#the call out was scalding and it was 8 in the morning

[teddy06]

Thinking about the fact that in my Shakespeare class this morning we were watching the Shakespeare Uncovered documentary for Hamlet (which is the one David Tenant hosts) and my teacher went "yeah so we watched one of these before for our twelfth night unit but this one's a little different because it focuses on hamlet more as a character, plus it's hosted by a fairly well known actor that some of you might know, or ever revere-"

SIR I MENTIONED THAT I LIKED HIM AS BENEDICK IN MUCH ADO ONCE DONT USE IT AGAINST ME INFRONT OF THESE PEOPLE

#plus he knows I love good omens #it was just like #the call out was scalding and it was 8 in the morning #highly recommend the doc tho #the who series is great #plus David is just having a good time going around talking to other actors and historians and directors #there's one bit where he's in a shop pulling dvds from a shelf listing each actor playing hamlet #and when he got to his he goes uhhh some Scottish bloke #and imeditdelty moved on #david tennant #hamlet #good omens #teddy 06 #teddy06

[fangswbenefits]

The Arrangement (8) - Revelations

Chapter summary: You finally confront Ava, but the conversation takes an unexpected turn.

Pairing: Astarion x female!Tav

Warnings: Innuendo. Mentions of abuse and trauma.

Word count: 5.3k

Series Masterlist

You found him by the edge of a cliff overlooking Baldur's Gate.

The first rays of light began to spill into the morning sky in hues of yellow fused with orange. You would never tire of watching the city you called home being engulfed in such beauty.

“Enjoying the view?”

Astarion was holding a somewhat mellow smile on his lips as he turned to face you.

“I hadn't seen this much colour bathing the city in over two hundred years.”

You stopped next to him, looping an arm around his and resting your face against his shoulder.

“It's beautiful, isn't it?”

He sighed. “I do not want to get too attached to it. In case things go awry, that is.”

‘Awry’ meaning that he wouldn't be able to ascend…

It always made your heart clench to think about how much Astarion still held on to that.

But you didn't want to think about such things for now.

For now, you were more than content to share this moment with him.

“The sun looks beautiful on you,” you said truthfully.

It wasn't exactly a challenge, but you adored praising and stroking his ego.

A soft chuckle rumbled in his chest. “As most things do, darling."

"That is true.”

He then placed his cold hand atop yours. “As you once did.”

His words hit you with such force that you felt your chest too heavy all of a sudden.

You glanced up at him, meeting his soft crimson eyes. “Astarion…”

Would he ever move on?

Would he ever move on from you?

He offered a defeated smile. “I know, I know. Just friends, right?”

You nodded. “Yes.”

He didn't utter another word as he looked on ahead.

You kept your grip around him, enjoying his firmness and how he made you feel so safe and comfortable.

Deep down, you were just thankful he couldn't see the single tear that streamed down your face.

The cold and wet trail brought you back to witness the sight of the sun emerging on the horizon line. 

You pulled your legs up so you could rest your chin on your knees, hugging yourself as the breathtaking view filled your vision.

How you wished you could share this with him like many times before.

As lovers.

As friends.

You wiped the tear away with the back of your hand as sadness spread inside you.

There was no point in dwelling in the impossible. At least until you found a way for him to experience all the colour the world had to offer with no limitations.

Sleep hadn't come to you this night and it wasn't because of nightmares or the fact that Astarion had left you painfully yearning for his touch.

Your mind was just all over the place, trying to make sense of how things felt with him after that conversation.

Truth be told, you were more than happy with the occasional intimacy and giving him space.

But his taunting words still lingered in your mind.

You were certain he craved more than a friendship, but how much of that spread beyond carnal lust was something you weren't sure about.

Maybe even Astarion didn't know.

As much as you longed for more, you still wanted to mend your friendship first and bridge the distance that had come between you two. 

As you pushed yourself from the bed and slipped into your robe, you took a quick glance at the mirror in front of you.

Eyes puffy and reddened paired with deep eyebags.

Wonderful.

You heaved a deep sigh as you exited the room, heading towards the kitchen area to brew some tea.

The door to his room was firmly shut and you hurried past it with bare feet.

The entire house was still swallowed in silence and darkness.

You quickly lit up a few candles before reigniting the fireplace and putting the kettle on.

The familiar squeak of the door to his room filled your ears.

As the water came to a boil, you poured a few herbs inside the cup as you poured the scalding liquid.

You heard him call out your name and your stomach immediately fluttered as he came into view, slowly pacing towards you.

“How did you know it was me?”

Astarion's lips curled into a smile. “I know the sound of your footsteps by heart.”

There was no trace of deceit in his remark.

His voice rang true and not as a mere attempt at flustering you with honeyed words.

He meant it and you felt the warm embrace of his presence tightly enveloping you.

Astarion had learned the way to your heart like no one else had ever tried to. 

He could crawl under your skin and have you yearn for him like no one else could.

And he did all of this effortlessly and like second nature.

You returned a warm smile, feeling the addictive embrace of his presence.

He felt like the home you longed to come back to.

As you moved to sit on the sofa nearby, enjoying the warmth that radiated from the cup in your hands, he eventually sat next to you, crimson eyes meeting yours and, for a moment, you held your breath.

He was your home.

“You look horrible.”

A snarky one.

You chuckled at his bluntness, taking a sip. “Didn't get much sleep.”

“Nightmares again?”

“No. My mind was just busy…”

He slowly nodded. “Was it too much? What we did?”

You glared at him in surprise. “What? No. What about you?”

His eyes narrowed. “I wanted more.”

“That doesn't answer my question.”

He crossed his legs, adjusting his elegant shirt. “It wasn't nearly enough.”

“You were the one to stop it…”

“Because I had to. Gods know how long it took to… calm down, so to speak.”

The implication that dangled from his words wasn't particularly subtle.

Oh.

Oh.

Your cheeks flared up. “I… didn't hear you…”

Astarion flashed a teasing smile. “I know how to avoid being heard, unlike a certain someone.”

Bad timing had you nearly choking on your tea.

“Careful, darling. You'll get all wet… again.”

The nerve!

You shot him murderous glare, wiping your chin.

Then the two fell into a comfortable silence.

You melted into the backrest of the sofa, cradling the cup in your hands, humming a tune that you had almost forgotten about.

“I find myself missing our journey, you know?” he said after a while.

“Even having to play the hero?”

He tapped his chin pensively. “Even that, as surprising as it sounds. I could have done without all your ridiculous acts of heroism, but I grew to enjoy indulging in some of them.”

Your heart thudded happily at his honesty.

“Who would have thought that you’d find joy in being selfless,” you teased with a smile.

He lifted one finger. “Do not misunderstand. I still come first. I spent too many centuries not being able to and I won't give that up now.”

You nodded, fully understanding his line of thinking.

In the meantime, your hand had dropped in between you two and you felt coldness reach your fingers.

You looked down, startled, only to be met with his fingers gently brushing against yours.

And just like clockwork, your heart sped up.

Astarion had his eyes fixed on the swirling flames that emanated from the fireplace.

Little by little, his fingers began to intertwine with yours until his hand gripped you tightly.

Your mind blanked for a moment at how unexpected this was.

In time, his cold skin began to warm up against yours.

And then it dawned on you that he had never held your hand this way.

He had helped you up on your feet more times than you could count.

He had gripped your hand in his as both of you hurried along collapsing halls and while being chased by the most vicious of creatures.

But he had never held your hand as if seeking for silent comfort.

You shifted so you could rest your head on his shoulder.

He tensed slightly under your touch, but eventually relaxed and you seized the opportunity to melt into his side, enjoying the familiar scent of bergamot and rosemary.

Home.

You weren't sure how much time had passed, but the tear in your cup had gone tepid and you began to feel guilty.

You had considered not telling him about confronting Ava.

But you didn't want to lie and hide anything from him, especially if it concerned him in the first place.

You pulled slightly away from him and he met your gaze.

“I'm going to meet Ava tonight.”

You expected an angry outburst of indignation from him, but were met with an inquisitive glare instead.

“Why doesn't that surprise me at all?”

That was it?

“Wait… you are not going to talk me out of it?”

At this, he faintly chuckled, still firmly gripping your hand in his.

“Honestly, darling, when has that ever worked?”

Point taken.

He knew of your stubbornness all too well.

“Besides, do you intend on killing her?”

You widened your eyes. “I – no? I don't think so?”

Though you couldn't swear on this until you were actually absolutely sure she was as harmless as he claimed her to be.

“Then, you have my blessing.”

You then narrowed your eyes suspiciously at him. “You don't even want to go with me?”

“Do you want me to?”

“It's not necessary.”

He shrugged. “Then I won't.”

Astarion was acting uncharacteristically accepting of your intrusion, and that rang a plethora of alarm bells in your head.

It was as if he knew you'd have no reason to harm her.

“Why are you so… calm about this?”

His eyes met yours. “I am well aware you can turn Ava into a pile of dust should she cross your path. But I don't believe you will do such a thing.”

“Why not? I don't trust her.”

His grip around your fingers eased slightly. “I don't expect you to, but you do trust me, don't you?”

“Yes.”

You didn't hesitate for a second. After all, you had trusted Astarion through things that most people would have staked him for. The two of you were way past the uncertainty of not trusting each other's intentions.

It was more evident that the glaring issue that plagued your relationship was rooted in miscommunication and not mistrust.

“And I trust her.”

That ground on your nerves. “But why?”

“Because I have to.”

You immediately dropped his hand, turning in your seat to fully face him, already feeling the familiar irritation that came with him not being fully open with you at times.

“Astarion, you need to start telling me why you hold her in such high regards,” you said, pinching the bridge of your nose. “You can also trust me. Whatever it is… just tell me.”

He glared at you with a faint scowl. “She is taking my blood with the intention of lessening some vampirism weaknesses.”

Oh?

“Such as?”

“Well, the insatiable hunger is the main focus.”

You stared at him in silence, not quite sure what to make of this.

The Wish Spell could grant him the ability to walk in the sun again, but this seemed even more ambitious.

And dangerous.

“Obviously, this is all rather theoretical, but it seemed like a sound prospect,” he went on, sinking into the sofa with an exasperated sigh. “As selfish as I am, I also considered how this could be helpful to the spawn in the Underdark.”

His words took you quite aback.

“This… seems too good to be true,” you said hesitantly.

“Oh, I'm aware. That is why I am keeping my expectations in check.”

You really, really wanted to hate Ava.

But if her motifs were truly this altruistic, then you were going to have a hard justifying that feeling, which provided another added layer of anger altogether.

“So, if you want to talk to her, you are free to do so. Seeing is believing or so they say,” he said with a witty grin.

You sighed.

Astarion was a bad planner.

No. He was a terrible planner.

He could identify the end goal, but would have no clue how to get there and would merely make adjustments as he went along, hoping for the best.

Luck had been on his side as of late, but you lacked that optimism.

And he obviously saw that splattered across your face.

“Oh, please. I know that look – just say it,” he scoffed.

You weren't even sure what you wanted to say.

Deep down, you felt extremely protective of him and didn't appreciate that she was exchanging lessons in intimacy for his blood.

It all seemed very one-sided and the promise of also helping him – and by extension, the spawn in the underdark – still seemed unrealistically… convenient.

“Are you even sure any of this will work? Has she made any progress with your blood?”

“Some progress. Not enough to keep me too hopeful, but I will take anything these days.”

You could sympathise with the sentiment, but…

“I still think there is something off about her.”

Astarion just looked as amused as ever. “No jealousy?”

You rolled your eyes. “No.”

“Well, she would have nothing to gain from sending us both to prison,” he said. “She knows I exclusively feed on you and that I do need to feed regularly.”

The nonchalant way in which he uttered those words, brought a wave of heat to your face, as the events from a few hours earlier resurfaced in your mind.

There was a hint of intimacy in the act itself, but also in the aftermath. Astarion's senses would be sharpened as your blood coursed through his body.

“Seems like I broke your concentration, darling,” he said teasingly, effectively snapping you from your thoughts.

You jolted briefly and then scowled, annoyed that he could see right through you so easily.

“Don't flatter yourself.”

He gave you a devious smile. “I don't have to. Not when your body provides the finest flattery there is.”

Gods.

You wished you could turn off the effect his honeyed words always had on you.

Clearing your throat, you straightened up in your seat. “Very well, then. I am willing to be enlightened.”

A teasing smile tugged faintly at his lips. “Good girl.”

Your heart skipped a beat.

He knew exactly what he was doing.

Regaining your composure, you said, “Wyll is going there with me tonight.”

Astarion drew a sleazy grin this time. “Oh, so that was what the two of you were plotting yesterday.”

You rolled your eyes.

“And here I thought sweet Wyll had finally mustered the courage to take you out on a lavish date,” he said with a dramatic and forceful pout. “Seems like romance is dead, after all.”

For some odd reason, Astarion was under the impression that Wyll harboured feelings for you that surpassed friendship.

But what Astarion didn't know was that your heart was too full of him to allow room for anyone else.

His taunting words created the perfect opening for you to return the gesture.

“No jealousy?”

His smile only grew wider. “Do you want me to be jealous?”

You were entering his territory, and should tread lightly. 

“Maybe you should be jealous,” you whispered.

He shifted closer to you and you held your breath.

“And why is that? Why should I be jealous of your friendship with him?”

Gods, he was good .

Your heart drummed faster in your chest as his face drew near.

He was a master at disarming you with carefully laid out traps whilst using his words as alluring bait.

“He's very… friendly.”

You inwardly cringed at your ridiculous remark, which earned a chuckle from Astarion.

At this point, he was so close you almost feel his cool lips on yours.

“Well, hopefully not this friendly.”

That was it.

He was going to kiss you and you couldn't give a damn about it.

But before he could do so, the faint rhythmic thud of footsteps pulled you out of immersion, and the two of you pulled apart at once.

Lae'zel.

She reached the bottom of the staircase, eyeing both of you like she had just run into the most disappointing event of her life.

“The sun has yet to fully rise, and the two of you are already at it again,” she said with a scowl. “Wasn't the coupling from last night enough?”

Your jaw dropped open in sheer mortification.

Surely she hadn't… heard anything… right?

“Where is your sense of decorum, Lae'zel?” Astarion clicked his tongue, leaning back against the sofa once more.

She gave him a stern glare. “You wouldn't know decorum if it hit you in that pale face of yours, Astarion.”

He chuckled. “My, my… someone is feisty today.”

“The sounds you two made could raise the dead from their graves,” she said, moving swiftly towards the front door with her sword keeping her company. “I am not sure how much more of this torture I can take.”

You stood up at once, feeling embarrassment take over. “Oh! We… uh… Astarion was just feeding and–”

She held a hand up. “Spare me the grotesque details. I'll be going out on a hunt. Don't expect me for lunch.”

And without a further exchange, she slipped through the door.

Astarion was now on his feet and heading towards the staircase.

Somehow, you couldn't help but feel a tad of disappointment as he left your side.

His company was something you reckoned you'd never tire from.

“See you later, darling. And do fix that lovely face of yours,” he teased dramatically. “Rose water works like a charm.”

And you couldn't hold back an endearing smile.

The night came quicker than you had hoped.

Confronting Ava made you feel truly uneasy, especially after learning some more about her.

As promised, Wyll had come to you, escorted by two Fists. The mage slayer stationed outside, quickly joined the four of you, and you felt the magic within you dip dangerously low from her presence.

The journey to The Blushing Mermaid proved to be rather uneventful and you were more than thankful for it.

“Does Astarion know about this?”

You nodded. “He has also told me the reason why she's taking his blood.”

Wyll's eyes met yours and you could see the tension on his face. “Whatever could be the reason?”

Fortunately, the two Fists walked far behind the two of you to preserve some privacy.

“She wants to lessen the effects of vampiric hunger.”

He arched an eyebrow and you approached the familiar tavern.

“That sounds too convenient .”

You almost pulled Wyll into a kiss as he unknowingly validated your concerns.

“Exactly. Maybe I am overthinking it, but I need to make sure nonetheless.”

He nodded firmly.

Those crowding the entrance immediately made way for you to walk inside, and you heard a few salutes as others inside bowed to Wyll.

Bork approached the counter with a tilted smile on his face. “Duke of Ravengard. To what do we owe the pleasure? Hope we are not in trouble?”

A few drunkards nearby erupted in laughter.

“Unless you have indeed done something unlawful, I wouldn't worry too much, Bork.”

He offered Wyll a forced smile, which he didn't return.

“We are looking for Ava,” you chimed in impatiently.

His face instantly dropped. “Ava? Is she in trouble?"

Honestly, what was with everyone and this woman? Was she some goddess in disguise?

“We just wish to talk to her,” Wyll answered.

Bork hesitated at first, but glared at the two Fists flanking you. “First floor. Third room to your left.”

You nodded and swiftly made your way upstairs, feeling your heart hammering fast in your chest as you paced along the corridor.

Wyll knocked thrice on the large door.

It swung open almost immediately, and Ava came into view, holding a knowing smile.

“I was expecting you.”

A swirl of nausea settled in your stomach.

She extended one hand, standing to the side so you could walk in.

“As pleased as I am to be visited by our Duke, I shall ask for you not to enter.”

You immediately turned to see Wyll scowl deeply. “Tonight I'm no Duke – I'm her friend and you shall let me enter.”

Ava tapped on the door lightly. “These are my quarters, and unless I am being charged with wrongdoing, I have the right to decide who to invite inside, Duke .”

The two Fists were gripping the handle of their swords, ready to draw them.

Wyll motioned for the to be at ease and turned his head to you. “I will be waiting outside.”

Ava wiggled her fingers dismissively, further gnawing at your nerves.

“Do not try anything witty, hunter,” Wyll said in a tone you hadn't heard since he last faced Mizora.

She chuckled. “I have abandoned those ways. You may simply call me Ava.”

But before he could reply, she pushed the door closed in one swing and glanced at you with an excessively sweet smile.

“So? I don't believe you came all the way here to simply gawk at me.”

You cleared your throat. “I have a few things I need to discuss with you.”

“Of course. I would be surprised if you didn't.”

Your patience was running thin.

“It concerns Astarion.”

“Still not surprised,” she said with a tilted smile. “I'm all ears.”

“He's told me about you.”

“Hopefully not everything, but do go on.”

She moved to a table and poured a red liquid into a goblet. “Can I tempt you with some red wine?”

You scowled and she laughed. “It is not poisoned, though I do understand your hesitation.” She then took a long sip.

Glancing around the room, you realised it could easily pass off as the inside of an apothecary store. There were endless rows of shelves and cupboards that housed countless vials of glass with suspicious content.

There was a small fire burning by the window with a large flask set right above, the flames barely reaching the bottom as a deep dark red liquid gurgled.

Ava sat on a lavish armchair, holding the goblet to her lips.

“I know you're taking his blood for some experiment in regards to vampirism,” you began, keeping your voice steady. “Even to supposedly help the vampire spawn in the Underdark.”

Her pleasant face wavered momentarily. “He's offering it to me. Freely.”

“You are taking advantage of him.”

“I am not taking advantage of anything. It's a mere transaction that we have both agreed upon.”

“Blood for intimacy?”

“That seems rather… crass.”

“You are taking advantage of his… wounds…”

“Why are you so hellsbent on accusing me of being the one taking advantage of him? He also has much to win from this arrangement.”

“Because you have the upper hand here. The price for a chance at healing from his wounds seems rather unbalanced,” you said, feeling heat flare throughout your entire body. “You get his blood, which is a sure thing, and he gets a ‘perhaps’ on all fronts: intimacy and that hunger “cure” you're promising.”

Ava glared at you with eyes slightly narrowed, chin resting on the back of her hand.

“There are wounds that take time to heal. Some never heal at all, my dear.”

“I'm aware.”

“Are you? Are you, really?” Ava said with a scoff. “I am not the enemy here. Your vitriol against me is rooted in something primal.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Primal?”

“Is it jealousy, I wonder?”

You clenched your fists. “It is not. Whatever bond you think you share with him is superficial and frail. There's nothing to be jealous of.”

“Actually, I do believe your words… it is not jealousy, indeed,” she said, tapping a long nail on her chin. “But rather… protectiveness.”

You remained silent.

“I dare say that protectiveness can blind even the wisest.”

“I am not blinded. I can see there is something unsettling about you.”

“You look, but you do not see,” she said as she took a sip of her wine. “Your attachment to him is your weakness.”

“Caring for others isn't a weakness.”

“You taught him that, did you?”

The faint mockery wasn't lost on you, and it made your nails dig further into your palms, regning in your temper as best as you could.

“He doesn't need to be taught anything. Astarion may need some guidance, as we all do from time to time.”

Ava merely chuckled. “May I see your neck?”

What?

Her words caught you off guard, but you did not move an inch to comply with her request.

“Ah… your reluctance is answer enough,” she tutted. “He has fed on you recently, hasn't he?”

Now, that immediately had your stomach turn in revulsion, realising just how transparent she truly was.

“So this is what it's all about – you just want him to feed on you instead.”

Ava rolled her eyes with a forced yawn. “On the contrary. Of course, I have vaguely wondered what it feels like, but Astarion is far too devoted to your blood to even entertain the idea.”

“Then why did you complain to me about him not feeding on you?”

She crossed her legs elegantly under her emerald green dress. “I was merely taunting you. Again, his devotion gets in the way.”

“I wouldn't necessarily call it ‘devotion’.”

“Oh, but I would. See, Astarion's bond to you is exquisite and much welcome… to say the least.”

Her flowery words were really testing your patience now.

“Elaborate.”

“The last time he fed on you and gave me his blood was right when you left The Blushing Mermaid. A few days later, I tried his blood on some spawn in the city outskirts that have taken to living underground in search of a cure.” She paused briefly to take yet another sip from the goblet. “The results were vastly different from my previous experiments.”

“Can you just get straight to the point for once?”

“Oh, you really are a feisty one…” Ava said with a teasing smile. “As I was saying, the results were rather interesting and unexpected. The spawn reported feeling sated much quicker than before, but the effect wore off in the first hour, which was a disappointment.”

You froze instantly. “You're… using my blood?”

“Well, yes… and no,” she said in a casual tone. “Your blood mixed with his, that is. Before that day, I had never tried his blood after he fed on you.”

You felt as though you might be sick as your stomach lurched violently.

“This is… I – does he know?”

“Well, I haven't been given the chance, considering how the two of you got thrown into prison,” she said with a shrug. “And I am fully aware you think I am somehow responsible for it.”

You were still so taken aback by her earlier revelation, that you had momentarily forgotten about that detail.

“Now, what would I gain from setting you two up, especially after I just told you this.”

She did have a point.

Seemingly.

“You mentioned other spawn – why not use their blood instead? Why his?”

