giggling mess.
“C’mon, babe. We gotta get ready for work.”
You groaned before throwing a pillow at your fiancé.
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tagging @blackstrawberrynightmare cuz they requested this beautiful fluff😘
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Hold Me Down
I got this idea when listening to Halsey!!! I’m super in love with it! Wren a trained thief and ex-assassin? Check. Lawyer John who has a major role in the mafia family? Check. Blackmail? Check. Rival family? Check. Enemies to lovers? Check...wait-- Arranged marriage that eventually turns into something else because of course it would? well, yeah I guess, but--Yay! I made a thing!
I laugh, charming and light to the older gentleman, but I know it’s hollow and fake. I take a sip of champagne as my grip on his elbow tightens just a tad, testing as I watch from the corner of my eye. His face is red, flushed as he jokes with another attorney from a separate firm. I lightly tap my black manicured nail against the glass as I take in the setting. Normally, I wouldn’t have thought to work a charity gala, but this was too much of an opportunity to pass up, especially with the hypocrites that hosted and attended.
Greedy, horrible people that had more money than they deserved. The woman talking to the mayor was a financial advisor that embezzled thousands of dollars, the mayor himself taking some and both sharing an ivory powder hobby some nights, and my current date had a temptation with women a little too young for him. I was worried that I was too old to pull this off and would’ve had to find another mark. But as I scanned the crowd, my plan slightly changed.
He pulled his arm from my hand to wrap it around my waist, pulling me closer as he laughed again. The black laced mermaid gown hugged my curves perfectly, and he had no problem with shamelessly exploring them. But a smile remained on my burgundy lips, convinced that robbing these people blind would make it far more worth it than if I broke his fingers.
“I met this little one at the gallery opening a couple days ago,” he slurred with a laugh as he squeezed my ass. I shift, transferring the champagne flute to my other hand before my well-manicured hand is placed on his chest. “Poor thing had no fucking clue what she was looking at.”
Wrong. I’ve known this man for a month, I’ve broken his schedule, his habits down to the minor detail. I knew he would be there, and men like this didn’t want a strong, smart woman. If he did, his wife would be here, not me. But that was fine, because her being out of town meant he would feel comfortable enough to take me home, and at this pace that I was keeping him on, he wouldn’t make it past the living room. His safe was in his office, behind a painting he changed out frequently. I just had to make sure to keep the booze coming.
His young companion threw his head back with a laugh. “Now, don’t fault the poor girl, Charles. You’re a bit old for her, don’t you think? Besides,” the man threw me a smirk with a dark glint in his eye. “I could teach her a thing or two.”
“Is that so?” Charles taunts, his own sneer crawling along his wrinkled face. “Word has it, you can’t keep a damn thing. This last case makes what? Seven that you’ve lost to John Seed this year, alone? He pretty much takes what he wants from you, Trey. No, if I was gonna hand this little thing to a younger and greater man, I would just escort her to him myself.”
The blonde male’s face reddens, but not from the alcohol. I hadn’t been in Atlanta very long, six months since I had moved from LA, constantly on the run. But I heard the last name Seed a few times since being here, and I had made the decision to steer clear the best I could. They were a very profound mafia family in the city, specializing mostly in gun dealings and embezzlement, and some drug trafficking. You didn’t fuck with that family. Or at least, that’s what I’ve heard.
“Yes, well, maybe you should shove the whore to his feet as a gift. It’s his party, after all.” Trey snapped before moving on to someone else and I freeze, my gaze falling frantically through the crowd as unease sets in, and I realized I wasn’t as prepared as I believed. I wasn’t exactly aware of who had thrown the event, too focused on my mark than anything else. It was my first big job since coming here and I had gotten tunnel vision. Rookie mistake. I didn’t even know what they looked like, and here I was, aiming to steal from their own guests. I’ve never felt so unprepared and stupid in my life.
Charles squeezes me again, bringing my attention to his drunken smile. “Don’t worry your pretty little head, I won’t let the big bad lawyer get yah.” He teases. “He might not always be a friend, but he’s respectful. He’ll wait until I’m done with you. Besides,” he kicked back the rest of his scotch, a drop running down from the corner of his mouth. “the little prince doesn’t attend these damn things anyway.”
“You’ll protect me?” I asked, batting my eyelashes at him, tilting my head to the side as I played the innocent card.
He chuckled. “Only for the night, darlin’. Just do what you’re here to do.” He slaps my ass once more, before he’s calling towards another friend. I quickly excuse myself for the restroom as an older woman eyes me with disapproval. Charles was anything but subtle, and it had taken every once of my patience to work this job.
My black strappy stilettos click hard against the glossy floor as I eye the crystal chandelier. This was probably the nicest thing I had or ever would attend. My eyes were a bit bigger than my stomach on this one, I knew. But it was ripe for the taking, hardly any competition whatsoever. It was almost too good to be true and having found out that one of the biggest mob families was in charge of it made it so.
My dark hair fell in waves over my left shoulder, the side pinned back elegantly. An easy way to hide my face if I needed to, but gracefully showing enough skin to tempt any drunken man. Enough to distract. I slowed, my steps becoming a bit light with a sway as I placed my empty glass on a tray of a passing waiter. My eyes scan out again, stopping short as they catch bright blue ones.
They’re a mixture of light and dark, a curiosity there that, if I hadn’t been working a job, I would have indulged. His dark hair is slicked back, his beard well-trimmed. I swallow as I take in the tattoos that cover his hands. It’s odd to me, to see someone as covered in ink as he in a setting like this, but I suppose I was no different. I showed mine off without a thought, not a care in the world, because this wasn’t my world. I was a mere tourist, visiting and having a taste before I retreated back into the shadows like I never existed.
His eyes left me, responding to something his friend said, and I’m on the move again. I can’t afford eyes on me this evening, not for what I was about to do. I turn, fake a trip as I shoulder a man and we both reach to catch the other. I gasp in shock, making a show of horror on my face. The man is immediately concerned, and his handsome face is scanning mine. Such a shame.
“I’m so sorry!” I gushed, fear in my eyes. He smiles, and as he helps me back up, my hand slips into his pocket, pulling out a money clip as my other hand gripped his wrist near his watch. My fingers brush the clasp, and when he glances away, I slip the money past the slit of my dress and tucked it underneath my knife strap on my thigh. He turns back, both of my hands holding his as I smile wide and thank him for his help. He smiled back and went to turn away as I allowed my fingers to trail over his skin as I pulled his watch away from him.
It all happened within seconds, but it was like slow motion for me as it always was. My heart would pound as adrenaline burned in my veins. It was a thrill, the chance of getting caught and the chance of getting away with it. Dutch had always told me I was the best he’d ever seen, other than her. I was going to be her replacement, the next best thing. But I shoved the thoughts aside as I enter the hallway and make my way to the ladies’ room. It felt like a lifetime ago, and I needed it to stay that way.
I check to make sure I’m alone before I pull the cash out, giving it a quick count. There were a few hundred dollars, easy, from what I could see. A decent take, but probably the only one I would be able to do, even if I had my clutch. Which was definitely an option. I could convince Charles to leave early if I promised something sweet in return. Knock him out when we get there if it wasn’t drunk enough, and then crack his safe. Call it an early night. The start of a pounding in my head was awfully convincing.
I tuck the watch in my dress, wincing from the cold metal digging into my skin, and only partially grateful that my cleavage was able to hide it at all, discomfort aside. I needed to stop acting impulsively and get the hell out of there. I check my makeup, my smokey eye still in place and the lipstick not a bit smeared. I smile, doing what I can to hype myself up to go back out there. I could do this, I needed to do this. So, I walk confidently back into the dimly lit hallway, prepared to throw my plan into motion.
“I hope you’re alright, dear. That was a nasty spill you almost had out there.” A honey voice called, making me jump and turn. The man in the navy-blue suit is leaning against the wall with his hands tucked in his pockets, his drink long gone.
“I’m fine.” I breath out with a smile, trying to not allow this to throw me. “Thank you.” I go to turn away, but he pushes himself off the wall and takes a few steps forward as he tilts his head, scratching his beard before he points to me.
“I don’t think we’ve had the pleasure of meeting.” He’s thoughtful for just a moment before a smirk graces his lips. “No, I think I would remember someone as stunning as you.”
I’m taken aback by his change in demeanor, hesitating as my mind races. My gut twists as I blush and smile at him. “You’re too sweet. I’m Sofie.” I offer my hand to him to shake and he eyes it for only a second before he grasps it.
His skin is warm, and his hand almost engulfs mine. My breath hitched only slightly as he placed a chaste kiss against my knuckles, his eyes not leaving mine. “Pleasure to meet you.” He lowers my hand, letting go, but it doesn’t stop his eyes from tracing the ink on my skin. “Beautifully done. You do it yourself?”
“No, I had it done in Oklahoma City.” I give him some truth, some sort of solidarity that helps assure that I’m honest and gives me the base line, foundation almost, that I desperately need. “A few years ago, actually.”
He hummed before his blue eyes find mine and I’m captured by them, the same light and dark that had been there before. “You’re here with Charles, aren’t you? Good lawyer, great taste in women, though he doesn’t normally go for the smart ones, much like yourself.”
I laugh this time, my shoulders relaxed as he flirted, and my confidence soared. “Oh? Is that so? And what makes you assume that I’m a smart one?”
“Well, it takes a smart woman to be able to pull off what you did.” His smile twists into something darker and my stomach drops. “Not anyone can steal right from under a man’s nose, Miss Marie. Especially men like the ones here this evening.”
I swallow, but my mouth is dry, and my smile is gone. He clicks his tongue disapproving before his arm goes around my waist, pulling me close as he turns me, and his hand squeezes a bit above my hip. We’re walking towards a side exit and I panic, pushing my body back against his arm as I shove away from him. I go to run, but his hand is around my upper arm in seconds, dragging me out into the Georgia night.
It’s dark as he shoves me forward, and I stumble before catching myself against a damp black car in the alleyway. I turn to him, venom on my tongue as he struts forward, fidgeting with his cufflinks. The pavement is wet from the rain, the air sticky from humidity, and I am furious at this man for touching me. He looks like the devil as his expensive shoes tap against the ground, and he’s the first to speak.
“It takes a brave soul to steal from me, darling.”
“Funny, I don’t recall my hand in your pocket.” I shot back; all pretenses gone. I knew I was had. He chuckles with a shake of his head.
“Those are my guests, so yes, you were stealing from me. I don’t appreciate people taking my things.” He’s getting closer and closer, stalking me like I was his prey. I sneer at him. “And for you to do so, I’m assuming you don’t know who I am. So, I’m going to show you.”
That’s when it dawns on me, just who exactly I have in front of me. I pale, stepping back until my back hits the car behind me. “I was told that you don’t attend your own events.” I rush out breathlessly.
“Do you usually believe everything everyone tells you? And here I took you for a professional.” He scoffed before stopping in front of me. “I mean, at least get it from a source you can rely on. One that you’re either paying for or they’re too terrified to tell you wrong.”
John Seed is fast and I’m rusty, I know that the second his hand is around my throat, the other pulling my leg over his hip as he slams me against the car. I can smell his cologne, expensive and spicy. But there’s a hint of sandalwood underneath and I try to focus on something else. He’s sneering, and I can see the anger there in his eyes as he smirks. I hate that he can feel my pulse, that he knows how hard my heart is pounding.
“He met you at a gallery, which tells me you’ve planned this for a while. You know his routine enough to catch him on the day he’s buying a new piece to replace the last one. Batted your eyes enough to get an invite here, a way in, and gave him a false name. We’re both smarter than that, aren’t we? But then what? You go home with him, fuck him, and take the money, hmm?”
“I have higher standards than that. He’d conveniently pass out before he could get his hand down his pants.” I snap, glaring vehemently at him. “But how do you know all this?”
He tisked again as he leaned in. “Because darling, it’s my money.” His hand moves up my leg and I bite my lip as his fingers graze the knife I have strapped there. “And it’s my fucking city. I know when a new player enters the game, it’s my job to know. You think I don’t have eyes everywhere? Especially when I’m financially invested? I loaned him that money, darling. He’s indebted to me. Those men following him around isn’t his damn security, they’re my men keeping tabs and making sure he doesn’t run. They tell me everything that goes on, so when a beautiful thing like yourself latches to someone like him? I get curious. So, yes sweetheart, you were going to steal from me. And you could have been left alone if you hadn’t overstepped. But greed does that to you.” He slips under the knife strap before pulling out the money clip I hid there. I pursed my lips as he tucked it in his jacket pocket and his hand returns, pulling out my knife this time. He hums as he examines it, the custom navy blade catching what little light was provided from the city.
“So, where’s the watch?” he asked before pressing the tip right above my panty line. I try to move away from him, but there’s nowhere to go. “Here?” I clenched my teeth, refusing to answer. “No?” His eyes narrowed as he trailed the knife up my body slowly before stopping just under my chest, the point pressing harshly against the bottom of my breast. His eyes briefly glance down with a tick of his brow, and I swallow, desperate to keep the blush from appearing as his eyes returned. “How about here?” I sigh out, glancing away from his piercing gazing and he laughs. “Figures. Not very original, are we? Disappointing. Won’t you be a dear? My hands are rather full at the moment.”
I thought my teeth would crack at the force of my clenched jaw. I moved my arm quickly, and he pressed the knife a little harder against me, a quick squeeze of my throat for a warning. I froze before slowly moving my hand once more. His thumb pressed against my jawline, moving my head so I could meet his eyes. It is humiliating, but I would take it over death, assuming that he would even let me live after all this. I pull out the watch and let it dangle on my finger, taunting him in return.
He grabs it, quickly pocketing it, but the knife doesn’t move. He leans in, his breath fanning my face as he spoke, his hand finding my throat again. “Considering this evening, I’m in a charitable mood, so I will give you a warning. Listen closely, because I do not repeat myself and I don’t offer this kindness to many.” I swallow as he towers over me, his body pressing against mine and the only thing between us was my own knife digging into my skin. I bite my lip to keep myself from saying something that would test the kindness he was bestowing upon me. “You will never do this again, not under my house or with any of my guests. The Seed family is off limits to you, and if I catch you doing that again, I won’t hesitate to kill you. Do you understand?”
“Yes.” I mumbled. With one last squeeze, he let go of my throat and took a step away. He makes a show of tossing the knife to the side, the metal clattering against rock is harsh against the silence.
“I can tell you aren’t from around here, so please, consider this your welcoming gift from the Seed family. Enjoy Atlanta, darling.”
I’m calm on the outside as I ascend the stairs, but a hurricane on the inside. I keep it in check as my heels click against the shitty staircase of the apartment building. I frown once I reach my level, making my way down the hall as I eye the young blonde sitting outside her apartment on the floor. Skylar Khors was a good kid, still in school and working full time to support her and her boyfriend. We talked here and there, being neighbors, but I tried my best not to get attached. It was hard though, because I heard them arguing most nights, making my heart twist in empathy. I didn’t have time to be neighborly tonight, though, as my hand shook to unlock my door.
“God dammit!” I shrieked, slamming the door behind me before removing and throwing my heels to the ground. My back hits the wall as my palms press against my eyes, the only defense to the tears that are gathering. I’m shaking, from anger and humiliation, and I want nothing more than to go back to claw his smug face off. My mind is racing, trying to rationalize the fact that I just lost out on a huge job that would have set me for the next year. To an egotistical shady lawyer that definitely had a hand in the fucking mob. The image of him throwing me out makes my blood boil even hotter. The way he had touched and man-handled me, using my own knife against me before throwing it—
“Wren?” Skylar called with a knock on my apartment door. “Everything alright?”
I smile wistfully with a scoff. “It’s all good, go back to bed. Just had a long night.” I pushed off the wall and unzipped my dress as I go. I don’t know if Skylar was still at my door or not, but I didn’t care. I needed time to reevaluate my next move. I needed something to pull through for me. LA was too hot, New York was a festering pit. I heard Atlanta was a good place to score, but nobody warned me of the fucking monopoly over it. I was just going to have to get creative.
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Renewal
Characters: Prussia, Austria; mentioned Germany and Russia
Summary: After the fall of the Berlin Wall, Roderich invited Gilbert to Vienna in an attempt to clear the other man's mind and provide him with an opportunity to get outside. They catch up, knocking the rust off their strange relationship after not seeing each other for years.
Vienna, 1989.
Gilbert looked around, shifting in his seat nervously and absentmindedly folding and re-folding the sleeves on his shirt. How he loathed Vienna, loathed it and this ridiculous castle. Roderich’s tastes had always been too luxurious for his liking, the home decorated to be an ostentatious display of wealth and filled with antique furniture. It made him so uncomfortable, afraid that he might sneeze and be forced into debt to repay the cost of whatever he ruined.
His host returned, placing two wine glasses down before them. "Why so anxious?" Roderich didn't have to be focused on Gilbert to feel the wave of unease rolling of him. It also didn't help that he could hear the incessant tapping of Gilbert's foot, a nervous habit he'd had for years. "I would've expected you to be relieved to be out of your own country. Are we no longer good enough for you here?" His voice lilted up at the end of the sentence, gently teasing his guest.
"I hate this city. The people here have always been so snobbish. Your home looks like a poor man's idea of a rich man. It always has, it's excessive." Prussia waved a hand in a noncommittal way. "It's....everything's a lot."
As he took a long sip of his wine, Austria sighed. "Are you done?" The Prussian nodded. "I figured it would be nice for you to travel again, now that you could. I didn't think me rushing to Berlin would do you any good. You need to see what you missed of the world." It was his roundabout way of saying it meant a lot that Gilbert would visit him first.
"It's strange though. When you're in a cage for so long, you get used to it. In a certain way it even becomes comforting. The isolation almost becomes welcome or that you feel you deserved it." Prussia's eyes were burning with an indescribable emotion when they locked with Austria's. There was a flesh of desperation in them, gone as quickly as it appeared. "I can't help feeling that, in some way, I deserved it for everything. Monsters belong to be imprisoned."
That broke something in Roderich. He felt his heart throb with sympathy. He forced himself to keep the eye contact, despite wanting to look away in fear of giving away too much. "You're not a monster. And if you are, then so am I." He smiled faintly, trying to make them both feel better in vain. "All you've ever been is a bit boorish, but that's not a criminal offense."
They drank in silence. Both had been more vulnerable with the other than they'd wished. It was still too new, viewing each other as confidants and uneasy friends instead of the enemy. It felt even worse to consider them on opposing sides now, not after they'd shared so much and fought against much worse. How could they think of each other as evil when they finally knew what true evil was? It would feel like a dismissal of everything. No, they'd have to learn to get used to rhythms of this new stage in their relationship and whatever it would bring.
Roderich passively observed Gilbert. He'd never seen the man so unsure of himself. Normally Gilbert's ego suffocated the whole room. He moved in a way that commanded attention, that challenged the world to consent to his will or face the consequences of disobedience. This was not the same man. His emotions were impossible to decipher, walled off in a place deep within. His eyes kept darting around as if he was searching for the nearest escape.
Gilbert reached for his glass of wine. Roderich snatched his wrist midair. "My God, Gilbert. What happened?" Scars crisscrossed Gilbert's skin. Most appeared to finally be disappearing for good, but many remained.
"Relax, I didn't cause them." Gilbert jerked his hand away, hiding it beneath the table. "It's nothing for you to be concerned about. It's better I took a few more beatings than the others." He gave a toothy smile, trying to bring some normalcy to everything. "You're the one who said it's always what I've been good for."
A dark emotion passed across Roderich's face. A sickly feeling crept into his stomach. "I may have said so, but I never acted on it in such a way." It wasn't unusual for him to be so furious in Gilbert's presence, but it was for it to be on Gilbert's behalf. "What a barbarian. Where's the humanity? To act with such cruel disregard for other's and their sufferings? What a big man, I'm trembling." He scoffed. "To think he was the boogeyman we were all so terrified of for all these years. To be so fearful of a coward is dishonorable."
Such strong sentiments were shocking. For once in his life, Gilbert didn't know quite what to say. Unworthiness overwhelmed him. He bowed his head, staring at his hands as they played with the lace ends of the tablecloth. "You don't have to pretend to care so much. I appreciate the invitation enough as it is. Save me your mock outrage."
"You think I'm pretending?"
"Did I stutter?" It was the most Gilbert-esque thing he'd said all day. In any other conversation, it would've been a revelation.
Roderich rubbed the bridge of his nose, exhaling loudly. How to get it through such a thick skull? "I understand that our relationship hasn't always been on the best of terms, to put it incredibly mildly. But you have to be a bigger idiot than I ever thought possible to not realize my feelings on you have changed." He chuckled, shaking his head. "Really, Gilbert, actually think about this. After my divorce, against every possible logical expectation, you were the only one to check on me. Not only once, you made a point of visiting every month to harass me and give me some semblance of normalcy. And you never mentioned whatever it was you were doing with Erzsébet! It was the most oddly comforting thing and, to my horror, I began looking forward to seeing you." He rolled his eyes. "Let's not even mention the last war. We were thick as thieves then, running off and getting into whatever mischief was necessary."
"You only worked with me then because you had to." Gilbert remained glum, but didn’t dare to look at Roderich squarely to prevent being proved wrong.
