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#admittedly I now miss david's long hair
mizgnomer · 1 year
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David Tennant and Michael Sheen - excerpt from Staged 2 (David has a taxi to catch but Michael wants to discuss books) - as seen in the "Unseen Staged" outtakes paired with Staged 3
I have to leave... I have to leave...
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morganbritton132 · 9 months
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I love the newer teachers not knowing who Eddie is and visiting Steve at his house and wondering how they can afford such a nice house. I can imagine that they live in a house way above a teachers salary, much less a teacher with presumably, a lot of medical bills. They see gold records hanging on the walls and all of Eddie’s awards on a bookshelf and they are trying to connect the dots to who Eddie is.
David’s first impression of Steve is, admittedly, not great.
He was hired as a long-term substitute halfway through the school year and technically, Mr. Harrington was the only teacher on their floor not to introduce himself to him. They’re supposed to cover the eighth grade lunch period together, but Steve hasn’t shown up once since David was started three days ago.
Instead, the principal covered for him.
Cindy McCullen, the gossipy history teacher across the hall from him, says that it’s because of favoritism. She says that Principal Moreno always lets her favorites run rampant around the school and lets them do whatever they want, especially if they’re tenured. Steve Harrington is the most egregious example of blatant favoritism.
David starts to form an opinion about Mr. Harrington in his mind that only gets worse with every story he hears from Cindy. So, it’s a bit of a shock when Steve shows up for lunch duty the next day with a whole ass service dog.
He feels like an asshole.
Especially because Steve is so apologetic about missing the last three days and leaving David to ‘the wolves’ during his first week, “Is this your first teaching job? I’ve heard from the kids that you’re doing great!”  
He makes a conscious effort after that to get to know Steve and to stop letting other people form his opinions for him. Though, admittedly. He kinda fucks that up too.
The first time David meets Eddie, he thinks that he’s Steve’s brother.
It’s not that Steve doesn’t talk about his life outside of work. It’s just that he doesn’t go into a lot a detail. David knows that he’s married to a man, that he’s from Indiana originally, and he might have a kid. Maybe? A girl name Erica that tells him what a brony is and how they ruin everything.
Hell, David’s not even entirely sure he knows what Ozzy is in service of. Steve just said that he bumped his head one too many times and now he has a dog so his husband stops worrying so much.
The only surefire thing that David knows is that Steve has a brother that’s a bit of a dork. He has great hair and is really smart, but lacks tact. Steve loves him. You can tell by the way that he talks about the guy.
So one day, David is in the teacher’s lounge heating up a cup of Easy Mac while Steve is sitting with his head down at one of the tables. He’s about to suggest that Steve go home and sleep off whatever cold he has when a guy with long hair and a leather jacket sticks his head in the room and declares, “You look like shit.”
Steve doesn’t even lift his head when he flips him off which is – whoa, not something that David would expect from Mr. Harrington. He makes himself busy with stirring his mac and cheese while the two bicker with each other which is, admittedly, childish.
Leather Jacket’s main argument for why Steve has to listen to him and go home is because he’s older. Steve croaks out that that is bullshit and Leather Jacket threatens to call their Uncle Wayne if Steve doesn’t listen. He eventually agrees.
Before they leave, Leather Jacket sticks his hand out to David and introduces himself as the cooler Mr. Harrington (that gets a laugh out of Steve).
So, color him shocked when Steve invites their event committee over to his house.
David hasn’t even fully gotten over how nice of a neighborhood Steve lives in on a teacher and retiree’s salary when Leather Jacket gets introduced as Eddie, the husband Steve has mentioned. Then he just casually mentions a red carpet like, what?
And the craziest part is that he’s asked about his husband before!
Steve mentioned once that his husband was out of town and when David asked what he did for work, Steve said that he was retired. He said that his husband can play guitar and that one of their friends (James Hetfield) needed a last minute guitarist for some kind of fair (Coachella) so Eddie went to help out.