“Oh, darling… ” 

The way that word rolled out of her tongue grated on your nerves, and you realised only one person could masterfully use it without provoking a visceral reaction.

“Astarion isn't really your regular spawn, is he? Even when he was under Cazador Szarr's influence, he would still rebel against his commands while his siblings cowered in fear of defying their master.”

An overwhelming sense of dread took over at once.

Astarion has revealed how Cazador had kept him buried alive for a whole year as punishment for letting a potential victim go.

He had clawed his hands raw from despair as he wished for death to just take him.

Even remembering this vaguely, made your heart hurt for him.

“How do you know that?”

Ava rose to her full height, brushing her long and dark curls from her shoulders.

She paced towards a desk and began ruffling through pieces of parchment.

“I was a monster hunter for over twenty years and my group kept a close eye on Cazador and his spawn,” she said, not lifting her eyes. “Astarion had been on our radar for a while, but he was quite experienced in slipping through the cracks whenever we tried to go after him.”

You swallowed.

“Imagine our surprise when he suddenly goes missing. My partners were dumbfounded beyond belief. No vampire spawn is able to resist the compell of their master for that long.”

She then moved back to the armchair, flipping through a couple of scrolls.

“We thought he had met his demise somehow, so imagine my surprise when I find out that he's back in Baldur's Gate. Walking in the sunlight and next to… you.”

You weren't sure where this conversation was headed and you weren't sure you wanted to know.

Ava took your silence as encouragement. “Cazador was attempting to become the Vampire Ascendant and we were set on stopping him, but were instead met with his manor bathed in blood and corpses littering the place.”

So they had gotten there after your group stopped the ritual and prevented the rite from taking place.

“So now you're suddenly an alchemist who wants to help vampire spawn? Why the change of heart?”

Ava met your eyes and her face was void of any amusement. “Astarion and I connect in more ways than you think.”

You scoffed, crossing your arms and waiting to hear some circus clown reasoning.

“I wasn't a monster hunter by choice,” she said sternly. “I was born into it and molded into their ways.”

Your defensive demeanour wavered momentarily.

“I shall not go into details, but all you need to know is that once Cazador Szarr was gone, I was driven by curiosity and sought Astarion out so I could learn more about what makes him so different from all the other spawn I've come across.”

You narrowed your eyes at her. “So you just left your group? Just like that?”

She snickered. “They were killed.”

“What? By whom?”

She snickered as she took another sip. “By me.”

You were left speechless.

“I thought that if a vampire spawn could break the chains from his master and embrace freedom again, so could I.”

She let out a chuckle, emptying the goblet in one sip.

“So, I offered to help him as he's helped me. No more, no less.”

You really wanted to hate her.

You wanted her to give you a solid reason to be suspicious of her intentions.

But…

“So you genuinely care for him?”

She nodded. “I do. And if Astarion were to walk through that door and ask for us to part ways, I would accept it. It would essentially kill my research until I found someone remotely adequate, but I would make peace with it.”

This conversation had not taken the turn you expected.

At all.

“I can see the confusion in your eyes. You truly believed I am out to get you when I'm probably your best option right now.”

“Best option? In regards to what?”

She extended her arm towards a chair in front of her. “Take a seat.”

You did so, reluctantly, never letting your guard down and her out of your sight.

“Cazador Szarr had many enemies, but he also had many allies. People who were not pleased with his death.”

She now had your undivided attention and you felt your palms sweat.

There wad actually someone going after you? After Astarion?

“I have ways to find who they are.”

“Then what are you waiting for?” you immediately asked, feeling rather unsettled by her words.

She clicked her tongue. “I need assurances first, and I have a proposition to make.”

You saw the flash of a knife emerging from her sleeve and a tall glass container being placed on the table by her side.

TBC

Ao3

Series Masterlist

#astarion smut #astarion x tav #astarion x female reader #astarion x reader #astarion x you #astarion x female tav #astarion x f!tav

[lulublack90]

Prompt 17 - Hospital AU

@wolfstarmicrofic April 17, word count 995

CW- Cuts, Animal attack, Bite marks

Sirius stretched across the gurney, carefully holding his cup of coffee so he didn’t pour the scalding liquid down himself. 

“Hey, James. How long have we been on shift?” He asked his equally prostrate best friend. James groaned as he lifted his arm to check his watch. 

“8 hours.” He yawned. They were on the night shift, and the cases were either dull easy to diagnose stuff that could have waited for a GP in the morning or total calamities. 

He raised his head to take a sip of his drink when his pager went off. 

“Damn it,” He cursed as he dodged the liquid that came flying out of the cup. “That was close. I almost marred my beautiful face.” 

“Come on, urgent call to A&E,” James told him, grabbing him and jogging down the hall. 

The room was utter Bedlam. People were shouting at each other. A nurse was carrying a handful of bloody cloth to the hazardous waste bin. More nurses were fitting IVs and monitors to the patient lying still in the bed. Nurse Evans moved out of the way, and Sirius got his first glance at what they were working with. 

In the bed lay a twenty-something young man. Who could have been quite good-looking but now had long gashes across his face, one of which sliced his face in half from the corner of his eye, across his nose and finishing just above his lip. Sirius sucked in a breath as he took it in. 

“That’s not the worst of it.” Nurse Evans warned. Sirius glanced down as his eyes darted across the rest of his body. There were more slashing cuts, and the soft flesh of his waist and abdomen had huge puckered holes dotted about in stretched-out crescent arches. 

“Are those bite marks?!” James exclaimed, moving closer to the man. Nurse Evans nodded. 

“His back is all cut up, same as his front. Whatever attacked him got him good.” She sighed. “Poor man, he’s going to be in a lot of pain and shock when he wakes up.” She handed over his notes to James and busied herself cleaning the wounds. 

Sirius couldn’t take his eyes off the man.

“Do these look like dog bites?” He questioned as his fingers ghosted above the damaged skin.

“They look too big but definitely canine. Wolf, maybe?” James screwed up his face as he tried to figure it out. 

“There aren’t any wolves in Britain.” Sirius objected. “Where was he found?” 

“Er, notes say in the car park next to the—oh, for crying out loud. Next to the woodland park.” James scanned the text.

“Still no wild wolves in Britain,” Sirius muttered, only half paying attention to James. 

He grabbed some of the disinfection materials and helped Nurse Evans clean out the wounds. James began spouting off multiple tests he wanted to carry out and leaned over Sirius. Speaking quietly so only Sirius could hear him, he murmured.

“Be careful, yeah. I’ve seen that look before. Don’t get too invested.” Sirius shook his head. 

“I’m a doctor, James, I care. That’s all it is.” He lied. 

“Make sure it is,” James replied, knowing full well Sirius wasn’t telling the truth. 

Nurse Pettigrew appeared with his camera and began documenting the wounds in case it was a police matter. 

“Should I send these to a bite specialist?” He asked Sirius and James. James nodded. 

“Yes, that way, we will know what we’re dealing with. Send a couple of the slashes as well. I swear they look like claw marks.” Nurse Pettigrew disappeared as quickly as he’d appeared after taking countless photos and only disturbing the cleaning once to get shots of the man’s back. 

It took hours to get the man’s wounds cleaned and sutured. He’d had multiple scans, including a brain scan. To make sure he didn’t have a brain bleed. But he didn’t wake up. They weren’t worried yet. His body had sustained a lot of damage, and nothing in his scans showed any reason for him not to be conscious. 

Sirius’s shift had ended hours ago, but he stayed sitting at the man’s side. James had tried to convince him to leave. 

“Sirius, he’s a patient. You need to leave. Please don’t get overly attached to him. You don’t even know anything about him.”

“He’s all alone, James,” Sirius sighed. He already knew he was treading the line between a caring practitioner and becoming too personal with a patient. “No one has called looking for him. The police say no one matching his description has been reported missing. It’s been hours. How can no one be missing him?” James sighed at Sirius as he roughly ran his hand through his hair.

“I know, I know. Just be careful, Sirius.” He clapped his friend on the back and left him to it.

Sirius slept in the uncomfortable visitor’s chair. He kept waking up to check on his patient, but he was always asleep. Morning came, and one of the Nurses brought him breakfast and took the patient’s vitals. It wasn’t until the afternoon, a full 24 hours after he’d been brought in. The man’s eyelids fluttered. Sirius watched with bated breath as slowly, slowly, the man regained consciousness.

“It’s okay,” Sirius said in his most calming voice. “We think you’ve been attacked. You’ve got a lot of cuts, so I need you to keep still so you don’t rip any stitches. But you’re safe, and so far, no complications.” He realised he’d taken the man’s hand and promptly dropped it. “Sorry,” He mumbled under his breath. He watched the man wiggle his now free fingers. Sirius’s training finally kicked in. 

“I’m Doctor Black, Sirius. Do you know what your name is?” He asked as he pressed the call button. The man thought for a second. 

“Remus Lupin.” He said faintly. 

“Well, it’s lovely to meet you, Remus Lupin.” Sirius smiled at him as Nurse Evans wandered in.   

#wolfstar #wolfstar microfic #wolfstar fic #wolfstar au #sirius black #remus lupin #sirius orion black #remus john lupin #james potter #lily evans #peter pettigrew #sirius x remus #remus x sirius #sirius and remus #remus and sirius #hurt remus #if you go down to the woods today #dr sirius #cw cuts #cw wounds #cw animal attack #cw bites #hospital au

[shanastoryteller]

Happy Valentine’s Day! Possibly some Harry & George for vday?

a continuation of 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24

George is obviously very happy to be married to Harry, who's been one his best friends since he was twelve and who's the love of his life.

But if they're eloping for a bit then he refuses to miss out on the punchline.

"Hi George," Angelina says absently from her place at the kitchen table, too overwhelmed with wedding minutia to give him more than a passing glance. If he hadn't come through the floo with Harry, he thinks there's a decent chance she would have called him Fred. "Harry, help me make the centerpieces."

George knows that Angelina doesn't care about centerpieces. Weddings make people crazy. Clearly eloping was the correct and mentally stable choice.

Harry doesn't even say anything, just sits down next to Angelina and starts arranging flowers. He does not want to do that, so instead he goes scrounging in the kitchen for coffee.

His brother stumbles down the steps five minutes later, likely summoned by the scent of freshly brewed coffee. He stumbles over to stove, mumbles, "Wha're'you'doin'here," and pours himself a concerningly large cup of coffee.

Maybe Angelina would have been able to tell them apart, since George is the only one of them capable of being upright and functional before nine in the morning.

"Figured we could go over some shop designs while you're," he checks the table, "uh, folding flowers?"

After two bracing, scalding hot swallows, Fred's eyes open to more than a disgruntled squint.

They then immediately narrow onto George's hand holing his coffee cup. "Is that - you didn't-"

George grins.

Fred sputters before marching over to Harry and yanking his hand towards his face, ripping the flower he's been working on and making Angelina's face darken in rage. "You too! You - you can't have - but then - did you two get MARRIED?"

That sufficiently distracts Angelina from her anger. "What?"

He's so glad he came.

#prompt answers #prompts are closed #asks #anon #harry potter

[observeowl]

Unwanted Marriage | Chapter 8 - Time to strike back

Series Masterlist

"Y/N, you haven't fully recovered yet, why were you discharged from the hospital so fast? I think you should just resign, you are the wife of Natasha Romanoff, you should not be bullied by others." Brooke commented as everyone was in your room, trying to care for you. "It's okay, Brooke. It's not a big deal. You go ahead with what you're doing, I'm fine." You have a forced smile to please her.

"Tell me, what actually happened today?" You told her from the beginning without leaving anything out. "That was it, Don't worry, Sharon took my pictures, as long as I can take back the pictures, they can't deny it. You don't need to worry about this. I will handle it." She sighed but nodded her head.

"Y/N..." She reached closer to you. "As I've said, we are partners. I can protect you and remove every stumbling block that is in your path."

"Natasha, I, Y/N Y/L/N, won't simply be humiliated by others. I can handle it myself. Only in this way am I qualified to be called Mrs Romanoff."

"The doctor said that you still need to apply medicine on the bruises on your body. Let me apply it for you." You were going to refuse, until you saw Natasha's resolve. You weren't used to being affectionate with Natasha, but you let her anyway. This was the most intimate you have been with Natasha, awake. You lifted your shirt and allowed her to put the ointment on your bruise where Sharon kicked. You sensed that Natasha had more to say, but keeps changing her mind as you hear her sigh each time. "Be more careful. I'm not with you all the time."

===

When you were all better and Natasha finally allowed you to leave the house, you went back to work.

"How weird, why is she still not here?" Wanda mumbled as she spied the entrance. "Wanda, what are you doing?" Millicent hit her head with a file she was holding. "N-nothing."

"Did you see Sharon? I have something to talk to her about." She asked. Wanda shook her head. "Weird, I've never seen her being late for so long. Maybe something happened?"

"What can possibly happen? Perhaps she is feeling guilty and is hiding from something she's done."

"You're always thinking about nonsense like this. Go and do your work."

In the breakroom, you were refilling your water when you finally saw Sharon. Seeing how dishevelled she was, you knew she was coming for you and shifted your cup to get hot water. "Sharon, what happened to you? Why do you look so dishevelled?"

"Bitch, how dare you?!" She tried to slap you but you caught her hand before she was able to do so. "Sharon, why are you so angry? Did I do something wrong?"

"Stop pretending! You are behind what happened this morning, right? You actually did what I had done to you back on me? Are you tired of living?"

"Sharon, what are you talking about? What did you do to me?" You asked, but she remained silent. She was unable, could not admit what she did to you here in public. "Even you yourself can't say it out loud. You must be mistaken so you came to me. Though work is important, I advise you to go home and sober up first before coming back to work."

She pulled your arm, causing your cup filled with warm water to splash on her. "Ah! You bitch! You scalded me!"

"I'm so sorry, Sharon. Why did you pull me out of the blue? I wasn't paying attention."

"Get lost." She pushed you and you made a dramatic fall. "Sharon, you're too much. You're an editor. I'm only a junior staff member. You're targeting me for no reason. I can only stay away but you still want to pull me. I accidentally poured warm water on you. And I wanted to help you wipe it."

"I saw it just now. It was Sharon who didn't want to let her go." // "That water wasn't even hot right? Just look at her, so dramatic!" The breakroom wasn't empty and there were whispers coming from other staff members.

"Sharon..." You stood up from the floor. "I felt that your forehead was a bit hot just now, do you need to go to the hospital? If not, it will be bad if you burn your brain." You turned her body and directed her out with you.

"Y/N Y/L/N! I definitely won't let you off!"

"Very well," You leaned closer to her ear. "You can go back and tell Stephanie that if she truly wants to find trouble, don't blame me for being rude." You sent her off before walking back to your table.

"Y/N... you are indeed my idol..." Wanda cheered. "I only returned what she taught me. Isn't Natasha your idol?" You teased. "Can't I have more than one?

"Y/N Y/L/N, you have an express delivery. Please sign for it." The receptionist called for you. "99 roses are really heavy. My arms are broken after carrying them here." You thanked her before signing the papers.

"Why did he send you flowers?" Wanda asked after realising it was Marcus who sent you the roses. "Is it not enough for you to be misunderstood? He just won't give up." You told Wanda to go do her work, there was nothing much for her to see here.

Not long after, you see Marcus's contact on your phone, ringing.

M: Y-Y/N! That's great, I didn't think you'll answer!"

You: What's the matter?

M: I want to treat you to a meal, is it okay? Don't worry, it won't take too much time. Doesn't your company want to interview me? As long as it is you, I will accept the interview at any time.

You: If I'm meeting you for work, I guess Stephanie won't get mad right?

M: She does not allow you to meet me?!

You: No, no!

M: Don't worry, Stephanie will not do anything to you, I will protect you!

You: Well, see you soon.

This was your chance to pay back what Stephanie did to you and you won't let it slip by. "Wanda, I'm meeting Mr Lancaster for an interview. When Mr Stark comes back, please let him know that Mrs Lancaster's interview is no longer needed." You told her as you packed your bag and took the flowers. "Do you want me to come along? Just in case his wife comes again, and you will be in trouble."

"Don't worry, everything will be alright."

Roses? Oh, Marcus, my favourite flower has always been magnolia.

===

Once again, Marcus was making sure he's looking suave, ensuring his hair looks right and his collar done properly as he waited for you to arrive.

"Ms Y/L/N, this way please." The waitress showed you to your room. "Y/N! You're here!"

You sat down at the table and the waiter poured you a glass of red. "Wasn't the interviewee changed to my sister? Why did you still call me?" You asked. "Stephanie accepted the interview?"

You took out some papers from your bag and placed it on the table. "You can take a look, the company has already arranged it for printing."

"I will accept your interview! Stephanie's interview is therefore invalid now, I don't need her to replace me." The waiter came back in to serve the dishes. "These are all your favourite dishes. I ordered them specifically for you."

"Thank you." You were sending a message on your phone, not really interested in the plates being placed on the table. "Brother-in-law, thank you for accepting this interview. Otherwise, they would think I was causing trouble to your company and fire me." It was time to put your plan into action.

"Did Stephanie do something to you?"

"How is it possible? My sister didn't do anything." You shook your head and smiled. "You're lying! The previous incident at the hotel was caused by her! Now she is pestering me obsessively like a crazy woman!" He said frustratedly.

"Brother-in-law, don't be like this." You tried to calm him down. "Y/N, don't call me brother-in-law. I have always been your Marcus, let's start over again, okay?" He reached across the table to hold your hands. "I can divorce Stephanie, and then I will take good care of you in the future. Let bygones be bygones, okay?"

Suddenly, there was a break in and Stephanie came rushing into the room. "Marcus! Y/N Y/L/N! You're shameless, how dare you seduce Marcus behind my back?!" She shouted at you and prompted Marcus to stand up from his seat and made sure she wasn't getting closer to you. "Stephanie, we are just doing the interview, don't make this a fuss! It's really shameful!"

"Shameful? Have you lost your mind!? Or do you like this shameless mistress?"

"Y/N, please go back first, this is my private matter, it's none of your business." Stephanie managed to break away from Marcus and stopped you. "Don't think of leaving here! Y/N, stop pretending! You dare say this was not sent by you?" It was a photo of Marcus smiling with papers in his hands. "What is it? Let me see..." You took her phone from her and swiped to the next picture and saw your photo where you were ambushed in the washroom.

"Sister... how come you have such pictures?" You acted shocked and looked at her. "What?"

"My colleague thought I stole her interview and humiliated me in the company. Why do you have the picture from that incident? Sister, don't tell me... You instructed Sharon Carter?" You acted as if you were disappointed in her as Marcus snatched the phone from her. "Marcus, I don't know what she's talking about, I have no idea of this picture."

"Stephanie! I never expected you would actually collaborate with Y/N's colleague to bully her! She is your sister!"

"Marcus! I really didn't do this kind of thing, you must believe me!" You can't lie that you didn't enjoy watching them quarrel. She held onto your shoulders and said, "You explain it to Marucs quickly, the photo has nothing to do with me!"

"How do I explain? The picture is on your phone. How does it have nothing to do with you?"

"Did you know that I almost died? Did you think that all my injuries and being hospitalised were fake?"

"Y/N Y/L/N, you bitch!" You acted as if you were hurt by her words and walked out from the room when in fact you were barely holding in your smile.

===

"This is roughly what happened this morning. So you can put your mind at ease now." You told Natasha what you had done to Stephanie during the day. "And about Sharon, thank you."

"Don't do such dangerous things next time."

Your phone rang and realised it was your father calling you. "Y/N, what have you done to Stephanie again? She just came back home and is threatening to end her life. I want you to come over immediately! Right now!"

"Let's go, I'll bring you to see something interesting." You said to Natasha. You didn't even wait for her reply and pushed her to the garage asking Clint to drive you to your house.

The moment you entered the house, you can hear Stephanie crying and your father was quick to ask what you have done to cause her to cry. "Na-natasha, you're here too? Good timing, you'll be the judge."

"Look at how Y/N has bullied her sister. If she had not met Marcus privately, Stephanie would not be like this!"

"Is it really because of me meeting Marcus that she became like this? She didn't tell you any other things?"

"What are you talking about? Y/N, you better make it clear!"

"What if I have evidence that she tried to get someone to make me lose my job, and even almost caused my death at the office's toilet? What would you do?" Natasha held your hand to give you a bit of emotional support.

"That... that is impossible!"

"Dad! It's Y/N, who bad mouthed me! Today, she sent me those pictures, so I was angry and went to find her, but Marcus kept protecting her!" Before you could open your mouth, she continued. "Don't try to slander me, I have evidence!" She showed the picture of Marcus smiling in the interview.

"Sister, why are you still trying to frame me? I didn't believe it when Marcus said you had asked people to check on him. Isn't this the evidence that you have engaged private investigators?" You asked.

"What?!"

"Natasha, it's..." Your father realised it was tough to defend Stephanie any longer when the evidence was against her and Marcus was not here to help. "I've looked into this matter. Y/N's colleague has admitted that it's Mrs Lancaster who instructed her. And because of that, Y/N was hospitalised for two days."

"Dad, they are trying to frame me! I didn't do anything!" She held his arm to pitifully plead her case. "Y/N.. it's Dad's fault that I mistook you."

"Stephanie is immature. Since you are all right now, shall we let bygones be bygones?"

"Just when you thought Stepahnie had been bullied, you couldn't wait to settle the score with me. But now when you know I was the one being bullied? All you're going to do is apologise on her behalf?"

"Dad, I am so sorry, I really have no intention to harm Y/N... I have no idea why that person sent me the photos, I only learned about it later on." She sure changed her story quickly when she realised there was nothing your father could do to protect her. "Since that is the case, then please go and apologise to Y/N nicely, make sure she forgives you."

"No need, after all we are a family."

"... right, right, we are one family."

"But Dad, I remembered you once told me that real siblings should settle their scores openly. So, even if are one family, I still have to ask when do you intend to return the 5 million dollars that you borrowed from Natasha?"

"5- 5 million?"

"Dad, don't feel that I am too realistic, since I am back, I might as well bring this up."

"Stephanie." Your father whispered. "I'm so sorry Y/N, I really realised my mistake, can you please forgive me?" Collecting the money was not your goal, you achieved what you came here for. "We are out for a long time and it's time to go back. Dad, please take care of your health."

"Oh oh yes, okay."

You wondered if you were too harsh and arrogant earlier. They are your family and probably shouldn't have acted in such a way. "To be my woman, you should at least have the boldness to do this kind of stuff. From now on, whoever bullies you, you have to get even, just like what you have done today!"

In the house, Stephanie was still trying to paint a fake picture with your father. "Dad, Y/N has previously been looking for Marcus on a few occasions. I already begged her to not destroy the relationship between us, but she, she!"