"Oh, please. Bavaria and Saxony shot down our offer, I could've done the same to you had I wanted to. But I didn't because I trusted your judgement and wanted in on your little scheme. And I don't regret that to this day, regardless of whatever the personal costs may have been." Roderich smiled and it reached his eyes. "Whenever I had the misfortune of meeting Iv-Russia," he stopped himself, refusing to use Russia's personal name out of principle. "I would hound him by constantly asking after you. How you're doing, were you holding up well, urging him to pass on messages to you from Ludwig and me. I would do the same on Erzsébet's behalf, but you were the focus. I had visions of you trying to be her savior and winding up in an even worse position."
Gilbert bit his lip, wearing an incredibly guilty look. "How did you guess?"
“Because I know you! Every time we'd sign a new treaty or agreement, you'd be begging me to make her life better. It got to the point where I was telling my advisors to throw in an expansion of Hungarian rights before we even began negotiations.” Roderich rolled his eyes. “You expect me to believe that behavior would've ceased, especially under rulers with a much crueler bent? Though I appreciate that it must surely make my monarchs look so kindly and benevolent.”
There was no point in even touching that last part. Especially when Austria would have ample examples of Hohenzollern excesses to throw in Prussia's face. Instead, he focused on how touched he felt over everything. Things really had changed for them, the tables had turned so completely. A warmth spread throughout Gilbert's chest. “I had no idea you asked about me.”
“I suspected you didn't. I have no idea why Russia would be so reluctant to pass on anything to you two. We weren't trying to spread Western propaganda, or whatever he would be concerned for. The only goal was to let you both know your family still loved and missed you gravely.”
“He wanted us to be one big, happy family. To do that, for some fucked up reason, he felt like he had to constantly tell us that no one on the outside cared in order to break us down. It really got to those who only had friends on the inside regardless of whatever Erzsi or I said to them.” Gilbert shrugged, nonchalantly. Out of everything that happened behind the wall, this facet concerned him least. Its effects on him had been minimal. He couldn't believe Ludwig, no matter the bad terms they parted on, would disown Gilbert and leave him to the wolves. The kid had always been loyal to a fault. “Wait, you missed me? And consider me family?”
The vein in Roderich's forehead began throbbing. “Why is this so difficult for you to understand?’ Grumbling, he hurried off and returned with a pen and piece of paper. “I'm going to make this very simple and I'm going to speak slowly so you understand. Look me in the eyes, if you misunderstand a word of this, I'm going to hit you." Once they made eye contact, Roderich continued. “Our relationship has changed, meaning things are different now. I regard you, Gilbert, as not only one of my closest friends, but as family. And not merely the most distant of cousins either, close family, the type of family you wish to spend time around and worry for when appropriate.” He quickly wrote something on the paper before sliding it over the table. "Here. Try carrying this around with you in case you forget again."
Gilbert picked it up. It read ‚Roderich und ich sind Familie.’ He folded it and tucked it into his wallet, unable to stop himself from smiling. Perhaps his existence wasn’t so pointless, perhaps there was some meaning to be gleaned from his life. "You're actually a good guy. A really good guy. I wish I'd realized it sooner." His heart felt so full it could burst.
It was Roderich's turn to be caught off-guard. He looked away, studying the Schwind that hung on the opposite wall. “‘Good’ is not a classification I would accept so willingly. At the risk of sounding too Catholic even for myself, we've all committed sin. I'm simply trying to learn from mine, even if it's a bit late in some cases.” His lips turned the slightest bit upward. “But I do appreciate the compliment.”
"You realized it sooner than everyone else we know." Gilbert sipped his wine, needing something to do with his hands. "Don't be so hard on yourself. That has to count for something." A coy smile slipped through. "Besides, I know you hid people in your homes throughout the war. You shouldn't look so surprised; you were always asking me to help you stock up on food and clothes and you suddenly had new servants here. What other explanation could there have been?"
Despite all the time that had passed, the acknowledgement of his deed caused Roderich's heart to race. The instinctual fear at getting caught took over, regardless of there being an absence of authorities who would arrest him for it. "Well, I knew many of the upcoming Viennese artists and musicians then. It seemed...such a waste of incredible talent and life." He paused, the memories coming in vivid technicolor. "Anyone would've done the same."
"You know that's not true."
There was a point there. "I wanted to at least sound humble, regardless of whether it reflected reality accurately." He folded his hands in his lap. This was something he'd never discussed before; it was a secret he'd kept close to his heart first out of a survival instinct and later out of a desire to not be viewed in a heroic light. "You yourself noted how my last name could be perceived, as had various Jewish communities here. Over the years I'd warmed up to them and begun to count many of them as friends, those especially who easily shrugged off or accepted the nature of our existence. To turn on them in their greatest hour of need seemed to me to be beyond reprehensible. I had grown close to many of them, been invited into their homes, to witness their births, deaths, and marriages. You'll understand more than anyone else that, for my own peace of mind, I had to do what was right."
Gilbert had listened in silence. The coy little smirk never left his face. “The ice king does have a heart.” At Roderich's bewildered expression, Gilbert barked out a laugh. “Relax! I'm only kidding! You're looking at me as if I just shot your dog!” He wiped a wayward tear out the corner of his eye. “What can I say? I'm not surprised by any of this. Despite your best efforts, you're not heartless. A couple centuries ago, I could see you ignoring everything and letting the chips fall where they may, but not now. You figured out that having a little humanity isn't so bad.”
Now, that was insulting. Roderich harrumphed. “You say it’s a joke, but must you make me sound like a being incapable of the most basic of emotions?” He folded his arms over his chest, rolling his eyes in the process. Oddly enough, the prickle of irritation felt comforting. Over Gilbert’s long absence, Roderich had naturally felt annoyed at others plenty of times. But being aggrieved over America’s brashness or Arthur’s arrogance or Francis’ smugness didn’t feel quite the same. Being irritated at Gilbert came as easily as breathing air, felt like the comfort of sheets against you at night. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed it till this very moment.
Apparently, his face was giving it away. “What are you staring at me like that for?” Gilbert’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Did I suddenly grow a third eye or something?”
“‘Or something’ for sure.” The corners of Roderich’s lips softened into an easy smile. “It’s nice to have you home, that’s all. It seems I really did miss you.”
Gilbert grinned, his most natural one yet of the evening. “I’m back forever now. There’s no more getting rid of me. From now on, you’ll be stuck with me till the end of eternity.”
“Threatening me so soon?” Roderich brought his wine glass to his lips, smiling. Against all odds, he was looking forward to the rest of eternity.
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Unsolicited (1/3) (M)
Jackson Wang is a perfect gentleman and he thinks it’s extremely vital that you understand... that is not his penis.
Warnings: Fluff. Crack? Adult topics, mentions of sexual harassment (but not too serious) and plenty of swearing. College!au. Please don’t ask when I’ll update. There are three parts and the next one will come when it’s ready.
Word Count: 4.8k+
It was perhaps an unfortunate set of circumstances that led you to become acquainted with Jackson Wang’s penis long before you ever saw his face. There had been multiple opportunities for your life to take a different turn. Had any of those events occurred differently, you would never have learned who Jackson Wang was.
But the idea that we have any control over our lives is an illusion. Life is simply a set of circumstances thrust upon us.
Not too different from how Jackson Wang’s male organ was unceremoniously thrust in your face one bleak Tuesday afternoon.
You were tired and miserable after spending all night finishing your Economics paper and attending a full day of classes, but you still had to trudge over to the student government building to handle your appointments. It was one of the aforementioned unfortunate circumstances that led to you being elected into the student government body of your university. You had been appointed as student advisor to the Sexual Harassment Response Cell six months ago.
The Sexual Harassment Response Cell was a small student-run organization. It had been hastily approved by the university authorities after an ugly incident involving a professor assaulting a female student. The student body had been enraged and taken to the streets in a passionate protest. To prevent such incidents from recurring in the future, and in order to handle the bad press, the authorities set up the SHRC. The SHRC was a place where students could come to share their experiences of sexual harassment on campus and learn about the appropriate avenues for recourse. The Cell’s responsibility was to provide victims with counselling, support, and if they wished to file a formal complaint with the university, then to make sure they had the right evidence and that their accusations weren’t unfounded.
How did you end up being a student advisor for the SHRC?
Well. You might have attended the protests last year and punched a guy in the face for saying something sexist about the matter. The sound of his nose cracking under your fist was extremely satisfying.
The ride to the police station in the cop car was not.
You made it out of jail in a few hours but the reputation stuck with you. You were now the chick who punched a dude at the protests and somehow you became a poster-girl for the cause. Bambam nominated you for the student government elections and Yugyeom published a picture of you punching the sexist guy in the front page of the monthly student newsletter. You won the election by an overwhelming majority.
If only you had known what you were signing up for.
--------------------------------
“You’re late. My appointment was at 3 pm,” the freshman girl waiting in your tiny counselling office informed you haughtily.
Her eyelashes were long and fake and didn’t match her hair color. You tried not to make a snap judgement; she was supposed to be a victim but the disgusted look she was giving you made that difficult to believe.
You glanced at the clock. It was two minutes past 3.
“Uh, I’m sorry. I had a class all the way on the other side of campus-”
“Whatever,” she cut you off. “Let’s just get this over with.”
You nodded and sat behind the desk with a forced smile. You were supposed to be patient and understanding with the victims because they were usually going through a hard time. You were also supposed to listen to them if they cried and help them find ways to deal with their trauma. You took a deep breath and reminded yourself that the girl in front of you had suffered something.
“I see on the form you filled in that your name is Nari, and you’re a Fashion studies major?” you asked her kindly. “That sounds interesting. Are you having a good time here at university?”
Nari raised an eyebrow at you.
“Fuck all that. I don’t want to chat. I’m here to report cyber-harassment. This dude I met at a frat party two weeks ago managed to get hold of my number and he’s been harassing me through text messages ever since. He’s also a senior and he’s the founding member of the basketball team on campus … so there’s like a power parity-”
“Power disparity,” you mumbled.
She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, whatever it’s called. Basically he could make life extremely difficult for me because he has a lot of power and stuff. I hear that makes it even worse because he’s abusing his position? Are you writing all of this down?” she demanded suddenly.
You blinked. “Uh, I’ll make a note after our meeting. I’d rather focus on listening to you right now.”
“Anyway, he sent me a bunch of creepy messages threatening to rape me if I didn’t go out with him and he keeps trying to sext me. I have all the screenshots right here. Yesterday was the last straw because he just crossed all lines by sending me these. Want to see?” She thrust her cellphone at you and you could see screenshots of a text conversation.
“Uh….”
“Read them!”
You did. The screenshots were pretty bad; the guy talked about how he would go to any lengths to make the girl go on a date with him, and how badly he wanted to fuck her. The conversation went on in multiple screenshots. You had just reached the third screenshot when you saw it. A large, close-up image of a man’s penis.
You flinched. “Oh god.”
The girl smiled at you smugly. “See? Exactly my reaction. Unsolicited dick pic. That counts as harassment, right?”
You returned the phone to her, not really wanting to look at the penis or come across more pictures of it. It was large, you thought, but you hadn’t seen enough penises outside of porn to make an informed judgement. Maybe the angle was just flattering.
“All of it counts as harassment,” you reassured her.
Nari looked relieved. “Okay, good. Because I want him off the basketball team and preferably suspended.”
“I understand that you’re angry and want justice but let’s take this step-by-step. If you want to file a formal complaint with the university against this guy, then it’s going to be a long process. University authorities will give him a hearing and you’ll have to present your evidence before them. I’ll be there to guide you through it all and support you but we also need to consider the chances he will manage to prove his innocence, and the amount of trauma that this whole process might put you through. I want you to consider the pros and cons of taking this step.”
Nari blinked. “They can’t just kick him off the team right away?” she demanded.
You stared at her in disbelief.
“No. No disciplinary action can be taken against anyone without giving them a fair trial.”
She groaned. “Unbelievable. Victims like me have to go through the harassment and then all this bullshit as well. How long will the whole process take once you file the complaint for me?”
“It could take a couple of weeks.”
Nari looked unimpressed. “This senior, Jackson Wang, is harassing me. I’m an innocent girl and I didn’t come all the way to university to have guys send me pictures of their ugly dicks, okay? I want him off the basketball team as soon as possible. What are you going to do about it?”
You felt tired.
“Alright, look. I’m going to call this Jackson guy in and have a chat with him first so I can give him a heads-up about the accusations that he’s facing. Then I’d like you to come in again so I can share his response with you and I’ll help you file a complaint with the authorities if that’s what you still want to do in a couple of days. Does that sound good?”
“You can’t file it now?”
“I feel like it might be a good idea to wait a few days. Being too hasty about these things usually backfires. Let’s build a solid case first.”
Nari looked annoyed and then tucked her phone into her purse
“Fine. I’ll email you copies of the evidence and I’ll be waiting for you to call me in again.”
“Okay. Have a nice day!”
She rolled her eyes as she sauntered out of the room. “Whatever.”
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
“What is it with men and sending dick pics?” you wondered.
The cafeteria adjacent to the library was crowded and noisy on a Tuesday night. Bambam stuffed an enormous spoonful of rice into his mouth. He munched thoughtfully and swallowed before giving you a cheerful smile.
“It’s sexy. Who doesn’t like getting nudes?”
You frowned and poked at your noodles. You had thought that you were hungry but seeing the picture of Jackson Wang’s dick had ruined your appetite. The sausages on your plate were not helping the unpleasant image that kept flashing through your mind.
“Anyone who’s doing anything except masturbating?” you demanded as you used your chopsticks to transfer the sausages to Bambam’s plate. He bit into one while you continued your rant. “At no point during the day have I ever thought oh I’m horny I wish I had a picture of a dick to look at. Dicks are ugly.”
Bambam frowned mid-chew. “Hey. Can we be a little nicer to them? I happen to own one of those too and my boy enjoys the camera.”
You glared at him. “Please don’t tell me you send unsolicited dick pics to women.”
“Of course not. I only send them when the mood of the conversation is getting sexy and I’m sure that the girl is into it. I have girls who text me saying ‘show me how turned on you are for me’ and that’s basically code for ‘send me a dick pic’. Sometimes girls actually ask for them, you know?”
“And a lot of the time they don’t.”
Bambam shrugged. “Yeah, I guess. There are always those guys.”
“But what’s the logic?” you demanded. “What is the thought process that goes into snapping a dick pic in the middle of the day and sending it to some poor girl who's going about her business? Do men think their dicks are that attractive? Are they assuming that the girl will get so uncontrollably turned on by the close-up shot of their penises that they’ll drop everything and run to desperately fuck them? What sort of weird male delusion is that?”
Bambam sighed. “I doubt it goes that far. I think these guys are just hoping for nudes in return. You know? Like I showed you mine now please show me yours?”
“Gross.”
“Men likes receiving nudes. They just assume girls feel the same way.”
You rolled your eyes. Maybe you shouldn't be letting Nari’s situation get to you. The image of Jackson Wang’s semi-erect penis was burned into your mind unpleasantly (and now a copy of it was even sitting in your email inbox) but you needed to be more professional about the situation. You had sent an email to Jackson Wang asking him to come into your office tomorrow and the man had sent a simple and short ‘Cool. Will be there.’ as a response. You weren’t sure how to handle the meeting but you figured that getting an idea of whether Jackson Wang would confess to the dick pic or would deny sending it, seemed like a good place to start.
Bambam had finished eating your sausages and you were relieved to see them gone.
“So, did you make a decision about the new club you’re joining this semester?” he asked. The two of you had decided to join new clubs that would help you on your resumes in the long-term. “I think I’m going to try out for the basketball team. I figure since I’m tall I should go for the sport that gives me a natural advantage, right?”
“Are you sure you want to go for a sports club?” you asked disapprovingly.
Bambam frowned. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Because you suck at almost all forms of physical activity. Just come with me to the environment club meeting on Friday, please?”
“Ew. No. Ask Yugyeom.”
“He won’t come unless you come,” you whined. Yugyeom and Bambam wanted to play sports but you were personally opposed to putting in so much physical effort. You already had enough difficult classes to deal with this semester. The Environment Club seemed much simpler. You could attend meetings once a week and maybe help design some awareness posters or join a clean-up drive. “Why can’t you just come with me to the meeting? I don’t want to go alone.”
Bambam pointed to himself. “This beautiful body was not made to pick up trash, babe.”
“Unbelievable.”
“Tell me if the club has a lot of hot chicks, though.”
“No, I’m not going to encourage your man-whoring ways, Bambam. Find a more normal hobby.”
Bambam rolled his eyes as he stole a piece of carrot from your tray. “You’re just miserable because you’re a virgin. And sitting at that stupid SHRC all day and listening to women talk about harassment is turning you into a man-hater. If you keep going down the path you’re on now then you’ll never get laid, trust me.”
You stuck your tongue out at him. “If that’s how ugly male penises all look then maybe I don’t want one stuck in me.”
“Hey, hey, hey!” Bambam brightened up and suddenly pointed his chopsticks at you. “Have you considered that you might be… you know? Gay? Cause I know this chick who’s bi, okay, and she says that if I can find a lesbian we might be able to have a threesome-”
“-and now I have completely lost my appetite,” you snapped as you grabbed your tray. “Bye, Bambam.”
He simply waved as you tossed the contents of your tray in the garbage and left the cafeteria. You needed to head back to your dorm and get some sleep. Tomorrow would be another long day.
--------------------------
You hadn’t been prepared for Jackson Wang to be so handsome.
He was already waiting in your office when you arrived; you were surprised to see Jackson was punctual despite the short notice. He had dark brown hair that flopped into his bright eyes and a smile that was almost childlike. Jackson was staring at a poster put up on your office wall that described some basic self-defence tactics for women and he glanced at you when you entered.
“These posters always tell women to kick dudes in the groin!” Jackson pointed out to you brightly, pointing at a cartoon image of a woman kneeing her male attacker. You stared at the handsome man in front of you and blinked.
“Excuse me?”
“Sorry, this is just my first time in the SHRC building. I never knew that Self-Defence 101 for women was to kick the guys’ balls,” Jackson admitted casually. He was gorgeous; your eyes lingered on the muscles along the length of his tanned arms when he held his hand out for you to shake. “Hi, I’m Jackson Wang. You emailed me asking me to meet you here?”
You cleared your throat and shook his hand. Jackson’s skin was soft and warm.
“Yeah, I need to talk to you about a complaint I received yesterday. Please take a seat.”
“Can I just finish reading this poster first? I had no clue there were this many ways to knee a guy in the jewels. I feel like I should be aware of these things, you know?” Jackson joked.
You frowned. Did he think this was funny? You were not impressed.
“Unless you’re planning on assaulting a woman, I see no reason why you need to read that poster.”
Jackson’s smile fell and his lower lip stuck out in a small pout as he slumped over to the seat across from your desk. He folded his arms across his chest in a childish fashion. “Hey. Sometimes men need to defend themselves too, you know. Or do you think that men can’t be victims of sexual violence?” he challenged.
You sighed and pressed your fingers to your temples. “I never said that. Unfortunately, you’re not here as a victim. I’ve asked to meet you because I received a complaint from a female student yesterday that she’s been the victim of cyber-harassment. She’s been receiving threatening text messages and unsolicited images of genitalia.”
Jackson’s dark eyes widened in concern and he leaned forward. “No way! What bastard has been doing that?”
You stared at him.
“You. The complaint is against you, Jackson.”
Jackson stared blankly for a few seconds and you could almost see the gears whirring behind his big puppy-like eyes. He tilted his head slightly to the left.
“Me?” he asked, pointing at himself in a confused manner. You would have thought he was cute if you hadn’t been convinced that he was a sexual predator. “I sent threatening texts to a female student? No way. I rarely even text girls.”
You raised an eyebrow. “Likely story.”
Jackson seemed startled. His handsome smile fell off his face and he waved a hand in the air wildly. “Whoa, wait. Are you serious right now? Is there really somebody accusing me of harassment? Who?”
“I’m not at liberty to reveal the identity of victims who approach the SHRC for their own safety,” you explained calmly. “But she has shown me text messages as evidence and she also said that she intends to file a formal complaint with the university authorities. You would have to defend yourself before a Disciplinary Committee and you could be suspended.”
Jackson stared at you.
“You’re not serious.”
“I’m perfectly serious.”
“But I’ve never- I swear I’ve never sent any messages like that! This has got to be some kind of misunderstanding. What do the messages even say? Can I see them?” Jackson insisted. You bit your lip. Ideally you shouldn’t show him the pictures because it could help him identify Nari as the complainant. But something about Jackson’s brown eyes and horrified expression made you want to give him a chance to defend himself. You carefully opened your laptop and found the email Nari had sent you with the screenshots.
“I have the unsolicited dick pic you sent her right here.”
Jackson stared at you. “What? Let me see that!”
He turned the laptop to face him and there, on the screen, was the large picture of a penis that Nari had shown you. Jackson stared at it intently for a few moments and then turned to look at you in relief.
“Oh thank god. Dude, there’s a misunderstanding. That’s not even my dick,” he told you confidently.
You raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”
Jackson used the mouse to zoom into the picture and you winced as the penis now blew up the entire screen. “That is absolutely not my penis. I would know. I feel awful that this poor girl had to get this in her inbox but it is not mine.” Jackson leaned back in his seat and folded his arms across his chest. “You’ve got the wrong guy. You should be looking for the owner of this penis.”
“The complainant named you. There’s only one Jackson Wang in this university.”
“Come on. You’ve got to be kidding me right now. That is literally some other dude’s dick, how can you just sit there and tell me that I’m going to get into trouble for it?” Jackson demanded. He slammed his hand on your desk and frowned. “That’s unfair!”