He definitely worded it like playing guitar was just a hobby that his husband has, not like. Not like platinum records lining the hallway to their bathroom or the picture of Steve and Eddie in Vegas with KISS stuck to the fridge. He swears the note on the dry erase board by the garage entrance signed ‘Dave’ is in Dave Grohl’s handwriting.
There’s an Grammy on the bookshelf by the fireplace.
Who the hell is Steve Harrington?
Better question: Who the hell is Eddie Munson?
Kathy laughs the entire drive to her house and she is still laughing when he drops her off. The only thing she says that could even be considered an answer is, “I think he’s on Tiktok. Start there.” 
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onewomancitadel · 2 months
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A smattering of general updates:
I played Tears of the Kingdom. I didn't really enjoy it. I understand why it was popular though; I'm just not the demographic for these types of video games anymore. I didn't find it creatively rewarding and after a time I sat there thinking 'I would rather be writing right now', and since then I have learnt that writing is made easier by doing things which are not writing, because it makes me miss it. My dad also doesn't really like it but for some reason has played hundreds of hours in it. I don't know either - I think he will take anything called Zelda at this point.
I spectated the Doctor Who David Tennant Special and watched some clips of the new season. I'm not a fan of RTD, and not a DW fan anymore (not for a long time), but it was an interesting study in how studios try to attract old and new fans.
I read a lot of books, and that lie people tell you about all books being good for you is a lie, because a cyberpunk anthology of short stories made me so angry I got heartburn. I think people who say that are saying so because they wish that they could read a lot, in which case I say, yes I think reading is a gift and we should engage with it, however, sometimes I get so physically angry from something stupid/bad I've read because bad writers exist that it gives me actual pain. I am reading Howl's Moving Castle right now and it's very joyful; I am very surprised by the liberties the animated film took! However so far I do think both experiences are worthwhile, and if you enjoyed the Ghibli film, I very much recommend checking out the original book if you want to revisit that world again. The prose is straightforward but a little whimsical, and Howl is very, very funny. I have laughed aloud a few times.
Well, you know I rewatched Dark, and it's funny that during my exile I said 'this is like if RWBY got the ending it deserves' and then, er, I found out it's not renewed yet, and that's still up in the air, which for the entirety of RWBY I have only had one true moment of doubt of such a thing, and that was a while ago.
On that topic, yes, I still ship Jaune/Cinder, believe Cinder's redemption is likely, etc., although there are some more external concerns I would wager now than before. Before I thought it very possible to do without any commercial influence, and it depends what compromises they do or don't end up making or having already made. My analysis of Jaune's arc in V9 may not hold water as much (e.g. if you lean towards the view there were rewrites to cater to growing the audience, or perhaps it's two ideas married? I'm not sure) so I'm going to think about it more, and there always has been a tension in RWBY between what is being expected/baited and what is foreshadowed/said/actually happens.
I figured out how to write again and what was blocking me, so there's that. To talk about it a bit more, since my break I have worked every single day on writing. My key takeaways are that you need a delicate balance of delusion and self-doubt to get anything done - you don't know you can do something until you actually do it - and every excuse I invented for not writing was not the reason I was not writing. I can write with a migraine beginning to set in on an uncomfortable desk where I can't even rest my elbows properly on the end of a bed with no back support without aircon in the middle of summer before I've even taken my hair out from bedtime plaits in my pyjamas. I didn't even expect to get my fic done right before midnight, actually I was like 'well lol that's not going to happen, I'll write anyway though, fuck New Year's' because I wasn't doing anything, and then I finished and looked at the time and was like ooooh. I actually completed my goal! So I'm very proud of that. Anyway writing is breathing, to me, I go crazy if I don't do it, no matter what it is, and every single piece of nonsense advice of productivity was not helpful, ever, but I did figure it out. Also admittedly I got a fire burning under me again because I found out I was actually right about Raven, in which case I took that as a sign from heaven I was on the right track. One should hope.
I am excited about Dune Part Two, yes, although I am trying to avoid Villeneuve talking about the film because I know all the marketing is basically directed at people who aren't Dune fans, and I have to see it for myself to see what it's worth. I enjoyed the first film, and Villeneuve seems excited to direct Dune Messiah, in which case I am willing to do whatever possible to make that happen. Because that's about as complete a story you're going to get in a major motion picture adaptation and it would be So Fucking Good.