"Looks like I should have kept her with us..."

"Dad, what are you talking about?"

"Nothing, you have put all your thoughts on Marcus, please don't fight with him."

Series Masterlist

@natsxwife @franfineashell @dvrkhcld @reginassweetheart @marvelogic @autorasexy

#natasha romanoff #natasha x reader #natasha x you #my writing #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff fanfiction #natasha romanoff x reader #black widow x female reader #black widow x reader #unwanted marriage #mcu x reader #marvel #avengers

[onceuponaoneshotfanfic]

All Too Well (Superstar Ch 8)

'Cause there we are again when I loved you so

Back before you lost the one real thing you've ever known

It was rare, I was there, I remember it all too well

The Reader is left reeling after the Man City celebration.

Roy Kent x Reader

7.5k words

Warnings: Language, lots and lots of angst, some yelling

Finally! Thank you for sticking around through all the pain. Hopefully you can see the light at the end of the tunnel!

Read (Roy's Version) here!

~

“I don’t have go to work,” Keeley said to me as I handed her a travel mug of coffee. “I can cancel. Honestly, they can handle one shoot without me there to hold their hands,” she offered earnestly. “Or I can call Jamie to come spend some time with you, he wouldn’t mind, he adores you. The two of you could watch some telly, go out to lunch-”

I shook my head, my body feeling empty after releasing probably every drop of water through tears. “It’s fine, Keeley. I’ll probably just shower and put on a movie. Distract myself a bit.”

Her face was full of concern. “You sure babe?”

“I’m sure.”

Keeley sighed and began gathering her things. “Alright. But call me if you need me. Or call Jamie. We’ll be here in an instant, alright?” She pulled me into a suffocating hug, not caring about my morning breath or the ruined makeup that I couldn’t be bothered to take off the night before. “We love you, you know that?”

I nodded into her shoulder, a small part of me not wanting to let go. “I know.”

After Keeley left, I did as I said and jumped into the shower, planning on spending an unreasonable amount of time in there. The scalding hot water allowed me to feel something besides the aching in my heart. Despite what I’d thought earlier, there was still water in my body, because I sobbed the entire time I stood under the shower, trying to scrub the pain away along with the glitter from the club.

I only managed to get out the glitter.

I put on some sweatpants and let my wet hair drip onto the old t-shirt I’d thrown on. I wasn’t going anywhere; it didn’t matter what I looked like. I had just settled myself on the couch and was absently searching for a movie when I heard a knock on the door.

And, despite myself, I knew that knock.

Praying that I was wrong and that Keeley had sent Jamie to check on me after all, I hesitantly got up and walked to the door. With a trembling hand, I opened it, hoping to see the striker’s annoyingly pretty face in front of me.

Nope.

“Roy,” I choked out, blinking.

“What the fuck did you do?” he demanded, shoving past me and into my flat.

I closed the door behind him. “The fuck are you talking about?” I didn’t bother hiding the confusion on my face.

He ran his hands over his face, which looked like he’d barely slept the night before either. “Why the fuck did I get a bunch of texts this morning sending me this?” He held up his mobile to me.

Boy-Toy Roy Gets Laid with Aide

I blinked as I read and re-read the headline several times. “What the fuck is that?” I gasped.

“Someone overheard you telling Brittany Brett all about how you’re ‘shagging Roy Kent’,” he spat out, his face a deep red. “All about how I ‘take care of’ you.” He shook his head, hurt behind the anger in his eyes. “I fucking told you I hate the press. I fucking told you I didn’t want this fucking circus. And then you turn around and do this shit.”

“No, Roy, I didn’t-”

He held his hands up. “Fucking save it. I really fucking thought this-” He gestured between us. “-was different. That you were different. But you’re just like everyone else. Using Roy fucking Kent to get in the papers and make a name for yourself.” He scoffed, rolling his eyes. “How could I be so fucking stupid?” he grumbled, more to himself. “I was really stupid enough to think you’d want me, just Roy.”

I took a step towards him. “Come on, Roy you know I lo-”

“No.” His voice was strangled. “No, I don’t fucking know that. Not anymore” He sighed. “You just fucking stop talking about me, alright? I don’t want to make things worse, so I’m not going to ask Lasso to fire you. But you just leave me the fuck alone, alright?” He blinked several times, clearly pushing back tears. “Do at least that much for me,” he rasped. He turned and grasped the doorknob, yanking the door open and slamming it behind him.

My flat was too quiet, too still, after he left. I managed to get myself onto the couch, my head reeling with everything he’d just said. It had been one thing to have cracks on my heart; now it felt completely pummeled, destroyed to oblivion.

~

It was past noon when I finally dared to look at my mobile. As I feared, there were messages from my girlfriends, Keeley, and Rebecca, all sending me the article and asking if I knew anything about it. But the only message I cared about was from my mum:

Want me to come over?

It felt like only seconds after I sent my answer that she was at my door, pulling me into a hug the moment I let her in. Her arms tightened around me, her simple shh, shh more than enough to bring back all the tears I’d thought I’d run out of. She walked me to the couch, where I curled up into her arms and let out harsh sobs that I didn’t know I was capable of.

I’d had my heart broken before. Boyfriends dumping me, friendships ending, pets dying, failing tests. And each time, my mum held me and let my tears soak her collar as she stroked my hair, managing to make everything better just by being there. But this was a hurt that I knew a couple kisses from my mother wouldn’t fix. This was the kind of hurt that I knew I’d be carrying my whole life.

Roy was it. Not because I had this lifelong crush on him, not because he was my favorite footballer and it was destiny for us to end up together. But because he was Roy. He was the person I was always happy to see, who never failed to make me smile, who made me feel safe, who I could spend hours doing nothing with, who I wanted to spend forever doing nothing with. And I knew deep down that he had truly felt the same way.

And now it was gone.

I wasn’t sure how long I cried for. The only thing I knew for sure was that when I finally looked up, my mother was looking at me with pain in her eyes, that pain only a parent watching their child suffer can know.

“This isn’t about the article, is it?” she whispered.

I shook my head. “We broke up,” I croaked out, my voice nearly gone. “Last night. And this morning whatever this article is came out, and Roy came and told me off, and now I think…” A sharp pain stabbed me in the chest. “I think we’re totally broken.” My voice cracked. “I’m totally broken.”

Her arms tightened around me. “Oh, love,” she cooed.

She stayed for a few hours. For a while, she just held me while I cried. Eventually, she put on the telly and moved to my bedroom to get a load of laundry to wash. Then to the kitchen, where I could hear her making more than enough food to get me through a couple of days. By the time the sun began to set, she was back on the couch with me, folding clothes as we watched some trash reality show.

“Have you read the article?” Her question was barely above a whisper.

With a sigh, I shook my head, wincing from both the mental pain and the realization that I had a stinging headache, the kind that comes after so much crying. “No, not yet.” I paused. “Is it bad?

My mum let out a small hum of pity, her gaze focused on the trousers she was folding. “It’s… not great.”

I grabbed my phone, went to the text from Keeley (Babes, have you seen this???), and opened the link she sent.

My face burned as I read the article. It was crude, painting me as a gold-digger, only interested in Roy for his fame, his money, even alluding to the idea that I may have gotten my job because of him. Although the article didn’t name me, it was sickening to see myself talked about so callously, to see private details about my relationship shared without much thought. And it suddenly made sense why Roy was so angry with me that morning, why he looked so livid and betrayed. I wouldn’t want anything to do with me either if I’d read this article.

“It makes me out to be an absolute slag,” I choked out, fighting the urge to throw my mobile across the room.

“You’re not,” my mother assured me, taking my phone and putting it on the coffee table. “I know you’re not. You know you’re not.” She gave me a squeeze. “And Roy knows you’re not.”

I shook my head. “He thinks I did this.”

My mum held me for a moment, choosing her words carefully. “He’ll come around,” she murmured. “If he really loves you, if he’s really the fella for you, he’ll come around.”

If only he would.

~

After three days of dodging phone calls and text messages, I finally answered when Ted called.

“How’re you feeling?” he asked, genuine concern in his voice. “Keeley said you got food poisoning. Golly, I don’t think I’ve ever had food poisoning last three days before. Must be awful.”

“Oh, yeah. It’s pretty rubbish,” I muttered. “But I’ll be back tomorrow, alright?”

I could almost hear Ted’s smile through the phone. “Aw, I’m so glad, hon’. We all miss seeing your face. Roy misses you most of all.” He let out a small laugh. “You should see him, even more grumpy than usual, he might as well be hangin’ out with Snow White.”

My heart leapt into my throat at the mention of Roy. “Uh-huh,” was all I could get out. “I should rest so I’m ready for work tomorrow. Thank you for checking on me, Coach.”

“We’ll see you tomorrow!” he called cheerfully before we hung up.

‘Tomorrow’ came much faster than expected. I dragged myself out of bed, my entire body heavy, and slowly forced myself through the motions: shower, breakfast, teeth, makeup, clothes. I agonized over an outfit to wear; wearing anything Richmond made me feel sick to my stomach. I found a random jumper and put it on, not bothering to look in the mirror; all I’d see was the tiredness in my eyes that no makeup could conceal.

Arriving at the Dog Track was worse than getting ready for it. Immediately my eyes were drawn to one thing: that stupid giant black car. Of course he was already there. Of course.

I parked clear across the lot, not caring about how many steps that added to my walk. As I entered the building, I did my best to ignore how hard my heart was hammering in my chest. My knuckles were white from gripping my bag so tight, and I knew my face was just as pale. Each step I took towards the changing room was heavy with the knowledge that the closer I got, the more real this all became. Roy wouldn’t greet me with a clandestine smirk. He wouldn’t glance over to see if the other gaffers were around so he could give me a kiss. He wouldn’t spend all day sending me texts about our after-work plans.

He wouldn’t be my boyfriend.

The chatter in the changing room quieted as I entered. I nodded to the boys, who offered tiny waves and quiet greetings, welcoming me back. No one quite looked me in the eye. It made sense; even though none of them knew about Roy and me, they had all suspected there was something between us, even if it was just a mutual attraction. And honestly, it was painfully obvious who that article was speculating about; I was one of the only people at Nelson Road that Roy publicly tolerated, and I had been at the club that night. It didn’t take a genius to put the pieces together.

It was Jamie who nodded to me, making full eye contact and offering a wide grin as if it were a normal day at the Dog Track. “Welcome back. Food poisoning all better then?”

He’s an angel. “Much better, thanks.” I smiled at him, focusing on his face. “Got plenty of catch-up to do, so I’ll see you later.”

Jamie shot me a wink, his friendliness giving me just enough strength to turn my attention to the offices. Ted and Beard sat at their desks, feet up and coffees in hand. Ted was speaking animatedly as Beard nodded, neither one noticing me until I was in the doorway.

“Call me John Travolta, because Welcome Back, Kotter!” Ted exclaimed, jumping to his feet. He walked over and threw an arm around my shoulder. “I was starting to think you’d run off on us and gotten a job at another club.”

I managed a small chuckle. “My dad’d kill me if I worked for anyone but Richmond.”

Ted nodded. “Loyal. Gotta love it.”

A cynical snort from the adjoining office sent a jolt down my spine. It also caught Ted’s attention.

“Guess who’s back, Roy!” he called, steering me to the door I had spent all morning dreading. “And looking better than ever, I might add.” Ted shot me a grin. “Well, we better start heading to practice. Roy, you think you could hang back and catch her up? Thanks.” He didn’t wait for an answer before turning on his heel and walking out, Beard following him out through the changing room.

I stayed frozen in the doorway, avoiding turning my head towards Roy. Out of the corner of my eye I could see him still sitting at his desk, fists clenched, jaw set. I was thrown back to our first meeting, the day I started at Richmond, when he looked so annoyed by my existence. Now, however, he was more than annoyed. He hated me.

Doing my best to ignore the pit in my stomach, I went to my own desk and started taking out my things. I figured Roy wasn’t about to tell me a thing, but I figured I could piece together what I’d missed pretty easily. Plus, I could always go snooping around Ted’s desk if I needed to. Right as I was opening up my email, something caught my eye.

“Where’s my sticky note?” A lump formed in my throat. My little orange sticky note, the one that read “To my biggest fan. XOXO Roy Kent”, was gone. I turned around in my seat to face Roy, who still hadn’t moved. “Did you really fucking take it?” My voice was small, overflowing with all the hurt I’d been holding the past few days.

When he didn’t answer, I swiveled back around, letting a couple silent tears splash onto my desk. I couldn’t believe he’d take it, probably crumpled it up and thrown it away. Maybe even ripped it up. It was a stupid little sticky note- a joke more than anything else- but it felt like someone had yanked my heart out of my chest and taken out to the pitch to be kicked around by the guys.

“I didn’t fucking take it.”

I spun around, eyes wide. Roy’s head was turned to the side, only showing me his profile. His fists were still clenched on top of his desk.

“I didn’t take the note,” he repeated. “Keeley came in on Monday to grab some of your work shit. She took it with her.”

“Oh.” That was all I could say before I thought to add, “’m sorry.”

With a grunt, Roy stood, still not looking at me, and trudged out of the office, presumably to the pitch. I sat in my chair for a while, not moving, trying to block out all my thoughts. My attempt at emptying my brain was interrupted by a tiny knock on my door.

Keeley waved at me. “Hey, babes.” She walked over and sat in Roy’s chair, rolling it close to me. “Glad you’re back.”

I nodded. “At least someone is,” I sighed. I stared down at her shoes, all purple and shiny and way too high for me. “Keels, did you take my sticky note?”

She tilted her head. “Your sticky-?” Her eyes lit up. “Oh. Shit, yeah. When I was getting the stuff I brought to you on Monday I grabbed it. I kind of figured you wouldn’t want that thing staring at you the day you came back, you know?” She paused. “I hope that was alright. I didn’t chuck it or anything. I can go get it for you if you want.”

“No, that’s fine,” I hummed. “You did the right thing. It would’ve crushed me to see it up there. Just wish you’d let me know; I asked Roy about it.”

Keeley’s eyes nearly popped out of her head., “You guys talked?”

I snorted. “Barely. I asked if he took the note, he told me that you did.” My voice grew miniscule. “He wouldn’t even look at me.” A few tears spilled into my lap.

“Oh babe.” In an instant, Keely was out of the chair and was instead crouched down in front of me, stroking my arm sweetly. “It’s alright. D’you need to go home? I could drive you. Rebecca wouldn’t mind.” She paused. “She doesn’t know of course, but she assumes the article has something to do with you.” Keeley shook her head. “Shit piece, by the way. I’m trying to ask around and find out where the hell it came from, it’s absolute slander-”

“It’s my fault,” I whispered, wiping my wet cheeks. “At the club, Brittany Brett was all over me, and I got so mad I let it slip that I was dating Roy. I can only assume that either someone was listening in and twisted everything, or that she went and told a reporter just enough for them to run with.” I shook my head. “I’m such an idiot.”

Keeley squeezed my arm. “Hey.” Her voice was gentle. “Maybe you made a mistake. But this isn’t your fault. The damn media has no respect. Believe me.” She thought a moment. “Could you tell Roy about all this? Wouldn’t that help fix things?”

I shook my head. “He doesn’t want to see me. Or talk to me. He probably just wishes I’d drop dead.” I buried my face in my hands. “I kinda wish it too,” I joked dryly.

“Hey now.” Keeley pulled down my hands. “None of that rubbish. Just… give him time.” Keeley nodded. “Give him time.”

~

Time seemed to be all there was. Without Roy to keep me busy, I found myself alone in my flat most nights. No Roy, no Phoebe, no Oscar. Just me, on the couch eating takeaway and watching garbage reality shows. I went out with my friends a couple of times, but my heart wasn’t in it.

They’d initially asked me about Roy and the article, which I quickly shut down. I explained that Roy and I had a professional relationship, maybe a friendly one at times, and that the article was nothing but rubbish. Whether or not they believed me, they stopped bringing it up.

I did my best to avoid my parents’ house. On the rare occasions I did go over, I noted that while all my awkward teen photos were back, the photo of me with my cardboard cutout was still missing. I didn’t even bother going up to my old room; my dad was kind enough to run upstairs if I needed something from there. He was also thoughtful enough to not ask a single question about what happened; I assumed my mum filled him in on the necessary information.

At work, most people treated me gently. Only Jamie, Ted, and Beard treated me normally; Jamie because he knew all the details, Ted and Beard probably because they knew none of the details. Everyone else had bits and pieces, some true, some completely fabricated. But everyone knew that something was going on.

All that time was what led to me sitting on my couch, eating something I barely registered and watching something I didn’t care about, when a quick knock came from my door.

“Hello? You home?”

Frowning, I walked over to the door and opened it. Jamie Tartt stood there, holding a box in his hands and looking uncharacteristically bashful.

“Um, hey Jamie.” I blinked a few times. “What’re you doing here?” Jamie Tartt at my door in a neon pink hoodie and a fanny pack strapped to his chest was not something I’d planned on seeing, maybe ever.

He cleared his throat and took a step inside, looking nothing like the cocky player I knew. “I, uh, have some stuff for you.” He nodded down towards the box. “From Roy,” he added quietly.

My eyes darted to the box. Inside I could see my things from Roy’s house, things I’d left there over the past few months. A lump formed in my throat as I tried to hold myself together and not break down in front of Jamie freaking Tartt.

“Oh. Right. Thanks.”

“Should I… put it somewhere?”

I closed the door behind him, not willing to have any of my neighbors walk by and witness what felt like yet another humiliating moment. “Uh, yeah, just there by the couch.” Jamie did as I asked easily, then faced me expectantly. I sighed. “Thanks,” I repeated.

He offered me a tight smile. “You alright?”

“Yes. No. I don’t fucking know.” I let out a dry laugh. “Sorry you got roped into doing this.”

Jamie shook his head. “’s alright. He’s my friend. You’re my friend. I don’ mind doin’ stuff for my friends.” He glanced at the box. “Want me to, uh stay while you go through all that? I won’t watch or nothing. Just so you don’t have to be by yourself.”

My heart melted at the offer I didn’t know I needed. Keeley had a good one. “That’d be nice. Thanks, Jamie.”

He flopped onto my couch and took out his phone. “No problem.”

While he started scrolling through obnoxious TikToks, I knelt down and started rummaging through the box. Clothes, the extra toothbrush that I kept by Roy’s sink, my favorite mug for tea, the books I’d left on his nightstand, the Spice Girls CD he reluctantly let me play in his car. Every piece of evidence that I spent almost as much time at his place as I did at mine.

Well, almost every piece.

“Jamie,” I started, frowning. “Was this all there was?”

Jamie nodded absently, scrolling to a new video. “Yeah. That’s all he gave me.” He glanced at me. “Somethin’ missing?”

I nodded, digging through the box once more. “One of my Richmond sweatshirts. My favorite one, actually. Had it since I was in uni. It’s kind of my good luck charm. Like, every time I’ve worn it, I aced an exam, or the Greyhounds won, or my mum made my favorite dinner without me having to ask. And I know I left it there.”

“Want me to ask him about it?” Jamie offered.

“No,” I sighed, putting down the mug I’d been holding. “He, um, probably hasn’t found it yet. It’s fine. I’ll survive.”

Jamie joined me on the floor, sitting cross-legged and laying his hand on my arm. “Fuck yeah you will. You can survive anythin’, you hear me?” He looked thoughtful. “Would it help if I told you that Roy’s even more fuckin’ miserable than usual?”

I shook my head with a small chuckle. “I don’t think it would.” I laid my hand on top of his. “But thanks for trying, Jamie.”

He smiled at me, a soft, friendly smile, different than the one he usually wore on the pitch. “Anytime.”

~

As I strolled through the supermarket, I caught a flash of familiar blonde. My heart stuttered as I tried to focus on finding something to make for dinner. Maybe if I quickly grabbed what I needed, went straight to the clerk, walked out swiftly, I could avoid-

“Hi!”

Phoebe beamed up at me, still in her school uniform. At the end of the aisle, her mum held a shopping basket, an embarrassed look on her face.

“Hey, Pheebs,” I managed, trying to sound as excited as the child who stared up at me. “How’re you, sweetheart?”

She gave a small nod. “I’m fine, thank you.” A frown twitched on her face. “I’ve missed you. How come you don’t hang out with me and Uncle Roy and Oscar anymore?”

A lump formed in my throat. “Oh. Well, see, your Uncle Roy and I…” Fuck. How do you tell an eight-year-old girl that you and her uncle broke up and your heart is currently sitting in a million little pieces, and each piece was still desperately in love with him?

“Hey there.” With perfect timing, Roy’s sister approached, a tight smile on her face. “Sorry about Phoebe, she just sprinted on over the moment she saw you.”

I shook my head. “No, no it’s alright-” I stopped myself, realizing we were now nothing more than acquaintances. “It’s alright, Dr. O’Sullivan,” I finished.

Sadness flashed across her face for a moment before the forced smile returned. “Well, it’s good to see you.” She probably wanted to get out of the conversation as quickly as I did.

But Phoebe had other plans.

“Are you still coming to my ballet recital?” Her blue eyes, filled with childish hope, bore into mine. “You promised,” she reminded me.

Fuck. I glanced up at Dr. O’Sullivan, whose face was now a complete grimace. “Oh, yeah, of course.” What else could I say? “If, um, if your mum can get a ticket for me.”

Dr. O’Sullivan’s face softened. “Yeah, I can get you one.” She smiled at me- a real smile this time- and nodded. “I could drop it off at Nelson Road, if you’d like, next time I drop Phoebe off with-” She stopped. “Next time I drop her off,” she finished.

I shrugged. “You can just leave it with Higgins. Or Will. Honestly, you could even leave it with Dani Rojas. They’d all make sure it got to me.” I was starting to babble.

She gave me a pity laugh. “I’ll make sure it gets to you,” she assured me. She turned to Phoebe. “Love, why don’t you go pick out an ice cream for us to have after dinner, hmm?” Phoebe scurried down the aisle before her mother finished her sentence. Dr. O’Sullivan turned back to me. “Hey,” she started softly. “You don’t have to come if it’s too uncomfortable. Phoebe’ll understand.”

“I’d like to go,” I confirmed. “If it’s alright with you, I mean. I don’t want to intrude or make things… weird.”

“Things’ll definitely be weird,” Dr. O’Sullivan said with a dry laugh. “But it’d mean the world to Phoebe. We’d love to see you there.” She paused, clearly unsure if she should continue. “Listen. I don’t know what happened between you and my brother. But I will say that Phoebe misses you. I miss you. And if you don’t come to the ballet, I completely get it. But please don’t avoid us because you think we don’t want to see you. Alright?”

I hadn’t realized that tears were forming in my eyes until they threatened to fall. “Alright,” I whispered. “Friday, right?”