“I have no way to confirm whether or not this is your penis.”
Jackson’s hands slowly drifted towards his belt. “Well I could always…”
Your eyes flashed. “Don’t you dare take your pants off in this office.”
Jackson pouted and dropped his hands to his sides. “I wasn’t going to,” he whined. He reached for your laptop and zoomed out of the penis picture to look at the text message. “Wait, this is just a screenshot. Don’t you have the original message files? Because I’m positive that these messages couldn’t have come from my phone number. You can check my phone. I have no records of this stuff.”
You blinked. Jackson had a point. These were just screenshots. All they proved was that these messages had come from somebody that Nari had saved on her phone as “Jackson”; his real phone number was nowhere visible on screen.
“You think these messages came from somebody else?” you wondered.
Jackson nodded firmly. “I think this girl is being catfished.”
“Catfished?”
“Yeah! Someone is pretending to be me and trying to get nudes out of this girl,” Jackson insisted smugly. He leaned back and folded his arms across his broad chest. “It wouldn’t be the first time; I have a handsome face and an easier time with the ladies so a guy might have thought his chances were better if he pretended to be me.”
Oh god save me from these people.
“So this guy is pretending to be you but he’s sending her pictures of his own dick?” you questioned, unimpressed.
Jackson snapped his fingers as though he’d just had a brilliant idea. “You know what we need to do?”
“What?”
“We need to find the owner of this penis.”
You stared at him in disbelief. You couldn’t tell whether Jackson Wang was really a complete idiot or if he was playing you in order to make himself look innocent. You sighed and pressed your fingers to your temple in irritation.
“Or I could just call the complainant and ask her what phone number these texts and pictures came from?”
Jackson frowned and slumped back in his seat. “Doesn’t sound as fun, but okay.”
“How about we end this meeting here and I get in touch with you again after I’ve spoken to the complainant and floated the idea that maybe these pictures are coming from somebody other than you?” you asked. This was turning into a longer procedure than you’d expected but you did have the responsibility to make sure that Jackson wasn’t being framed or falsely accused.
Jackson nodded. “Sounds good to me. In the meantime, I’ll be on the lookout for the real owner of that penis. I spend a lot of time with other guys in locker rooms”
You winced. “Please don’t do that.”
Jackson stood up and he reached across the desk to shake your hand once more. You avoided his gaze and tried not to feel flustered by his warm and gentle grip. He stared at you for a moment and froze with his fingers wrapped around yours.
“Can I ask you something?”
You blinked. “What?”
“Are you by any chance that girl who socked a dude in the face during the protests last year?” he asked bluntly. His lips twisted into a cheeky smile as his eyes scanned you eagerly. “Cause you look a lot like her and damn, that was insanely hot.”
You flushed. “I’ll get in touch with you if I need you, Jackson.”
Jackson grinned. “Sure. Pleasure meeting you.”
------------------------------------------------------
“I think I’m in love,” Bambam sighed happily.
You barely glanced at him, too busy staring at your laptop screen. Bambam was lying back on your couch with a stupid smile on his face while Yugyeom sat at his feet and dully flicked through the channels on your television. Both of them stank of sweat, having come straight to your apartment from their basketball trials.
“You literally just saw her, Bam,” Yugyeom pointed out dismissively.
“I know but she was just so….” Bambam trailed off and sat up eagerly to explain himself. “You know how some people just have this aura? Like this charisma? She had that, okay? It was just the way she walked and the way she dressed and her gaze…”
“It took her less than ten seconds to walk past us, you really analyzed all that in that short amount of time? You can’t even finish reading the powerpoint presentation in class before Professor Lee switches to the next slide.”
Bambam pouted. “Can’t a man fall in love in peace? Damn.”
“You don’t even know who she is.”
“I’ll just hang around the basketball court at the same time tomorrow and see if she passes by again! She was probably coming from the library. I’m sure she’ll do it again sometime. Right? Help me out here, would you?” Bambam demanded. He reached over to poke your shoulder and you frowned at him in irritation. It was certainly unusual for Bambam to say that he was in love with a woman but you had bigger things to worry about.
“If she goes to the library then she’s not your type, Bambam.”
Bambam pouted. “That’s unfair.”
“When’s the last time you read a book? And frantically flipping through textbooks the night before exams doesn’t count,” you snapped. When Bambam fell silent, you let out a sigh. “I’m sorry. This whole dick pic business is just getting to me. The dude claims that it’s not his penis. I called up Nari asking for the text logs but she says she took the screenshots and then deleted both the original messages and his number. It’s kind of suspicious… but maybe she just didn’t want to have them on her phone anymore? I don’t know what to believe.”
Yugyeom frowned. “He really just flat-out said it wasn’t his dick?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s either a guy who's telling the truth, or a guy with a lot of experience lying.”
You turned your laptop screen so that both Bambam and Yugyeom could see it. You’d found Jackson Wang’s Facebook profile. His cover picture was a group photo of him at the beach. He was wearing a pair of shorts that showed off his toned thighs and a significant bulge. Jackson’s mouth was twisted in a toothy, cheerful smile.
You pulled up the picture of the dick next to it.
“You guys tell me what you think. Does this dick look like it could belong to that guy?” you demanded.
Bambam leaned forward and squinted. “Holy shit. That’s Jackson Wang.”
“Yeah.”
“Your dick pic guy was Jackson Wang?” Bambam demanded, horrified. He shook his head quickly. “No way. That is not possible. Do you even know who Jackson Wang is? He’s like the coolest guy I’ve ever met. He charming and he’s funny and everybody in this university fucking loves him. Okay? Girls would kill to be with Jackson Wang. He doesn’t need to send dick pics. He probably gets dick pics, and nudes, and all sorts of stuff on the daily.”
You stared at Bambam. “Huh.”
“Besides, he’s a totally nice and humble guy.”
You rolled your eyes. “Okay, but attractive people are never really humble. They just pretend to be.”
“Jackson is.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Well he is,” Bambam replied firmly. He leaned back and frowned at the picture of the penis. “But on second thought that is one big penis so it might just be Jackson’s. He does have that big dick energy.”
You tilted your head at the screen. “You think this one is big? Yugyeom?”
Yugyeom nodded. “Pretty big, yeah. And you have to keep in mind that it’s only semi-erect.”
You sighed and closed both tabs before rubbing your hands over your eyes and letting out a groan. This was not how you had intended to spend your Wednesday night. You leaned back against the sofa.
“What am I even doing? How did my life come to the point where I need to stare at this random picture of a penis and figure out who it belongs to?” you whined miserably. “I’ve never even seen a guy’s dick in real life before.”
Bambam snickered. “Maybe you should ask Jackson to show you his. You know. So he can prove that it’s not the one in the picture?”
You glared at him. “Shut the fuck up.”
“Why?”
“Because I can’t exactly go back to Nari and tell her; oh guess what, I looked at Jackson’s dick and it’s not the same one from your screenshots, what if she still wants to file a complaint? What if the matter goes to the university authorities and I have to take Jackson’s side? Am I supposed to look the Dean in the eye and go I’m sorry sir, I already checked out his penis and it’s not the same? Should I ask Jackson to drop his pants in front of the Dean too?”
Yugyeom snickered. “That could be the lead up to a pretty interesting porn movie.”
“No, there has to be some other way to solve this. Nari didn’t just come up with those text messages out of nowhere, there has to be some story behind this.”
Bambam snorted and turned away from you. “Okay, Nancy Drew. You go conduct your investigation. We’re gonna watch tv.”
You pouted. “You guys are useless.”
“I like being useless. It takes off the pressure to perform.”
“I doubt any performance of yours has lasted more than two minutes.”
Bambam stuck his tongue out at you irritably. “Well, guess what? You’ve never slept with me so you don’t get an opinion on my performance. Go ask Jackson Wang how long he lasts.”
You sighed.
#got7#got7 scenarios#got7 scenario#got7 fanfiction#got7 fluff#got7 smut#got7 angst#got7 jackson#jackson wang#jackson wang scenario#jackson wang scenarios#got7 jackson fluff#jackson wang fanfiction#wang jackson
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Cullen & F!Trevelyan
“Maker's breath, can we talk about something else?” Cullen huffed.
“We could, yes. But it's so much fun to see you all flustered like that,” Astrid laughed.
“Far be it from me to tell the Herald where to take her fun. Now if you'll excuse me, I have work to do.” His brow was furrowed as he stomped away, a contrast to the handsome blush that colored his cheeks and ears.
...
Astrid toyed with the map markers at the war table. Josephine and Leliana had left to meet with a minor nobleman and insisted they'd return shortly. They'd been gone for over twenty minutes and the silence between her and Cullen was growing stifling.
“I'm sorry, Commander. I hadn't meant to offend,” she blurted out.
“What?” Cullen looked genuinely puzzled.
“What I said before, poking fun at what you said about a Templar’s vows. It was in poor taste and very inappropriate. I really am. Sorry, I mean,” she began to ramble on aimlessly.
“It's in the past,” he replied simply.
“I'd like to get to know you better. I'd like to get to know all of my advisors better. It seems remiss of me not to.”
“Indeed, that does seems wise.”
“What sorts of hobbies do you have? Maybe we could…” she trailed off in the face of Cullen's frosty expression. “Nevermind, I'm sorry to bother you.” She left the room without another word.
“Where is the Inquisitor?” Josephine asked.
“She left. Quite abruptly I might add,” Cullen grumbled.
“There must have been a reason. She's a very reasonable person. What did you say to her?” Josephine frowned then pinned Cullen with a sharp glare that she typically reserved for misbehaving nobles.
“I didn't say anything!” He was frustrated. How does one be purposefully distant without giving offense; he thought for not the first time that day.
Leliana entered the room silently and joined the others at the table. “Perhaps it was less of what he said and more of what he didn't,” Leliana sighed.
“You still haven't told her?” Josephine asked with a scowl.
“And I don't plan to,” he said, his arms crossed tight against his chest. “Nothing good would come of it, I'm certain.”
“Is it too much to ask, Commander, if you could make an attempt at polite conversation?” Josephine asked with her hand on her hip.
“She's given much to the Inquisition. She has earned your respect, Commander, at the very least,” Leliana said coldly.
“I do respect her! You know I do. I just think she deserves-” he began.
“Not this again!” Josephine spat angrily.
“Enough,” Leliana said quietly. “Cullen, perhaps you would like to play chess with the Inquisitor tonight? I hear she wishes to get to know us all better, you in particular.”
The muscles in his jaw clenched as he nodded. “As you say, Sister Nightingale.”
...
“I may not be very good at chess, Commander, but even I can tell when you're throwing the game,” Astrid sighed.
He averted his eyes but said nothing.
“If you don't want to be here, you may leave. I apologize that my presence is so intolerable.” Astrid walked away from the board and sat at her desk. He sat there, resolute. Moments became minutes and neither spoke a word. Astrid sifted through the paperwork that had accumulated. Once halfway through the pile, she sighed. “You're dismissed Commander, I thought that was obvious,” Astrid said wearily.
He still couldn't bring himself to meet her gaze.
“I don't dislike you,” Cullen said, his voice just above a whisper.
“I wouldn't mind even if you did. I only hope that it doesn't put a strain on operations in the Inquisition.” Astrid smiled but it was forced.
“If I'm being honest, Inquisitor, I'm quite fond of you,” Cullen said. His fists were clenched tightly where they rested on his knees.
“Enough, Commander,” Astrid spat. She stood from her desk and pushed him towards the door. “I didn't take you for a cruel man, but you certainly are full of surprises.”
“It's not a joke, Astrid, I assure you.”
“Just go,” Astrid said and slammed the door in his face.
“Please, listen to me.” His voice sounded raw to his own ears. He'd really fucked it up. “I hadn't meant to tell you this way.” The door rattled in the frame. Had she kicked it?
“Of course, Commander. You'd rather have not told me at all!” Astrid said angrily.
“I didn't wish to become a liability, least of all to you,” he began.
The door swung open and he was confronted with an Inquisitor that was positively fuming. “A liability?! That's what you're worried about?”
“Yes, Inquisitor, a liability. Having a former lyrium addict as a-” he paused.
“A what?! Do try to finish that sentence, Commander,” Astrid said wryly.
“Must you make this so difficult?” His gaze was on the floor as he frowned, his fingers running through the hair grazing his nape. “I'm in love with you, Astrid.” His voice was hardly more than a whisper.
“I'm in no mood to discuss this now, I'd like to give you a proper answer. Perhaps when my temper has cooled,” she said not unkindly.
“Another time then,” Cullen replied. He never meant to tell her. Now that he had he could only hope that she'd respond favorably. Whether that meant a gentle refusal or admission of mutual feelings he really couldn't tell which he'd prefer.
...
Cullen watched Astrid from a distance. She was practicing her swings with a blunt axe on a training dummy. It wasn't her preferred war hammer but she was adept with either weapon. Her ebony skin was slick with sweat from a combination of exertion and the weather. Her breasts and stomach along with her ass jiggled with every movement. The extra weight suited her well, only adding to her natural beauty, Cullen thought. From her rounded face to her thick legs, he was entranced. It was more than a physical attraction for him and he hoped that he'd made that clear when he'd foolishly blurted out a confession several weeks ago.
“He's still staring,” Cassandra sighed after a devastating blow that left the training dummy in pieces.
“At what?” Astrid asked, unrelenting in her practice swings.
“Your ass or tits, most likely, boss,” Bull said. He leaned on Cassandra’s shoulder.
“What do you want, Iron Bull?” Cassandra grumbled.
“Training exercise,” he replied quietly.
Cassandra held out her hand for the stick he'd brought.
“Try not to give him a concussion, Cassandra,” Astrid chuckled.
“I make no promises,” Cassandra replied with a smirk. “You really should talk to him,” she murmured before walking off with Bull.
“Is there anything I can do for you, Inquisitor?” Josephine asked brightly.
“I need to speak to you. Alone if possible,” Astrid replied.
“It sounds serious, was there an accident during a sparring match?”
Astrid shook her head.
They sat on one of the balconies attached to the Inquisitor’s private quarters, drinking tea and eating decadent chocolate cakes.
“This is about Cullen, isn't it? Did he do something foolish? I've told him repeatedly to be more respectful of you and your station. It does not reflect well when the Commander of the Inquisition is at odds with the Inquisitor! What did he say?” Josephine frowned and gripped her tea cup so hard that Astrid was surprised it didn't crack under the pressure.
“He said he was in love with me, actually,” Astrid replied with all the calmness she could muster.
“He didn't!” Josephine bellowed.
“He shouldn't joke like that, it's very cruel of him.” Astrid frowned.
“I'm afraid he isn't joking, Inquisitor. He's been quite unreasonable about it all. Leliana of course had him figured out months ago, I realized shortly after… but I never thought he'd actually confess. We've been urging him to say something, anything to you about it. Maybe just treat you more gently, to show that he does indeed care for you very deeply.” Josephine reached across the table and held Astrid’s hand tightly. “He's a fool, Astrid. But he is a fool that is madly in love with you.”
“Thank you, Josie. This has been very informative.” Astrid kept up a facade of aloofness until after Josephine had excused herself. Once she was well out of ear shot, Astrid groaned. She'd been certain that Cullen was lying to get out of an awkward situation. She knew that she had a certain amount of sex appeal to people with certain… proclivities. But Cullen had not once showed even a bit of interest in her.
Astrid quietly wandered out to the rotunda and onward to the Commander’s office. She knocked on the door and entered when she was bid. Cullen sat at his desk, not sparing a glance upwards. His brow was furrowed deeply and around his eyes she saw signs that he'd gotten very little sleep. “Report,” he grumbled.
“I'd like an explanation. A proper one.”
He jolted in his seat and sat up straight. “Inquisitor!” He yelped and stood at attention. “Apologies. I didn't know it was you.”
“An explanation,” Astrid repeated.
“Ah, yes.” Cullen hung his head. “Where would you like me to start?”
“Whenever it was that you decided it was better to be an asshole than tell me your feelings,” Astrid said cooly.
Cullen’s eyes went wide. “Apologies, my lady.”
“Go on.”
“I believe it was the first time we spoke in the training yard outside of Haven,” he said sheepishly.
“So, from the very beginning.”
“Yes, my lady.”
“And why did think it was better to keep a distance?” Astrid crossed the room and sat on the edge of his desk.
“I didn't think I was worthy of you.”
Astrid arched a brow. “Do you still believe that?”
“A little less so, yes.”
“What changed your mind?” Astrid pushed Cullen’s shoulder until he sat down.
“You,” he began softly. “When you said that I was being cruel. I thought perhaps that meant you felt something for me as well. Whether you do or not, and I'd understand if you don't want-” he trailed off.
“If I don't want what?”
“Me.” His voice was hoarse.
“Since you feel that you know me so well, what do you think I want to do now?”
“Slap me, probably,” Cullen groaned, resting his elbows on the desk and covered his face.
“Is that what you want me to do?”
“I don't know. I feel as if it's what I deserve for treating you so poorly.”
“I believe I should get to decide on what to do with you. Meet me in my quarters after dinner.”
“As my lady commands.” Cullen bowed his head, his face felt as if aflame.
...
Astrid reached the top of the stairs of her room and was captivated by the vision the Commander has made. He'd moved the chair from her desk to the middle of the room and had stripped off his armor. He was down to a threadbare linen shirt and loose leather trousers. But best of all was that he was wearing a blindfold. His lips were parted, his breaths heavy and that handsome blush was coloring his cheeks and ears.
“Well this is indeed a surprise,” Astrid smirks.
“It was a stupid idea, I've misunderstood, haven't I?” Cullen reaches his hands up to pull the knot loose.
“Stop. Keep your hands on your knees for now.”
Cullen shivered with the makings of anticipation. “Yes, ma'am.”
“Is this something you've done before, Commander?” She asks.
“No, my lady. I may have read several novels on the subject. This is the role that I found most comforting.”
“What do you wish to receive from this arrangement?”
“To obey you, to become yours beyond all reasonable doubt.”
“That seems easy enough to achieve. And what are your limits for the evening. How far are you willing to go?”
“Anything,” he whimpered.
“That's a dangerous claim, Commander,” Astrid said, smirking. Cullen shivered with delight. “Do you have a word in mind that you wish to be able to use if you want to stop?”
“I don't want to stop,” he countered politely.
“Be that as it may, it is good to have one.”
“Gallows,” Cullen whispered.
“Good boy.” Astrid smiled and ran her fingers through his hair. Cullen felt as she began to untie the laces of his trousers. “Help me gets these off then put your hands back where they were.” Her tone brooked no argument. Cullen nodded all the same and did as she asked.
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Point of No Return {91 Mafia!AU}
PROLOGUE
INTRODUCTION
Pairing: Idk yet x reader
Genre: 91 Mafia!AU
Warning: A lot of violence, some language
Summary: Ninety One, the most powerful gang in KZ, finds itself on the defensive when a new gang appears threatening to seize Ninety One’s empire. Meanwhile, Y/n somehow becomes embroiled in the ensuing gang war while studying abroad in KZ.
A/N: Here we go. Pls be brutally honest.
Azamat adjusts the cuffs of his expensive designer suit as he steps into the elevator. His hair is shaved at the sides with a mohawk loosely combed back. The jet black strands contrast with his skin beautifully, giving him an intimidating, almost ghostly look. His eyes are cold and unreadable and his overbearing presence is enough to make even the bravest of men cry.
He smirks at the younger boy standing next to him – Daniyar – who seems to be staring at the older in awe. Daniyar reminds Azamat of himself when he was younger – before his final shred of innocence had been taken away.
When the elevator doors open, Azamat takes the lead, confidently striding down the hallway with Daniyar following behind like a loyal little puppy. When he reaches the right room, he swings the door open without hesitation and everyone sitting inside falls silent.
Azamat and Daniyar’s footsteps sound against the polished wooden floor as they enter. Out of the corner of his eye, Azamat can see Daniyar’s face turning slightly red. He knew the younger hated to be the center of attention. Azamat sits down at the head of the table, Daniyar sliding into the chair next to him. No one dares to speak.
Azamat’s eyes wander around the room, looking at each person. Most of them stare at the table to avoid his gaze, but a few dare to lock eyes with him. Azamat’s eyes linger on theirs a bit longer until the once-brave souls regret everything and quickly look down at the table. He says nothing, his glances getting his point across more clearly than words ever could. Daniyar observes the other men, wondering which one will finally speak up. Sweat glistens on their foreheads and a couple of them are even shaking in fear. Fear that they will draw their last breath at any moment.
The door opens again, but no one except Daniyar looks to see who it is. A dignified man calmly saunters into the room and takes the other empty seat next to Azamat. As he sits, he adjusts the sleeves of his navy blue suit jacket and pulls a pair of glasses from his coat pocket. His profile is harsh, with a strong jawline and chiseled cheekbones, but there is kindness in his eyes. Thick, black hair sits atop his head, styled in the most pristine way.
The man leans in and whispers something to Azamat. Azamat’s authoritative eyes do not move from the others in the room. As the man finishes, Azamat finally locks his gaze on the man sitting on the other end of the table. Azamat clears his throat and everyone snaps their heads up to look at him, ready to hear what he has to say.
Azamat does not speak. Instead, he raises his arm and extends one finger toward the man across from him. The sweat on his brow begins to drip down the side of his face as a he hurriedly stands. Azamat nods slightly. The man tries to stifle every emotion that’s fighting to come out. He takes a deep breath and closes his before beginning with a squeak.