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two-red-lungs · 2 years
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Ayooo. It sounds kinda cringe but eddie munson x vampire reader???? Or something like that. Or just x GN reader. That would be rlly swag of you :D
NO BC THIS IS PERFECT I was like "man I really wanna write a little about the Lost Boys/Stranger Things fic I'm working on, but IDK if the asker knows the Lost Boys" but you DO so sorry I am taking creative liberties w/ this imagine.
"Big Storm Coming" (Eddie Munson + LostBoys!Reader)
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Your brothers were rabble-rousers. Nare-do-wells. It made settling anywhere... difficult, when the police kept getting on their tails. They set fires, caused public chaos, spray-painted walls. Hell, you spray-painted walls when you were bored enough. Eternal life was excruciatingly boring.
Like clockwork Max would chew them out, probably throwing one of them across the room in anger, and then move all of you to a new town.
Probably for the best. David brought death with him everywhere, he was messy and angry like that, and Dwayne, Marko, and Paul followed his example. Usually leaving you and Star to clean up the disaster.
So, really, moving to Hawkins felt like any other clan migration. Low population, sleepy police force, lots of bored teens "prone to going missing", as David had put it with a tight, toothy smile.
Marko had cackled when Max said he was enrolling everyone in highschool to "keep you outta trouble". He thought it was a joke.
It was not a joke. When you tried to protest Max told you to shut it or he'd lock you out on the porch come sunrise.
You all went straight from Max's van doors to the school entryway. A half-second in the sun, shielded under jacket lapels and long hair.
It was, admittedly, pretty fun, blowing open those doors on your first day. As much as you had a love-hate relationship with your blood brothers, you had to admit they turned heads. You all did. Wild rocker hair, manic self-assured grins, spike-studded boots. Rock-and-roll, baby. The sea of hallway students parted for the five of you.
Paul and Dwayne, as usual, were flirting with any girl that came within five feet of them, taking bets on who'd get a number by the end of the day. But with Star home with Laddie and David glowering at everyone like he wanted to massacre everything and then hang himself, you were pretty much on your own.
Great. School, again. A year of faking interest in American history and just waiting for a drained corpse to be found in the woods.
And then. AND THEN. Hawkins High, shithole in the middle of Indiana, gave you the gift you'd be desperately hoping for.
"Principal's office, NOW, Munson!" A teacher screamed nearby, flinging open a classroom door and shoving out a tall, wild-maned, leather-jacket clad man. The man flipped a double bird to the closed door, shoved his hands in his pockets, and turned around to start trudging down the hall.
Freezing in place when he saw you. Two individuals, nearly identical in style. Outcasts. Lost, maybe.
An incredulous grin spread across his face, dark eyebrows disappearing up into messy fringe. "...Holy shit." He said with a disbelieving laugh. "Look at you. Rock on, man."
He introduced himself as Eddie Munson, blood thumping under his ivory-pale skin and smelling like American Spirit cigarettes, and all at once you were hooked. He was clearly excited to see someone else with a patch jacket sporting bands he knew. He asked you if you wanted to smoke sometime. You blindly agreed, distracted by that warm smile.
And as he walked away down the wide hall, saying "Boo!" to a passing group of freshmen girls and making them literally jump, two things were made utterly apparent to you.
One: Eddie Munson was going to save your high school experience from being the most boring thing ever.
Two: he needed to be protected from your brothers at all costs. None of you were allowed to be happy. To make friends. They destroyed those sort of things out of envy, of jealousy. And you would not let Eddie be a tally mark in David's kill ledger.
Thank you for the prompt: if you guys like this concept, please let me know! I'm considering a longer, multi-chapter crossover fic with Eddie/reader and the Hawkins gang VS Max's boys.
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anonymolly · 9 months
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8, 54, 62?