“Friday,” she confirmed as Phoebe ran back, holding up a box of ice lollies.

Phoebe looked up at me, clutching her ice cream. “I’ll see you at my recital, right?”

I nodded. “Yes. I’ll bring pink roses,” I promised.

Immediately, Phoebe wrapped her arms around me. Without hesitation, I hugged her back, giving her a tight squeeze. God, I missed her. I missed taking Oscar for walks together. I missed sitting on Roy’s back porch, taking turns reading out loud. I missed taking her out to get groceries so Roy could make dinner for the three of us. I missed going over to her house and laughing with her mom while Phoebe and Roy played together. I missed being part of Roy’s family.

I blinked back the tears before letting go of Phoebe. “I’ll see you two Friday then,” I managed to choke out.

Dr. O’Sullivan and Phoebe each offered me one more smile and wave- Phoebe’s smile taking up her whole face, Dr. O’Sullivan’s smile filled with sadness- and then they were gone. I squeezed my eyes shut, pretending that my heart didn’t just manage to break even more than it already had, and made myself finish my shopping.

~

“You’re really going?” Keeley looked at me with concern, clutching one of Rebecca’s pillows. “You don’t think that’d be too hard?”

I shrugged, picking at a loose string on my jumper. “It’ll be hard as fuck,” I admitted. “But it’s Phoebe. She doesn’t deserve to have me break my promise just because… because…” I trailed off, unable to finish, staring down at the ticket Higgins had handed me earlier that afternoon that now sat on Rebecca’s coffee table.

Rebecca joined us on the couch, shoving a glass filled with something from her bar into my hand. “But no one would blame you for not going,” she pointed out.

With my permission, Keeley had filled Rebecca in on all that had happened. She was a bit miffed to be kept in the dark for so long, but she quickly got over it in favor of being a supportive friend. She’d gone so far as to offer to move me to a different office or even a different position at the club, but I declined; Roy was right, it was best not to make things look worse. Instead, I allowed her and Keeley to schedule daily check-ins with me to make sure I was feeling alright.

“I’d blame myself,” I argued. “No matter what’s happening with me and Roy, I made a promise to that little girl. And I’m going to be there, no matter what.” Even if Roy is there. Even if he brings Brittany fucking Brett or some other gorgeous woman.

Keeley patted my knee lovingly. “If you’re sure you can handle it,” she murmured. “But if you can’t, you just text me and I’ll meet you at whatever bar you want, and we’ll drink until London runs out of booze.”

Rebecca added her hand on top of Keeley’s. “Me too.”

I stared at their hands, the hands of my friends who made me feel loved, who made me feel strong, like I would survive the pain I was feeling, despite the deep ache that still rested in my chest. I placed my hand on top of theirs. “Thank you,” I whispered.

We sat and chatted for a bit more before I reminded them that I had work to do and headed down to my office, feeling good about my decision to attend the ballet. Avoiding looking at Roy, I settled myself into my desk and looked at some emails I hadn’t gotten to yet that day.

For the millionth time since he arrived at Richmond, Dario poked his head into the office, beaming when he saw me, greeting me in his usual complimentary way. Even with his back to me, I could feel Roy tense up, the heat radiating off of him and smacking me in the face.

I grimaced at Dario, hoping he’d see it as more of a smile. “Need something?”

He shook his head. “No. Well, yes.” He paused, glancing over at Roy, who was still as a statue. “Could we talk privat-”

In a flash, Roy was up and stomping out of the office, the way he often left these days. With a sigh, I turned back to Dario. “Go on then.”

His radiant smile had returned. “Would you like to have dinner with me sometime?”

“Oh.” I prayed that Roy was far, far away from this conversation. I prayed that he never found out about it. While I was at it, I prayed that I’d misheard the question. “Dinner?”

“Yes.” Dario nodded, clearly excited. “With me.”

I blinked a few times. “I, um, don’t think your girlfriend would like that very much, hmm?” I asked, trying to keep my voice light and friendly, as if this chat wasn’t causing me absolute turmoil. “She’d probably murder me.”

Dario shook his head earnestly. “Oh, you have not heard then? Brittany broke up with me.”

This conversation cannot get worse. “Really?” Despite my best efforts, my voice shook at this development.

“Si. She said that, while we had fun, she wanted something more serious, and she did not want it with me.” He shrugged, clearly taking his breakup better than I was taking mine. “I will be okay though. Especially-” He grin once again filled his handsome face. “-if you go to dinner with me.”

I shook my head. “Thank you, Dario, but I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Because of Coach Kent?” He raised his eyebrows at me. “Because I know everyone says you have a crush on him, but honestly, belleza, I think you and I would have more fun together.” He paused, thinking. “Besides, he is going to get back with Brittany any day now.”

“I’m sorry?” If my heart sank any lower, it would be in the ocean by now.

He nodded. “This is what Brittany told me. She and Coach Kent are going to get back together.

This man needs to get out of my office before I start crying. “Thank you for asking, Dario,” I started, trying to keep my voice even. “But I’m going to have to say no to dinner.” Without another word, I got up and walked briskly past him, through the changing room, and out to the parking lot, where I sat in my car and cried.

I composed myself and went back to work before leaving to go get ready for the ballet recital. The theatre was walking distance from me, so I allowed myself a nice stroll, figuring that being outside would be good for me. On my way, I popped by a flower stand to pick up pink roses for Phoebe, taking great care to pick the prettiest, brightest ones I could find. Even if I felt like my world had ended, at least I’d get to see the smile on that little girl’s face when she saw the flowers I’d promised her.

When I arrived, the theatre was already packed with families, all excited to see their tiny children jump and dance about. I snuck a glance at my ticket and asked an usher to point me in the direction of my assigned seat, right on the aisle. I heaved a sigh of relief as I sank into it, unable to believe my luck. I hadn’t run into anyone I knew, so I’d have the whole show to prepare myself for the inevitability of coming face to face with-

“Oi.”

My head snapped up. Roy stood over me, programme clutched in his hands. His frown seemed permanently etched into his face these days, and his eyes were unreadable as they stared down at me.

“You came,” he grunted.

All I could manage was, “I came.” I swallowed hard, praying my tight grip didn’t squash my flowers.

Roy squinted at the letter on the arm of my seat. “I think that’s me,” he mumbled, pointing at the empty seat next to me.

“Oh,” was all I said. I stood, intending to step out into the aisle so he could go in, but before I could shift, he made his way past me, having to press his body against mine in the tiny pathway between rows. My heart fluttered at the first bit of physical contact we’d had in weeks; his body felt so familiar, so comfortable. More than anything, I wanted to freeze that moment, feeling his warm chest pressed against mine, feeling like home.

It was far too soon when he settled in his seat and I dropped back into mine. I fidgeted with the flowers in my hand, heart hammering so loud I was sure Roy could hear it.

“You brought them.”

I turned to him. “Hmm?”

He gestured towards the roses on my lap. “The fucking roses. For Phoebe. You actually brought them.” He raised his thick eyebrows at me.

“’course I did,” I answered. “I promised, didn’t I?”

He stared at me for a moment, looking as if he was really seeing me for the first time. “You did.” He turned his attention to the empty stage. “Phoebe’ll be excited,” he mumbled.

I couldn’t think of anything else to add until I noticed Roy fiddling with the programme in his hands. “Shit, I didn’t see the programmes,” I muttered, starting to stand so I could find where they were being passed out before the show started.

Roy let out one of his signature sighs and held his up. “Have mine.”

“You sure?” I asked as I sat back down. When he nodded, I took the programme out of his hand. “Thanks.”

With a curt nod, he took out his phone and checked the screen. “Fucking hell, is this thing ever gonna start?”

Unable to resist slipping back into old patterns, I snorted as he returned his mobile to his jacket pocket. “Why? D’you and Jamie Tartt have a hot date or somethin’?”

“No,” he huffed. He paused, tapping his finger on his knee, eyebrow raised. “D’you and fucking Dario Vargas have one?”

My heart stuttered as I frantically shook my head. “What? No. Why the hell-”

“Ladies and gentlemen, please take your seats, the show is about to begin!” an annoyingly bright voice called over the sound system.

It took every ounce of strength I had to sit in my seat and turn my focus to the dancers onstage. All I could think about was Roy, sitting beside me. Roy, watching his niece dance. Roy, who didn’t start yelling the moment he saw me. Roy, who gave me his programme.

After the show ended and the dancers had taken their tiny bows, Roy nodded to me. “My sister’s supposed to meet me out front with Phoebe. You can come with me.” He paused. “If you want.”

I nodded. “Thanks. I, um, I’d like to give Phoebe her flowers.”

“Alright.” He stood and gestured towards the exit. “Let’s go then.”

I stood up and exited the row. For just a millisecond, I felt Roy’s fingers brush mine before quickly pulling away. When I glanced back, he was wearing his stoniest expression, looking ahead of me into the crowd, but the pink tint to his cheeks was undeniable. My heart slammed against my chest; he forgot. For a brief moment, Roy Kent forgot he hated me. He forgot that we weren’t together. For a brief moment, he had reverted to the Roy who would naturally grab my hand as we walked through a crowd. The realization brought a new ache to my chest, a dull one now, anchored in… well, hope.

We briskly walked outside the theatre, weaving our way through the crowd of families all trying to find their own little dancers. I glanced at Roy, wondering if I should revisit his question about Dario and me. After all, Roy was the one who brought it up in the first place.

“Roy, I-”

“Uncle Roy!” Still clad in her leotard and tutu, Phoebe burst through the cluster of people around us, launching herself into Roy’s arms, her mother trailing behind her.

He squeezed her back before letting go. “You did a great job,” he praised, nodding emphatically. “Some of those other kids absolutely fucked up, but not you.” He poked her on the nose. “Fucking amazing.”

“Thank you!” She turned her attention to me, her eyes bright. “You came!” She wrapped her arms around me.

I couldn’t help but laugh and hug her back. “And you were wonderful!” I let her go and held up the flowers. “I believe someone was expecting these.”

Her smile widened. “My pink roses!” She took them from my grasp, burying her nose in them. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

Dr. O’Sullivan beamed at me. “Thank you so much for coming.” Without warning, she reached out and gave me a hug, the way she had done each time I left her house after dinner or when she came over to Roy’s to pick Phoebe up. A warm, friendly hug that told me she was happy to see me.

When we let go, I saw Roy eyeing me, his expression neither full of the adoration it used to hold nor the anger he’d displayed the past few weeks. It was just… thoughtful. Gears were turning behind his eyes, and I’d have let the Greyhounds be relegated again for a glimpse of what he was thinking.

I cleared my throat and turned back to Phoebe and her mum. “Thank you again for inviting me. I should get going.” With a small wave, I turned around.

“Where’re you parked?”

The sound of Roy’s gruff voice froze me in my tracks. “I, um, walked.” I blinked at him; I didn’t need to tell him that my flat was close by. He knew.

He nodded, that thoughtful expression still on his face. “I can drive you home. If you want.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Dr. O’Sullivan raise her eyebrows. I ignored her and cleared my throat. “Sure. That’d be nice.”

Roy gave his niece and sister each another hug, then nodded down the street. “’m this way,” he mumbled.

The walk to his car was silent, but it was a different silence than the one that had clouded our office these few weeks. It felt much closer to the silence we used to share on his couch or in bed; comfortable. Once we got to his car, we both reached for the passenger door at the same time, just avoiding contact.

Roy cleared his throat and looked down. “Old habits,” he grumbled, yanking the door open for me. He quickly crossed to his side and started the car as I got myself settled. As he pulled out onto the street, he cleared his throat again. “You didn’t get to finish earlier.”

“Finish what?” I asked, although I knew exactly what he was referring to.

A giant sigh escaped his throat. “About Dario Vargas,” he answered through gritted teeth. “I know he asked you out. All that ‘talk privately’ shit.” He paused. “Not that it’s my fucking business.”

I crossed my arms. “You’re right. It’s not your business,” I retorted. I lowered my voice. “But I do want you to know, I turned him down. I’m not over-” I stopped myself from saying I’m not over you. “I’m not interested in him,” I finished.

Roy nodded. “Well, I’m glad.” He paused. “I mean, I’m glad you’re not going out with someone you’re not interested in.” He quieted, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel as he thought. “Oscar misses you.”

My heart somehow managed to crack again. “I miss him too,” I whispered.

“Yeah, he’s always fucking looking at the door, like he’s fucking waiting for you. Sniffs around where you liked to sit on the couch.” He glanced at me out of the corner of his eye. “If you, I don’t fucking know, wanted to pick him up and take him for a walk sometime, that’d be fine.”

I didn’t hesitate. “I’d love that.”

Roy’s mouth twitched, something I hadn’t seen in weeks. “Thought you would. Oscar’d love it too.”

“Could I pick him up tomorrow? After the match?”

Roy nodded. “Yeah. That’s fine. Just text me, yeah?”

I couldn’t help but smile. “Yeah.”

We were quiet for the rest of the drive, but it didn’t feel as painful. For the first time since the club, I didn’t feel like I was sinking around Roy. In fact, I felt the very real possibility that we could eventually be… well, maybe not friends, but friendly. It was the most I could hope for.

He parked in front of my building, his eyes flickering up towards my flat. “Alright then?”

I nodded, ignoring the sting that came from the realization that he wasn’t walking me up, for the first time ever. “Alright.” I got out of the car, unable to help but note that the stupid black car lingered until I was inside the building.

In my apartment, I moved around like I was walking on a cloud. Something in the car had felt so different, and it felt good. As I prepped something for dinner, I felt my mobile vibrate in my pocket. When I looked at the screen, I saw I had a simple text message from Roy Kent⚽:

Hey. Think we could talk?

~

Taglist: @optimisticsandwichgladiator @giggling-sewer-ginger @katdahlali @sonyume @djarindroid @reading-blogs @thezimi @benedictscanvasmain @wibblywobblyvampywolfystuff @puckyou-forpuckssake @old-enough-to-know-better73 @ladygrey03 @soundofboots @justsomefunshit @geekgirl1996 @tedssweaters @queen-of-dumbasses @miaalltheway @di-essere-amato @shakespeareanwannabe @hotdoglamp @mal-adaptive-dreams @allthetroubleiveseen @netflix-addict @callmecasey81 @forgetmeaway @royalestrellas @kingleahhh @lemoonandlestars @ghxxxf

#roy kent superstar #he's here he's there he's every fucking where #roy kent #roy kent fanfic #roy kent fic #roy kent x reader #roy kent fanfiction #ted lasso #ted lasso fic

[aduckinpain]

Let the Sky fall

Tags: Lestappen, Max Verstappen centered, Max Verstappen Character Analysis, Hurt/Comfort, Jos Verstappen Slander, Happy Ending, Charles Leclerc's Sunset lap and Max Verstappen's Storm lap, The Brazil 2023 Effect hasn't left yet

Word Count: 2k

This work is also on AO3 under user roianamustang (me).

The sky darkens, the rain falls and the clouds drape. A storm is nearing. Maybe it’s already arrived. Or perhaps it was always there. Looming just beside his shoulder. Never whispering, always yelling, muttering under his breath.

The wind blows, shakes. The wind is moving and everpresent, especially in a state like the Netherlands. Especially in a household like the Verstappens.

A storm is the natural phenomenon of a violent disturbance of the atmosphere with strong winds and usually rain, thunder, lightning, or snow.

The 2023 season felt like a good quali lap with 3 full purple sectors. His wins got familiar and his rare, but present, losses felt like the calm before the storm. And that was taken literally on the track of São Paulo, Brazil. 

This year was like a whirlwind that wasn’t stopping and it really swiveled itself that morning. The warm, humid air felt good on his skin. He lowered his visor, pressed the throttle, exited the pit lane.

 A short straight, followed by chicanes. Max’s eyes stood unblinking. 

Turn left. Turn right. 

Go faster. 

A straight. DRS. 

Go faster.

Sharp left. 

Purple. 

The force pushed him right and over the edge. 

He remembered.

When he opened his eyes, Max saw the sky. Bright blue spanning across his vision. Along with some dark, blurry spots. 

He heard voices and felt hands touching him. Pulling him. 

He flinched. Or at least tried to, but he couldn’t tell what was happening.

Soon enough the noise started to filter in. Screams entering his ears and the sun warming his suit, reminded Max of where he was. Physically at least. 

Opening lap of his 2021 Silverstone Grand Prix. And he’d crashed.

The marshalls were checking if anything was wrong and he could feel himself shaking his head. He’d crashed.

He could walk, nothing was broken. He’d crashed.

He entered the garage, went to the infirmary and sat. The doctors checked him over. A concussion at most, they said. He’d crashed.

The word flying around estimated 51 G-forces. A miracle. He’d crashed.

Christian came over and stood with him. Daniel called immediately after the race. Asked him how he was.

It doesn’t matter.

He’d crashed.

The sun shined brighter. Redder.

Angry or worried. He didn’t know. He’d only felt one emotion as a constant in his life and he couldn’t look the sun in the eye. It was too bright.

The sky is the region of the atmosphere and outer space seen from the earth.

Sector 2 has started. A push on the pedals, the speed increases.

He can feel his arm muscles tense, turn, gain control over the long turns. 

Turn 8. Chicanes. Right. Left. Right. Hit the apex. Keep the speed. 

Turn.

Purple.

The sky darkens.

And yet, he can still feel his sun’s heat on his back. Catching on. Keeping up. Feeding.

Like always.

When he was a child, he remembers sitting with his sister under the blankets looking at picture books about space. A flashlight in his hand. Opening, closing, mimicking stars. Scattering it around to make constellations.

Stars. Bright and big. Almost like they had a presence. An aura. A purpose. 

He remembers his wonder when he found out the Sun was a star. Read about it incessantly. The brightness, along with its heat, being the main cause for life on Earth. It created great things, but as he found later on, with big risks. 

It felt godly.

It held the power in its hands to not just create, but also destroy.

Humanity has and will always be its own risk. Our actions making even the thing that keeps us alive, deadly.

The Sun wasn’t just warm, it was scalding. It was strong, it lashed out. 

It grew and it grew. It will continue to grow, to the point where it will swallow. It will grow and then it will shrink.

It will be quiet.

It will burst.

And Jos?

He bleeds human.

His father felt like wind. It pushed and pulled and yelled. 

His father felt Aeolian. Loud. Intense. Angry.

Anger. 

An emotion he’s always known of. An emotion he’s allowed to have. The only one he was allowed to express.

When the checkered flag came into view and his kart crossed the finish line in third place, pride was what was felt. Sure, he hadn't won, but he was on the podium.

He was on the podium, dad!

He smiled and picked up his trophy. He took pictures and turned to show his accomplishment. 

He was on the podium, dad!

He froze. He shivered, flinched. He stayed quiet in the car and looked up when his door opened. He stepped outside, but his dad went inside again. 

What?

The window opened. He heard the words, tried replying to them even. But then, he looked at wind in the eye and felt cold.

As the car drove away, Max Verstappen left. 

He left there in the parking lot of the gas station, standing still. 

He doesn’t know if he ever returned. And if any effort was made to do so, it was quickly diminished when he found himself in the same place it started. Or more accurately, ended.

He was on the podium, dad.

A black hole is a place in space where gravity pulls so much that even light cannot get out.

A sharp left turn. He hits the apex and speeds up again. The wind blows but he doesn’t feel it. 

He never lifts his foot off the pedal. 

He speeds up and up and up.

Purple.

Sector 3 done. 

Pole position.

For now.

Rain drops. The sun shines from behind, not above.

The session is finished.

On Sunday he starts on pole. And that afternoon he feeds his sun. Max doesn’t trap his light.

A solar storm is a disturbance on the Sun, which can emanate outward across the heliosphere, affecting the entire Solar System.

He was leading. He was winning. That first place trophy was his. 

He was robbed. And now very wet.

Thrown in a puddle, as if all these years of experience were for nothing.

He turned to see who it was, who had dared. Turning his head, Max for a second was blinded by the glare of the Sun. 

The Sun was prettier than he should be, but it doesn't matter. He'd lost.

When he heard the word ‘Inchident’ come out of the Sun's mouth, the only thing pushing him away, in the opposite direction, was the wind.

But the heat never left.

@ maxverstappen1

I tried to stay out of trouble, but trouble came to me.

343,108 likes 

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December 6, 2020

He follows the Sun, but maybe the Sun also follows him back.

The supernova occurs when a star suddenly increases greatly in brightness because of a catastrophic explosion that ejects most of its mass.

Austria 2019. Mad Max.

After embracing the anger for so long, he succeeded.

He was anger. He was fear. He made people freeze. He was strong and he won. He fought back.

So why?

Why did the wind tire him out? Why did his Sun disappear? 

Why wasn’t it enough? When will it be enough?

What will it take, that he hasn't already given?

He was on the podium, dad.

He won, dad.

Up until 2019, Max Verstappen made a name for himself. 

Whether that was with his reckless behavior or inability to allow drivers to overtake, that’s a story for another day. 

He was becoming someone. He had gained importance.

When he was small, his mom learned that he liked books about space. A woman ready to sacrifice everything and more for her children, caught unto that fact quickly. She gave him books, he learned and ranted to her eagerly.

She listened. She always did.

His sister looked up at him, trailed after his every word, ready to believe anything he said. Captured every thought of his and held it close to her little heart.

He loved them.

And yet, they still left him. 

He was alone.

He was alone in a house, with its windows wide open. No curtains drawn. The wind was bursting in its seams. It shook every space, every nook and cranny. It shook him.

He was alone, in a void.

No friends at school, no birthday parties to go to, no sister, no mom, no childhood.

Even when he succeeded, he didn’t feel like his dad felt proud.

It was almost like he didn’t have a dad in the first place. He only had a father.

The Boötes Void, colloquially referred to as the Great Nothing, is an approximately spherical region of space found in the vicinity of the constellation Boötes, containing nearly no galaxies. We have yet to find the reason.

Sunday arrived. Assured and known, yet still exciting. It would never grow old. Not like galaxies and stars did. 

He wore his fireproof, put on his balaclava. Holding the helmet for a moment, he allowed himself to look upon its design. A design fit for a World Champion. The gold shined. The lion stared back.

He got the gloves and entered the RB19.

Breath in. Breath out. 

The cars lined up in their positions. The sun shined brightly right behind him, in second position. The sky was clear, no clouds, no wind.

He took the wheel in his hand. Felt his mind go blank.

The formation lap.

A short straight followed by a left turn into Turn 1.

He hears the wheels and then the distant thud. 

The sun isn't shining brightly. Not anymore.

It’s been dimming this year.

He won, but there was no rays there around him, warm and inviting like always. There was no wind but it still felt cold.

Max Verstappen learned early in his life, career, that he had only one true constant in his life. And it wasn’t the wind, the storm or the sky. It was the Sun. It was his Sun. His Sun was a man, it was a star.