“Ahem.” He clears his throat to try again. “L-l-last night, uh, a rival gang…that is, the Russians – ahem, they disrupted our heist and um…they--”
The man’s voice trails off as he struggles to find the words. Azamat merely raises his eyebrows in quiet concern.
“They took the goods from us and…um…th-they…ahem, killed our guys.”
The room falls into silence again and everyone looks at Azamat uncertainly, afraid of how he’s going to react. Azamat remains motionless for a few moments. A small, seemingly amused smile crosses his lips and everyone seems to breathe a sigh of relief. Just as they’ve all calmed down, Azamat stands up, grabs a glass of water that’s sitting on the table, and throws it at the nearest wall. It shatters on impact, causing everyone to flinch. One of the men begins to whimper. Despite his actions, not a shred of anger shows on his face. Even when he threw the glass, he appeared cool and collected. Unfortunately, Azamat is most dangerous when he is quiet. The men know they will be punished to the fullest extent. After all, they’re indirectly responsible for the failed heist.
Azamat sits back down and points at the whimpering man next to Daniyar. The man scrambles to his feet, pulling out a handkerchief from his pocket and wiping his sweat-ridden face. He licks his lips a few times in an attempt to collect himself, but his voice quakes as he speaks.
“Yes, s-sir?”
Azamat’s piercing eyes meet his, like two swords entering a person’s flesh slowly to cause greater pain.
“Do you know how I got where I am today?” Azamat’s gravelly voice crawls out of his mouth, flat but firm, like a snake strangling its prey. With every word, the men feel like they’re being choked. The man manages to nod weakly. Azamat continues, his voice never changing in volume.
“Of course you don’t. I’ve never told anyone. But now I’m going to tell you everything. All of you. Maybe then you’ll understand why failure is not an option. Sit down.”
The man hastily takes his seat, nearly tripping out of nervousness. Azamat stands up and begins wandering around the room. Every so often, he stops to look at the paintings on the wall, but for the most part, he circles the table, staring down at each and every person.
“My parents were simple people. They worked hard to provide for their children. We didn’t have much, but we were happy. At the time, Atyrau was controlled by the Zhanibekov family. Dishonest, evil people, the lot of them. My parents paid them every month in exchange for protection. Not that they had a choice.”
Azamat pauses to scan each man, making sure they’re listening. He smirks at the fact that he has their undivided attention. He could recite poetry and they would still hang on his every word like their lives depended on it. Azamat continues.
“Food prices went up and wages were low. My parents chose to feed their children first. Yes, they had every intention of paying the protection money. It was one day late. One day. They shot my father first. Then my mother, who was crying over his dead body. But they never even acknowledged us. You remember that day, don’t you, Daniyar?”
He stops behind his younger brother, who seems to be angered by the story. Daniyar’s lips tighten as he nods.
“When I turned 14, I joined that sick family as a serving boy. The leader…ah, what was his name?”
The man in the suit and glasses speaks up suddenly, without looking up from his notes.
“Serikbolat Zhanibekov,” he says.
“Yes, thank you. Serikbolat Zhanibekov. He loved me like a son and I pretended to love him like a father. Until one day…”
Azamat drags his finger across his throat, his face remains stoic and his voice eerily soft.
“I killed him.”
Terror grips the men around the table. One man cups his hand over his mouth to stifle a gasp. Another loses all color in his face. The other man starts whimpering again, this time much louder. Azamat continues to circle the table, staring at each person like a predator stalking its prey. The whimpering man has now lost all control of his emotions. Azamat offers him a tissue and he nervously accepts.
“I wanted him to know who was killing him. More than that, I wanted him to suffer. So I stood behind him.”
Azamat stops. The whimpering man can feel an overwhelming presence behind him, but he doesn’t dare look back.
“I made him look me in the eye.”
Azamat reaches a hand to the man’s head and grasps his hair. The whimpering man inhales sharply as tears stream down his cheeks like waterfalls. With a sharp tug, the man finds his eyes fixed on Azamat’s emotionless visage.
“And I stuck him like a fucking pig.”
Mere seconds pass as Azamat draws a switchblade from his pocket and shoves the knife into the man’s torso. Red liquid spills from the wound as the former soldier struggles to catch his breath. The entire time, Azamat keeps his eyes locked on the man’s, watching as the life painfully leaves them. He lets go of the man’s hair and the man slumps into the table with a loud thud. Daniyar lets out a gentle laugh.
Azamat cleans his blade on the man’s shirt and sheathes it for now. As he returns to his seat, he notices some blood staining his hand. It’s been a while since Azamat literally had blood on his hands. He savors it for a short while before speaking again, his tone unchanged.
“And what became of the Zhanibekov family?”
Azamat turns his palms upward and shrugs.
“They don’t exist anymore. I have taken their place. Azamat Zenkayev, the poor boy from Atyrau, single-handedly seized control of the most notorious crime family in Kazakhstan. I ended them.”
Daniyar smiles, flashing his brilliant teeth. He always looked up to his older brother, but this story made him especially proud.
“Batyrkhan.”
The bespectacled man looks up from his notes, turning his head toward Azamat, his sculpted features more visible straight-on.
“Tell me, where would I be if I had failed such an important task?”
Batyrkhan does not hesitate. He curtly replies, “Dead, sir.” Azamat nods and the man returns to his notes.
“Daniyar. Where would you be if I had failed?”
Daniyar’s smile grows. He tilts his head downward and casts an eerie glance at the remaining two men.
“Dead.”
Azamat nods his head fervently and points at the two gentlemen on either side of him – his younger brother and trusted advisor.
“Exactly right,” he mutters. “Now, with all that said, how do you think this meeting is going to end?”
He darts his eyes back and forth between the remaining soldiers who have lost all color in their face by now. Daniyar fidgets in his chair and begins tapping his fingers on the table. Before long, he is bouncing up and down like an impatient child waiting for ice cream. Azamat simply ignores and waits for one of the men to answer.
“Well?”
Finally, one speaks up. Cold sweat drips from his face onto the table. He struggles to find the words, the mere sight of Azamat sending shivers up his spine. The shivers cut like a thousand knives and the man reaches a hand behind his back to make sure he wasn’t impaled.
“Mercy,” he breathes, the mere utterance of the word nearly draining the life out of him.
He was once a skilled assassin, successful in every endeavor and ready to die for honor – now, reduced to a sniveling, pathetic excuse of a man, begging for mercy like a dog begs for food. For a moment, the man remembers who he used to be and tries to be strong. But once he looks into Azamat’s cold eyes, he slips back into a trembling mass of flesh.
Azamat pulls a handgun and sends a bullet straight through the man’s head. Without hesitation, he points it to the other man and ends his life with one shot as well. Azamat stands, wearing the same emotionless expression as he begins to exit the room. Batyrkhan gingerly places his notes back in his briefcase and follows, while Daniyar nearly trips over the chair trying to keep up with his older brother.
Back in the elevator, Azamat loosens his tie and casts a sideways glance at his lawyer, Batyrkhan. The man somehow manages to maintain an air of poise despite the events that just transpired.
“Any plans for this evening, Batyr?” Azamat asks, his tone more casual now.
With a firm nod, Batyrkhan answers, “No sir.”
“Good,” Azamat replies. “I’m calling another meeting tonight at my place. I want you there.”
Batyrkhan offers another nod. Even if he had plans, he would have to cancel them. The business comes first and he must be available for his boss at a moment’s notice. It’s the price he must pay in exchange for Azamat’s trust.
“Are you gonna kill some more people?” Daniyar asks, sounding like a child.
Azamat continues to look up at the elevator display, watching the numbers gradually count down to one. Azamat doesn’t turn to look at his younger brother, but he knows his answer will draw a crazed smile from Daniyar’s lips.
“Yes. All of them.”
#thanks for your time#idk where to go from here#91 mafia#91 mafia au#ninety one#qpop#qpop scenarios#91 fic#azamat zenkayev#azamat ashmakyn#daniyar kulumshin#dulat mukhametkaliev#batyrkhan malikov#az#ace#alem#bala#zaq#newton#otty#otinshin madiyaruly
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[FIC]Paterfamilias
Synopsis: Ignis comes to realize that family is important for an Amicitia, especially if you're dating one. {Established Relationship. Babysitting.}
Characters: Ignis Scientia, Gladiolus Amicitia, Iris Amicitia, Talcott Hester
Pairing: Gladiolus Amicitia/Ignis Scientia
Wordcount: 6965
Rating: T (There’s one F-bomb)
When Gladio texted him confirming a night to themselves, he was ecstatic; an understatement, but their schedules had been mismatched for nearly a month and a half. Squeezing in time here and there beyond an hour or two was difficult, to say the least, and as the Crown Prince’s Advisor, his scheduling ability—and Gladio’s, if he was doling out credit— were top notch. Their last “evening to themselves” as it were, was three months ago after his formal oaths into the Crownsguard.
About a year into their relationship now, they considered themselves lucky to have few instances where their work and lifestyle had cancelled plans, but with both their formal oaths completed, and Gladio’s formal oaths as Shield, now the difficulty was beginning to show. He didn’t mind, welcomed the challenge actually, but knowing he had Gladio’s affections stoked the selfish desires of himself he usually cast aside. There was a certain satisfaction opening up the tabloids and seeing the speculation of “Lucis’ most eligible bachelor” and knowing the real answer. That he was off the market and very dedicated to his relationship.
Ignis pulled in to the Amicitia home garage, his Crown car given the passcode for the day. He was surprised it was Clarus who had insisted he have it daily, the only other people outside the family with unlimited access were Cor, Dustin, and Monica, and the latter two were his right and left hands. But then again, Lord Clarus was always big on family, including close friends, and while the Amicitias, all of them, were always well-liked, they kept only a handful of confidants. Perhaps that explained the screaming of children filling the house. Gladio had warned him his dad was babysitting his sister Felicia’s children, something that happened often enough. He recalled that Gladio speculated he’d probably have more siblings if they weren’t Shields.
Knocking would be futile against the sound of feet running up the stairs, the giggling and screaming not withstanding. He sent a text to Gladio to let him know he was there and walked past the mudroom and into the kitchen, observing the three extra pairs of small shoes that weren’t Iris’. His observation also extended to the absolute mess the kitchen was in. It looked as if they had started baking something with chocolate, but there were too much ingredients out for cookies, and the sheer amount of eggs pointed to brownies or fudge. He cringed at the small chocolatey fingerprints on every counter and the large white handprint on the fridge door, unsure if it belonged to Gladio or his father.
Carefully, he navigated through the disaster area to the sliding door that separated the dining and living rooms, hearing heavy footsteps as he shut it.
Gladio came down the stairs, half his shirt and shorts wet, carrying a fussy Talcott in his arms. His eyes had that tight crease at the edges that hinted to his weariness but he still smiled when he laid eyes on him, his face brightening.
“Hey babe,” he said when he reached the foot of stairs. “Probably gonna have to cancel tonight. My dad had to head to the Citadel so it’s me, again.”
Ignis tried not to let his disappointment show, but he was surprised in all the times Lord Clarus babysat, he’d only been called out two or three times, leaving Gladio in charge.
“It happens. Probably that blasted Council vote on the historic district.”
The Council has been back and forth on whether to expand the district to include the old Aegis buildings that have been a decrepit eyesore for decades, home to transients, and restore it for preservation as an open air museum, or demolish them, keeping the old courtyard and implementing a sustainable park with archives, accessible housing for immigrants, and artisan shops of crafts from outside the Crown City. The deadlock was caused by a few council members who were generally opposed to anything that pertained to non Crown-City born citizens; it was quite the annoyance. Even the King’s Shield was beginning to lose his calm demeanor in the course of their discussions. After last night’s recess, he was pretty sure only he and the King were meant to hear that the meeting was, in Lord Clarus’ own words, ‘fucking ridiculous.’
Gladio sighed. “Probably. He mentioned something about strangling Lord Mensa before he left.”
Ignis checked his phone just to be sure. “Huh. I wasn’t notified. But he does mention that under his breath fairly frequently, so maybe he’s just following through on his promise.”
Laughing, he bounced Talcott a few times. “Yep, we’re pretty big on promises in this family.”
“Your father including Talcott in his brood this weekend?” The boy was three now, old enough to play, or try to at least, with the older children, but still rather small for his age. Or perhaps just in comparison to Gladio.
He nodded. “I think he misses when Iris was a baby. My Aunt told me when Pia was born, he used to visit them a ton just to play with her. Pretty sure that’s why there’s such a close age gap between them.”
“Ah,” he smiled, imagining how the intimidating Shield must have looked with a small child in his arms. “Is he the culprit of the chocolate explosion in the kitchen?”
“Nope,” Gladio said, ruffling Talcott’s sandy hair. “Little man got caught in the crossfire. Well, we all did. Clara and Justin decided the chocolate was better in each other’s hair and it escalated from there.”
Ignis smiled, spotting the chocolate that remained on his neck and cheek, and stepped closer to wipe off a small portion with his thumb. “A Shield couldn’t stop a scuffle of small children in his own house?” He slipped the digit against his tongue to lick it off, enjoying how Gladio’s attention went to it.
Gladio hummed in approval. “I did. Iris is giving Clara a bath and Pia is taking care of Justin. I just finished with this guy.”
As if on cue, there was a thud from upstairs and the sound of large amounts of water splashing where it should not be. Ignis raised is eyebrows in concern and Gladio sighed, closing his eyes as he contained his anger. After a second, he handed Talcott to him and ran up the stairs, two at a time. “If what I think is happening is happening, it better not be!”
Ignis was left still holding Talcott an armslength away, quite unsure of whether he should still hold him or put him down. He’d seen the boy walk, but perhaps Gladio was afraid he’d go back to the kitchen? It also occurred to him how easily Gladio handed off a toddler to take care of business like it was an old habit.
“Well, you’ve had quite the evening.” He smiled at Talcott and awkwardly brought him closer and figured how to balance him on his hip, then decided to just hold him like he’d seen others do.
Gladio’s voice echoed through the house. “Why would you do this? All you had to do is take a bath like normal!”
He made a face at the toddler. “And by the sound of it, it seems we’re both in for more.”
“Iggy’s glasses!” the boy said, reaching for them.
He tilted his head out of reach. “No. Not for playing.” Logic told him he had to be firm with small children, but still instilling. Looking around for a toy, he spotted a board book about animals. “Here,” he said, “Let’s look at the pictures—er, and words.” At three, he should be able to read right? He had read at two years old, and Noctis at three as well, so it wasn’t out of the question. Talcott was exceptionally bright. He could see his attention always darting between speakers in conversation, his vocabulary very broad for toddler as well.
Duscae Animals the title proclaimed, and the distinction between regions hinted at this book being for older readers. “Hrmm. Not bad.” Making his way to the couch, he sat and balanced Talcott on his lap. He opened the book. “Alright, let’s see. ‘Garulas. Garulas eat grass on the plains of Duscae. They live in herds. A herd is—’”
Talcott shook his head and squealed. “No!” Then he made his limbs rigid to try and slip out of Ignis’ grip.
“Not garulas, then?” He sighed, looking something else while struggling to maintain control over him. The thought occurred to him that maybe the children hadn’t eaten yet, if the kitchen was any indication, but they were also making dessert, and he knew Gladio wouldn’t make that poor a choice. Was it bedtime then? It was 7pm, certainly late for a just-turned-three-year-old. Perhaps he might join Clarus in strangling Lord Mensa for ruining his evening as well.
When the planking didn’t work to free himself, Talcott started going red in the face and pushing his arms away. “No. No,” he repeated.
“I’m sorry, Talcott. I can’t let you roam.”
Then his tiny face did the bunching that all children’s did when they were about to cry.
Ignis huffed, scooping him up and standing, trying to emulate what Gladio had done earlier to calm him. “Oh dear. I’ve gone and upset you now.”
“No, you didn’t,” Gladio said, peeking over the balcony, the whole front of his shirt completely wet now. He stopped to pull it over his head, and Ignis had to wonder if it was to put on a show for him. It was always a treat to see the physique he worked hard on and the quickly filling in tattoo. “Don’t pander to him either, that’s exactly what he wants. I fell for it.”
As he came down the stairs, he smiled at Ignis, that soft expression that enhanced the fine features of his face. He knew that Ignis was admiring him, not that he was particularly hiding it. When he reached the bottom, they held eye contact for a moment before Talcott tried to grab his glasses again.
Gladio frowned. “Lemme’ toss this in the laundry real quick and I’ll take him.” He slid the door to the kitchen open again and went to the laundry room, which he could have easily accessed from the other stairs on the other end of the hall nearer to the bathrooms. So, he either took this way to check on him or show off. Or both. Either way, Ignis loved every opportunity to enjoy the neat cuts and lines of his back and imagine how Gladio would look once his tattoo was completed. A trueborn shield.
He felt a pang of sorrow recalling nearly a year ago when Gladio had expressed his decision to undertake such a grand commitment. His father had just revealed to him that Noctis was the Chosen King and he felt it appropriate to make an equally bold statement as his Shield. Not a week after, the King had pulled him aside and told him the prophecy too, seeing how it had affected their relationship. Or perhaps it had been Clarus’ observation? Regardless, they both now knew what awaited Noctis and it was their job to guide him, support him, protect him. Even now, he still grasped with the full understanding of how both the King and his Shield had prepared them differently than their positions were. Perhaps that was why they had supported their relationship? To counteract the future?
“Hey,” Gladio said softly. “Come back to me.”
“Hrmm?” He focused on Gladio suddenly in front of him, now wearing a light cotton tee.
“You were deep in thought. Usually you’re pretty cute, but you look concerned.” He reached for Talcott who rested his head against his chest. “Everything alright?”
Ignis smiled to reassure him. “Just a thought. Everything alright upstairs?”
The corners of Gladio’s mouth pulled down and he furrowed his brows, unhappy with the deflection. “Yeah. Just some shenanigans,” he emphasized with a tired breath. “Nothing I couldn’t handle. You sure you’re alright? I’m sorry tonight didn’t really go as planned.”
“It’s fine, really. I’m already here, might as well make the most of it.” He gave one of his coy smiles he knew drove him crazy. “Only been here twenty minutes and you already had an excuse to remove your shirt.”
Gladio grinned. “I don’t need an excuse. But,” he teased, "I could called Cor.”
He tilted his head, incapable of escaping his charm. “Isn’t the Marshal only to be called during an emergency?” He knew Cor was “off the clock”—as much as they forced him to be—but he was always on-call for the King and, to a lesser extent, Clarus. He was the designated guardian of both Iris and Gladio, since he wasn’t twenty yet.
Gladio looked tempted for a moment, then thought better. “Yeah, but that’s only for emergencies. ‘There are emergencies and there are emergencies,’” he recited. “He hates, hates babysitting. Unless it’s Iris.”
Yes, Iris was Cor’s only exception. His favorite. And she knew it.
“But I’m pretty sure this classifies as an emergency.”
Raising his eyebrows, Ignis awaited what came next. “Oh?”
“I really want to kiss my boyfriend. He works so hard.”
He rolled his eyes despite feeling how his cheeks warmed up. “Come now, I work just as hard as you.”
“I know. That’s why we haven’t had any alone time lately,” he said as he leaned in for a quick kiss.
Talcott put a hard stop on that when he reached for his glasses again, this time smudging the lenses.
“Whoops, sorry about that. He’s fussy. He didn’t take his nap and then all the excitement earlier. It’s bedtime.”
Taking his glasses off and cleaning them, he said, “And here I thought it was my reading.”
“Were you reading the Duscae book?”
He nodded.
“Ah. I think he’s tired of it. He’ll read a book like twice and then he’s done. I gotta see if Iris has any old books that she doesn’t read anymore that are appropriate for him. He’s a bright kid. Probably got another Iggy on our hands,” he grinned.
Ignis put his glasses back on. “Well then, maybe I should choose some books for him.”
“Oh no, I can’t handle two of you!”
“‘Handle me, he says,’” peering sidelong at him, a smirk tugging at his lips. “And who says I’m the one who needs handling?”
Gladio simply shrugged. “Well, if you help me get the brats to clean up and get to bed, you can handle me any way you like.” He waggled his eyebrows, earning a slap to the shoulder. “Hey.”
“That’s for saying that in front of him.”
He held his hand up in apology. “Okay.” Then he covered Talcott’s ear and leaned forward again. “You sure that’s not some of your handling?”
Ignis shook his head. “You are incorrigible.”
“Which means ‘handsome,’ right, Talcott?” Gladio tried to impress upon him. His head still resting on Gladio’s shoulder, Talcott stared sleepily at both of them before turning his head the other way.
“Case in point.”
“Wow, tough crowd tonight.”
Spying a blanket with printed cactuars on it draped unceremoniously on the couch, Ignis collected it and started up the stairs. “Shall we? Clean up then bedtime, was it?” That was one child down. Four more to go. Perhaps they might still salvage the evening.
Gladio followed and they went up to the second floor. At the top, Ignis tossed over his shoulder, “They’ve all eaten?”
“Iggy, c’mon, it’s me. They ate all their vegetables too. Didn’t even force ‘em.”
“Impressive. Can you get the Prince to do that too?”
“Sorry, babe, that’s outside my job description. And I’d probably break my oath. If I tried to force him to eat his veggies, someone’s gonna get hurt and it ain’t me or the vegetables.”
Ignis hummed in agreement. He’d nearly reached that point too. Luckily it was in his job description and ordered by the King, so to speak. “Where’s he sleeping?”