8. Describe your crush
Agh okay there’s a few because I’m a Slut (read: I am softhearted) but I’ll describe the one who isn’t on here because that seems more equitable to my brain after a literal 2 hour bath (my brain is melty). He is sweet and filthy and good with his hands and I love geeking out about D&D with him and because I am hormonal I am legally allowed to say that our kids would have the curliest brown hair and either big brown eyes or big blue ones if they were lucky enough to get his and my recessive genes. I love his voice and I love hearing about his day and I love how he makes me feel. I miss him lots even when we talk a bunch because I truly *cannot* get enough of him. I always feel so safe and comfortable with him and we’re currently working out some kinks in our communication but we’re always trying to be communicative about our feelings and our thoughts, it just doesn’t always mesh. I like him lots and he’s gorgeous and smart and funny and at any point in my life I would’ve wanted him as a friend. I feel really lucky that he’s around right now (even though I’m admittedly kind of a mess and not making a great impression) and I wouldn’t mind him staying forever. That is all goodbye I’m crawling under a rock
54. Is there someone you will never forget?
I hope so! Not to be too grim, but Alzheimer’s runs in my family so sometimes I get a little worried about that. This isn’t NSFW but I’d really like to be able to remember my Great Uncle Dick for a long long time, though. He was the first person in the family who was openly gay on my dad’s side (I think I’m the first openly queer person on my mom’s side?) and he was super cool. He had a partner who was an art professor named David, and David left his family to be with Dick. They were happy for a couple of years, but Dick came home to find David dead after a heart attack one day. Dick had an understandably difficult period of time after this, and my dad moved in with him to help take care of him when his alcohol/drug abuse got really bad. Everyone else in the extended family distanced themselves from him because he was openly gay, but he lived with my mom and my dad for a little while after he couldn’t/wouldn’t take care of himself on his own. He eventually had a really bad stroke, so by the time that I could remember spending time with him he was in a live-in care facility, but apparently he really liked spending time with us when I was little (he was also really present when my brother and sister were little). He really liked babysitting and hanging out with us because he never had kids of his own. When I was little, he was around for holidays with his wood-carved cane with a painted cardinal on top and on weekends my dad and I would go to his care facility to hang out and sneak him cigarettes. I miss him lots and I wish I could’ve gotten to know him better when he was more lucid.
62. What is the sexiest thing someone could ever do for/to you?
For me? Agh I don’t know. Aaaah. I’m so bad with people doing things *for* me because I’m not used to it. Casually being offered a collar (like it’s the easiest decision in the world to make) would be a really really sexy show of commitment does that count?
To me? We’ve talked about hand-guiding to show arousal right? Like, grab my hand and make me feel how hard/wet I’m making you.
Thanks for the asks 🥰
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Text
Welcome to Marterborough
David wasn’t sure how long he’d been lying in bed staring up at the ceiling.
Every time he closed his eyes he heard those awful noises and saw the pulverized remains soaked through with something that definitely wasn’t blood.
David had wanted to ask Angie about it, but his mouth refused to form words.  When she thanked him for his help and wished him goodnight, all he could do was nod in acknowledgement.
He swung his legs over the side of the bed.
It was pointless trying to sleep.  He opened up the cardboard box, grabbed a tape from the stacks, and loaded it into the machine.  Revenge of the Sewer Rats was still sitting next to the television, and he hoped this one would be another low-rent horror movie or maybe an equally cheapo sci-fi flick.
What greeted him instead was a field of brightly-colored flowers with a cloudless cerulean sky above and the sun beaming down.  Transposed over this idyllic scene was a cursive script that flowed from left to right slowly spelling out the message, Welcome to Materborough.
A middle-aged man with shoulder-length black hair wearing a lavender seersucker suit walked in from somewhere off screen just as the letters faded away.  His complexion was more than merely pale and could best be described as bloodless.  In most people this visage would’ve conveyed a frail, sickly appearance, but this man seemed the opposite of fragile.  He looked to David like a marble statue that had somehow been brought to life. This made him chuckle since he shared a name with arguably the most famous stone figure ever carved.
The gentleman stepped forward and held out his right hand as if expecting the viewer to shake it.