His Sun attracted so many planets, so many other stars across the universe. Orbited around him. They tried coming closer, but the heat was too much. For them at least.

This Sun, was just a star.

This Sun was a man in red.

This Sun hurt, loved, cared, fought.  

This Sun met him toe to toe, eye to eye, heart to heart.

This Sun never left, it rotated only to one thing.

It rotated to Max, just as Max rotated to him.

This Sun carried the weight of responsibility, of history on his shoulders. 

This Sun was Charles Leclerc.

This star was his binary.

A binary star is a system of two stars that are gravitationally bound to and in��orbit around each other.  X-ray binaries are made up of a normal star and a collapsed star. These pairs of stars produce X-rays. If the stars are close enough together that material is pulled off the normal star by the gravity of the dense, collapsed star. They feed on each other, until they collide.

It took years, but Max Verstappen isn’t scared of the wind anymore. He’s reunited with his mom and his sister. He has friends. He has wins, races and championships. 

He has confidence. He feels. He expresses. 

Anger is a second thought, not a solution.

And he has understood that, at the end of the day, all of his success was his hard work paying off. 

He has earned it. He has deserved it.

He has healed.

Mom. Victoria. I won.

Dad. I am a World Champion.

Charles. Let’s keep going.

Max. I am proud of you.

The days may pass, time may go on, the universe may be in constant motion. But he is temporary. And it’s ok. He is a simple creature. He is a star.

The star in his arms, unwinding, glowing, asleep, will rotate for eternity. The Sun isn’t up in the sky, it’s in his house, on his couch. He’s warm and will never let the wind make Max cold again.

Nuzzling his nose on the head full of hair in his arms, feeling the pressure on his body, Max Verstappen calms. Closes his eyes. 

Dreams of red and blue.

In the future he dreams of purple.

He’s come to terms with his past.

In the present, he lives.

He is Max Verstappen, and the world echoes his name.

-End-

Please note that no matter how much I am writing here, it is all artistic speculation of what Max himself has decided to show the world. Do not forget that these drivers are real people.

@anakin-tedua-skywalker I love you (fatherly tone)

A tiny analysis even if I feel like this one is pretty obvious:

Aeolian sound or Aeolian tone is sound that is produced by wind when it passes over or through objects.

Any phenomenon that isn't the Wind or The Sun, is Max himself.

The binary stars at the end is Lestappen.

I'm not so sure about this one but I did want to write it so I will still post it here and on my ao3.

Thank you so much for reading! It would mean a lot if I managed to get some reposts, comments or liked!

If you like this, I have written more stories that can be found on my Formula 1 masterlist. Including: Lestappen and Landoscar with more to come. If it manages to spark your interest, please go support those as well!

#lestappen #formula 1 #charles leclerc #max verstappen #f1 #daniel ricciardo #christian horner #rbr #red bull racing #red bull f1 #red bull formula 1 #brazil gp 2023 #implied abuse #trigger warning jos verstappen #jos verstappen #fuck jos verstappen #character analysis #analysis #f1 analysis #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen x you #max verstappen x charles leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc x max verstappen #symbolism #metaphors #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic

[iwritesickfic]

Surprise, part 2

(part 1 here!)

It's a difficult night. Very difficult. Theo can't seem to get to any consistent sleep, which means Seamus can't sleep either. Sometime around 2 or 3 in the morning his throat is too sore to speak again, though his delirious mind doesn't quite understand, so for the brief time he is asleep, he's trying to talk. Whether they're dreams or nightmares Seamus can't tell, just that Theo murmurs in an endless string, only quieting when Seamus strokes his hair and hushes him.

He falls asleep sitting up, Theo between his legs, curled against his chest, and sleeps so deeply he wakes up in exactly the same position when his alarm sounds at 8 the next morning.

The first thing he registers is the scalding, shivering body on his chest, chapped lips moving wordlessly. He tries not to wake him as he reaches for his phone to turn off the alarm, but Theo jolts awake with a shaky breath.

“Shh, shh,” Seamus says, almost automatically, and Theo makes a hoarse sound before coughing weakly. “Don't talk, baby.”

Theo pushes himself up, wincing as he swallows. He opens his mouth again, as if to speak, before closing it. He starts to look around, like he's missing something.

“What?” Seamus asks, and Theo points at the phone in his hand. “Here,” he says, handing Theo his phone from where he left it on the bedside table.

His hands are trembling as he does whatever he needs to do, and Seamus kisses him as he gets out of bed, stretching. He's so stiff from sleeping in such an odd position, and more than a little sweaty. His neck cracks as he reaches his arms up. He desperately needs a shower before Theo’s doctors come over. Theo probably needs one too, but Seamus doubts he has the energy for it.

A robotic voice half startles him - “what the fuck is going on?” Seamus turns around to see Theo with his phone held out to him, open to text-to-speech.

“What do you mean?” He asks back, rolling his stiff shoulders.

Theo looks down at his phone, fingers shaking as he types, before the stilted female voice starts again. “I have a million missed calls from Emma and Z.”

He doesn't look angry, just exhausted. Seamus sighs and sits on the edge of the bed.

“I told Emma last night I thought they should cancel the shows until next week,” he pauses, looking at Theo’s face for any sign of anger or frustration but finding none. “I know it's not my choice but I really, really think you should consider it. I made a couple doctor appointments this morning too, I think you might just need your tonsils out.” He cups Theo’s cheek, his skin burning beneath his palm. He looks completely miserable, totally sapped of energy.

He looks down at his phone, typing for a while before pressing play again.

“I want that so bad but they're never going to let me. I'll have to cancel the rest of tour if I get my tonsils out. also can you please please please make me some tea? my throat hurts like a bitch”

Seamus leans in and kisses him gently, and despite how drained he is Theo kisses him back, resting his forehead on Seamus's as they pull apart. His body follows Seamus's as he pulls away, as if tugged by a magnet.

The only thing Seamus can feel is his heart aching in his chest. It's tight and sore. Part of it is because selfishly, he's missed this so much. To share this tenderness again after so long apart is enough to make him cry. And the other half, of course, is the heart wrenching pain of knowing how sick he is. It's so clear, the way he's so desperate to be close to him. Altogether, it’s almost debilitating. He doesn't want to do anything other than hold him and rest his lips on his temple and stop his shivering. He wants to give Theo exactly what he wants, whatever he wants. But there's too much to be done.

“Everything is going to work out exactly like it should,” he finally whispers. “We’re gonna do what the doctor says and they’ll have to listen, and I'll be with you no matter what.” He forces himself to pull away and stand, Theo’s hand still holding his. “And yes, obviously. What flavor do you want?”

Theo offers him a weak smile before typing again.

“throat coat,” the robotic voice says and Seamus nods, almost laughing.

“Yeah, that'd make sense wouldn't it? Alright, well, I'll be right back, ok?” he says, and Theo nods. He gives him one last kiss on the forehead before going into the closet to throw clothes on. He grabs two of everything from his side of the wardrobe and gives half of it to Theo before heading downstairs.

As he's making his way down, he finally puts his glasses on and takes a look at his phone. He’ll need to cancel everything he has in Ireland for the near future, or convert as much as he can to video meetings. His mind is racing with the logistics of how he's going to make staying in the States work, when he gets a call from Zeke. He picks up within a single ring.

“Hello?” he says as he rounds the corner at the bottom of the stairs, walking into the dark living room.

“Hey, morning. How's it going?” Zeke asks, and Seamus scrubs his hand over his face as he flips the lights on in the kitchen. He puts the phone on speaker as he starts the familiar routine of making tea.

“It's going,” he says, voice clipped. He's still not quite over the anger from last night.

“Look, I'm sorry. It's a very…a very delicate situation. And to be honest, I thought you knew.”

Seamus flicks the kettle on and grabs two of their biggest mugs.

“Of course I didn't know. If I’d known a month ago it never would've gotten this bad. And I wouldn't have been in Dublin jerking my fucking dick,” he says, though it lacks any real bite.

“This isn't your fault,” Zeke says, and Seamus sighs. He leans against the countertop.

“I…” He trails off, then picks up the phone as he heads to the pantry. “I just should've known. I should've been able to tell,” he says, looking through their meticulously organized boxes of tea before plucking out two tea bags and grabbing the bottle of honey. Zeke sighs now, his voice muffled over the phone.

“There’s no way you could've known. Did he say why…” Zeke trails off.

“Because he knew I'd react like I'm reacting. But I'm reacting fine! I'm completely justified.” He keeps rambling before he can stop himself, “His voice could be ruined. He could've fallen off stage and broken his neck or gone septic or ended up in the ER. And honestly I’m not even mad about the what ifs. He's suffering, night after night, for what? For money in the pockets of assholes who don't care if he lives or dies?”

“You know it's more complicated than that, Seamus. C’mon.”

“No, Z. It's not. We can reschedule the dates. I know you have the contingencies reserved already. What are they for if not this? How much sicker does he have to get? Because he’ll get there, and you’ll have to do all this anyway. And it won't be optional.” His hand shakes as he pours the hot water. He takes a deep breath, trying to calm down. “And I know there are people's jobs. Of course I know that, but it's not like we’d leave them high and dry. I wouldn't let that happen at least. And people will be upset but I think they'd be more upset if he fainted in the middle of their precious fucking show.”

“No, I know. Trust me, I’m with you. The promoter and the label are resistant because they'll have to manage a lot of fallout, but I really don't see it affecting the bottom line that much,” Zeke finally says, his voice tired.

“Exactly! Thank you. I mean if it really is an issue of fucking money, I have money. Christ.” He's stirring in the honey now, and forces himself to unclench his jaw.

“It's gonna come down to what the doctors say. Keep me updated, I'm in meetings today trying to figure out what's going on, I'll let you know if we need anything,” Zeke says.

“Ok, thanks. I'll talk to you later,” he says, grabbing a wedge of lemon from the fridge.

“Later,” Zeke says before the line goes dead. Seamus lets out a heavy sigh and rubs his eyes.

–

By the time the doctors have come and gone, Theo's mug’s been refilled four times. He's sitting up in bed now, his damp hair tied in a ragged bun, wearing a hoodie of Seamus's. He looks even more miserable than he did when they first woke up, if that's possible.

The doctor was pretty quickly able to diagnose him with tonsillitis, but what Seamus didn't expect was an abscess. And in turn, Theo needing surgery. Urgently. They’ll need to leave for the hospital in a few hours and likely spend the night, and there's certainly no way he’ll be on stage any time soon.

It's frightening hearing about how severe things really are. The doctor said that only a day or two more without intervention the abscess would've burst and sent him septic. He tries not to think about what would've happened if he didn't come.

Seamus feels terrible for him. He knows the guilt of canceling a show, the weight of letting all those people down, is crushing. And he knows what thoughts must be running through his head - what if he never sings again? What if the surgery goes wrong and his voice is fucked forever? How long will it be before he’s better?

He doesn't bring any of it up, just lets Theo rest against him as they watch reality TV and refills his tea and kisses his forehead. He's so looking forward to the day where his body isn't so nerve-wrackingly hot, but that's not likely to be anytime soon either. Even after they take everything out, he’ll probably have a fever for another five days at least, the doctor said.

“It's normal for it to get steadily worse over the week post surgery, then a huge improvement,” the doctor had said. He'd said a lot of things, and Seamus had tried to write it all down, but he definitely missed most of it.

He's never seen Theo like this. So listless and drained and sick. And silent. Granted, that speaks more to his physical state than mental, but still. Theo always has something to say.

–

Theo is fairly sure this is the worst day of his life. One of the worst, at least. Physically, it's agony. He hurts all over, a throbbing, hot pain in every muscle and joint and bone. He's freezing, he can't get warm, but he's dripping so much sweat that his hair is wet and his shirt is stuck to him. And his throat. His fucking throat. Never, ever has it hurt this bad. Without the oxys or whatever the production medics were giving him every four hours it's unbearable. He dreads swallowing. It's so bad that he finds himself focusing all his energy on trying not to swallow, his tongue feeling heavy and awkward in his mouth as he wills himself to keep still.

Mentally? It's nearly as bad. In a few hours there will be scalpel dangerously close to his vocal chords. 70 thousand people will find out, or have already found out, there won't be a show tonight. Or tomorrow. Or the day after. There’ll be tabloid stories about him in rehab or arrested or some other insane explanation for why he’ll need so much time off.

But right now, he's curled in Seamus's lap, and they're watching something, and all he can really think about is how badly he hurts. And then every so often Seamus will give him a blessedly cool kiss or touch and he’ll be overwhelmed with gratitude. I love you I love you I love you. If he could speak, that's all he'd say.

He came so close so many times in the last month. So close to calling Seamus and begging him to fly to wherever he was and hold him and rescue him from his own personal living hell. One particularly bad night was a rain show in Arizona, and he'd been so sick that day that every time he came off stage they'd take his temperature. He wasn't sure what number he wanted to see after a while. It was pouring the whole night, his clothes soaked while he shook with chills.

At the hotel that night he took a very ill advised hot shower, then laid on the cold tile floor and stared at his phone. If Seamus called now, he told himself, Theo would tell him everything. “How are you, love?” he'd ask in his heavenly voice, and Theo would tell him. “I need you, I'm so sick, I need you.”

Then he'd dream about him. He'd dream of his cool lips and hands, melting through the heat of his fever. But he'd always wake up just as sick. And just as alone. And if he was lucky he'd have a day off to sleep in the sweat soaked sheets of his hotel bed. If he was less lucky, he'd have to be up and performing by 7 that night.

He's beyond grateful now, even though the weight of about a hundred thousand people's disappointments are pressing on his shoulders. They'd probably bought plane tickets, hotel rooms, taken off work, all for a show that he wouldn't be having. The rest of the tour is probably moot, his throat is fucked beyond repair. It'll take months for him to recover.

On the other hand, even a week of dedicated rest sounds unimaginably good right now.

He's drifting in and out of sleep, nestled between Seamus's legs, leaning back on his chest. He'd never move from this spot if he could. But he’ll have to. Eventually.

–

Seamus feels like he's had a thousand cups of coffee as he sits by the side of Theo’s hospital bed. He hasn't, of course. He's barely had water since Theo went into surgery. His nerves feel frayed and his anxiety is in overdrive.

Theo's still asleep from the anesthesia, his body looking so pale against the stark white sheets. His hair sticks out like a sore thumb, vibrant red auburn on the pillowcase.

He's going to be fine, Seamus repeats to himself. The surgery has gone off without a hitch, he's just fine. But Seamus won't really believe it until Theo wakes up.

Nurses have been in and out, most doing a double take at him and their clipboards before talking to Seamus. They all know who he is, and Seamus is just grateful for privacy laws. That doesn't stop random nurses from all over the hospital from coming and peeking their heads in though.

A nurse is adjusting his IV, making idle chit chat with Seamus, when Theo makes a soft sound, his eyes fluttering. Seamus’s throat tightens, and he can't grab Theo’s pale, hot hand fast enough.

His brows are immediately furrowed in pain, and he whimpers softly when Seamus strokes his hair.

“Hey, love,” he whispers, and Theo swallows hard, wincing.

“Hey,” he chokes out, and his hand with the IV tries to fly to his throat before the nurse catches it. “Fuck,” he hisses, squeezing his eyes shut.

“You're ok, you're ok,” Seamus murmurs, running his thumb back and forth over the back of Theo’s hand.

“You want some water, honey?” the nurse asks, and Theo turns his head to look at her.

“S’over?” He mumbles, and the nurse smiles as she finishes securing the IV.

“Yup. Quick as a blink. All done,” she says. “Water?”

Theo nods, and she leaves. He looks back at Seamus.

“That was it?” he asks, and Seamus nods, smoothing some hair off his forehead. He's still so feverish, it makes Seamus's heart clench in worry even though realistically it's no threat anymore.

“You don't have to talk if it hurts. I won't be offended,” he tries to joke, and a smile just barely tugs at Theo’s lips.

“I love you,” he whispers back, and Seamus has to fight to swallow the lump in his throat. He lifts Theo’s hand to his lips and kisses his knuckles. Still unnervingly warm. He makes a soft, contented sound and just stares at him, eyes half lidded. “So beautiful.”

That makes Seamus laugh. His hair hasn't been washed in days, and he's in his spare, thick rimmed glasses.

“Thank you, Teddy,” he says, and strokes his hair back out of his face. There are only a few strands out of place, but it gives him something to do. It gives him an excuse to touch him.

“So fucking gorgeous,” he whispers, looking totally lovestruck. Seamus laughs again, but before he can reply the nurse is back with the water, and Theo gives her a smile as he takes the cup in his shaking hand. “Isn't he just so pretty?” he asks the nurse, and Seamus feels his cheeks heat. She chuckles.

“Definitely. Like a model.” She's making notes on her clipboard.

Theo’s smile widens slightly.

“Mm. I know,” he whispers. “And he's mine.”

“Drink your water,” Seamus says, feeling the heat of a blush on his cheeks. The nurse shoots him a smirk before leaving again. Before Seamus can say anything else, his phone starts to ring. Zeke.

“Hey,” he says, his hand still in Theo’s.

“Hey, what's up?”

“Nothing much. He just woke up. It went well, he should be discharged in a few hours.”

“Awesome, that's a relief. I hate to bother you guys with this but they want some kind of social media post. He can't, um…?” Zeke trails off, and Seamus is glad he seems to understand how stupid the request is. Theo is giving him a look as if to ask who it is and Seamus rolls his eyes in return.

“No, but I'll talk with him and post something. How's everything going over there?”

“It's…ok. It's fine.” There's some muffled conversation in the background, then he can tell Zeke is talking to someone across the room. “Fine! Fine!” he says, before getting closer to the receiver, “Are you there?”

“Yup.”

“They- We all think it'd be good to include a photo. Of him. In the bed.” Zeke’s words are clipped and forced. Seamus sighs.

“Ok, so…” He takes another deep breath. Theo's still staring at him, looking half asleep and half infatuated. “No. We’re not doing that.”

He can almost picture Zeke throwing his head back as he groans.

“Come here,” Theo says in his barely-there voice, and Seamus squeezes his hand.

“It…It gives credibility. It gives sympathy,” Zeke says, clearly parroting back what he was told.

“No, I know. But no one is owed a picture of him like that.”

“Just ask, ok? Just ask him,” Zeke concedes. Theo tugs on his hand.

“Ok, ok. I have to go.”

“Ok, just send us the statement. Soon. Ish. Soon as you can.”

“Ok. Bye.” He hangs up before Zeke even replies.

“Come here,” Theo says again, and Seamus brings his limp fingers to his lips.

“There's no room. When we get home,” he says, and Theo’s big brown eyes soften. Silently begging. “I know. There's no room. And I feel like it's probably against the rules.”

Theo snorts softly.

“There's no rules. I'm famous,” he says, and Seamus laughs again. He's glad he's at least feeling well enough to make jokes. “Just-” He cuts himself off, swallowing hard and wincing, “Just unplug some shit. I don't care.” His voice is growing more wavering and desperate.

“Soon. I promise. How are you feeling?”

Theo shifts in bed.

“Not very good,” he says after a long silence, almost whispering. “It's like… It hurts. Less, but more at the same time.”

Seamus nods like it makes sense, even though he's not sure what he means.

“And I think I might still have a fever,” he mumbles, and Seamus bites his lip. It's glaringly obvious. He lays his palm on Theo’s forehead, even though he already knows. He hums.

“Yeah. Definitely.” It's not quite as bad as it was this morning, but still probably around 102 if Seamus had to guess. “They…” He trails off, reconsidering whether he wants to tell him. “They said it could be a few days before it breaks.”

Theo's mouth tightens.

“Days?” he finally asks. Seamus's heart breaks for the thousandth time. He just nods, and Theo screws his eyes shut. “No. No, I can't…”

“It's gonna be fine. We’ll just lay around and drink tea for a few days. I'll let you wear all my clothes, you can pick what we have for dinner-” Theo shakes his head. “No, it’ll be ok. It will.”

#my writing #sickfic #whump #illness kink #oc theo #oc seamus #fever #thanks for the nice comments on part 1 i appreciate them so much :) #still another part to come!!!

[offside-the-lines]

tell me who i run to (if not you) | anthony beauvillier | Ep 8. Summer

This is a completed series! Read Full Fic | 🧸 Series Cover Page/Masterlist 🧁 | 🎵 Playlist 🎶 << Previous Episode || Ep 8 || Next Episode >>

Chapter Summary: They try to get on with their summers as if nothing is wrong, convincing no one. How long will it take them to realize they can’t keep pretending like everything’s fine? And who will finally take the leap of faith?

A/N: You can refer to cover page for the series summary, author's notes, tropes, general warnings and other fun tidbits. This series contains mature themes. Minors DNI. Disclaimer: This series is set in Chicago but does not mention the name of the team.

Word count: 4.8k // 44.5k

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III. Summer

Evie — April 24

Evie drops her head back against the cold ceramic of her bathtub. She had wished when she had first gotten in that the scalding hot water would loosen the knot in her chest. So far, it isn’t working, and the water's already lukewarm.

Evie had given herself the rest of the 21st to mope in her apartment. She put her phone on silent, sat in front of her TV watching old Disney movies, and ate so much ice cream and pizza she felt sick. She had cried all through the Lion King— Hakuna Matata could only remind her of one person now— but she tried to be normal when Tito had called, confirming he had safely landed and made it home.

She pulled herself out of bed the next morning and asked her manager, Gibbs if there were any extra assignments she could be doing. She made sure to have a conversation with Evie about work-life balance, which Evie just blindly nodded through, but gave her a few more pieces to edit all the same.

Evie sinks deeper into the water, thankful that the ache in her muscles has been seeping away slowly, at least. For the past few days, she has been sitting in front of her computer, only leaving to use the bathroom and pick up the take-out she orders.

It hasn’t been bad; the focus has meant that she’s now ahead of schedule on her work assignments, and she's making significant progress on her book. Elizabeth, the agent— her agent— hadn’t given her a deadline, but she knows the book is being shopped around to publishers. The sooner she can get a draft done, the better.

Her conversations with Tito have also returned to a familiar pace; it almost feels like he’s just on an extended road trip. It’s only when her eyes catch on the glaringly empty spots around her apartment that she remembers he’s not coming back.

She slides all the way into the cooling water. She hates getting her hair wet in bath water, but she’s hoping it might force her to think about literally anything else. She breathes out and watches the bubbles rise to the surface.

Yeah, didn’t think so.

She sits up, sending water crashing over the edge. Fuck. She watches her bath mat get slowly darker and decides that’s good enough for now. She steps out and begrudgingly washes her hair in the shower.