“Uh, my room. Until Jared comes back from poker night. Sorry. I’d have him sleep downstairs but we’re gonna clean and the kids’ll wake him up.”
“Speaking of the other kids…” He hadn’t heard anything since Gladio went up to check on the splashing.
“Yeah could you check on them? It’s a little too quiet. Clara should be with Iris in her room and Pia and Justin should either still be cleaning up the water that decided to leave the tub or in the guest room.”
Nodding, he handed him the blanket and made to turn and head down the hall but out of the corner of his eye, he saw the image of Talcott’s peaceful sleeping head on Gladio’s shoulder and the ease at which he handled and navigated with the child made him pause. It seemed almost second nature to him, but surely he hadn’t handled a child that small in five years, even longer if he considered Iris. And yet, Gladio made sure to place Talcott down gently on his bed and then use his many pillows as a barrier against the edge. He was transfixed at the sight, his heart welling at the many skills Gladio was adept at, including family, but at the same time, he felt like a voyeur, as if this was not something that was meant for him.
He observed further; Gladio covered Talcott with the blanket and even from this distance, he could hear the soft sigh that escaped his lips as he watched him sleep. Other emotions he couldn’t place jumbled in his chest when Gladio stretched a single finger and brushed the back of it gently against the boy’s cheek, almost an absent motion. Then he smiled and swept Talcott’s hair aside.
The sound of children giggling broke Ignis from his thoughts and he quickly returned to his original task. Determining it to originate from Iris’ room, he headed further down the hall to her room. Her door was ajar and he could see all four of them sitting on the ground in the circle. Clara whispered into Justin’s ear and he whispered into Iris’ ear. She in turn then whispered in Pia’s and then Pia said it out loud, but the phrase was odd. “You have to throw that?”
Everyone laughed and Clara said, “No. I said exitus acta probat.” Ignis raised his eyebrows. He had to give her credit on her Ancient Lucian at eight years old.
Pia sighed. “You didn’t tell us we were doing Ancient Lucian.”
“Yeah,” Iris chimed in. “And whatever Justin told me definitely didn’t sound like that.”
Justin made a face. “Psh, yeah I did. It’s my turn. And I’m doing something in Ancient Lucian.”
Before they got started again, Ignis decided to knock on the door. Four pairs of eyes looked at him expectantly and for a brief moment he felt out of sorts, unsure what to say to them.
“Hey Iggy,” Iris greeted. “Wanna play Telephone with us?”
He regained his composure, smiling at Iris. “Uh, I appreciate the offer, but we need to clean the kitchen.”
Clara and Justin complained noisily and Pia sighed again but Iris had her face set and nodded, standing to head down. She knew the wrath of her brother and father.
“Hey,” Gladio said behind him. “What are you twerps waiting for? You heard him. Ignis has as much authority in this household as I do.”
“Why? Because he’s your boyfriend?” Justin teased, getting up with his sisters.
“Because he’s an adult and yes, because he’s my boyfriend.” He angled at the door so they could pass. “C’mon let’s go. And Talcott is already sleeping so no noise up here.” He looked up at Ignis, smiling.
Iris led her cousins down to the kitchen, Gladio and Ignis at the end of the line.
“So I have authority now?” Ignis whispered.
Gladio grinned. “Yeah. Even authority over me. It’s almost my bedtime too.”
Rolling his eyes, he shook his head.
“But really though, they’ll listen to you. They’re good kids. The best, actually. Amicitias.” He watched his cousins go down the stairs and shrugged. “Well, Pia. The twins get excitable.”
When they got to the kitchen, they all lined up and waited for Gladio to start speaking. He went to a drawer by the sink and pulled out a handful of hand towels, then grabbed a container of antibacterial wipes from under the sink and placed them all on the counter.
“Alright, delegation,” he started. “Twins, you’re on counter duty since you decided chocolate goes in hair. But, you better make sure no chocolate goes anywhere else, including yourselves or it’s another shower for you.”
Clara started. “But Justin—”
“—Nope. You put chocolate in his hair too. Wipes first then I’ll come in with with rags. Pia, you take care of putting ingredients away and wiping down handles. Iris, you’re on dish duty.”
“—I don’t know where everything goes but I’ll do my best,” Pia said.
“Alright, Pia you’re on dishes, Iris you’re ingredients and handles and then helping her when you’re done. Twenty minutes tops. Got it? Questions?”
“Can I play music?” Iris asked.
“If it’ll make you clean faster, but remember, not too loud.”
Iris was the first one to move and grabbed a few wipes and a rag, pulling out her phone from her pocket to play music on the sound system. Pia, Clara, and Justin following suit, the kitchen now a busy workstation. Gladio got a rag and made it wet, ready to wipe counters.
“And where am I stationed?” Ignis asked.
“Huh?” Gladio looked up from the rag he was folding. “Oh you don’t have to help, babe. We got this.”
Ignis gave him a withering look. Surely he knew by now he was an impeccable and expert organizer. It would be a shame to let his talents go unused. “I seem to remember certain agreements about the speed of cleaning and bedtime, so we get to other activities,” he said under his breath so Gladio had to lean in close to hear, his grin spreading when he heard him.
“Well then, by all means, Iggy. And here I thought I was the eager one.”
Picking up a clean towel, he gave him a coy smile. “You are. But I don’t mind a little incentive here and there. Work hard, play harder. That sort of thing.” He left him to his implication and went to dry dishes Pia was done washing.
He was fairly certain he knew were everything went; cups in the cupboard near the fridge, plates in the one on the counter island, knives in the woodblock near the juicer—Jared’s organization. Or perhaps Master Clarus’? Either way, he appreciated its efficiency, and the only true way to test a kitchen was to cook in it, and he enjoyed cooking here on occasion. Pia handed him a can-opener however and he drew a blank, unsure where it went. He didn’t think he’d ever used one here, always trying to focus on fresh ingredients.
Gladio was instructing the twins on something over at the island, so he turned to Iris. “Iris, where does this belong?”
She squinted at it, thinking. “Um, that drawer there on the right?”
He tried it, fairly certain it was the giant utensil drawer.
“Oh, sorry. Maybe this one?” she said. “With the wine and bottle openers?”
“Seems appropriate. Thanks.”
He returned to Pia who was doing a marvelous job at dishes, and he was glad Gladio put one of the older children in charge of it. Although at fourteen, Pia was less of a child and more of a young lady, and he was surprised she opted to spend the weekend here with her younger siblings instead of with her friends, but then again, Gladio and even his father took Iris and Pia to the mall and it was a testament to their strong family ties.
“So Ignis,” Pia started, working on a mixing bowl, “You specialize in daggers and polearms, right?”
“Correct, that is my chosen specialization but I do favor katanas if I must choose a sword.”
“Cool. Yeah, our grandmother used a katana, but not sure if that’s what I’m really into. I’ve seen you fight and you use more gymnastics than other Crownsguard.”
“More of a preference. I have the advantage of being rather tall.” He was unaware other Amicitia members were studying his techniques but that was how he eventually decided how he would train. Pia was near the age of formal acceptance into the Crownsguard but he had also heard she was taking her time with her decision, though certainly, joining the Crownsguard was not a light decision.
She laughed. “So do we. But there hasn’t been an Amicitia who wielded either daggers or polearms in several generations. Maybe ever.”
Ignis smiled, wondering if his role as Prince’s Advisor made others believe he was to be consulted on everything. “You can be the first. And if you want some hands on training, I’d be happy to give you some. If I’m honest, I haven’t lifted a greatsword in two years and my form was dismal. Don’t tell Gladio.” He barely scored an above average for his proficiency during training.
That seemed to cheer her up. “Thanks. Mostly everyone in this family uses greatswords, even my mother, but that’s not really for me, you know?” She handed him the bowl and he set to drying it.
“Of course. There’s no one weapon that’s suitable for everyone. From what I’ve seen, Iris is quite the prodigy in her close quarter combat. It’d be interesting to see what she might choose as her weapon.”
“She’s scary. Don’t ever spar with her. I had a huge bruise on my thigh for two weeks.”
“Who’s scary?” Iris came up behind them, finished with her tasks.
“Your brother,” Ignis covered, garnering a small smile of relief from Pia.
“Gladdy? Psssh.” Iris laughed hard. “He’s a big softy. You should know, you kiss him and everything.”
Oh he did know. “Except when he’s hungry.”
“Oh yeah, that. Anyway, I can take over, Ignis.” He handed her the towel and promptly stepped on a cheeseball. Where it came from, he didn’t know as there were no chips in sight, but it drew his attention to the state of the floor and he sighed, heading to the mudroom to grab the broom.
Glancing at his watch, he noted they were making good time.
Gladio must have caught sight of him because he said, “Keeping an eye on that clock, huh?”
“You did say twenty minutes.”
“You don’t think they’ll get done in that time?”
“I…didn’t think they’d be doing so well, actually,” he admitted. Although he did seem to catch the group at their rowdiest. “However, the point has been made that these are Amicitia children so their temperament and ability is exceptional.”
He tossed a rag over his shoulder, leaning on a counter in the door frame of the mudroom. “Well, temperament is up in the air. We are stubborn.”
Gladio was always very self-aware, including that his bulk blocked him from returning to the kitchen. Smiling up at him, Ignis added, “Ah yes, I must agree. You are exceptionally stubborn.”
“And yet you put up with me,” he said, crossing his arms.
Ignis hummed. “It is quite the mystery,” he said before leaning forward to press a quick kiss to his lips. He loved how his face brightened whenever he surprised him with small intimacies.
Gladio angled to let him pass and followed behind him. “Kids aren’t so bad,” he brought up again. “Once they’re old enough they can do pretty much anything. Really good problem solvers if you don’t mind creative solutions. And if you have more than one, they help each other out. Four’s a bit much for me though. Two maybe.”
At the last sentence, Ignis paused. “Two?” he said before realizing he said it out loud.
“Yeah, maybe. I liked having Iris around. The gap’s maybe a bit too big though.” He continued back to check up on the twins’ progress.
Still in the doorway, that odd distancing feeling that he’d been experiencing all night came at him in full force. Gladio wanted two children. He’d said it so casually, so absolutely, and even in his mind’s eye vision of the future, Ignis had always known that Gladio would have an heir one day, as his line demanded. But he had never factored in himself, that an Amicitia heir from Gladio would be his child too. A child—or children, had never been a topic that came up. Why should it have if they were both still young? If Gladio was already prepped to be head of household that it was ingrained in him? If the implication was plain as day simply because he was an Amicitia? Even Clarus, in his thorough preparation, had not brought up the issue, despite everything, from their shared duty to Noctis, to potential issues and formalities if they married, to welcoming him in to their family. Because it was plain as day. And yes, even Lord Clarus, with his intimate relationship with the King, could not escape the issue of heirs. And it had been an issue—
“— Iggy.”
Gladio had gently touched his arm, breaking his thoughts. Ignis ignored his concerned expression and forced a smile, busying himself with sweeping. After a few seconds, he could still feel Gladio’s eyes, but then Clara declared that she and Justin were done.
“Good,” Gladio said. “Looks like all of you are done. Good job.”
“So we can go now?” Justin asked.
“Nope, it’s early bedtime for both of you. Don’t forget that this was your doing.”
Both Clara and Justin protested. “But Uncle Clarus was going to let us watch a movie!”
“And I was too,” he said firmly, “but you decided to cause trouble so bedtime. Go. Before I give you the usual punishment in this family.” Ignis understood punishment to an Amicitia wasn’t lost privileges. It was additional workouts and training.
“You two,” he turned to Iris and Pia. “”You can do what you want but be in bed by midnight.”
“Midnight?” Iris complained.
“I said be in bed, not sleeping. You can watch a movie or read a book or whatever but be in your room, alright?”
She rolled her eyes. “Fine. C’mon, Pia.”
Gladio returned to wiping the counter, but Ignis knew it was clean and he was waiting until all the kids went upstairs.
“Surprisingly lenient,” he said of the option.
“Well, they didn’t actually do anything wrong, they helped clean up, and also gave the twins a bath.” Putting the rag down on the counter, he crossed over to him. “You okay? Lost you for a sec back there.”
Ignis found he couldn’t meet Gladio’s gaze; he was a sucker for those big amber eyes, but they were also dangerously perceptive. One look and he would know. “You’ve nothing to worry about. It’s fine.”
“Is it?” he pressed.
Sighing, he nodded. “It is.” This was a long conversation, perhaps best saved for another day. But then he glanced at Gladio’s concerned expression and he knew it would trouble him until he said something. It was in his nature to solve things headon and ensure his loved ones were unhurt. Ignis pushed his glasses further up his nose, glancing aside. “It’s something else that—” His eyes landed on the refrigerator, on an old crayon drawing of Iris’ that had a depiction of her holding hands with ‘Daddy and Gladdy.’ That swell of disorientation came rushing back and he changed his mind. He couldn’t bring it up here, not in his house, surrounded by his family. “—Nevermind. I-I’m overreacting.”
“Hey.” Immediately, Gladio rushed through the kitchen to him and took both his hands in his, tilting his head so Ignis would look at him. “Hey, you never overreact, okay?” he said softly. “Ignis, look at me.” He gave his fingers a gentle squeeze and he glanced up. “You don’t. I over react,” he joked, garnering a small smile from him.
“But,” he continued, “You do tend to overcompensate, and that’s okay. You’re always thinking about things before I ever do, which is a good thing. Then I come and ruin things with my big mouth, and I’m sorry if I said something to upset you.”
“You haven’t. I just—” Ignis paused, considering how to explain the tide of emotions that overcame him so quickly, because he immediately did not want Gladio to believe he’d done something wrong when he was just sharing his thoughts and aspirations. Perhaps he had found no other way to bring it up than here in his home, surrounded by his family because that was the only place he could do so. He met Gladio’s gaze, his best friend, his partner, his confidant, the last person he wanted to hurt with his struggles. He took a steadying breath. “Earlier…you mentioned having children and for some reason it finally occurred to me that that was also an answer for me.” He could see Gladio’s expression begin to change, to hone in. He glanced aside. “And I, admittedly, haven’t put too much thought into it. The formalities and options yes, but not this. Not family life. Not the reality of it.”
Gladio’s expression was unreadable, an indication he was deep in thought. “Iggy..”
“With Talcott, you handled him marvelously and the other children, the discipline. You’re a natural.” He couldn’t stop the slight tremor in his voice because he really was a natural. Gladio was many things, is many things, will be many things, and he knew that being a good father was one of those.
Gladio brought his hands up, trailing over his arms and finally drew him into an embrace. His chin pressed against his temple. Ignis’ molded into the shape of Gladio’s embrace, his arms under his, hands grasping at the broad expanse of his back. There was no other place he felt safest.
“I didn’t learn all that overnight. Most of it is just being an older brother and some of it is just watching what my dad does. It’s just practice. I dropped Iris once. And I after I was so scared to hold her. Course I was just a kid, but, then when the twins were four, I lost Justin at the mall and I was so scared. I was so afraid someone had kidnapped him because of who we are and I just couldn’t stop thinking how scared he was, if they’d hurt him. For a long time, I told myself I wouldn’t have any children. It was too much of a risk. They can’t help what family they’re born into. The duty, the service, the danger.”
His arms encircled him tighter. “And then trying to find a partner that didn’t want to marry me because of my name. How could I know they would protect our children? Then,” he sighed, and Ignis could hear his heart beat faster. “I realized I already found someone who cared about who I was. Who knew to nurture, to protect, who was intelligent, who saw the true nature of people. Who guided a scared boy to a confident prince who will lead a kingdom.”
Pulling his head back to look at him, Gladio grinned, the corners of his eyes wet. “And the best part was he loves me too. He understands everything I have to do even if I’m to afraid to admit it.”
Just when he couldn’t believe he could love Gladiolus Amicitia any more than he already did, he had to go and say things like this that made him a complete mess. Sniffling, he pressed his face into the warmth of his chest. “You give me far too much credit.”
Gladio laughed, sniffling, as well. “What? You get like all the credit, babe. You’re the best. You really are. And, I know you didn’t say it, but, honestly? I’m scared too. Sometimes I wonder if I really want kids, but then I remember that I swore an oath to protect Noct, to guide him and that includes providing shields for his children.” He turned his face slightly to kiss the top of his head. “And whether they’re our kids or just mine, you’re still gonna influence them. Noct will ask you for advice. Or I will. Or,” he realized, “Noct will definitely ask you for advice on his kids.”
That brought a smile to his face. Yes, Gladio, or even himself with children seemed plausible, but Noctis? That would be quite the treat. “He’ll understand how frustrating it is to feed someone vegetables.”
“I cannot wait for that day. And hey, just between you and me, if you want kids—if you want my kids, ours will eat their veggies. That’s an Amicitia guarantee.”
He leaned back to make sure Gladio saw how high he had arched his eyebrows. “I’ll hold you to that.”
“Heh.” Gladio pulled him closer again to press another kiss to his lips. “Deal.”
For a few moments, they remained like that in the kitchen then he saw a spark in Gladio’s eye.
“Hey, c’mon, I want to show you something.”
“Oh?” Ignis said, intrigued. He remembered the kitchen was clean and all the kids were in bed, so to speak.
“Not that,” he said, lacing their fingers together. “Well, maybe after, but let’s go to my dad’s study.”
Following Gladio up the east wing stairs from the mudroom, Ignis was even more intrigued. Clarus’ study was a treasure unto itself. Old weapons, from the ancient era, were stored up there, but if he was truly honest, it was the private collection of journals of many past Shields, and even a couple of Lucian kings, amongst forgotten tomes and out of print historical collections. He was only of a very select handful to know, but there were secrets that could upturn the kingdom in here. Regardless, it was always a very high honor whenever Clarus let him borrow a book, or indeed, suggest he read one to strengthen his abilities and decisions as future advisor.
There were many highlights to House Amicitia, but the study was its centerpiece, a glass and wood vaulted ceiling, being a large feature. When they stepped in, soft lights came on automatically, part of a climate control to preserve the books. Gladio brought them to a bookshelf nearest the desk, selected a red book and a blue one from the center shelf and led them to the couch. Both their knees touched the coffee table and he wondered if anyone ever sat here.
Ignis watched how Gladio opened them with a sort of reverence.
“My grandmother made these when Iris and I were born.”
They were picture albums, each of different milestones from their birth to fairly recently. Gladio stopped at a picture of his father holding a newborn. “Here. Check this out. My dad was thirty-two when he had me. And here, forty when Iris was born.”
Most would think it odd to see the Shield of the King smiling so broadly, but here, he was just Clarus, a new father, an excited father, but also one that looked way in over his head, especially with Gladio.
“Yeah,” Gladio said softly, looking at his father’s pictures. “We got some time on us. We don’t have to be ready now or even in five years. In ten, twenty, fifteen, however long it takes.” He shifted a bit in the couch to face him better. “Or, if you don’t want that we’ll figure something out. Or,” He glanced away, unsure, but held Ignis’ hand again. “If that’s a deal breaker with us, then that’s what happens.” Smiling, he met his eyes. “I want you to be happy in this relationship. And between you and me, we already have someone we take care of.”
Ignis grinned. “And a golden-haired boy.”
Gladio rolled his eyes. “Him too. I have a feeling he’ll be sticking around with us.”
“Actually, of the four of us, Prompto is actually the most self-sufficient. Latch-key kid, I believe it’s called, but he’s well-equipped.”
“I know. Only makes me want to take care of him even more.”
“It does, doesn’t it?” Didn’t it go without saying that those who grew up with little familial interaction were drawn to it? Is that what drew him to Gladio? Or Gladio to him? Perhaps he thought the same thing, because Gladio pulled him close on the couch, resting his arm across his shoulders. Ignis rested his head against his chest.
“And hey,” Gladio added, after swiping his hair aside to kiss his forehead. My dad had two heirs. It’s not a big deal. I mean, I’m not putting all this pressure on Iris, but she might have children one day and she knows the duties of our family. And my cousins, too. Pia, or Justin or Clara. My aunt’s been training them. And sometimes my dad and I. We know how to cover our bases.”
“You are too good to me, Gladiolus Amicitia.” He truly was.
“I know,” he said. “And speaking of bases covered, the kids are all in bed and we’re alone,” he insinuated.
Ignis picked his head up to eye him carefully. “In your father’s study.”
Gladio leaned in, his lips barely an inch away. “In my father’s locked study. That the kids are forbidden to enter. Well, except Iris but she doesn’t come in here too much. Isn’t this room one of your kinks?”
Ignis licked his lips, eager and horrified at the same time as he let him push him onto the cushions. “A regrettably correct assumption.”
Gladio’s grin was wide. “I know.”
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YOI Academic Week - Day One
AN: Not sure if I’m going to be able to contribute to every day of this event, not with how weird my health has been off-late, but here I am with my day one fill, @yoiacademicweek! This fills the prompt “Sleeping in Random Places on Campus”. It got a lot longer than I thought it would, but hey, slice of life and fluff.
Premise: Victor and Yuuri keep running into each other on campus whenever Yuuri falls asleep in strange places. They somehow manage to fall for each other over a course of multiple meetings anyway, no matter how weird the circumstances. AU in that Victor and Yuuri are both studying at the same, unnamed university, and Victor isn’t a figure skater. He still skates, though. *wry grin*
As a disclaimer, I came up with all the instagram ids at the end on my own, if they happen to correlate to existing accounts, it’s a complete coincidence.
“We really should stop meeting this way.”