“My name is Samuel Burke and I’m here on behalf of the Materborough Board of Tourism to welcome you to our fine community.  Whether you’re just here for a visit, or fixing to put down roots, you couldn’t have selected a better place.
Materborough has a long and proud history as the site of one of the earliest settlements in the country.  Many of the storefronts in our quaint downtown have edifices that date back over a century and several of the structures have been nationally recognized as important historic buildings.”
David watched as the field behind Burke transitioned to a wide two-lane street bordered by ornate wrought-iron lampposts on either side with the windows of various shops and eateries silhouetted behind them.  He’d never been through this part of town.  Admittedly, he hadn’t done much exploring and had mostly been on the outskirts thus far, but it still seemed strange that he’d missed it entirely.  
“But please don’t mistake us for some roadside attraction mired in the past. No sir, we are forward thinking and forward moving.  Our town’s main employer E.D.I. is an absolute modern juggernaut that attracts outsiders from all over without changing those little things that make this place so special.
Now I could talk all day about why you should make us your next destination, but the only way to really understand is to come see it for yourself.
Materborough is that magical piece of your life you didn’t even realize was missing.”
The screen faded to black and David expected some kind of production credits but there was nothing.
He rewound the tape to the beginning and watched it again.
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If you need me, let me know (Wanda Maximoff/ Reader)
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Hello!
Can I just say thank you for all the positive feedback I received for "Leave, then go"? I'm so happy you all enjoyed since this idea is fairly different. Here is more double Lizzie! Also known as "Love me (Or let me go)" part 2. Let me know what you all think! :)
Summary: Y/n attempts to navigate being there for Leigh and becomes closer with Wanda. Minor angst but also fluff.
The unexpected sound of your phone piercing through the stillness of the night paired with the bright light of your screen coming to life in the darkness startled you out of your sleep. A quick glance at the time showed you that it was well past one in the morning.
Leigh.
The surprise of seeing her name through bleary eyes almost made you miss the call. Almost. She had been isolating herself for almost two weeks now. Not that you blamed her considering the circumstances.
In a daze, you dragged your finger across the screen to accept the call. “Is this a booty call?” You joked groggily, as your muddled mind slowly began to wake up.
“Yeah. This was a mistake.” Leigh’s reply floated through the line, her tone displeased.
You pressed your palm roughly into your temple, annoyed at yourself. You nervously rushed out a reply hoping she hadn’t hung up yet. “Wait! Leigh, I’m sorry. I was joking. Wrong time. Noted." You paused slightly. "Are you okay?”
Leigh’s next response was quiet, practically inaudible. “I couldn’t sleep.”
As soon as you heard her reply you worriedly sat up on your elbows. Your eyes drifted over to the keys on your desk. If she said the word, you’d be there in an instant. “That’s understandable. Wanda was telling me you seemed overwhelmed when you met her. Is there something I can do to help?”
A tense silence hung in the air and for a moment you were sure she had actually hung up on you. “Seriously? You’ve been talking to her?” The sounds of her moving around drifted from the phone. “Why have you been talking to her?” Everything in you wished you hadn’t said anything.
You should have known better.
Even over the phone you could feel Leigh’s icy stare. “Wanda doesn’t know anyone else around here. I wanted to offer her some support. I don’t know… She’s nice.”
“And I’m not nice?”
You sputtered in shock. “What? Leigh, I never said that. We were talking about Wanda.”
Just as you were about to add more Leigh’s voice interrupted your own. “You know what? Let’s just pretend this call never happened. Goodnight.”
“Leigh-” The dial tone replaced her voice before you could say anything else.
With a groan you threw yourself back against your bed. Every conversation with Leigh felt like bomb defusing and it seemed like you could never stop them from exploding in your face.
Creating a bond with Wanda didn’t mean that you wanted to push Leigh out of your life. You couldn’t.
Leigh was in your veins.
Admittedly, you did speak to Wanda almost daily, but it was mainly over the phone. You had only seen her once since the discovery, briefly. She had randomly got called into work which ended your lunch early.