She’s still deep in thought, drying her hair at the sink, when she notices the second toothbrush still sitting in the holder next to hers. Somehow, she’s gone the past four days without noticing it. She just stares at it; she thinks she should probably just throw it out, but she can’t bring herself to do it.

Evie puts her hairdryer down and just looks at herself in the mirror. Her skin looks sallower than it should be by late spring; it makes her dark circles more noticeable. She knows she looks tired— she is tired. But she also doesn’t want to take a break. 

Without meaning to, her hand comes up to touch her neck; the bruises there are almost gone now. Her fingers push on the biggest one firmly— barely any sensation. Evie bites her lip as she traces the path they take down her chest. She sighs, squeezing her eyes shut as she turns off the lights and steps back out into her bedroom.

Tito — April 28

Tito decides it’s probably time to show his face downstairs when the clock hits 11 am and trudges down the stairs in sweatpants and a hoodie. He can’t decide if he would feel better if his mom was downstairs in the kitchen or not around. He finds out that he's relieved when he sees her sitting at the dining table. She smiles at him softly and stands up when she spots him.

“Good morning, honey.” His mom pulls him in for a hug, and he just lets himself melt into it. She pushes his hood off and gently smooths down his hair. “Do you want me to make you anything for breakfast?”

He sighs. It feels weird to ask his mother to make him breakfast at his age, but the tug in his chest just lets him nod. “Yes, please.”

“Okay,” she says as she drops a kiss to his temple, pushing him to the kitchen island, “What do you want? Omelette?”

“Yeah,” he says quietly, sliding onto a stool, “Thanks, Mama.”

He sits in silence, watching her work, the familiar sight settling some of the unease in his stomach. His fingers pick at the fraying edge of the dish towel in front of him.

“Hey, Mama?” he asks softly.

She hums in response.

“Do we have any tea?”

She turns around, her eyebrows slightly raised, “Tea?”

“Uh… yeah,” his voice quiet.

Her brows furrow for a second before returning to neutral. “Yeah, honey. It’s in that drawer over there,” she says, pointing with the spatula.

He puts the kettle on while he opens the drawer to look at his options: chamomile, green tea, Earl Grey. He settles on what he thinks would be the closest to the one he usually drinks, Earl Grey. 

When he sits back down, he takes a deep inhale of the tea; the aroma does seem to help him relax. He can’t place why he suddenly wants to cry, but he bites his lip to push through it.

He feels a gentle squeeze on his arm. “Come on, let’s go sit at the table,” his mom suggests, and he follows her without comment.

“Thanks for the omelette,” he says, looking at her worried expression and forcing himself to smile before digging in.

Even though it tastes as good as it always does, he finds himself struggling to finish the plate in front of him. He just ends up staring at the plate, pushing the eggs around for some time before his mother’s voice breaks through his haze.

“What’s wrong, baby?” she asks gently.

“Hmm?” He looks up, startled. “Oh, nothing. It’s really delicious. I just think I’m full.”

She sighs, getting up from her usual seat at the other end of the table and sitting down next to him. She rests a warm, solid hand on his forearm.

“Anthony, you know that’s not what I meant. What’s going on? You haven’t been yourself since you’ve come home.” Her voice is so full of concern he flinches.

“I’m just tired, Mama. I promise I’m okay,” he forces himself to say.

“You know you can talk to me, right? Or if it’s about hockey, your father? Or even Franky. I know this year has been hard for you. Are you worried about next year? Contract talks?”

He swallows hard, “Something like that, yeah.”

She hums mournfully and pulls him into her side. “I know, it sucks. I hate to see you hurting like this. Do you think you’re going to go into the city soon? I think maybe seeing some friends will cheer you up. You’ve been in your room so much it’s making me— You know you can stay here as long as you like. You can stay here for the whole summer if you want. But I’m worried about you. You need to get outside. Take your mind off whatever’s bothering you.” Her hand rubs along his arm as he turns into her shoulder, sobs trapped in his throat.

He is not going to cry right now. He is not going to cry right now. He is not going to cry right now. 

He counts his breathing until it feels a little more under control before sitting back up and sending his mom a small smile. “I know, that’s probably a good idea. They’ve been blowing up my phone for the past week.”

“Is that who you’ve been talking to on your phone? We weren’t eavesdropping, just— You sounded like you’re having a good time, is all. Maybe you should see whoever that is?”

He doesn’t manage to hold in the heaving sigh that escapes his lips. “Yes— Well, no. But I’ll reach out to some of the boys to see what they’re up to. I want to go see the babies too, so I might go and visit Franky soon.”

“Good,” his mom nods, smiling, “Good. You know, your father and I love you so much. Whatever happens with your career, we are so proud of you. So so proud. No matter what, it’s going to be fine— you’re going to be fine. You know that, right?”

“Yeah, Mama. I know,” he says wetly.

She leans in to kiss him on the forehead, wiping away the tears that managed to escape. “Now, finish your breakfast.”

A fragile laugh bubbles out of him. “Okay.”

Evie — May 4

Evie opens her door in confusion to find Kelsey and Leanne standing there. She can't do anything but watch as they barge inside, clearing her mess and pulling food out of a Thai takeaway bag.

“Uh, guys? What are you doing?” she asks more urgently.

“We,” Leanne starts, voice stern, “Are fixing whatever this is.” She looks at Evie with a pointed stare.

“Yeah,” Kelsey joins in, just as enthusiastically, “We haven’t seen you, and we've barely even heard from you in two weeks.”

“And!” Leanne points, accusatory, “We heard from Gibbs that you’ve taken on like three new projects, and you’ve already finished one of them. Have you even slept?”

“Yeah, you don’t look like you’ve slept.” Kelsey walks over and pokes at her face. “Have you even washed your hair this week?”

“Well, actually, I—” Evie starts to protest and then thinks about it. Kelsey’s right. She hasn’t washed her hair this week. 

“Gigi, what’s going on?” Kelsey’s face softens as her hands come to rest on Evie’s shoulders.

“I mean nothing, really; I haven’t been as focused on work so far this year, so I want to catch up. I guess I’ve been working a little too hard.”

Leanne and Kelsey look at each other, and both roll their eyes. 

“What?” Evie squeaks.

“Go,” Kelsey pushes her to the couch, “Sit down. Go!”

Evie sighs and just complies. To her surprise, they just enjoy each other’s company: hanging out, chatting, and laughing. Over the course of the evening, she starts to feel the deep tiredness in her bones. She feels the dull edges of her mind and the ache in her back. She had gotten so used to Tito’s presence that she didn’t really notice all the ways he had seeped into her life until he was gone. 

It’s a couple hours later when she’s digging into a pint of Cherry Garcia, that they speak up again.

“So, are you gonna tell us how you’re doing now? Honestly?” Leanne prods, innocently blinking at her.

Evie sighs and rests her head on the couch. She blinks at the ceiling and tugs on the strings of her hoodie— Tito’s hoodie. She’s been wearing it every day and hasn’t washed it yet, even though it doesn’t really smell like him anymore.

“Yeah, I guess I’ve been kinda M.I.A. recently, huh?” Evie chuckles humorlessly. “After the whole—” She cuts herself off and waves her hands around. “You know? I just wanted to not think for a bit. Just shut my thoughts off. Work’s been good for that.”

“You know you can talk to me— to us— whenever, right?” Kelsey offers gently.

“I know, I know. I just don’t even— Like I made a choice, and I still stand by it— I just…” She pauses and takes a deep breath. “I think I just miss him more than I thought I would. Like, we still text all the time, and we FaceTime multiple times a day, so it’s not like I could even ask for more. But yeah, it feels really weird now without him here? Just so quiet and empty. Which is ridiculous because this place is tiny and barely fit both of us.”

“You guys never talked about it?” Leanne asks.

“Yeah, even after those hickeys? I mean, we were obviously preoccupied, but I saw the way you both looked. I mean, my god, Lee, you should’ve seen them,” Kelsey says, leaning towards Leanne conspiratorially.

Evie groans and buries her head in her hands. “Don’t remind me,” she mumbles into her palms. “Nothing really even happened. Like, we made out a bit, but—”

“You what!” Leanne screams.

Kelsey laughs, “Oh my god, Lee. When they came around that corner, I swear— You’re telling me, you guys didn’t fuck because it—”

“Oh my god, stop!” Evie groans into her hands, covering her reddening face, unable to suppress her laughs. 

She’s thought about that night plenty: standing at the sink, taking a shower, cooking at the stove, sitting on her couch, typing on her laptop. All. Day. She tries to bury it down deep every time she talks to Tito and sees his sleep-tousled hair when he’s sitting up against his headboard shirtless in the morning light. 

“Earth to Gigi?” Kelsey pushes her shoulder lightly.

“We lost you for a second there. Do you need us to, like, give you some time or something?” Leanne winks, smirking.

“Oh, shut the fuck up.” Evie tries to glare at them and fails spectacularly, bursting into laughter.

“Wait, okay, so you seriously didn’t fuck?” Kelsey asks once they’ve calmed down.

“No!” she gasps, through giggles, before calming down. “No, we were interrupted—” 

“Sorry,” Leanne winces.

“No, stop, it’s okay. It’s not your fault. I wanted to make sure you were okay.” Evie reaches out to squeeze Leanne’s hand. Evie feels guilty that deep down, she irrationally does hate Leanne a little.

“I know— it just should never have happened. And it fucked up your night. I feel fucking bad about that.”

“Well, don’t. In the grand scheme of things, it doesn’t matter. It probably would’ve been a mistake anyway. We had our chance, and we didn’t take it. I guess— I guess I’ve been moping a little about that. Just that, you know, it’s too late.”

Leanne takes her hand and squeezes it in return, “I really don’t think it’s too late.”

“Yeah, what Lee said. I don’t really know what you think you’re too late for.” Evie opens her mouth to interrupt, and Kelsey just shakes her head. “No, shut up, just listen, okay? You guys still talk all the time. And if nothing has changed. Then you’re not too late. ‘Cause you guys are already dating— you have been for months— you just don’t know it yet, apparently.”

Evie opens her mouth and shuts it, unsure what to say to that. She stares at her ice cream, pushing the rapidly melting mess around with her spoon. Eventually, she says, “I don’t know. Even if we were, we never talked about it. And it’s not going to matter if he doesn’t re-sign here.”

“You think?” Leanne cocks her head. “Why do you say that? Like, you guys can do long distance. Or, you could move. You work remotely full time.”

Kelsey nods vigorously. “I mean, I don’t want you to move. But— If you didn’t want to move, you can always travel to him during the season however often you’d like. I think if you guys want to, you can make it work.”

“Yeah, if only to see where it goes,” Leanne echoes enthusiastically.

Evie looks at both of them, staring expectantly at her. “I don’t know. I mean, I don’t want to mess up what we have.”

“Honey, not to beat a dead horse, but you’re already dating. You’re more dating each other than Leanne here is with her actual girlfriend of like almost a year—”

“Hey! What the fuck? Why you gotta bring me into this?” Leanne squawks.

Evie laughs as they squabble for a second, muttering, “God, I can never introduce you guys to Barzy. You three would be insufferable together.”

If Evie is honest with herself, she does think about saying something. She catches herself flirting with Tito constantly. She can tell Tito’s thinking about it, too, with the way she notices him flirting back— or just flirting with her in general.

“Seriously, though,” Kelsey says after a while, “You should think about it. About saying something.”

She smirks, “I do think about it sometimes. He keeps FaceTiming me shirtless, or in just a towel, or sweaty after a run. It’s fucking killing me, and I’m pretty sure he’s doing it on purpose.”

Both girls squeal, somewhat deafeningly, demanding to know details. Evie’s tired. She’s tired from working fourteen hours a day for two weeks. She’s tired of hiding, pretending like she feels differently than she knows she does. She’s tired of lying to herself. So she just lets go, allowing them to pull out whatever gossip they like from her lips.

Tito — May 13

Tito sits on a foam plyometric box and pants. For the first time in his life, he hates the soreness in every single muscle in his body. It’s been impossible to find any satisfaction in the burn. He knows that he needs to stay in shape. He also knows that out of all the summers in his career so far, this one's important. He knows he needs to make an immediate impact wherever he lands next season. 

If he’s sick of the gym after only a week, he’s ten times more sick of the calls with his agent. Every time he gets an update, he feels a headache right between his eyes.

“Tired, already?” Francis asks. “Well, you’ve still got two circuits left.”

Tito groans so loudly it draws the laughs of the other NHL guys training around him.

Francis nudges his foot, “You can ignore me, but your rest is up. Come on, get up!”

Tito sighs and follows his brother to the next station. A group of guys have the gym booked after them. Most notably, he spotted Brandon Gignac when they walked a few minutes ago. He thinks about whether he should say hi. He’s worried that it would be obvious to Brandon that Tito thinks about his sister every moment of every day. 

At the next break, Francis interrupts his thoughts. “So who’s the girl?”

Tito chokes on his drink and barely avoids spitting it all over the gym floor. He coughs hard, trying to get rid of the burning feeling in his throat. The smirk on Francis’s face is so smug and so knowing that he wants to just turn around and walk out the gym door. 

“What?” he splutters. 

“Anthony, I’ve literally known you your entire life. You’re always on your phone. Mom says she hears you on the phone all the time. You suddenly drink— what is it? Earl Grey?— well, tea all the time now. Trust me, I know there’s a girl.”

Tito snorts. “Aren’t you supposed to be bugging me about the next circuit already?” 

Francis hums and looks at the clock on the wall behind Tito. “Hmm… You’re right. But we're talking about this when you’re done.”

“No, we’re not,” Tito mumbles under his breath as they walk over to the final station.

They're cleaning off the equipment when Francis sidles next to him again.

“So…?” he starts casually, “Who’s saved in your phone as chouchou with a couple emojis next to it then?”

“What?” Tito says too loudly. “How do you know—” He slams his mouth shut, but he doesn’t quite stop himself from glancing over at Brandon.

“Wait,” Frances says, following his eye line.

Tito tears his eyes away so fast that he gets a little dizzy. “Franky, I swear to god.”

“Wait a sec— Oh my god. Oh my god!” Francis says, too loud.

“Francis! Shut up!” he whispers.

“Oh my god,” Francis leans in closer, even while Tito continues to ignore him, “It’s Gigi, isn’t it? I can’t believe— God, it’s so obvious now, you bring her up in our calls all the time.”

“Francis, I swear I’m going to rip your balls off,” he hisses through his teeth.

“Okay, well, you’re not going to because you love your nephews, and you want a niece,” he grins smugly. “So, are you going to tell me anything?”

“No,” Tito turns to glare at him, “No I’m not, because there’s nothing to tell. We're just friends. Shut. Up.”

He can’t stop his gaze from darting to Brandon in the mirror as he finishes wiping the bench, his jaw clenched so tight he can feel a low throb of pain in his skull. When he’s done, he meets Francis’s eyes again. He thinks he hates the sympathy he sees there more.

“Why are you looking at me like that? Stop looking at me like that,” he grunts.

“Tito, it’s okay if she doesn’t like you. You’re a catch; there’ll be others.” Francis squeezes Tito’s shoulder as they start walking towards the changing room.

“That’s not the— She’s not— It’s complicated, okay?” Tito sighs, frustrated.

Francis scans his face, a look on his face that's so much more ‘dad’ than ‘big brother’ it hurts. I guess that's what happens when you have two kids. 

“You should go say hi, then. He’s looking over here. It would be rude not to,” he whispers. Before Tito can respond at all, he pushes him to Brandon with a wave.

“Fuck you,” he mutters quietly over his shoulder before turning around and sending a smile at Brandon.

“Hey, Tito! It’s good to see you!” Brandon calls to him with a big smile on his face.

“Hey Brandy, what’s up?” Tito smiles, extending a fist bump.

Evie — May 24

“Evie, I'm so fucking proud of you!” Tito’s voice rings so clear and bright through her phone, his smile infectious as he beams at her. “You fucking did it!”

She giggles. “I can’t believe I’m going to be a published author!”

“Well, I can.”

“Oh, stop it. You haven’t even read it; how could you know?” she scoffs.

“Well, firstly, you’re probably the most eloquent person I know—”

“Big word,” she quips.

“What can I say? I like it when you teach me things.” 

She’s mesmerized by the movement of his neck as he laughs. She just wants to reach through the screen and touch the soft skin there. 

“Seriously, Evie. You’re incredible. I can’t believe you still don’t see that. You know better than anyone that they wouldn’t just take on any book. They must’ve also seen how great you are.”

Evie shifts in her seat, “I— I don’t know what to even say to that, Solou.”

Tito sends her a smile that makes a warmth spread through her chest. “You can take me out for that dinner you keep talking about.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, mon chou. Something really fancy,” he grins cheekily, “I’m not a cheap date.”

A nervous laugh bubbles out of her, her cheeks warm at the thought of actually sitting across from him at a restaurant again. They’ve done that plenty, exploring the many different restaurants around Chicago— as friends. She can’t help but wonder if it would feel different as a date. 

“I’ll keep that in mind then,” she says, her voice strained.

They're silent for a moment, both lost in their thoughts, gazing softly at each other through the pixels of their phones. It just doesn’t feel like enough.

“You know, I would accept a McDonald’s drive-thru if that meant I could celebrate with you,” he pauses and sucks in a deep breath, “I’m sorry I can’t be there tonight.”

Her breath hitches, her heart thundering in her chest, “Oh. That’s— That would’ve been nice, yeah.”

He sighs, his face straining against a sad smile. “So, what are your plans tonight? You gonna go out with the girls?”

“Yeah, Kelsey booked us a table somewhere— she won’t tell me where. Just told me to wear something nice.”

“Well, I mean, that’s not going to be hard,” he smirks.

“Shut up.” Evie rolls her eyes, the corner of her mouth twitching into a grin.

“You look hot in literally everything. But, if you want, I can help you pick an outfit,” Tito winks.

“God, you’re so—” she groans. Her cheeks are flaming, and she watches herself get redder in the small box in the corner of her screen. She sets her phone down, drags her hands down her face, and emits a silent scream.

“What?” She can hear his voice call smugly through her speakers. “It’s the truth! Come on, show me what you’re going to wear.”

Evie shakes her head, ignoring the small flicker of heat that licks at the base of her spine. That seems to happen every time they video call lately,  the flirting between them becoming shameless. They’ve been playing a dangerous game, trying to catch each other off guard; every so often, she picks up the video call in just a thin, loose-fitting tank top or a loosely wrapped towel.

She sets him up on her nightstand, against some books, and shows him a few dresses she got recently. She catalogs each response for examination later. She knows immediately she’ll be wearing the silk, floral dress that made him bright red and mute for a minute. 

“God, I think that’s the most beautiful— You look incredible, chou. Fuck,” he had whispered eventually, voice tight and strained. She had sent him a wink, did a little twirl, and giggled as she ran off camera to change back into her tank top and shorts. Her heart was pounding so loudly in her ears that she could barely hear him when she sat back down.

By the time they hang up, her cheeks are sore from smiling, and she feels so light and happy despite the ache she feels at his absence.

She opens her Instagram and swipes through all the congratulatory comments on the publisher’s post. Her eye catches on a notification.

@titobeauvi91 mentioned you in their story

She clicks on it to see that he has shared the publisher’s post with the caption, “So proud of my best friend! What an incredible and deserved success. I can’t wait to read the book when it’s out. Watch this space for more details!!!”

She watches it three times, marveling at his unending support, and something clicks in her mind.

She searches through Tito’s Instagram and sends a message to Francis before she can change her mind.

To @tankus22: Hi, I don’t know if you remember me or my brother Brandon Gignac. Or if Tito’s mentioned me. But I was just wondering if I could give you a call sometime about his birthday next month?

Tito — June 1

To chouchou 🧁✨: hey, you booked your flights home for fête nationale yet? i wanna make sure i’m around. barz keeps asking me to go out to BC to see him this summer. chouchou 🧁✨: not yet, but probably going to fly in the friday before? like the 21st or something. To chouchou 🧁✨: nice! you got any plans for that yet?

His mind keeps flicking back to his birthday next week; he feels the stinging pain inside his ribcage. It’s not like he asked her to come. There’s no reason for her to come. He’s not having a big party or anything, just a dinner at his parents’ house. 

His friends might drag him out during the week when he comes back to the city. PLD has been complaining about his ‘sad boy’ status all summer— his words, not Tito’s. He just can’t bring himself to go out, especially now that Brandon’s reconnected with the group. The two groups have largely combined; they’re training together, hanging out afterward, and, more importantly, going to bars and clubs together. 

He likes Brandon a lot, but it makes Tito feel like he’s crawling out of his skin when he’s texting Evie the whole time they’re hanging out. Like he’s hiding something. He’s glad that she told him that they were friends, at least. 

He’s also extremely glad that Francis is usually busy with his family or the new training program he’s running. Anytime Francis and Brandon are in the same room, he sends smug, all-knowing looks at Tito the whole day. It makes him feel off balance, stumbling over his words, his skin too tight.

He picks up his phone again when it vibrates in his pocket.

chouchou 🧁✨: nope! not yet. you going to a party or anything? To chouchou 🧁✨: eh? i’ve been invited to a couple. haven’t made up my mind yet. chouchou 🧁✨: well let me know if you do!

Tito sighs and picks up his Xbox controller again. He tries to not feel too disappointed that he probably won’t see her for a few weeks still. He wishes he didn’t miss her so keenly that it consumes him. At least the Earl Grey tea is still weirdly comforting.

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#rox writes #tell me who i run to series #anthony beauvillier imagine #hockey imagine #nhl imagines #chicago blackhawks

[asjjohnson]

Part 15 of my poll adventure fic. Links: the beginning, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8, part 9, part 10, part 11, part 12, part 13, part 14.

---

Vlad's eyes widened as he saw Valerie pulling out the modified thermos he'd made for her—specially designed to negate her earlier problem with the lid sticking, and with the new ability to stun a ghost for easier capture.

She wasn't actually planning on using it while Daniel was in his arms, was she?! It would effect them both!

"No wait!"

He dropped Daniel, but before he could evade, she pulled the trigger.

He yelled as scalding hot broth sprayed over his face and outfit. He raised an arm to cover his eyes.

"Hang on," Valerie called to him over the spray. "Oh wait, wrong button."

He was pulled into the thermos.

---

Danny thought about Vlad and Valerie for the rest of the school day, the strange transfer student registering at the back of his mind, but staying there.

He could barely concentrate on class, too busy watching Valerie's every twitch and wondering why Vlad was openly working with her in his ghost form.

She hated having to work with ghosts.

It had to be something big. Some kind of evil plan.

Probably something to do with the mayor's mansion blowing up, and with Vlad searching for a remote.

Had Vlad accidentally blown up the building while testing a new invention?