Still in the throes of sleep, Yuuri blinked blearily, registering after a long moment that he wasn’t at home, instead curled up in a comfortable niche he’d found at the integrative learning center. He’d had over an hour till the next bus home showed up, and after a long day, he’d figured he may as well catch a few winks when he got the chance.
It took another moment before he registered he’d been spoken to.
Warily peering over his shoulder, he almost collapsed and rolled right out of his niche in relief. Not a stranger deciding to pick on the creepy Asian dude curled up in a ball; probably overdressed for the weather, but who gave a fuck. Well, the man was still technically a stranger in that Yuuri still didn’t actually know his name, but- he was a stranger-friend bearing hot coffee that smelled divine. And Yuuri was poor and weak and cold, and-
His stranger-friend gave a warm laugh, surrendering the coffee without any complaint. Yuuri already had a quarter of the cup down his gullet, groaning happily, before he registered that the man actually had another cup to himself, and was leaning against the wall beside where Yuuri had been curled up, smiling softly into his cup. Oh.
“Um. Thank you,” he offered awkwardly, forcing himself to stop guzzling coffee like a rude ass. It just earned him another laugh though, the other man’s lips rounding out into an adorable heart-shape that had Yuuri’s mouth going dry. And had Yuuri rushing for the coffee, again, just to give himself something to do that didn’t involve staring like a thirsty fool.
Well, it probably made him look thirsty, alright, but at least he didn’t seem thirsty-
Oh god.
“I need more sleep. And probably a lot more coffee than this,” he mumbled to himself, a little helplessly, and managed to reduce his stranger-friend to tiny little snickers that he made no effort to hide. Well, at least he was cute. Even if he was laughing at Yuuri.
This wasn’t the first time this had happened. Yuuri didn’t make it a habit of accepting coffee from strangers, no matter how lovely the stranger or how delicious smelling the coffee. He had at least some preservation instincts. Even if he did have the bad habit of falling asleep in strange places all of the time. Phichit had actually started making a gag reel for it on YouTube, had created a brand new tagging system on Instagram just to capture Yuuri in different stages of slumber in unexpected places. Like, oh, at the side of a fountain. Under a tree. In a tree, on its branches, because that got Yuuri away from the bustle of students on the ground. On a bench by the lake, in nicer weather, because right now everything outside was a frozen wasteland and Yuuri would rather find nice, cozy corners that came with central heating.
Anyway, back to the topic. Yuuri didn’t make it a habit of accepting coffee from lovely strangers. But he’d run into this specific stranger-friend enough times that he had to admit that his stranger-danger gauge had run a little low.
“We could just go and get coffee at the coffee shop in the library.” The stranger-friend offered, and Yuuri turned to eye him through narrow eyes.
He just kept smiling, though, his icy-blue eyes lit up with good humor, ash-blond hair ruffled slightly and damp from melting flakes of snow. He didn’t even have the decency to wear anything warmer than a light peacoat and shirt, damn him, while Yuuri felt like he’d be frozen stiff if he didn’t bundle into multiple layers. At least it wasn’t a bloody hoodie, but then, from what Yuuri had seen of the other man, hoodies were beneath him, outside of exercise days. No matter how comfortable.
“Maybe we’d actually get to talk for once? Without you needing to go running to catch a bus home, or needing to rush off for your next class? Or, oh, what was it last time-”
“Books that I needed to drop off in my advisor’s office,” Yuuri muttered, feeling his cheeks burn. They weren’t excuses, okay, he’d actually had to do all of those things. The accusation that he’d been making excuses to run away would make him irate, but really, there’s not much accusation in the other man’s tone. And so much more honest amusement, like he’s laughing with Yuuri at their situation, instead of laughing at him for being such a dumpster fire at life.
“So? Want to get that coffee?” he asked, again, and Yuuri’s about to say yes. Except that he noticed the time and fuck, there goes his bus, and there isn’t going to be another one that night if he doesn’t catch this one-
The stranger-friend took one look at his face, sighed, and nodded, still smiling.
Yuuri catapulted himself out of his niche, scrabbling on the waxed floors, and all but dived through the doors he shoved open. It isn’t till he’s standing and heaving for breath on his bus, still clutching at his coffee cup, that he realized that he’d somehow run without getting the stranger-friend’s name yet again.
*
It started something like this. They’d still been in fall, and Yuuri had already started delving through the sweater bins in the discount sales sections of any store he headed to. Mostly so he could buy them in bulk to supplement his need to stay warm, with the constant litany that there would be a day he would hit it big as a skater and then he’d be able to get all the expensive sweaters and coats he wanted on sponsorship money. A complete filthy lie, Yuuri would never do anything of the sort, but it was something to tell himself.
It had been a really long day, and he’d just hunkered down on the stairs, close to the wall, trusting the fact that he’d picked the side stairwell of the library to ensure that no one would bug him. Head down on his knees, arms hiding most of what could be seen of the top of his head, and dead to the world within thirty seconds. And yeah, that’s how tired he’d been.
When he’d woken up, he almost crashed into the person crouching in front of him, reaching out as though to shake him awake.
“Uh, it’s just, you’ve been here for at least three hours, I promise I’m not a creep?” the stranger stuttered, his pretty blue eyes really wide.
Yuuri gaped back at him, not sure how he was supposed to react to that. Except, fuck, yes he did know how to react to that. And it was-
“MY BUS! God-fucking-damnit, this had to happen the one time Phichit-kun wasn’t in town, didn’t it-”
And off he’d rushed before the beautiful stranger could get any more words out.
*
It hadn’t ended there, oh no. Yuuri might have had some sanity left if it’d ended at there. No, instead, he’d somehow managed to run into the stranger, quickly dubbed the stranger-friend in his head, all over campus. And these meetings happened only when he’d been asleep first, because someone out there loved to see Yuuri squirm. Obviously.
From lonely stairwells to booths in cheap restaurants to underneath desks in their library and, one particularly embarrassing time, dozing at the counter during the shift Phichit begged him to cover at the coffee shop. He’d come awake with a start, and had almost toppled over – the only reason he hadn’t was because the stranger-friend had nearly dived over the counter, arms outstretched, to keep him in place.
Then there was the time he’d fallen asleep at the fucking bus stop-
What Yuuri was trying to say, was… there had been many, many times he’d been caught sleeping at strange places by the stranger-friend. It had gotten to the point that Phichit actually asked him about the meetings with his mysterious, handsome stranger-friend, tongue in cheek. While Yuuri valiantly protested that there weren’t any ‘meetings’ to speak of.
*
Yuuri blinked awake, promptly jerking in shock when he noticed the particularly familiar ash-blond haired form curled up on the couch opposite from where Yuuri was curled up into his own armchair. Staring in disbelief for a few seconds had apparently been enough to make the other man register the scrutiny and blink awake as well. When he noticed the way Yuuri had been staring, though, he just offered up a sheepish grin.
“You look so comfortable sleeping all the time. I thought I’d wait to say hi, but I ended up falling asleep too.”
The words made Yuuri flush, just a bit, but they also made him laugh. How could he not, really, when he saw how awkward the other man looked. His laughter had the added effect of making his stranger-friend relax immediately, too, so win-win.
“I’m Yuuri,” Yuuri managed to get out, once his laughter died away. When the other man’s brows rose, Yuuri cracked a wry grin his way.
“Katsuki Yuuri. Or, uh, Yuuri Katsuki, you’d say. Hi.”
“Hi,” his stranger-friend repeated, bemused, before cracking a grin of his own.
“I’m Victor Nikiforov! I’ve seen you practicing at the rink a couple of times, I doubt you’d have seen me, we have different practice times and I know you’re very focused when you’re on the ice-”
The words had Yuuri gaping. Because he hadn’t expected anything of the sort.
*
For the first time in months, Yuuri had nowhere to rush to, and so, he had all the time in the world to curl up in a booth in the coffee shop with Victor opposite him, finally getting the chance to actually talk. It turned out that Victor was not only older than him, but he was also at the University for a Graduate Degree in Comparative Literature. They were in completely different departments, and Victor took classes in Russian for beginners, not English 101 like several others in his cohort, so there hadn’t been any chance of them running into each other in a more formal setting there either.
And the first time Victor had seen him, he’d been rushing down the stairs and had nearly tripped right over Yuuri when he’d been sitting in the stairwell.
The expression on Victor’s face had Yuuri collapsing sideways, shaking with hilarity. Victor just watched him with an exasperated smile, sipping slowly at his black tea. Yuuri had seen him dart across to the abandoned breakfast counter to grab a couple containers of jam to empty into his cup, early on, much to his horror, but Victor had seemed very happy with his choice of drink. Victor had seemed about as horrified by how dark he took his coffee, anyway, so Yuuri supposed they made a good pair.
Adding as much sugar and milk as he’d have liked would have pissed Celestino off, anyway, so Yuuri would just have to abstain. At least until the off-season.
“And why did you try to wake me up?” he asked breathlessly, peering over the edge of the table once he managed to bring his laughter under control.
Victor was still watching him with that smile of his, his expression something that Yuuri couldn’t understand too well all on his own, but Yuuri stared back at him anyway, waiting patiently for a response. Victor hummed thoughtfully, after a moment, and pressed his chin into the support of his hand, his elbow balancing on the table.
“I’d had to head out and get some work done, after almost tripping over you. And then I’d come back, and had been heading back to the reading rooms above, but there I found you, still fast asleep. You’d looked so peaceful, and I’d gone multiple nights without sleep, and I’d probably been a little jealous-”
“Hey, now-” Yuuri cut in, beginning to grin, but Victor cut him off in turn, smiling softly.
“But mostly, I’d woken you up because I knew you’d been sleeping there for a really long time. And judging from where you’d decided to take a nap, I didn’t think you’d actually planned on falling asleep for that long. So I thought I should be a nice guy and nudge you awake.”
“You almost gave me a heart attack, you know,” Yuuri countered mildly, trying to hide his grin. Victor didn’t make any effort of the sort, his lips rounding out into that heart-shaped smile that Yuuri had seen the last time around all over again. Yuuri wished they wouldn’t, that expression did weird things to the organ pumping away inside his chest.
“You did the same, I think, when I saw you dozing at the bus stop. I think you nearly mowed me down while trying to catch your bus.”
“Hey, I didn’t have any other buses left to catch, that night. It’s not my fault if we keep running into each other right before I’m about to miss my bus.”
“Or hand in a paper, or running late for a meeting, or-”
“Hey.”
Victor’s just looked more delighted than before, damn him. So Yuuri had to admit defeat, instead levering himself upright again, and grumbling into his coffee.
They exchanged phone numbers before heading out for the night, and the sight of Victor’s name in his contact list left a warm glow in Yuuri’s chest. Even if it did make Phichit go around with a smug expression for the rest of the week.
*
The next time he fell asleep in the lobby of his department, he woke to Victor scribbling away in a notebook beside him, intimidatingly thick and musty texts sitting open on the table before them. When he made a muzzy, questioning sound, Victor glanced back at him, and waved at him to go back to sleep.
Well. Okay then. If Victor said so.
The next time he managed to get himself back awake, it was to find that Victor had managed to fall asleep as well, heavy books pushed haphazardly to the side and head pillowed on his arms, somehow managing to look like a vision of beauty even while drooling in his sleep. Yuuri had to muffle his laughter into his sleeves, instead doodling a quick message into the side of Victor’s still opened scribbling notebook before heading off. It made sense to be the one buying the hot drinks for a change, right.
The way his eyes lit up when Yuuri proffered a cup of tea, plus teeny-tiny packets of jam on the side, was worth everything, anyway.
*
phichit+chu
[ image: a lithe figure wearing the JSF’s official Olympic jacket zipped all the way to the top, fast asleep with his mouth hanging open slightly, blue half-rimmed spectacles hanging low on his nose. Pillowed on his lap is another figure, face hidden, recognizable only by his ash blond hair and the name visible on the back of his Team Russia jersey. The first figure has an arm wrapped loosely around the second figure’s shoulders. ]
7,523 likes
phichit+chu look at my boys being #relationshipgoals even years down the line! congrats on winning gold yet again, @katsuki-y and @v-nikiforov! #showstoppers #yuurikatsuki #victornikiforov #teamrussia #pyeongchang2018 #olympicgold2018
mayamaylou aw they’re so cute they must be so tired #relationshipgoals
ammellorine d’aww zzzzz :D
phichit+chu @mayamaylou hah more like one fell asleep and the other tracked the first one down and then they were both dead to the world! but yeah they’re cute
christophe-gc sleeping so soundly, the both of them
y-plisetsky ugh
mila-babicheva don’t be mean yura but hey now we know where vitya’s gotten to #imsleepytoo #zzz #relationshipgoals
katsuki-y phichit-kun!
phichit+chu welp guess who’s awake save me from your husbando @v-nikiforov i’m too young and pretty to die
v-nikiforov my sleeping beauty and the prince of my heart in one ❤❤❤ #lifeandlove #alwayswakethesleepingbeauty
naiagurl theyve been together since college gimme a gf like that #relationshipgoals
katsuki-y vitya!
phichit+chu *laughs forever*
y-plisetsky why do all of you have to be so gross
mila-babicheva vitya abandon ship i think yakov spotted you
viktuurifan101 this entire thread is #blessed
#acaweek#day one#prompt: sleeping in random places on campus#pairing: victuuri#katsuki yuuri#victor nikiforov#phichit chulanont#fluff#so much fluff#my teeth ache#social media#alternate universe#victor and yuuri are college sweethearts#sappy college sweethearts#my writing#yoi#yuri!!! on ice
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Hi! So I'm trying to convince a friend who isn't really a fan of Abby that she's a precious cinnamon roll. What evidence/arguments/gentle nudging would help to show them the light? :)
You know what? I started writing out a whole long essay of feels about Abby Griffin and why I love her so much, but I realised anything like that was gonna be WAY too long! So here it is condensed into handy bullet pointed list form!
(ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧ DISCLAIMER
Someone not liking Abby as a character is fine! I don’t expect my fave to be everyone’s fave, and sometimes you get a character who just rubs you the wrong way and you might not even be able to explain why. But, since I was asked, these are some of the reasons *I* love Abby Griffin, and some responses to common criticisms of her (many of which I genuinely think are deeply unfair and based on ridiculously inaccurate interpretations of her character)
Onwards!
she’s a talented Doctor and Scientist
she designed the wristbands! the whole ‘sending the 100 to the ground’ thing was LITERALLY HER IDEA IN THE FIRST PLACE THERE WOULD BE NO SHOW without Abby Griffin
“the most respected person in this camp"
when Clarke destroys Mount Weather she immediately wants to use all that tech not for killing Grounders like Pike does, but for opening a hospital and healing Grounders and Sky people alike god whatever happened to THAT storyline btw??
saves Nyko’s life
saves Raven’s life
saves Lincoln’s life with an amazing smart, brave moment of sheer shocklashing badassery, and by doing so…
becomes the first person EVER to bring back a Reaper!!! Thus enabling Clarke to win an alliance with the Grounders and presumably becoming a legend with them because she LITERALLY BROUGHT A DUDE BACK FROM THE DEAD YO INDRA DID YOU SEE THAT SHIT
saves Finn’s life long-distance over the radio (look we all have our faults but Clarke, Raven and Octavia are equally to blame for this one so no foul to Abby)
saves Marcus’ life under the rubble of Tondc
saves Roan’s life when he’s shot
…literally are you getting my point half the people in the show would be dead if it it weren’t for her
keeps Ontari alive (and thus helps Clarke save the world) by CRACKING OPEN HER CHEST AND MANUALLY PUMPING HER HEART look even Murphy was impressed by that
she’s super badass and incredibly brave even without resorting to violence and killing like other characters
willing to go to jail and the airlock (!!!) multiple times to try and save the people due to die in the Culling
willing to fire herself at the Earth in an ancient rocket cobbled together by Raven just for the chance that she can prove the kids are alive
goes to meet Indra, a heavily armed enemy warrior leader, alone and unarmed, and doesn’t back down even with a knife held to her throat
climbs into the rubble of Tondc to save people even though she herself was safely out of it
saves Raven’s life (again!) by taking the chip when ALIE makes her cut her wrists
saves Jackson and Miller’s lives on Science Island by distracting a drone
she’s a devoted, loving and good mother (FUCK YOU I WILL DIE ON THIS HILL)
kind of a surrogate mom to Jackson who lost his mom at a young age
clearly wants to adopt both Raven and Murphy too
willing to move heaven and earth to find Clarke and protect her
stands up to Jaha to back Clarke in season two even as he tries to have her deposed and thrown into the stockade because…
“I have faith too. In my daughter.”
also in season two, defers to Clarke and gives up any chance of finding survivors from the other Ark stations to focus on rescuing the kids in Mount Weather
understands why Clarke left post-season two and even though it’s clearly hurting her she doesn’t try and drag her back before ‘she wants to be found’
look I don’t want to go too far on this because some of the time Abby DOES show poor judgement and go overboard in trying to protect Clarke?? I can’t deny that but honestly if the worst u can say about Abby Griffin is that she loves her daughter too much then you’re reaching pretty badly tbh, considering other characters have list of faults that literally include ‘torture’ and ‘genocide’
she’s a woman of extraordinary integrity and deeply held ethics, but also pragmatic and not stupid about it
“You don’t have to justify yourself.I broke the rules and I accept the consequences”
she ALWAYS does what she thinks is right…but she also NEVER shies away from the consequences
horrified by what Clarke does in letting Tondc be bombed…but keeps the secret anyway because she knows it’s necessary
deeply hurt by Clarke’s coup in S2 and shocked at the change in her daughter…but steps aside for her anyway to avoid more bloodshed from an actual fight
haunted and grief stricken by her beloved husband’s death…but was the one to turn him in, because she believed that risking the life of one person she loved couldn’t outweigh the risk of many more lives being lost by his actions
she’s the kindest, sweetest darling
befriends Raven, sees potential in her and treats her as an equal and an ally
besties with Purest Cinnamon Roll Jackson
sees the potential in John Murphy
respects and trusts Lincoln as an advisor when she’s Chancellor
constantly torn between worry and pride for her wayward daughter but would do anything to keep her safe
forgives Marcus Kane for all the bullshit he put her through and ends up being his biggest supporter and ally and helping him to become a better man
constantly trying to heal everyone and save everyone even though she knows she can’t
constantly trying to find solutions that don’t involve violence and death
wracked with guilt for things she couldn’t have forseen and couldn’t change, worries that she isn’t a good person and doesn’t deserve to survive
led Arkadia in three months of real peace, turning a ramshackle camp into a growing, flourishing home even while dealing with her own personal grief over Clarke being missing
doesn’t get enough sleep
her smile is like the sun coming out from behind the clouds
Abby Griffin in conclusion
she’s incredibly smart
she’s extraordinarily courageous
she’s self-sacrificing
she’s kind and compassionate
she’s passionately driven and principled
she’s willing to get her own hands dirty
she takes care of everyone even though no-one ever takes care of her
she has to try and be a leader AND a doctor AND a mother all at once and even though it means she’s constantly overworked and has to make impossible choices, she willingly bears the burden of those responsibilities
BONUS ROUND UNDER THE CUT!!! Common reasons people give for disliking Abby, and my response to them! :D
(ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧ DISCLAIMER THE SECOND
Again, this is all just my opinion, and I don’t want to start an argument with anyone who disagrees. The ask here was ‘what evidence/arguments would I use’ so I thought a useful thing would be to lay out why the common arguments of those who don’t like Abby as a character do not sway me personally. My intention is to counter these criticisms with my own thoughts on the subject, not invalidate them.
Onwards!
**
“She’s an overbearing mother who doesn’t believe in Clarke’s leadership and competency even though it’s been proven again and again. She constantly tries to protect her when Clarke can clearly take care of herself and is trying to Get Shit Done without her mom’s interference.”
This is probably the most common one, and honestly I’m afraid I’m gonna have to repeat myself from my point above - if the worst thing you can say about Abby Griffin is that she loves her daughter too much…assuming that most people who make this argument love Clarke too, it seems like a bizarre reason to dislike Abby?
It also strikes me as oddly lacking in context. Overbearing parents can suck, sure, but…Abby Griffin isn’t getting mad about her daughter staying out late partying with friends or getting poor exam results. Abby Griffin is a mother desperately trying to prevent her only child from being brutally killed, or turning into a cold, ruthless killing machine herself, or else just ending up so broken and emotionally scarred that she loses her forever in another way.
These are not unreasonable concerns. These are things that happen to characters on this show!
Abby doesn’t want to lose her daughter. She doesn’t want her daughter to be hurt. She doesn’t want her daughter to have to make the terrible choices and unbearable sacrifices that a leader in Clarke’s position is so often called upon to do. And you know what? In her position I wouldn’t want that for MY daughter either! Is Abby selfish to want to spare her daughter these burdens? Maybe. Is she naive to think she can continue to protect Clarke under these circumstances? Almost certainly. But I can’t find it in my heart to blame her for trying.
Another thing I would really like to point out here that I think is often shamefully overlooked is that this is a flaw of Abby’s that improves with time. Yes, Abby does often question Clarke’s authority in season two and she is stubborn and open in her dismay at the change in her daughter that the Ground has wrought. But as time goes by Abby consistently backs Clarke and defers to her time and time again - standing up for her against Jaha, prioritizing her friends in Mount Weather above finding other Ark survivors, keeping the secret of the Tondc bombing…by the time season two ends Abby has come to terms with the person Clarke has become, and throughout season three and four she is nothing but a supportive and staunch ally to Clarke’s plans.