That day you had seen that she was troubled, so you offered her an ear and a shoulder to lean on which she tentatively accepted. You would have done the same for Leigh had she not rejected each attempt you had made to reach out to her.
The difference between them was that Wanda let you be there for her where Leigh used all her energy to push you away. The only reason you even knew what was going on was because Wanda confided in you. That’s how you learned Leigh was a triplet. Or well… was since Wanda brokenly informed you that their brother had passed away. Leigh would never get to know him.
Even with Leigh pushing you away, you knew you had to keep trying to be there. Maybe it would just have to be in a different way than you were there for Wanda.
______________
As gently as you could you placed the box on the doorstep and took a step back. You pulled out your phone to send a quick message before you left.
Hey. You’re probably asleep
or just don’t want to talk.
I just want you to know I’m
here for you. I said I would be
and I intend to keep my word.
So, when you wake up I left a surprise
for you at your front door.
Hopefully the raccoons don’t get
to it before you can.
If you need me, let me know.
Read 2:07 a.m.
You were surprised to see that your message was read almost as soon as you sent it. This time you didn’t expect a reply, but you were glad she had seen the message at the very least. Just as you had reached the end of the walkway you heard the front door open. You kept walking without turning towards the sound, determined to give her space.
“Where are you going?” The shock of hearing her voice caused you to trip on some loose gravel. The quiet sound of her laughter filled the still night around you.
Straightening yourself, you turned to find Leigh with the box in her hands, her head tilted in amusement. “Um. Home?” If you didn’t know better, you would have thought she wanted to say something.
As you were turning to leave again you heard Leigh’s voice. “Do you want to come inside?”
“Do you want me to come inside?” You countered. As much as you tried, you couldn’t control the way surprise seeped into your words.
Leigh playfully rolled her eyes as she pushed the door further open. “Do you expect me to be able to eat a dozen donuts by myself?”
Strolling back up the path you had walked countless times before felt foreign.
Leigh nudged you playfully as she closed the door and you couldn’t help the smile that grew because for a moment everything felt like it used to. It was dangerous and you knew it.
That’s how you ended up cross-legged on Leigh’s bed, the box of donuts between the two of you as you reminisced moments from your past.
Moments that were safe to reminisce anyway.
“In my defense I did say, David, if you call her that one more time I’m going to punch you in the face.”
“And you broke your hand punching him!” Leigh exclaimed through her laughter. Genuine laughter. Warmth blossomed in your chest at the sound.
You groaned and covered your face with your hands. “Don’t remind me. I swear his head was made of concrete. That’s why that’s the only fight I’ve ever been in.” Leigh’s laughter continued. “It was worth it though.” You added quietly.
You were too busy looking down at your lap to notice the way Leigh watched you, a small smile forming on her face. She quickly wiped it away when you looked back up at her. “If you fought every person who’s called me names, you’d be fighting a lot of people, Y/n.”
“Worth it.” You shrugged, refusing to look at her as you fiddled with a loose thread on her sheets.
A comfortable silence settled in the air. “I can take care of myself you know.” The way Leigh’s lips curled into a smile was easy. Light. Unfamiliar to you after all this time.
“Trust me. I know.” The loose thread snapped under your fingers. “Speaking of, how have you been since, well… you know.” You asked carefully, bracing yourself for the explosion that was bound to come from the question.
Leigh took in a sharp breath and for a moment you were sure she was about to kick you out for overstepping. “It… sucks. Finding out I’m adopted. Finding out I was separated at birth and suddenly have a twin sister.” A bitter chuckle fell from her lips. “I can’t say it’s the worst thing that’s happened to me in the last year and a half though.”
There was nothing you could say that would make her situation better. You knew that. Taking a risk, you sat up on your knees, moved the box to the foot of the bed and hesitantly pulled Leigh into your arms. You hoped the touch could offer her the comfort you couldn’t find the words for.
Leigh tensed almost as soon as you made contact and you were sure she was about to push you away and scream at you to get out. Just as your hands began falling away, she relaxed into the embrace, her arms wrapped around you tightly.