When school ended, Danny watched from a distance as the two of them flew around Amity Park, as though they were searching for something. Probably the mysterious someone they had been talking about earlier.

Whoever it was, they didn't seem to be around to catch.

Eventually, Sam and Tucker convinced Danny to unwind and play some Doomed with them.

There was no use worrying about Vlad's latest scheme when there wasn't much happening yet.

And there was also the mystery of the transfer student...

---

“Alert me when there’s an update” list:

@charlietheepic7, @chrysanthemum9484, @mymadmedleyw, @dp-marvel94, @aikoiya, @whydouwantmyname, @cinturon-cadena, @freakofyournature, @satanicrutialspecialist, @danphantom80, @kaezer, @chipsyay, @mysterimax, @56thingsinaname, @derpxp, @potatoofweird

(if you want on the list, specifically ask to be alerted for updates in a tag or comment. Ask again if I forget to add you! If I can’t tag you, I’ll send a Message.)

#danny phantom #danny fenton #vlad plasmius #valerie gray #poll adventure #poll fic #asj post #asj writing

[edupunkn00b]

It Could Always Be Worse, Ch. 8: The Past is a Different Country

Butterfly universe version of Happily Ever After, Ch. 8: The Past is a Different Country.

Prev - The Past is a Different Country - Next - All - [ AO3 ]

WC: 998 - Rated: T - CW: none? Except for slimeball Devin (renamed OC) is in this chapter. Janus is not unsympathetic, just… he never got the chance to know Logan in this universe.

"The past is a foreign country. They do things differently there." - L.P. Harley, The Go-Between (1953)

Logan went in to the office the next day. His head throbbed and he'd needed an entire pot of coffee in the morning just to begin to feel alert enough to drive, but the roiling ache in his chest had returned to its regular and quiet this-shy-of-scalding rumble, so he'd gone in. He was just passing Janus' office when his boss called out to him through the open door. "Oh, um... Logan? Would you come in here for a moment please?"

Logan stopped, sucking in a breath. Time to face the figurative music. You can't skip two days of work and expect not to have to talk to the boss. He pressed a smile onto his face, "Yes, Janus?"

"I'm glad to catch you, I was going to come find you yesterday but the day go away from me." Janus gestured toward the chair in front of his desk. "Please, have a seat." Logan sat and braced himself, gripping the armrests tightly. "I have a favor to ask."

Logan's eyes shot open in surprise. "Oh, of course! How can I help you?"

Janus spread his hands out in front of him. "I was wondering if you could take on a couple of my cases. I'm taking a few days off. You met my husband at the Holiday Party last year, didn't you?" Logan nodded. No-one could forget meeting Janus' husband. In fact, he'd seen him several times over the years,. "Well, our anniversary is coming up and we’re having a bit of a party and I need the time to organize and for a little, you know, trip, afterwards."

"Oh, of course, I’d be happy to help out." Janus grinned and opened the drawer next to him, retrieving a few file folders. He handed them to Logan, who smiled back at him. "Congratulations on the anniversary."

Janus bowed his head, smiling as he glanced at a picture of their wedding day on his desk. "Thank you, it's been quite a journey so far."

Logan followed his gaze and felt a bittersweet smile wash over his face when he saw how happy they both looked in their picture. He pulled his eyes away from the frame and met Janus'. "I’ll take care of these cases, you won’t have to worry about a thing. Just enjoy your anniversary—and your party." Logan started to stand, hefting the case files and holding them against his chest.

Devin stuck his head in Janus' office as he walked by, “Hey, Jan, what time should I be there tonight?”

"Oh, excuse me, I'll—I'll leave you to it," he stuttered, heading for the door. Just before he left, he turned back and smiled at Janus, “I’m really happy for you both. See you when you get back."

Devin watched him walk down the hall toward his own office. Devin stepped inside, closing the door behind him. "That guy's so weird."

"Who? Cro—" Janus rolled his eyes and shook his head. "Logan?

Devin nodded, "Yeah, him. You went to law school with him, didn't you?"

Janus nodded, staring off in the direction Logan went. "Yeah. Yeah, I did."

"Has he always been like that? All..." Devin stiffened his face and did part of the Robot dance.

Janus side-eyed his friend before shaking his head lightly. "He's very private, very formal... He just doesn't like to talk about himself." Janus shrugged, "He's turned into a decent enough guy, I guess."

Devin scrunched his nose, "Like does he ever even talk to anyone here? I've never seen him go to lunch with anyone and I'd swear it was the second coming if he showed up at a happy hour."

Janus smirked at Devin, "Not everybody's a gossipy bitch like us."

Devin laughed. "But I mean, outside of work? Does anybody even know anything about him? Is he secretly a serial killer and he practices social justice law for kicks?"

Janus leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers in front of him, considering. "Well, he's married, or, was married, has a... couple of kids?" Janus shook his head again, waving his hand dismissively. "He likes to keep his personal life and his work life separate.

"He's an excellent lawyer. He was one of the primary writers on the Marriage Equality act, and has defended it in court four times since then. And" Janus stared significantly at Devin, "He takes on at least twice as many pro bono DV cases as you..." Devin made a face at him. Janus shrugged again, "He clearly has a passion for the work."

"Yeah, I know, but, come on..." Devin raised an eyebrow at his boss and his friend, "He doesn't exactly, you know, fit the culture here?"

Janus glared at him. "I'm going to pretend that you didn't just say that."

Devin picked up a tiny metal Rubix Cube from Janus' desk and sat back fiddling with it. "I just think the guy comes off as kinda... Cold." He frowned. "Unapproachable."

Janus shrugged, looking at the door. "We can't all be best friends here, I guess. Logan does good work. That's enough. We can overlook his, you know, standoffishness. He's polite and professional. He doesn't have to like us, too."

Devin played with the cube in his hands then finally looked up at Janus, smiling. "So... about your brother in law."

Janus grinned. "Yes, I think you'll like him."

"Well," Devin swooped his hand in a little 'go on' motion.  "Tell me more..."

Janus laughed. "Well, he's smart, funny, hot... You know they're twins, right?

Devin winked lasciviously. Janus made a face, "Uh-uh, none of your usual plays here or I'm calling this off. He's a nice guy. Don't hurt him."

Devin managed to look scandalized and flirtatious at the same time. "I won't, I swear."

"I mean it, for your own sake, too. My husband is very protective. Remus will kick your ass if you hurt his brother." Janus waved his hand, dismissing Devin when his phone rang. "And I'll help him."

#It Could Always Be Worse #ts logan #ts janus #Logan Sanders #Janus Prince neé Pater #Devin Williams - OC #slimeball Devin #(spoiler) #janus did warn him #sanders sides fic #sanders sides fanfiction

[dailyanneofgreengables]

Chapter 8: Anne’s Bringing Up Is Begun (part 1)

FOR reasons best known to herself, Marilla did not tell Anne that she was to stay at Green Gables until the next afternoon. During the forenoon she kept the child busy with various tasks and watched over her with a keen eye while she did them. By noon she had concluded that Anne was smart and obedient, willing to work and quick to learn; her most serious shortcoming seemed to be a tendency to fall into daydreams in the middle of a task and forget all about it until such time as she was sharply recalled to earth by a reprimand or a catastrophe.

When Anne had finished washing the dinner dishes she suddenly confronted Marilla with the air and expression of one desperately determined to learn the worst. Her thin little body trembled from head to foot; her face flushed and her eyes dilated until they were almost black; she clasped her hands tightly and said in an imploring voice:

“Oh, please, Miss Cuthbert, won’t you tell me if you are going to send me away or not? I’ve tried to be patient all the morning, but I really feel that I cannot bear not knowing any longer. It’s a dreadful feeling. Please tell me.”

“You haven’t scalded the dishcloth in clean hot water as I told you to do,” said Marilla immovably. “Just go and do it before you ask any more questions, Anne.”

Anne went and attended to the dishcloth. Then she returned to Marilla and fastened imploring eyes of the latter’s face. “Well,” said Marilla, unable to find any excuse for deferring her explanation longer, “I suppose I might as well tell you. Matthew and I have decided to keep you—that is, if you will try to be a good little girl and show yourself grateful. Why, child, whatever is the matter?”

“I’m crying,” said Anne in a tone of bewilderment. “I can’t think why. I’m glad as glad can be. Oh, glad doesn’t seem the right word at all. I was glad about the White Way and the cherry blossoms—but this! Oh, it’s something more than glad. I’m so happy. I’ll try to be so good. It will be uphill work, I expect, for Mrs. Thomas often told me I was desperately wicked. However, I’ll do my very best. But can you tell me why I’m crying?”

“I suppose it’s because you’re all excited and worked up,” said Marilla disapprovingly. “Sit down on that chair and try to calm yourself. I’m afraid you both cry and laugh far too easily. Yes, you can stay here and we will try to do right by you. You must go to school; but it’s only a fortnight till vacation so it isn’t worth while for you to start before it opens again in September.”

“What am I to call you?” asked Anne. “Shall I always say Miss Cuthbert? Can I call you Aunt Marilla?”

“No; you’ll call me just plain Marilla. I’m not used to being called Miss Cuthbert and it would make me nervous.”

“It sounds awfully disrespectful to just say Marilla,” protested Anne.

“I guess there’ll be nothing disrespectful in it if you’re careful to speak respectfully. Everybody, young and old, in Avonlea calls me Marilla except the minister. He says Miss Cuthbert—when he thinks of it.”

“I’d love to call you Aunt Marilla,” said Anne wistfully. “I’ve never had an aunt or any relation at all—not even a grandmother. It would make me feel as if I really belonged to you. Can’t I call you Aunt Marilla?”

“No. I’m not your aunt and I don’t believe in calling people names that don’t belong to them.”

“But we could imagine you were my aunt.”

“I couldn’t,” said Marilla grimly.

“Do you never imagine things different from what they really are?” asked Anne wide-eyed.

“No.”

“Oh!” Anne drew a long breath. “Oh, Miss—Marilla, how much you miss!”

“I don’t believe in imagining things different from what they really are,” retorted Marilla. “When the Lord puts us in certain circumstances He doesn’t mean for us to imagine them away. And that reminds me. Go into the sitting room, Anne—be sure your feet are clean and don’t let any flies in—and bring me out the illustrated card that’s on the mantelpiece. The Lord’s Prayer is on it and you’ll devote your spare time this afternoon to learning it off by heart. There’s to be no more of such praying as I heard last night.”

“I suppose I was very awkward,” said Anne apologetically, “but then, you see, I’d never had any practice. You couldn’t really expect a person to pray very well the first time she tried, could you? I thought out a splendid prayer after I went to bed, just as I promised you I would. It was nearly as long as a minister’s and so poetical. But would you believe it? I couldn’t remember one word when I woke up this morning. And I’m afraid I’ll never be able to think out another one as good. Somehow, things never are so good when they’re thought out a second time. Have you ever noticed that?”

“Here is something for you to notice, Anne. When I tell you to do a thing I want you to obey me at once and not stand stock-still and discourse about it. Just you go and do as I bid you.”

#anne of green gables #anne daily #anne of green gables daily #chapter 8 #8.1

[music-despite-everything]

Happy birthday, Adrienne Rich!

Adrienne Cecile Rich, born May 16, 1929, in Baltimore, Maryland, and died March 27, 2012, in Santa Cruz, California, was an American poet, essayist, and feminist. She was called "one of the most widely read and influential poets of the second half of the 20th century", and was credited with bringing "the oppression of women and lesbians to the forefront of poetic discourse." Rich criticized rigid forms of feminist identities and valorized what she coined the "lesbian continuum," which is a female continuum of solidarity and creativity that impacts and fills women's lives.

Her first collection of poetry, A Change of World, was selected by renowned poet W. H. Auden for the Yale Series of Younger Poets Award. Auden went on to write the introduction to the published volume. She famously declined the National Medal of Arts, protesting the vote by House Speaker Newt Gingrich to end funding for the National Endowment for the Arts.

---

Snapshots of a Daughter-in-Law, 1963

1

You, once a belle in Shreveport, with henna-colored hair, skin like a peach bud, still have your dresses copied from that time, and play a Chopin prelude called by Cortot: "Delicious recollections float like perfume through the memory." Your mind now, moldering like wedding-cake, heavy with useless experience, rich with suspicion, rumor, fantasy, crumbling to pieces under the knife-edge of mere fact. In the prime of your life. Nervy, glowering, your daughter wipes the teaspoons, grows another way. 2 Banging the coffee-pot into the sink she hears the angels chiding, and looks out past the raked gardens to the sloppy sky. Only a week since They said: Have no patience. The next time it was: Be insatiable. Then: Save yourself; others you cannot save. Sometimes she's let the tap stream scald her arm, a match burn to her thumbnail, or held her hand above the kettle's snout right in the woolly steam. They are probably angels, since nothing hurts her anymore, except each morning's grit blowing into her eyes.

3 A thinking woman sleeps with monsters. The beak that grips her, she becomes. And Nature, that sprung-lidded, still commodious steamer-trunk of tempora and mores gets stuffed with it all: the mildewed orange-flowers, the female pills, the terrible breasts of Boadicea beneath flat foxes' heads and orchids. Two handsome women, gripped in argument, each proud, acute, subtle, I hear scream across the cut glass and majolica like Furies cornered from their prey: The argument ad feminam, all the old knives that have rusted in my back, I drive in yours, ma semblable, ma soeur! 4 Knowing themselves too well in one another: their gifts no pure fruition, but a thorn, the prick filed sharp against a hint of scorn... Reading while waiting for the iron to heat, writing, My Life had stood--a Loaded Gun-- in that Amherst pantry while the jellies boil and scum, or, more often, iron-eyed and beaked and purposed as a bird, dusting everything on the whatnot every day of life.

5 Dulce ridens, dulce loquens, she shaves her legs until they gleam like petrified mammoth-tusk. 6 When to her lute Corinna sings neither words nor music are her own; only the long hair dipping over her cheek, only the song of silk against her knees and these adjusted in reflections of an eye. Poised, trembling and unsatisfied, before an unlocked door, that cage of cages, tell us, you bird, you tragical machine-- is this fertillisante douleur? Pinned down by love, for you the only natural action, are you edged more keen to prise the secrets of the vault? has Nature shown her household books to you, daughter-in-law, that her sons never saw?

7 "To have in this uncertain world some stay which cannot be undermined, is of the utmost consequence." Thus wrote a woman, partly brave and partly good, who fought with what she partly understood. Few men about her would or could do more, hence she was labeled harpy, shrew and whore. 8 "You all die at fifteen," said Diderot, and turn part legend, part convention. Still, eyes inaccurately dream behind closed windows blankening with steam. Deliciously, all that we might have been, all that we were--fire, tears, wit, taste, martyred ambition-- stirs like the memory of refused adultery the drained and flagging bosom of our middle years. 9 Not that it is done well, but that it is done at all? Yes, think of the odds! or shrug them off forever. This luxury of the precocious child, Time's precious chronic invalid,-- would we, darlings, resign it if we could? Our blight has been our sinecure: mere talent was enough for us-- glitter in fragments and rough drafts. Sigh no more, ladies. Time is male and in his cups drinks to the fair. Bemused by gallantry, we hear our mediocrities over-praised, indolence read as abnegation, slattern thought styled intuition, every lapse forgiven, our crime only to cast too bold a shadow or smash the mold straight off. For that, solitary confinement, tear gas, attrition shelling. Few applicants for that honor. 10 Well, she's long about her coming, who must be more merciless to herself than history. Her mind full to the wind, I see her plunge breasted and glancing through the currents, taking the light upon her at least as beautiful as any boy or helicopter, poised, still coming, her fine blades making the air wince but her cargo no promise then: delivered palpable ours.

#poetry #poemsociety #poemblr #poems and poetry #poem #adrienne rich #snapshots of a daughter-in-law #santa cruz #yale series of younger poets award #national medal of arts #national endowment for the arts

[wizkiddx]

hiiiii !!! if you are accepting requests at the moment, can i ask something about reader and tom expecting a baby, one day while he’s drunk she sees him flirting with another women and when she confronts him he snaps at her and tells her he’s not ready for this “shit”. So they broke up and broke contact for months, until he shows in her apartment regretting his words and they talk but she suddenly at that moment gets into labor?!? I remember seeing a concept similar in a movie but I would love if you couldn’t bring it to life! Thank you so much in advance, appreciate your work a lot 🧸🤎

right so I loved this so much it has become a multiple parter and im not even going to apologise. so thanku so so much anon for getting me out a little rut!!!

summary: when toms caught out all hope looks lost - probs part 1 of 3 but it could get a bit longer too lol

warnings: serious angst, reference to abortion, cheating, a whole lot of swearing (im British sorry not sorry)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Hi babe, just to let you know Yamna’s invited me out for dinner this evening so don’t worry if you get home early and im not back! I love you x”

It was a spur of the moment plan, which was a rarity recently. The past 5 months since you’d found out, you could name barely 5 occasions you’d been out past 8 oclock- trading your heels for fuzzy slippers and dresses for massively oversized tops and joggers. It wasn’t how you had expected to be spending the summer before your 25th birthday but it was now your life. The rooftop bars, the wild nights, the get aways had all sort of been cancelled for… for the rest of your life.

Because an 8 month pregnant belly isn’t something you can ignore.

Sure…. it wasn’t the plan. Not the plan to be pregnant with your boyfriend of only 6 months, who at the time you didn’t even live with. But you were making it work. And now, you were just excited. It was the start of a new story with Tom, and you’d got past the phase of being sad and mourning your youth. Because the little bubba inside of you, she was pretty awesome and you really couldn’t wait to meet her.

So yes, you had been home alone eating ice cream from a tub when Yamna knocked on the door. She’d been one of your best mates for as long as you could remember so when she’d turned up unannounced with mascara smeared under her eyes you’d cancelled your plans of a pathetic alone evening. Her boss had just given her the sack - which was no surprise. He was a backwards tory old git who couldn’t handle the fact Yamna was a woman doing the job better than he could ever dream of.

So yes, you’d suggested going out to the fancy new bar down the road - to celebrate the fact she no longer had to put up with the arsehole. Obviously you couldn’t drink and neither did Yamna, but you go to a bar for the atmosphere - and the selection of mocktails they had was insane.

Your boyfriend Tom was already out, he said he had a meeting and then dinner with some execs he needed to shmoosh. Of course you didn’t mind, but he had been working a lot recently, in order to be able to have the time off when your baby girl arrives.

So after sending a little text and giving Yamna another hug to try and turn the evening from disappointment to celebration you walked out the door with a smile on your face. Maybe you could pretend, just for an evening to not be pregnant and whale-like?

///////////////////////////

The bar was just a 10 minute walk so it wasn’t long before the two of you were soaking up the atmosphere. It was all decorated in a rustic fashion, with old exposed wood and dangling lightbulbs from the ceiling and the drinks were incredible. The type that have dry ice or flames or some other sort of fantastical display of edible decorations. Even Yamna had perked up, especially when a guy from the table across had bought you both a round of drinks.

“I’m just gonna pop to the loo.”

“Do you really need the toilet or do you just want to parade infornt of the fit rich man who keeps looking at you?”

“ Is both an option?” You laughed as Yamna slipped off her stool, winking rather dramatically as she did so. She was unbelievable - but at least this way she wasn’t thinking about her work, or lack thereof, anymore.

Happily you sat scrolling though your phone, seeing that tom had messaged you with an okay, before flicking through instagram.

And that was where the happiness ended.

For in a hurried manner, with a face looking a lot more ghosted than when she left, Yamna took her seat again.

“Are you okay?” Immediately your worry took over, the way she was biting her lip and not meeting your eyes not helping.

“I um yeh-yeh. Just I think I saw Tom.”

“Tom as in my Tom?” Her almost guilty looking nod had your scrunching your eyebrows, why was it such a big deal Tom was inside?

“He didn’t see me I don’t think but er… he just looked pretty close to a girl and I-“

To be honest you stopped listening at that point, heart dropping out the bottom of your chest. Because it made sense, he had been so distant recently and even if you’d been lying to yourself that it were work - this seemed much more likely. Whilst nodding along, pretending to listen to Yamna, instead your attention was solely focused on fiddling with the promise ring he’d got you after the two of you decided to keep the baby. He’d been so committed, so ready for this unexpected news. He’d said he was in for the long haul.

“Y/n?”

“sorry I um… it’s probably just a work colleague he needs to sweet talk. I’ll um-I’ll just go say hello.”

“I’m coming with you.” She spoke astutely, very much forcing herself into the situation.

“No no I’ll… I’ll come back if I need you, just wait here.”

Her face was so grim and destitute, as much as you were pretending it was okay - you knew it wasn’t. Before Yamna could protest further, you slipped off your seat ( clumsily thanks to the elephant belly) and walked with fake confidence back inside.

It took you barely 3 seconds to hone in on Tom, call it mothers intuition. He was on a booth in the corner with 5 others on his table but none of whom you recognised. It was 2 other guys and 3 girls - the six all paired off in mathcingly initimate conversations. Apart from that you payed almost zero attention to the others, attention solely focused on your boyfriend and the girl he had his arm round.

She was everything you weren’t. She was skinny - you, as previously mentioned, looked like you had a beachball stuffed under your top. She was blonde with sleek and perfectly styled waves at the tips of her long her - yours was thrown into a messy bun due to the last minute plans.

Most importantly - right now she was wrapped in Toms arms, whilst you stood alone watching.

God knows what came over you, but with confidence you never normally had you marched up to the table, just waiting at the end. One of the men you didn’t recognised, arrogantly asked you ‘can I help you’ - but you completely disregarded it, eyes solely fixed on Tom. He took a moment more to look away from the leggy girl, but as soon as he did his eyes grew massively wide.

“Y/n I-I-“

“Fancy bumping into you, I thought you were out with work executives?” Frantically casting his gaze across the table, you could see the cogs whirring to try and come up with an explanation.

“No I-I was but then Charlie here came over, we used to be mates at school and-“

“Oh fuck off Tom., I cant deal with this right now.”

You didn’t even have the energy to listen to his clearly fake excuses as to why he’d landed himself in that situation. You also certainly did not have it in you to maintain the strong face, you could feel everything shattering inside of you.

Because it was so blindingly obvious by how he had acted. You’d caught him out and you both knew it.

And it fucking hurt like hell.

So you exited the bar as fast as physically possible, hearing the shouts of both Yamna and Tom behind you. You didn’t know what you needed in that moment - except that neither of them were the answer. Tom though, presumably the faster of the two, managed to catch up - grabbing your arm to make you halt in the road.

There was this moment between the two of you that time almost seemed to freeze. The two of you, in an otherwise pretty empty residential street, at 9:30 at night, in a moment that you would never have again. From your point of view, you saw the slightly bloodshot and bleary eyes, widened with panic and fear. For Tom he saw the floods of tears down your cheeks, which you hadn’t even noticed were freely streaming.