When they disagree on something Abby will always speak her mind, and when Clarke is in danger Abby will always try to protect her…just as any mother would, and as any of Clarke’s friends would. But if there’s one thing Abby Griffin has, it’s unwavering love and faith in her daughter. Clarke is clearly the person Abby cares most for in the world, and their relationship is one of the most important in the show - whether they’re at odds or working together, that relationship always makes both Clarke and Abby more interesting and more sympathetic to me. It feels like a genuine shame to me that some people find it a cause for resentment towards either of these characters instead.
**
“She’s reckless and doesn’t think through the consequences of her actions. She gave Finn a gun and he slaughtered a Grounder village! She smashed that machine in season four just to save Clarke when the entire human race was at stake!”
Actually I somewhat agree with this one! One of Abby’s faults throughout the show is that she often acts impulsively and makes unilateral decisions to do what she believes is right. Sometimes she turns out to be right…sometimes not. Either way this is something that makes me like Abby more as a character - she’s fallible and human! She makes mistakes! She’s so single minded about protecting her daughter that it can blind her to other concerns!
It makes her a much more interesting character, in my opinion, than an Abby Griffin who is unequivocally Right All The Time. As something of a moral compass for the show, it would be very easy for her to be boring, and having that stubborn, reckless streak makes her far more fun to watch. Give me morphine-stealing, black-market-dealing, do-whatever-it-takes-and-lie-through-your-teeth-to-get-what-you-want Slytherin Abby Griffin any day!
Because…at the end of the day, everything Abby does, good and bad, is done out of love for her daughter, and responsibility to her people. She’s not always right, but she is always - to paraphrase Jake Griffin - ‘doing the best she can.’ And I can’t help but love her for that, and root for her to succeed.
**
“She slapped Raven that one time.”
Yeah, that was a dick move. What, you expected something different? Just because I love Abby doesn’t mean I have to blindly agree with everything she does! As it happens, I share the opinion of a lot of people who think the writing for the show was at fault in this instance - I don’t think that slap was AT ALL in character for Abby to do, but that’s a discussion for another time. Assuming it IS taken as canon…yeah it was a total dick move. I hope (and genuinely believe) that Abby apologised to Raven afterwards.
But again, I can’t help but think…if the worst charge you can level against Abby Griffin is ‘she slapped someone who didn’t deserve it one time’ then in the context of THIS show that speaks pretty well of Abby, to be honest. Of course it’s absurd to argue that any bad thing Abby does is just fine because other people have done worse things but…just…it’s not unreasonable to get a little perspective here, maybe? This one instance of Abby doing something admittedly unpleasant and unjustified to Raven in a moment of stress is nowhere near enough to cancel out the genuine and loving friendship the two share for the rest of the show, and seems like a pretty thin reason to Hate Abby Forever, especially considering all the awful things literally every other character in the show has done at one point or another except for my precious son Jackson
So although I agree in principle, a lot of the time when people trot out this particular argument it feels a lot to me like playing on everyone’s love of Raven to try and get them to hate Abby…which leaves a nasty ‘pitting women against each other’ taste in my mouth, to be honest.
So yeah, I don’t like this scene. I don’t like what Abby does in this scene. I won’t make apologies for her behavior here. But what I like least of all is anyone who tries to use this scene as some kind of unforgivable indictment of Abby’s character, when it is quite clearly exceptional and uncharacteristic behavior for her; something never seen before or since.
It was a dick move though.
**
“She killed her husband!”
*sighhhhhh*
I don’t hear this one a lot these days, but I really don’t know why it ever comes up at all as a reason to hate Abby? I mean, I can’t believe I have to spell this out for people because it is all explicitly laid out for you on screen in the show, but here in handy list form:
Abby clearly and demonstrably loved Jake Griffin, was terrified that he might be killed for exposing secret information and begged him not to do it
when he refused to back down, Abby confided in Jaha about his plans, because she genuinely believed that Jake was going to doom everyone on the Ark by going public, including Clarke
Abby and Jake were both personal friends with Jaha, and Abby believed that he would not execute Jake - a reasonable thing to think, as Jake had not yet committed a crime and Jaha HAD the power of pardon and was more than willing to use it on Abby when she later broke the law to save HIS life (hey fuck you Thelonius by the way)
when this did not happen and Jake was executed anyway, Abby was clearly and demonstrably horrified and grief stricken
even though Jake Griffin’s death was neither her intention nor her fault, she still obviously bears terrible guilt for her role in it and will have to live with the pain of losing the man she loved every day for the rest of her life
…seriously, this is all there on screen. Why some people persist in portraying Abby as some kind of cackling murderess who happily shoved her husband out of an airlock is beyond me. She trusted the wrong person and made a terrible mistake; an attempt to save lives that ended up losing the life of someone she loved deeply. It was a tragedy for everyone involved, born of the choices made by several different people all acting out of the best of intentions. Abby never came across as anything but deeply sympathetic to me when I watched this storyline play out on screen, and I’m just baffled that anyone feels otherwise? What show were you watching?
“She’s old and boring.”
Hey: fuck you!
Ok so not a lot of people straight up come out and say this, but a lot of the hate towards Abby Griffin really does seem to be because she has the audacity to be a woman over forty on TV. If you hate Abby because she displays characteristics or acts in a way that you would be swooning over if given to a sexy young man in his 20s, then the problem is a whole lot of socially ingrained ageism and misogyny, and there’s not a lot I can do to persuade people out of that.
~**~IN CONCLUSION~**~
A lot of people have different reasons for not liking Abby Griffin as a character, just as is the case for any character in any work of fiction. Some of them I can understand, even if I don’t personally agree with them. Some of them I think are both unfair and unreasonable. However, at the end of the day, all I can do is try and explain my own reasons for Abby being my favourite character, which I have done at…uh…some length. WOOPS.
I love Abby. I think she’s an interesting character,a sympathetic character, a vibrant and complicated and vital character. She’s someone I look up to, the kind of person I would like to be. And it bums me out to think that there are fans who just don’t like her, or simply don’t care about her, and that I will probably never be able to change their minds on that.
But there are plenty of people who feel the same way I do too. So Anon, if you are still reading this - and frankly I wouldn’t blame you if you had given up some time ago - my advice for you is this:
Agree to disagree. Talk to your friend about characters you both love in the show. Ask them to keep an open mind about Abby, and try to find out why they just haven’t warmed to her in the way you presumably have. And if you ever want to flail over our smol cinnamon roll science babe queen…there are plenty of us ready and waiting to join you :)
#Anonymous#The 100#Abby Griffin#The 100 meta#all I can say about this is...well...you asked#I am always up for talking about Abby
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Her Latest Flame Chapter 20: Fifty-Two
Previous Chapters
The first time the phone rings, Sophie ignores it.
OK, so she doesn’t actually ignore it. That would suggest she doesn’t pay any attention to it at all and that would be something of a… well…
A lie. It would be something of an outright, bald faced, not even Amy would try spinning that bit of bullshit, honest to God lie.
The phone is on the desk and the desk is across the room from her, from her bed, the same bed she’s been sprawled out on for hours, through her first two classes - skipped ‘em both - through a lunch meeting with her advisor (a woman in the Art department who she’s met once and who tried to advise her into, of all things, film) (she’s a fucking dance major), and now, through the ring ring ringing (cause still going) of her phone.
It’s the first time she’s heard it in days and she’d almost - almost - forgot the fucking thing could actually ring.
So, here she is, on her bed, alone, just staring at her ceiling and - ironically enough given who she is sure is on the other end of the line - remembering the time she innocently suggested to Amy that they put glow in the dark stars up there. An entire pack of them, or maybe even two, like an entire universe that would come to life just at night.
“It’d be like camping,” she said, and no, the whole lesbians and camping thing never crossed her mind, not even once. “Kinda. Except, you know, with beds instead of sleeping bags and indoor plumbing instead of bushes that make you itch in your… you know… bush… and, no s'mores and oooooh, can we have s'mores?”
Amy had laughed (and Sophie had smiled cause, not that she would have admitted it then and she sure as fuck wouldn’t cop to it now, she loves the sound of Amy’s laugh) (and yes, that is the correct tense) and thrown a pillow at her and told her, in no uncertain terms, that there would be no stars.
“No stars,” she said. Those were her exact words. “No stars, ever.” Those were her more exact words and when Sophie asked - innocently, again - if they needed to make that a rule, Amy had answered with a groan and another pillow bomb and boy, it was a good thing she always slept with like five of those, what with the number of them she was lobbing in Sophie’s direction.
“OK, OK,” Sophie said. No stars was fine, not a big deal at all. It had been just a thought, a spur of the moment kinda thing that sort of just popcorn-popped into her head (she really had junk food on the brain that night) and those were the sorts of things that tended to pop out just as fast, which is how Sophie’s always been able to tell when something really matters to her. It doesn’t pop off and away. It lingers.
Like Amy. Like Reagan. Like whether or not Jon Snow was really dead cause it wasn’t like she obsessed on that for months or anything and Amy still owed her five bucks since, in the end,Jon was, you know, dead, until the old woman who she totally shouldn’t think was hot (but come on) saved him and yes, she’s digressing here, but it’s her memory so, you know…
Fuck you.
So Amy never popped out (and yes, never does mean still, unfortunately) and neither did, or has, Reagan - even after she bailed on her and never came back - but the stars… yeah, they didn’t last all that long.
“No stars,” Sophie said, perfect agreeable. “But about the s'mores…”
Another pillow - the My Little Pony one (Rainbow Dash, natch) that she won for Amy at the 1st Weekend College Fair - landed on her with thud and an over dramatic 'oh, I’ve been slain!’ that set off a round of giggles from Amy’s bed that warmed areas of Sophie’s heart she hadn’t quite known were cold.
And the next evening, when Sophie got home from her two hour lab session for a class she was sure she didn't need and was even more sure she wasn’t going to pass?
There was a plate of melted just right, still warm, and ooooh… the marshmallow oozed out in perfect little globs when she took a bite… s'mores waiting on her desk.
That was the day when Sophie decided she loved Amy Raudenfeld. Totally, 100% platonic love, of course. Sophie’s not the type to fall in love with just anyone and she’s got more than enough smarts - lab grades, notwithstanding - to ever let that 'anyone’ be the person she lived with.
You don’t shit where you eat, that’s what her Nana always said.
Especially not where you eat s'mores.
At least, you know, not till she was older and actually living with someone and not just sharing a fairly small room - with no stars and far too many pillows - and no options for escape for like the next four years because, no way, no fucking how, was she gonna try and find a new roomie, not after all the work she’d done breaking Amy in and getting her just right.
So, no. No stars on the ceiling and no new roomies in the… room. And no, absolutely no falling in love.
But… s'mores.
So, yeah, there was no way she was falling in love with Amy, but she loves her. Sophie loves the fuck out of that girl and, even now, even as the phone rungs (for the first time) across the room and she knows damn well who it is (cause she’s right on time), Sophie can’t quite bring herself to change the ’s’ to an 'ed’ on the end of that, but she knows - oh, she knows - if she answers that phone?
The past tense is gonna crash headlong into the present and then there’s gonna be stars - and probably Amy seeing them, again - and there will be new roomies cause there’s just gotta be a college rule against living with someone you’ve punched out and there will be no more s'mores and that is just one more 'and’ than Sophie can take right about now.
So she ignores it.
She ignores it, after. As in after she tries - far too quickly - to leap from her bed to answer it and gets her feet tangled in the duvet and ends up doing a Captain America dive halfway across the room, her fingers just catching the edge of the desk as she lands, the phone teasing her with its little vibrating self (and she usually enjoys a little vibrating tease) as it scoots further on the desk and by the time she actually does reach it, she may as well have ignored it, so that is exactly what she does.
Cause it’s gone silent. Again. And all Sophie can do is flop back onto the floor and wonder.
Where are all the pillows now?
The second time the phone rings, Sophie tries for patience.
Cause, well, you saw how well hurrying worked for her.
Though, this time, she’s not on the bed and there’s no duvet to tangle her feet all up in and she could make it across the room safely (probably) (she is still her, after all) and scoop it up off the desk and answer it.
And she will. In, you know, a minute. Or, really, just less than.
Because that is how long it takes her phone to go to voicemail. Just under one minute. Exactly. She timed it once, one time when some girl whose name she didn’t quite remember (Sam) kept calling and calling and calling and oh, did she mention calling?
That girl, whose name she didn’t remember (Sam) (It was Sam, short for Samantha, and she had long brown hair, braided like halfway down her back and no, Sophie didn’t know anything, not anything at all about what it was like to use that braid like a steering wheel) had been, well, something of a… um…
“Rule twelve,” Amy said, not even looking over as the phone rang and rang and, really, she had to have mentioned rang. “So twelve.”
Rule #12: We will never call any girl a mistake, for they are all learning experiences in one way or another and we would not be the women we are without them. So, never a mistake. But, maybe, you know… a really really really poor fucking choice.
Sam short for Samantha should have been short for same as in same call, same time, every fucking day, always hanging up in exactly the same (see?) fifty-two seconds and that was just weird enough to drive Sophie batshit.
Or, you know, more batshit.
“Why? Why fifty-two seconds? Why fifty-two seconds every fucking time?”
They were on the floor, sprawled out on a pair of body pillows Amy had gleefully snagged from the college bookstore (on clearance) (such a good shopper) (Lauren would be proud), watching a movie Amy had been assigned to write a paper about for her CRW 111: Intro to Screenwriting course. It was something about time travel and Bruce Willis and that kid from Third Rock from the Sun who was so not a kid anymore - and if Sophie had ever entertained ideas about guys, Bruce and Mr. Not a Kid would’ve been #’s 1 and 2 on her list - so, either of those alone might have been enough to convince Sophie to watch.
But the female lead was Emily Blunt and that was enough to convince her to watch it twice and to take notes and to vow that if John Krasinski ever turned out to be a complete secret asshole (come on, you know he is) she would find a way to be the one to soothe and mend Emily’s poor broken heart.
(And any other hopefully not as broken and still fully functional and oh, dat ass doe, parts.)
“I’m not sure which scares me more,” Amy said, popping another bite of popcorn (extra butter) into her mouth. They’d had to pop a second bowl after Sophie had gotten a bit overwrought at the end of the movie the first time and cried a whole bunch of tears in it. “That every time she calls for fifty-three -”
“Fifty-two.”
“Right,” Amy said with a nod and her most perfect 'no, you not cray cray at all’ smile (you try being friends with Karma for like your whole life and see if you don’t have one of those). “For fifty-two seconds. Or that you know she does.”
Sophie ignored the smile (you try being her and not learn to do that) and sat up, pausing the movie and no, that had nothing to do with the camera lingering on Emily's… um… face, nope, nothing at all. “Call me,” she said, inspiration suddenly striking (thanks, Em.) “Right now, call me.”
For whatever reason (like, you know, maybe, it being way more entertaining than watching the movie again) Amy obliged and called and, wouldn’t you know, at fifty-three seconds exactly…
S'up. This is Sophie. You know what to do. Of course, if you really knew what to do, I probably would have answered, so maybe that ought to be a hint to work on your skills, um… unless this is Amy, in which case why the hell aren’t you just texting me, you know the rules -
Rule #18: Always text, never call.
Rule #19: If you have to ask why for Rule #18, then obviously, you’ve never had your phone ring at a most… inopportune time… and since we both know that isn’t true, Amy (see: Elsie) (see: Elsie while you were making out with her sorority sister) (see: Woot!).
And that was why fifty-two seconds, every time. Just long enough to be annoying (so, kinda like Sam-short-for-Samantha had been in real life), but not long enough to leave a real message, an actual recording, any verifiable proof that she’d been there.
So, again, kinda like her in real life.
But now, Sophie knows how long it takes - at least for her voicemail to pick up - cause when it comes to other things, complicated things, forgiving and wanting to talk to or, really, wanting to talk to and admitting it kinda things, she’s not so sure just yet.
Which is why she’s waiting.
That, and she doesn’t feel like getting any more bruises on account of Amy even though she’s pretty sure the small bump on her knee and the light grazes on her palms ain’t much of a thing compared to the shiner her roomie’s gotta still be sporting. But that, she thinks, is only fair.
Amy did her damage too. You just can't see hers.
Unless you count looking in the mirror and seeing the red circles under the eyes and the look like she hasn’t slept in like days and the way she visibly flinches every time she even thinks of Reagan or Amy or the phone rings and so, yeah, that’s why Sophie’s avoided the mirror since the moment she’s gotten back and why, again, she’s counting down the seconds in her head.
Forty. Forty-one. Forty-two. Forty-three.
At forty-five, she takes a step toward the desk. At forty-six, her hand comes out, reaching for the phone. At forty-seven, she sees it - her arm, her hand, her fingers starting to close over the tiny little thing in the tiny gold and blue (school colors) case - and at forty-eight, she starts to pull back.
She’s not ready.
What, exactly, she isn’t ready for, she’s not quite sure. She imagines there’s likely gonna be an apology cause, well, have you met Amy? And she imagines there will be tears, probably Amy’s, almost definitely hers. And those (the tears) she can deal with and that (the apology) she’ll kind of have to decide on and she’s OK with that too cause, really, what choice does she have? But then, after the apology and the tears and the other apology (cause Amy, again) and then more tears (cause them) and a whole lot of 'I don’t know’s and more than a few 'so… what do we do now’s and a whole mess of 'I never meant to’s and 'you know I would never want to hurt you’s, it’s still gonna be there, out there, the other thing.
And at forty-nine, she thinks of that other thing - it… she… has a name, but there’s that whole flinching thing, remember - and her hand tenses and Sophie legit doesn’t even know what to do cause if she answers, they’re gonna have to deal with that (her) and if she doesn’t answer, well, it isn’t like it (she) is just gonna fade away and disappear and neither of them will ever even so much as think of her again, right?
Again: have you met Amy?
Or Sophie?
So she’s damned if she does and she’s damned if she doesn’t and there’s no rule, not a single fucking one about what to do in this situation and now, like right now, like at fifty seconds on the damn nose, Sophie’s really wishing there was, she’s really regretting that they never came up with a rule for how to handle a situation like this and how to make the choice and like what you should base your decision on, cause something like that would totes come in handy right about now.
Something that might give her a clue, something like a lightbulb blinking its blinding way to life over her head to tell her what to do, something like… oh, she doesn’t know…
Something like s'mores.
Someday, she’s going to have to figure out why she thinks of that right then (and why she so often thinks of Amy and food, together) but for right now, all she’s really got is this.
Well… fuck.
Cause… yeah.
And at fifty-one seconds exactly, Sophie answers the phone, only to find that fifty-two seconds exactly?
Well, that's not at all what she expected.
The first time Sophie met Farrah was the second week of school when Amy insisted she come with her for a Saturday night dinner at the used to be Raudenfeld-Cooper residence which was now just back to being chez Raudenfeld and Sophie wondered, out loud, why Farrah had never gone back to her maiden name.
“I’m not entirely sure she remembers it,” Amy said on the car ride over and Sophie wasn’t sure if she was kidding or not - it had only been a couple weeks and yeah,,they had some of their rules already and kiss #1 was out of the way (Sophie didn’t think about that) (much) but she still didn't know Amy, like know know her - so she just laughed, politely, and then again, with just a bit less polite, after Amy rolled her eyes and joined in on it and then they were there and Sophie put her game face on.
She was going to be prim and proper. And so, you know, as much like the step-sister Amy had told her all about (though, usually leaving out the step) and as much not like the best friend Amy had also told her all about (though, it was what Amy didn’t say about Karma that told Sophie so much more) because she’d gotten the definite impression that, of the two, the not so step was far more popular with Farrah than best friend ever was.
She wasn’t wrong.
But what she was - also - was underestimating Farrah who, after two full years of watching Amy and Sabrina be together yet somehow apart at the same time, and then having to watch as her daughter slowly faded into the background of her own life (again) as first Shane and then after him, Lauren, and then, finally, even after it seemed like she never would, Karma left, which left Amy, well… alone… was already incredibly grateful for this girl who had brought a bounce back to her baby’s step and a smile back to her face and enough confidence that she - Amy - had actually been the one to suggest bringing Sophie for dinner.
And as… well… as Farrah as Farrah could be, she was, at heart, a good mother devoted to her daughter and only wanting the best for her and, if the last few years had taught her anything at all about Amy, it was that she had no earthly idea where or what or who that best was going to be, so whenever and wherever and whoever it popped up as?
Farrah wasn’t going to do anything to mess it up.
And so dinner went well, so well, in fact, that that first time Sophie met Farrah, she established a new rule, on the way back to the dorm with Amy.
Rule #13: Dinners at the Raudenfeld house will be held a minimum of twice a month on the condition that Farrah be allowed to cook said dinners a maximum of nonce a month.
Amy told Farrah about it the next day and - not surprisingly - she was totes agreeable.
And so the second and third and on and on through the ninth or tenth times Sophie met Farrah, all went swimmingly and all had fun and all had good eats - especially the night they convinced Farrah and a home on-break Lauren to go with them to noodle night and even they couldn’t help but notice Becky of the good, no great, no, fucking spectacular in those pants, ass - and Sophie found that she genuinely liked Amy’s mom.
(And no, she never spoke of that dream she had that one night and she never would.)
And, she found, that Amy’s mom seemed to genuinely like her and that was something of a first, cause Sophie’s friends moms - the ones she met - had never seemed too fond of her.