But in that moment there was, at least, the slightest bit of peace. The slightest bit of hope - that he could explain, that he had some ludicrous but valid reason for the situation you had walked in on. Just a smidgen of hope that this were recoverable.

But then he had to open his bloody mouth.

“Y/n I swear nothing-“

“That didn’t look like fucking nothing!”

“It was I swear! We just-“

“Tom this is your one and only chance. I don’t care if your off your face, if you don’t give my a miracle of a reason as to what the fuck THAT was - then I’m gone.”

“Don’t say that Y/n, you don’t mean th-“ He tried to grab your hand which you snatched away, like you had just scalded it on a hot plate. Like he had hurt you.

“I swear to god I’ve never meant anything more. So cut the shit.”

“FIne-fine! Um so we were at the meeting and then on the way out I bumped into George and hes been a good mate of mine for years.” All you did was hum, arms crossed and making sure you had a metre of distance between the two of you.

“So he said god you look like you need a drink and I agreed because its been stressful as hell recently.”

“Oh its been stressful; for YOU has it? I’m so sorry Thomas, has it been hard for you while i’ve been throwing my lungs up with morning sickness? Has it been stressful that I’ve been running on zero hours sleep because she kicks me all bloody night? ” Your words were laced in a posioned sarcasm, to which Tom just stammered to.

“Please just let me.” Given he was supposed to be fighting for you, he sounded pretty darn defeated already.

“I said yes to the drink.” He skipped out the bit that had angered you, to which you rolled your eyes at. “And one turned into two and more and then I don’t know-“

“Your going to have to try a lot harder than that.” You deadpanned, taking a small step further back still.

“I mean it! The girls were all his friends and we were just talking.”

“Just talking? All pressed up and arms round her?”

“Yes!” As indignant as he retorted, it didn’t not make up for what you had seen with your own eyes.

“Your such a bullshitter Tom!”

“God why wont you just listen to me?” He cried, wobbly doing a little 360 on the spot, in what appeared to be exasperation.

“Because your just spouting fucking lies! And you try and blame it all on poor little tommo being stressed which is-“

“I HAVE BEEN! Running round after you! I’m just tired of this shit!!! So kill me, for having one night of freedom!”

Tom was too deep in his angry lecture to take any notice of you. Which is why, once finished, he waitied, breath heavy and nose flaring. He was waiting for you to scream back at him. To give it back. He was too drunk to notice the change in your demeanor.

“I’m tired of this shit.”

It was just reverberating round your head. Again and again and again. He was tired of your relationship and you hadn’t even become parents yet. He was at his wits-end and the baby was still unborn. What the fuck was going to happen when baby arrived? Clearly there was no hope. It was dead. Your relationship was dead with no chance of revival.

Because he’d said it. Your relationship was shit, and nobody can put up with something they hate for that long. Not 18 years. Not while bringing up a child.

So with a new sense of dread and fear and complete and total isolation you uttered three single words before hysterically running away.

“Don’t follow me.”

Not now, not ever.

?to be continued?

~~~~~~~~~~gahhhh I hope u enjoyed! I also REALLY CANNOT THINK OF A NAME FOR THIS MINISERIES --> if anyone can think of something pls inbox me!!! ~~~~~~~~

tom taglist: @lovehollandy12 @hollandlover19 @thefernandasantana @hunnybunimdun @hallecarey1@cedricdiggorysimpp @msmimimerton @hollandfanficlove @pandaxnienke @crossyourpeter @thegirlwiththeimpala @tom-softie @sunwardsss @spiitfiiires @radcloudenthusiast @ladykxxx08 @prancerrparkerr @wildxwidow @Elishi03 @arctic-monkcys @Ownbauer13 @tomhollandlol

#tom x reader #tom holland imagine #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland angst #tom holland one shot #tomholland #tom holland #tom holland imagines #tom holland oneshot #tom holland x reader #tom holland fluff #tom holland smut #tom holland angst #angsty #pregnant!reader

[abramsbooks]

RECIPE: Creamy Polenta with Stewed Mushrooms (from Peace, Love, and Pasta by Scott Conant)

This is the dish that got me married: It’s what I made to woo Mel because it’s simply irresistible; after Pasta Pomodoro and short ribs, this is the most-requested, most-ordered dish of any menu I’ve ever written. The richness of the mushrooms combined with the creaminess of the polenta is decadent, eye popping, and almost naughty—like food shouldn’t be this good. You’ll know you’ve gotten it right if people swoon when they taste it.

Serves 8 as a side dish or in lieu of a pasta course

7 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil, plus more as needed

8 medium shallots, halved and thinly sliced lengthwise

Kosher salt

4 cups (300 g) mixed mushrooms, sliced or roughly chopped

4 sprigs thyme

2 (1½-ounce/40 g) containers More Than Gourmet roasted chicken stock combined with 1⅓ cups (315 ml) water, plus more if needed

1 tablespoon preserved black truffles

Pinch crushed red pepper

1 tablespoon chopped fresh chives

1 recipe Creamy Polenta (see below)

In a medium saucepan, heat 6 tablespoons (90 ml) of the olive oil over medium heat. Add the shallots, season lightly with salt, and cook, stirring continuously, until the shallots just begin to color, about 4 minutes. Add the mushrooms, thyme, and 1 tablespoon of the olive oil and continue to cook, stirring occasionally, until the mushrooms release their liquid, about 2 minutes. Add the stock, bring to a boil, then reduce the heat to a simmer. Cook, stirring occasionally, until the liquid is reduced by half and has a saucy consistency, 2 to 3 minutes.

Stir in the preserved truffles. If the mixture starts to thicken too much—the mushrooms should be swimming in the sauce—add a few more tablespoons of stock to thin it out a bit. Stir in the red pepper flakes and the chives.

Divide the creamy polenta among four bowls. Ladle the stewed mushrooms over the top and serve immediately.

RECIPE: Creamy Polenta

Note: It’s very important to use coarsely ground cornmeal when making this polenta because it is more savory than finely ground polenta—the dish will be too sweet otherwise. I use an imported Italian polenta brand called Moretti Bramata. If you do not use all of the polenta for the recipe above, store it overnight in the refrigerator and heat it up the next morning with an egg and some grated cheese on top for a quick breakfast.

4 cups (960 ml) heavy cream

4 cups (960 ml) milk

1 tablespoon kosher salt

1 cup (120 g) coarse cornmeal

4 tablespoons (½ stick/55 g) unsalted butter

5 tablespoons (40 g) grated Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese

In a large heavy-bottomed saucepan set over medium-high, heat the heavy cream and milk until scalded, about 5 minutes. Carefully whisk in the kosher salt and continue whisking until the liquid is very frothy, like a cappuccino. While still whisking, slowly pour the polenta into the pot. Continue to whisk until the granules swell, about 8 minutes. At this point, switch to a wooden spoon to stir the polenta. Keep stirring until the polenta has begun to thicken, about 5 minutes.

Reduce the heat to a very low simmer, cover with a tight-fitting lid, and cook, stirring every 10 to 15 minutes, until cooked through and the liquid has reduced, about 1½ hours. (A skin might form on the bottom of the pan, which is fine; do not scrape it.)

Just before serving, raise the heat to medium-high and stir in the butter and the cheese and cook, stirring, until the butter has melted, then take the pot off the heat. The polenta will continue to thicken as it cools, so don’t worry if it looks a little thin.

From award-winning chef and Food Network personality Scott Conant, a cookbook of restaurant-quality Italian meals that you can make easily in your home kitchen

Thirty-five years into an illustrious career of restaurant openings across the country, widespread acclaim, and frequent appearances on the Food Network’s Chopped and many other shows, Scott Conant has returned home to create his most personal cookbook yet. Meals cooked from simple, fresh ingredients were staples of Conant’s childhood in a New England family with roots in Southern Italy. From his grandparents’ garden to the dinner table, he learned early on to appreciate the nuances of different flavors and ingredients, and the strong connection between food and family.

Focusing on these foods Conant grew up with and the ones he makes for his loved ones today, Peace, Love, and Pasta compiles simple, fresh, and flavorful Italian recipes for the home cook to bring to their own family’s table. These recipes are built on the art of cooking for love, fascination with flavors and ingredients, and the simple pleasures of taste and conviviality.

For more information, click here. 

#abramsbooks #abrams books #peace love and pasta #scott conant #food network #italian #italian food #italian cooking #recipe #italian recipe #free recipe #polenta #creamy polenta with stewed mushrooms

[atlas-of-a-human-soul]

Draw your swords, pt. 8

Summary: Forced to face their feelings, neither the Darkling nor his wife dare to speak them out loud. Influenced by Genya’s words, Y/N starts to wonder about her husband’s past.

Warnings: angst, swearing, mentions of alcohol, sexual content

Part one // Part two // Part three // Part four // Part five // Part six // Part seven  

=================================

As a young girl, Y/N often daydreamed about her first time. She believed it would be with a kind man who’d move mountains to find her if she called his name. Reality was quite different – this man wasn’t kind, but he’d burn the world for her.

Whether he realized it, she saw through him easily. The Darkling is a symbol, the fear surrounding his name is all for show because he’s not evil. In fact, she’d go as far as say he’s redeemable. Anyone capable of love is capable of being saved and while she didn’t know what he needed saving from, her heart told her he’ll need her. And she knew he cared, she felt it in the way he held her in that tent, and again in the way he’d touch her when he had all the power just the night before.

Moving her head toward the other side of the bed, Y/N looked at her sleeping husband. His lashes are long, thick and dark, a beard that tickled her neck adorning his face. Asleep, his cheekbones were not as sharp, his face much more welcoming and relaxed. He didn’t seem as the formidable foe she imagined him to be.

Aleksander laid on his side, facing her. Pursing her lips, Y/N allowed her eyes to roam over him. His broad chest had a small area of dark, curling hair. His muscles are made large, shapely mounds. His arms are capped by a round, firm muscle. Biting her lower lip, her eyes continued down to his hard, flat stomach with faint lines forming separate areas of muscles, making her swallow thickly. It was only after a moment that her eyes went lower. What she saw did not seem so powerful as it felt the previous night, but as she watched, his manhood began to grow.

She gasped and her eyes flew back to his. He was awake, watching her intently with a smirk, his eyes growing darker by the moment. No longer was he the gentle man she had awakened to, but a man of passion, the general who showed her he was just as capable of leading a woman in the bed as he was of leading an army on the field.

Y/N tried to move away but Aleksander still held her trapped by her hair that strayed on his side, under his back. What was worse, she didn’t even want to fight him. Y/N recalled her plans for him clearly; but this was more than a plan she carelessly implemented. Everything was different now when she had the memory of his body and the pleasure he infused her with when he made love to her. Could that term even be applied to them, she wondered. Did he see it as making love or simply satisfying his needs?

“Stubborn wife,” he whispered and the tone of his voice made chills run along her arms. It’s more than the tone he used or the look of his dark eyes that had her insides turning, but the words he had spoken…it almost felt like a term of endearment coming from him.

Grimacing, she rolled her eyes at him, “Dreadful husband.”

Pursing his lips, he seemed amused rather than insulted.

She was right, their relationship has changed.

Irrevocably.

Last night she had thought she learned all there was to know about love between a man and a woman, but now she thought, perhaps she knew very, very little. There was much more to learn from this man and of this man and how to use that knowledge for her own gain, but right now? She just wanted to let herself go. She wanted to enjoy his company. For once, he was good-natured, playful even. She felt genuinely happy in their little bubble.

For a moment, Y/N wished to stay there. She wished he could always look at her as he is now.

She looked at him, his hair still a mess in the bright morning sunlight. She watched him intently, perplexed how he could look more handsome and more human than she’d ever seen him.

His eyes are nearly black as he pulls her to him again. He runs his tongue along her lips, touching the inner corners especially. She parted her teeth for him, desperate for a taste of him. He’s better than the richest honey; hot and cold, soft and firm. She explored his mouth as he had explored hers, no longer shy or reserved with him. How could she be when his fingers have delved lower, pushing inside her?

Gasping, she smiles against his lips. “Genya will be here soon”, she warns him.

"I don't fucking care", he insisted as he crashed into her, his arms wrapping around her like a cage she never wished to escape from. He brought his mouth on hers, inhaling her, "Do you even know what it feels like to be around you?! I can't", he paused as his arms drew away from her and she shuddered as he took the warmth they provided. With bruised lips, she watched as he ran his hand through what used to be perfectly tousled hair. Disheveled, he turns to her, "I can't breathe around you."

She chuckles at him, "Well, I am breathtakingly beautiful."

Rolling his eyes, the Darkling shakes his head, "Well, you're not unattractive. I'll concede on that."

She ran her hands over his back as he lowered his head to her neck, running his tongue along the pulsating beat of her carotid, the only friend he had in her – her pulse couldn’t hide how enamored or exhilarated he made her feel. Instinctively she leaned her head back, her breathing turning deeper, quicker.

When his lips and tongue touched her breasts, she nearly cried out. She thought perhaps she might die under such torture. Trying to pull his head back to her mouth failed as he gave a deep, guttural laugh that made her shiver, her insides turning with the sweet melody and her heart? Her heart felt warm, big and incredibly full.

Maybe he did own her.

A knock on the door had interrupted their bliss as Y/N stiffened, looking at the door in slight panic. If someone saw them right now, no one would doubt their marriage was a successful love match. They seemed happy, truly in love. That’s not how it was meant to be.

“Someone doesn’t value their life”, he grumbled under his breath. “GO AWAY!”

Clasping a hand over his mouth, she chuckled. “Who is it?!”

“General?” Ivan’s voice faded her smile instantly.

Even with Aleksander’s hands cupping her bottom, his body covering her and the door being shut, Y/N felt ashamed as if she was bare in front of the entire world.

“Unless the world is burning, leave me alone!” Pecking Y/N’s lips, he smirked, “I never get a peaceful morning anymore.”

Come to think of it, Y/N never found him in the bed when she woke up. This was the very first night they spent together and he stayed by her side. Considerate was never a word she’d use describing him before, but he is considerate, kind and incredibly cautious when it comes to her. It made her heart sink.

Hearing no word from Ivan, Aleksander’s hand moved. Caressing the inside of her thighs, he made her shake in desire. Holding her breath, she bit her lower lip. Still sore from the night before, she felt her stomach twist as he lined himself up with her entrance once more. Pushing himself inside, he captures her lips as she cries out. The pleasure is undeniable, but she couldn’t deny there was pain too. She clutched at him, her legs pressing around his waist as she rose to meet each thrust. Sweet torment he had inflicted felt as if it would split her in two - one Y/N to plot his demise and the other who’d never let him leave her bed.

Finally, when she was sure her heart would explode, she felt the pulsing throbs that released her and soon after, Y/N felt him speed up and his own release followed. Collapsing on top of her, Aleksander held her so close that she could hardly breathe. In that moment she didn’t really care if she ever did breathe again.

Aleksander didn’t move, still buried deep inside her as if she is his saving grace. It’s insane to think he could fuck her into submission and feelings. It was impossible to ignore the fact that she developed feelings for him, but that realization created doubts. Eventually, something will have to break – and the thought of hurting him suddenly felt too much to bear.

“Are you alright?” He moved her hair out of her face, remaining on top of her as if she’s a conquered territory he refused to leave.

Swallowing thickly, she nods. “Why aren’t you moving?”

Eyes widening, the Darkling felt heat rush to his face. He was trying to be sweet, to show her it was more than a quick fuck. It was indescribable for him – a dawn after a long night he’s lived in. No woman ever lessened the loneliness inside his heart and then she waltzed into his life. He couldn’t imagine living without her again. She was the northern star in his dark sky and he never wanted to leave.

“I should see Ivan about earlier”, he murmured, nearly wincing as he pulled out. She wrapped herself up in the sheets again, her eyes wide as she stared ahead, thinking about how badly she’s already failing her mission.

Frowning as she shifted, Y/N felt Aleksander’s semen leave her. She cleared her throat, her eyes watering. She felt disgusted with herself, like she needed her skin rubbed off with scalding hot water and peeled off if that didn’t work. She could feel him, smell him on every inch of her skin and the worst of it all? She loathed just how cold she felt when his arms weren’t wrapped around her. She absolutely detested how giddy her heart felt when she saw the shit-eating grin on his face as he brought her to climax.

“When will we visit the armies by the fold?” She asked, switching into the woman she is instead of the woman she’s molded into by his lips.

Impassive, he looked back at her as he worked on the buttons of his shirt. “Why? Don’t believe I’ve kept my word?”

It unnerved her just how cold his voice felt, how impersonal. Standing, she wrapped the nightgown around her body. Taking his kefta in her hands, she held it open for him to slip into.

His eyes flicker from the kefta to her, as if he’s confused as well. It felt odd not knowing their place now. Their previous dynamic was easy to settle into, bickering felt like second nature. Conversing without spewing venom brought unfamiliar discomfort mostly because they’d much rather return to the bed behind them. Leaving that room carried an unspoken possibility of their time together being nothing but a fluke – a onetime deal. The outside world carries responsibilities, the kind that places them on opposite sides of the war.

“Thank you”, he turns around, allowing her to help dress him. Wives do that, he realized. Loving wives help their husbands dress just as often as they help them undress. Husbands do the same for their wives – though he much preferred the undressing part.

He kissed her brow unexpectedly, eyes flickering to her trembling lips as they passed a surprised gasp. “I know you want to see the results on a field, but rest assured I’ve kept my word.” Licking his lips, he reached for a glass from behind her. Pouring himself a glass, he watched her gnaw on her lower lip. For once, the ice queen showed there are emotions inside her capable of more than just disdain.

Breaking out of her daze, she cleared her throat. “I prefer to have confirmation”, she remarked.

Snorting, he looks up in frustration. He wanted to grab her by the throat as he would with any other human who’d dare challenge him, question him. In his mind, he pinned her to the bed, his hands wrapped around her delicate little wrists. ‘Don’t play games with me’, he’d say, ‘Don’t ever think you’re capable of that.’ He wanted so badly to treat her the same, as an enemy, but she had done something to him. No matter how hard he wished he could fight it, something inside him came to life – his heart beats unburdened by the shadows, for her. It was always going to be her.

“I guess I’m asking you to trust me”, he looked at her with a softness he visibly struggled with. His hand griped the glass far too tightly for it to fool her. He was hurt by her insinuation and she didn’t know how to respond.

“Aleksander.” Calling him by his first name for the first time felt so natural, but terrifying as his eyes lit up when it crossed her lips.

He shuddered. “Say it again”, he commanded, his eyes darkened as he pressed his lips together.

The look on her face would surely haunt him for an eternity. She was shocked, maybe even frightened. She didn’t mean to call him by his name, she had made a mistake and he could read it on her face.

She spun, fleeing into the bathroom. She ran from him like he had come to steal her soul. He thought about chasing after her, but it would be futile. She would return on her own. She lost the game, she was his. He swallowed his whisky and smiled. Perhaps the way his heart fluttered at the sound of his true name passing her lips should have been a sign he lost the game too, but he didn’t give it a second thought.

She is his.

Once he left, she did exactly as she wished – she scrubbed herself clean of any remainders of him. He’ll walk around with her scent clinging to him, but she will not be branded his. Though her hips bear his markings, she felt satisfied they were easily covered with a kefta.

“You don’t have to say it”, Genya raised an eyebrow at the shadows of Kirigan’s fingertips across her friend’s hips.

“Say what?” Y/N narrowed her eyes, her heart picking up pace.

Smirking, Genya lowered her voice, “You enjoyed it, didn’t you?”

Rolling her eyes, Y/N, exhaled audibly through her nose. “It wasn’t terrible.”

“Ha!” Genya clapped her hands, “We are winning today!”

Raising her eyebrows, Y/N turned her undivided attention to an overly excited Genya. “Care to explain?”

“Well”, she shrugged innocently, “I may have found us a new ally.”

Stunned, Y/N sat on the edge of the bathtub. “Who?”

“David”, Genya exclaimed.

“Isn’t he Kirigan’s little…pet?”

Knitting her eyebrows, Genya huffed, “No! He’s a brilliant man and he believes in equality and a brighter future.”

“But can we trust him with the secret?”

Swallowing thickly, Genya paused. Inhaling deeply, she nods. “I’d vouch for him.”

“I need concrete proof”, Y/N sighs, “This isn’t going to end well for us if he decides to spill everything to Kirigan!”

Rubbing her temples, Y/N felt as if the pressure inside her head would cause her brain to burst. It’s pressing in, choking every good idea she’s ever had.

“What would happen if he did know?” Genya crouched before her. With her hands on Y/N’s knees, Genya sighed. “Maybe he’d be receptive too.”

Snorting, Y/N couldn’t believe how naïve Genya is. “No. He’d be too angry to see the big picture.”

It didn’t matter that he’s begun colonizing Y/N’s heart or that every inch of her skin craved the touch of his hand. It felt as if she were invincible when he stood beside her, as if he had made her fireproof. No scar hurt when he kissed her, no grief was too difficult to bear when he looked at her.

“Damn it”, Y/N covered her face, “I want to believe in him, I do.” She couldn’t help but wonder if her feelings are the aftermath of the night he saved her life or the night of ecstasy he had given her. Is it really genuine emotion or did her heart move to her vagina?

“So believe”, Genya encouraged. A sympathetic smile adorned her full lips, her eyes kinder than before.

“How can I ever trust him when he’s got a superiority complex regarding humans? He’s never going to willingly protect one!”

“He did with you”, Genya pressed her lips into a thin line. “You’re paranoid because you are afraid allowing yourself to see the good in him might actually make you love him.”

And she is. She’s afraid to love him or let him love her. What would be the point? In the end, they’re too different.

“Talk to David again”, Y/N stood, sniffling. “I’ll head to the library.”

Genya raised an eyebrow. “Library?”

The first casualty of war is innocence and Y/N had none left. She was once called ‘angel’ by her father, by her comrades in the army too. She was the epitome of a pure heart who would sacrifice itself for others. She didn’t feel like an angel anymore, but she will play the part. No one expects an angel to set the world on fire.

“Yeah”, Y/N breathes out. “I want to look for something.” Truth be told, she wanted to research Aleksander and his lineage.

If the dark heretic is from his bloodline, she needed to know everything about him, about the hearts of those he came from. If she’s ever going to consider her husband as an ally, she has to know him – all of him. If she asked, she worried he’d cover up the darkest parts of him. He’d deem her too human to understand, too fragile to know all the horrors that tie into who he’s become.

It was time to find out if she could trust Aleksander.

=============================

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Part 9

#the darkling #the darkling x reader #aleksander morozova #aleksander morozova x reader #general kirigan x reader #general kirigan #shadow and bone