“It’s like they thought I was going to corrupt their daughters,” she said and nope, she didn’t miss the way Amy rolled her eyes at that. “Like I was going to take them all behind the bleachers and teach them all the finer points of pleasing a woman.” Sophie sighed, a sigh of the totes unjustly accused. “I only did that with the cute ones. Or the desperate ones. Or, you know, Rachel Ann Southworth cause, well, let’s face it. With a name like that and a family like that, she needed to come down… or, you know, go down, a peg or two.”
So, given that Farrah seemed less than even a little concerned about how Sophie might corrupt Amy - the opposite was true, if anything - really, if Sophie had thought about it - maybe once or twice in those fifty-one seconds, she might have been just a bit less surprised that it wasn't her roomie’s voice on the other end of the line, but that of her mother.
“Sophie? Is that you? It’s Farrah. Amy’s mom?”
Sophie wasn’t sure if the clarification was for her - cause maybe Farrah thought she knew (or knew) some other Farrah - or what, but she nodded anyway, before remembering that the older woman couldn’t actually see.
“I was hoping we could talk,” Farrah said, either assuming Sophie was nodding or, more likely, not really caring cause, you know, not the point. “About Amy. And you.”
There was a pause in there, just a small one, just enough of one, that Sophie couldn’t miss it. Amy. And you. Not 'Amy and you’, not like it would have been, you know, like three days ago. She didn’t know what Amy had told Farrah or what Farrah was just guessing about, but, again, not really the point. The point?
“Could you come by the house? Later this afternoon?”
Oh, there was the point.
“I promise,” Farrah said. “You won’t have to see her if you don’t want to.”
And there was the other point. The bigger point, the key point, the point of all points. The point Sophie didn’t know how to address cause she didn’t know if she didn’t want to or did want to or wanted to but just couldn’t and, in the end, it didn’t matter anyway.
Cause she went. Knowing or not knowing, Sophie went and that’s how she’s managed to find herself here, in the just-Raudenfeld driveway, leaning against the hood of Farrah’s car, staring up at the windows lining the second floor of the house. She can’t see Amy’s from the front and, maybe, she thinks, that’s better.
She’ll let you know. Once she actually decides.
So, you know, a week or two. A month. Tops.
Farrah’s sitting on the front steps, her legs crossed in a very lady like manner and that is how Sophie knows she means business. Farrah hasn’t gone lady like since that first night, not really, and she’s gone even less lady like since noodle night.
It’s hard to maintain professional parental distance once you’ve led a serious discussion on how chopsticks have good depth but not girth, after all.
So, now, faced not with friend Farrah but with mom Mrs. Raudenfeld, Sophie’s having a moment or two of reconsideration, a second or two of doubt as to whether coming here was such a good idea cause, really, the last thing she needs or wants is a motherly lecture.
Farrah interrupts her moment of doubt. “I’m just guessing,” she says, “but Amy fucked up, right?”
OK. So maybe less lecture. And less lady like. And 100% more she can see where Amy gets her sometimes unfortunate, sometimes needed, always on fucking point habit of being blunt.
“And, just another guess, but it probably had something to do with a girl,” Farrah continues, not giving Sophie a chance to interrupt or disagree - not that she would - and it’s almost enough to make her wonder what, exactly, Amy did say. “I hate to admit it,” Farrah says with a sigh, a sad tired, resigned bit of a thing. “But that was the one plus of her friendship with Karma. No jealous drama.”
There’s a moment, right then, a tiny one… and oh, fuck that, it’s like a distance from the Earth to the Sun of a moment… when Sophie wonders if Amy’s Princess Sarcasm routine came from her mother too. But the look on Farrah’s face tells her that, no, she is 100% serious.
And there’s just nothing to be done with that.
Farrah pats the step next to her and it takes Sophie a beat to figure out she’s asking her to sit. She scoots over, slowly (cause come on, this is a bit weird) but then settles onto the step and, you know, it’s actually… well… kinda nice. It’s odd, a bit, sitting here with Amy's mom, but it’s got a certain charm. It’s not really that weird -
“There was no… thruple going on though, right?”
And cue the weird. The out of nowhere, where in God’s name did Farrah learn that word and why in the blue fucking hell did she have to say it out loud weird.
Even if she isn't entirely off base cause there was something of a… thruple. Maybe it wasn’t a physical one and oh, now Sophie’s thinking about that and thanking God that they’re both sitting in the shade cause she’s pretty sure her cheeks can be seen from space now. But it was sort of a thruple kinda… mess, when you think about it.
And now she can't stop thinking about it.
“That was what I meant before,” Farrah says. She’s staring straight ahead and if Sophie didn’t know better - and she really doesn’t - she might think Farrah was blushing too. “About Karma and the jealousy. I mean, I know there was that one time with the two of them and that Booker boy…”
She trails off and that moment Sophie was having? The Earth to the Sun one?
Yeah. Earth to the next galaxy. Earth to non-Booker-boy-fucking Andromeda.
“I know Karma got jealous,” Farrah says and oh, how big is that shovel she’s digging this hole with? “Any fool with eyes could see that. Even when she pushed Amy and Sabrina together, and any fool with eyes could see that was… well… don’t get me started…”
Don’t get her started? Sophie’s far more concerned with making her stop.
Which, apparently, she hasn’t.
“Even when she arranged that whole big romantic scene and reunited them and then started up with Felix…” Farrah shakes her head and there’s this look on her face, like the look Sophie and Amy get when they’re watching their favorite shows and the writers do something just so damn stupid and yet, they keep watching cause, really, as stupid as it is, at least it’s still on the air. “I knew Karma hated it,” Farrah says. “She hated every second of every day Amy and Sabrina were together. It might have been the only thing she and I ever agreed on.”
There’s awkward and then there's this, but, hey, at least she isn’t saying 'thruple’ anymore, right?
“You never met Sabrina, did you?” Farrah asks and Sophie shakes her head. She’s met Lauren and Karma and she's heard Shane, on the phone - though she’s not sure she really need the phone to hear him - and she’s heard about Liam and she’s seen Felix’s Facebook friend requests.
The ones he sends weekly. Sometimes with a note. Sometimes not. Sometimes with a profile pic of him and Amy and no, that’s not weird at all.
“You didn’t miss much,” Farrah says and Sophie has to bite back a laugh. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, she was nice enough, once you got past the lying about being gay and all.” She shakes her head. “Not that Amy had any room to talk there. But Sabrina was just…”
Bland? Blah? Amy with a bit less existential angst? Not Karma?
“A knock off Reagan,” Farrah says. “That’s what she was. A knock off, not as stylish and not as cool and not as hot version of Reagan.”
Andromeda? Did Sophie say Andromeda? She meant Triangulum. So fucking Triangulum.
And no, don’t ask how she knows what the absolute fuck Triangulum is.
“Do you know about Reagan?” Farrah asks and if there was ever a question that was just too loaded… “I mean, I know you and Amy have your rules and all and, besides, I don’t think she ever talks about her. I don’t think she really ever did. Not even with Karma.”
This is that point where Sophie knows she should say nothing. This is that point where Sophie knows she should - really - get up and shake Farrah’s hand (cause it’s 1950) and thank her for the talk and then walk, not run (at least not until she’s out of sight) to the nearest bus stop and never, ever look back.
“Maybe that means Reagan didn’t mean that much to her.”
So, knowing and actually doing… yeah, different things.
Farrah nods, but it slows and then turns to a shake and yeah, no, Sophie didn’t really think so either. “As much as she talked about it and stressed about it and made everyone around her miserable about it,” she says, “Amy was never really worried she was going to actually lose Karma, not for good anyway. It would have taken more than the Jaws of Life to pry those two apart forever and Amy knew it. And I don’t think she much minded the idea of someday not really having Shane around. And, as for Felix…”
Request Denied.
“But Reagan…”
Sophie wonders how funny it would be if Farrah knew how many times she’d said those words to herself the last few days.
It could be so simple. Just forgive Amy and move on.
But Reagan…
Amy saw her first and no, there’s no rule about that, but there should be and you know it.
But Reagan…
Even if you never spoke to Amy again and dazzled Reagan every single night with your skillz, she’s never just gonna forget Amy and you’ll end up with a broken heart, a sore tongue, and no best friend.
But Reagan…
“But Reagan was different,” Farrah says and Sophie tries to catch up, hoping she didn’t miss too much while she was… um… thinking. “When they broke up…” She sighs, staring downward at the sidewalk, this look on her face that Sophie can’t quite place. It reminds her of the look that her mother got, right after she came out.
Loss.
“Amy shut down,” Farrah says. “For weeks. She curled into this cocoon and even Karma… I mean, she was there, right there with her, the whole time.” It’s the first time Sophie can recall hearing anything approaching warmth in Farrah’s voice when she talks about Karma. “But not even she could reach her. I always thought it was just first love, you know? That’s the hardest of all the heartbreaks to come back from.”
Sophie thinks, for a moment - an Earth to the Moon, at best, moment - about the pain in her own chest the last few days. And then she glances up at the window she can’t see and no, she isn’t overwhelmed by the urge to charge up the stairs and hug Amy until they both stop crying and they need to make a rule about the duration of hugs, a rule they will forever ignore.
She isn't overwhelmed and she doesn’t move.
But it’s close.
“So you don’t think that’s it now?” Sophie asks. “You don’t think it was just the whole first love thing? Wouldn’t that explain it though? Why Amy doesn’t talk about her, or share things about her or…”
Or keep pictures buried on her phone of her. Or sneak off to meet her. Or do things to and with and on her that Sophie doesn't want to imagine but does anyway.
Farrah shrugs. “It might, I suppose. But… I didn’t bring you here to talk about Reagan. I’m sorry, i just got… well…” She turns, pivoting on the step so she can look at Sophie and, for a second, Sophie’s worried there’s gonna be a punch involved and this time she’s gonna be on the wrong end. “I didn’t think of it until now,” Farrah says, “but this? It reminds me so much of Amy and Reagan.”
Sophie knows the feeling.
“I don’t know what happened with you two,” Farrah says and yes, her hand does move, but not to punch, but to hold. As in hold Sophie’s hand, which Farrah plucks from the younger girl’s lap and tugs into her own. “And I don’t know, really, who’s to blame. But I do know this.” She gives Sophie’s hand a squeeze and oh, that… it’s new. Someone doing that somewhere other than in bed. Someone doing that to reassure or to care or to show that she matters.
Someone doing that who isn’t Amy.
“I know I haven’t seen my daughter this lost in forever,” Farrah says. “And from the look on your face, she’s not alone in that.”
Sophie’s quite sure Amy’s not alone in it at all. But she’s quite sure they’re not alone in it, even together. And that’s kinda (more than kinda) the whole problem.
Farrah stands, smoothing out her skirt. “I’m going to be late for work if I don’t go, but I just hope whatever’s the problem, it’s something you two can work out.” She brushes a few stray strands of hair out of Sophie’s face, her eyes shifting slightly, as if she’s noticed the purple just now, for the first time and… maybe… something’s dawning on her about just how hard working it out might be. “I don’t think Amy will be quite the same without you.”
Farrah offers Sophie a ride back to campus and smiles when the used to be a blonde shakes her head and says 'no, thanks.’ She probably thinks Sophie’s going to go inside, gonna head up the stairs and down the hall and knock once - to be polite - and then it’ll be nothing but hugs and kisses (cheek only and purely of the non thruple variety) and apologies and then in the end, all will be right with the world.
And, maybe, if Sophie had more time, like maybe more than, say, the fifty-two seconds between the moment Farrah pulls out of the drive and the moment her phone stops buzzing, deep in her pocket, to think about it, maybe that's exactly how it would have gone.
Or maybe if she hadn’t glanced at the screen and seen Reagan’s smiling face staring up at her after fifty-two seconds.
So, yeah, Amy’s up there, alone and crying (probably) or asleep (more likely) and surrounded by empty doughnut boxes and she probably can’t bring herself to look in a mirror, for the pain and shame of that shiner. And Sophie’s not much better off and she knows it and she could, so very easily, walk up those stairs and make it all so much better.
But Reagan…
She catches the bus just in time and the ride back to campus takes all of twenty-two minutes, or, really, twenty-two minutes and thirty-eight seconds, to be exact. Sophie spends twenty of those minutes staring at her screen, at those three little words.
One Missed Call
And if she doesn’t call back, not right away at least? Well… that might have a little something to do with that nagging feeling growing inside her. The one that keeps poking at her and jabbing at her and reminding her.
But Amy…
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Kings and Queens Pt. 1
Summary: Reader is the daughter of Tony Stark, 2nd biggest mob boss in New York, and first in Malibu, California. When he wants to strike a deal with fellow mob boss Steve Rogers, Steve comes with terms. Rogers will do business with Stark, if he would allow him to date his daughter.
A/N: I've been reading a lot of mob!Au's, and thought I should try one. I'm going to be honest and say I'm a slut for a mob boss Steve Rogers.
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Tony Stark sat at his desk, looking over the many books from his many clubs. Everything looked to be going well, for now. He was making enough to cover your student loans, which you didn't know he was helping pay off. You would've yelled at him if you did.
You were so determined to do everything on your own. Had been since you could walk. It warmed his heart, knowing you could take care of yourself when he was gone.
A knock on his office door made him look up from the papers on his desk.
"Who is it?" he yells.
"Rhodey.m Steve Rogers is here to see you." a man says through the door
"Come in."
James Rhodes, Tony's right hand man, walks through the door, followed by the Brooklyn King himself. Steve Rogers was the most powerful mob boss in New York, followed by Tony.
"Steve! Welcome! I hope my people were hospitable towards you. You are a very important ally, you know. Must be treated as such." Tony says, reaching out his hand.
"Of course. I've always had welcome feel when we meet, Tony. How is Pepper?" he asks, shaking Tony's hand, then taking a seat.
"Wonderful, as always. When I told her we were meeting, she insisted I ask you for dinner some time this week. And you know you can't tell her no." Tony chuckles.
"Of course I can't. Tell her to let me know when to come over. I miss her cooking." Steve smiled. "I also heard your daughter is back from her residency in Seattle. (Grey's anatomy reference guys.) What's it like having her home?" he asks.
"Relieving. I feel better having her home, where I can keep her safe." Tony sighs. "Two years was too long to not have her under my roof. I don't know how I'm going to handle it when she finds an apartment." He rubs a hand down his face.
Steve just chuckles. "You'll be okay." Tony looks up.
"You want a drink?" he asks, standing to move to his cabinets to get the alcohol.
"What do you got?"
"Scotch, bourbon, whiskey." Tony says, back to Steve.
"Scotch, please. Now, about this plan of yours. I've had my men speak with yours, my accountant taking a look at your books. You're not doing too hot. But because you've helped me in the past, I'm willing to accept this deal. Though I do have some conditions. We split, 60-40, on your gun manufacturing. You supply us with the merchandise, and we'll get it out onto the streets for you. We get the 40% profit until you make enough and then it goes 50-50. It'll take awhile, but your books will start looking better, at least for your street numbers." Steve sips the drink Tony handed him, blue eyes going back and forth between Tony and Rhodes.
"Sounds fair enough. When will you need the first shipment?" Tony asks, taking a seat at his desk, Scotch in his own hands.
"There's one more condition." Steve says. Tony lifts a brow.
"Oh? And what might that be?"
"I want to meet your daughter, Y/N. I've seen her around. She picked my interest when she was working for you during college. Arrange a meeting for us, and you can send the first shipment of 50 samples in 2 weeks. We'll test out what we like, then give you an order of the ones we want. But, no date, no deal."
Tony surveyed him for a moment, brown eyes looking into blue.
"Fine. Her birthday is coming up. I will send you the details of when and where the party will be. Expect your first shipment of samples in 2 weeks or less. I'll have someone tell you when it's in and where we can make the exchange."
"Perfect. What would she like for a present? It'd be rude to show up empty handed." Steve said. Gone was the businessman. For the first time ever, Tony saw Steve nervous.
"I'm getting her a car. Maybe diamonds? Rubies to go with her skin tone and fiery temper. Sapphires. It's all up to you, Rogers. Speaking of, she should be getting off work soon. I am having dinner with her and her mother. I'll have my men show you out." Tony said, waving to Rhodey. "It was a pleasure doing business with you, Steve."
"Likewise. I'll wait for word on the party details and when we will get our shipment." And with that, he walked out of the office. Rhodey closed the door behind him.
"What is wrong with you? Using your daughter as a pawn in a business deal. You know how Rogers is with women!"
Tony just looked up at him, brow raised.
"That's a bluff. He uses that to keep his reputation as the biggest and meanest mob boss. He's actually the most respectful man when it comes to a woman he commits to. He showed Pepper the utmost respect when we took him in after his dad died. And you know Pepper. She's the most kind hearted woman. That's why I married her. She offered him if he needed anything, that we'll be there."
"Do you think he'd hurt her?" Rhodey asked. When you were born, Tony had made him the legal guardian if anything should happen to him and Pepper. He had loved you like his own, and refused to see you harmed.
"Do you remember when she was first in college, and didn't want me to pay for anything, but took the waitress job I offered her at the bar? He would come in every shift, sit in her section, and order the same thing every day. When I noticed, I warned him to stay away. He was 6 years older than her, and I wanted her to focus on school, and not be caught up in what we do. And he listened. But I guess he's still infatuated. Besides, all he said was a date. Just a chance. He's not going to cut off the deal if she doesn't like him."
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Steve Rogers was by no means a solitary man. He loved interacting with people, showing them that they were not to fear him. If they stayed on his good side. But his favorite place to go was to his right hand man's house. He and Bucky grew up together, their father's being partners. Until Steve's dad had become power hungry, stealing away his partner's half of the gang and had him killed. Steve vowed Bucky would not suffer the same fate, not allowing Bucky to have any share in the running of the business, though he was an advisor. Bucky embraced this with a whole heart, wanting no part in becoming a boss, being content in just working for his best friend.
Steve pulled his car into the driveway of Bucky and his wife, Isobel's, home. He was happy for them. Isobel knew exactly what Bucky and Steve did, Bucky making the vow to keep nothing from his wife, unless he had to for her safety.
Isobel must have heard him pull in, because before he could get to the door, it flew open and out ran the brunette woman, wrapping him in a hug.
"Hello to you too, Isobel." he chuckled, hugging her back.
"It's been a month since you've come over for dinner. You, mister, are neglecting your poor sister-in-law. I am personally hurt." she said, pulling back, punching him lightly in the arm. He chuckled again, ruffling her long, dark hair.
"Upsetting my wife again, punk?" Bucky says from the porch, arms crossed and leaning on the porch rail. It was obvious to that he was head over heels for his wife. It shined in his eyes.
"Of course not. She's the one giving me a hard time. She doesn't understand I get busy." Steve says, nudging her with his side. She just rolled her eyes, all three making their way up to the house. Bucky helped his wife with the food while Steve set the table.
Once they sat down and started eating, the conversation flowed easily.
"So, Stevie, how did Stark react to your condition of your deal? Will he let you see his daughter, the beautiful waitress who worked through college to become a surgeon?" Isobel asked. Steve had told her all about you from the moment he laid eyes on you to his idea of asking Tony to arrange a meeting.
"I'm going to her birthday part in a week. I don't know what to get her, though. I was gonna ask, if you would help? I could use a female's opinion on this." he asked, looking at her with pleading, hopeful, puppy dog eyes.
"Of course. Are you excited?" she says.
"I'm nervous. I've wanted to meet this woman for years. What if I fuck up? Can't speak?" he says. Gone is the suave, confident mob boss.
"You'll be fine. You're a good looking man, she'll like you." she pats his hand. "Babe, did I tell you about my friend Y/N/N from work? She had three surgeries to perform in a row. 18 hours with no rest. How she's still healthy from lack of food and sleep is beyond me. She's got 2 days off, though, and told me she's having a big dinner with her dad tonight."
Isobel keeps talking about her friend from work. Bucky, being the gentleman and good husband he is, paid attention to his wife, despite being bored with her work gossip. He wanted to speak with Steve about the deal with Tony Stark.
Once dinner was over, the dishes washed, and Isobel doing paperwork upstairs in their bedroom, Bucky brought Steve to the living room, sipping on whiskey.
"So what did Stark really say?" Bucky asked.
"Exactly how I told you. He had to think about it for a second, of course, it's his only daughter. But he knows the man behind the reputation. He knows I won't hurt her. I'm just scared she's going to run before I even get a chance." Steve said, sighing. "I was born into this life. I couldn't get out if I even tried. But it doesn't mean I can't have a good life outside of crime. With her."
Bucky just watched his best friend. His dad always said, "A man in love can see it in another." Bucky has watched his best friend pine and fall for this girl for 6 years. Steve knew everything there was to know about her, mostly. But he just wanted the chance.
"And he told you to come to the birthday party? With a gift?"
"I want to bring a gift. My ma taught me better than to show up empty handed. I just don't know what to get. She's having dinner with Tony right now, so I can't just call him and ask." Steve rubbed a hand down his face.
"You're scared she's going to be afraid of you because you're a mob boss. Like she doesn't know what Tony does. She has to have some clue as to why her dad is so wealthy. Not as wealthy as you, but a close second. You don't want her to know?" Buck says, eyes scanning Steve's face.
"That's exactly why. I don't want her to reject the idea of giving me a chance because she believes the reputation. I've been so into this woman for so long that I just want it to be right."
"It will. Just woo her. And then make her fall for you. But don’t fuck up the deal with Tony.”
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@nothingbutimagines @waywardimpalawriter @aquabrie
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