You both stayed wrapped in one another’s embrace for a moment. Leigh was the one who eventually pulled away. “Thank you.” Her words were hesitant.
“Of course. You know,” Gently you pushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear. You quickly folded your hands back together in your lap immediately after. “if you ever need me, you just have to let me know.”
Before you could say anything else, Leigh surged forward and connected her lips to yours. Despite yourself, you couldn’t help the way your lips easily fell into the familiar rhythm. This was wrong. She was vulnerable. This was so wrong.
When you came to your senses you abruptly pulled away, ignoring the way she chased after your lips. “Leigh… We shouldn’t. You’re vulnerable. I don’t want to take advantage.”
Your heart stuttered in your chest when Leigh straddled you.
Resolve was quickly slipping through your fingers when she looked at you like that. “You’re not taking advantage. Y/n… I need this. You need this. We need this.” She leaned forward so her lips lightly brushed over your own with each word she spoke. “Just this last time.” She whispered as she trailed her lips down to nip playfully at your pulse point.
Absentmindedly you ran a hand up her back until it was tangled into her silky strands. “Just like you said the last time.”
The bright light seeping through the curtains woke you up the next morning. You rolled over to find the bed empty, Leigh nowhere in sight. You wanted to say you were surprised, but you weren’t.
As much as you hate to admit it, you would’ve been more surprised if she actually stayed.
Cautiously you made your way towards the front door hoping to make it out undetected. “Y/n?” You mumbled a quiet curse as you turned in the direction of the voice.
“Jules! Long time no see.” You greeted Leigh’s sister, hoping that she wouldn’t comment on your obvious walk of shame.
The smirk on her face let you know she knew exactly what had happened. She had seen it more than enough times to recognize the signs. “Now Leigh leaving for class early totally makes sense.”
Even though you knew Leigh was avoiding you, hearing it from someone else still stung. “On that note, I need to get to work. Bye Jules.”
“Bye Y/n. Good seeing you again.” Jules took a drink of her smoothie and chuckled as you rushed out the door.
It didn’t matter how high Leigh could make you feel in the moment, it wasn’t anything compared to how low she could make you feel after.
_________
For the first time in your life, you were thankful for a chaotic shift as it prevented you from having to think about anything outside of work itself. Until you were able to take your break and look at your phone at least.
Good morning, Y/n.
I was wondering if you were
free tonight? I wanted
to make up for having
to leave early.
Sent 8:24 a.m.
No pressure though!
Sent 9:18 a.m.
The smile that appeared on your face was immediate as you rushed to send a reply back, hoping the offer was still available since she had sent that text a few hours ago.
Hi, Wanda! Sorry for
taking so long to get back
to you. Work was hectic.
Definitely free tonight.
Read 12:04 p.m.
“And every night for you.” You mumbled to yourself with a smile as you watched the bubbles appear, indicating that she was typing a reply.
Great! Does 7 work for
you? I can pick you up.
Sent 12:05 p.m.
7 is perfect!
Read 12:05 p.m.
See you then, Y/n.
Dress comfortably. :)
Sent 12:06 p.m.
Can’t wait.
Read 12:07 p.m.
You felt giddy at the idea of seeing Wanda again as thoughts of her quickly filled your mind, leaving room for nothing else as you went about your day. The day couldn’t move any slower.
__________
Almost as soon as the clock struck 7, you heard a knock at the door and rushed over to find Wanda standing before you with a shy smile. “Hi. Ready to go?”
She’s so beautiful, you thought to yourself in awe, completely entranced by the woman before you. Nothing else seemed to exist around you when she was around. You noticed that her cheeks flushed a pale pink. “Y/n?” Her eyes twinkled in amusement.
“Sorry! Just zoned out a bit there.” You mentally cursed yourself as you grabbed a jacket and stepped out. “Ready when you are.”
The featherlight touch of Wanda’s fingers grazing the small of your back as she led you to her car set your skin ablaze. “I hope you don’t mind a short hike to get to our destination today.”
Settling into the passenger seat felt easy as Wanda began the drive.
How does she manage to make everything she does look so damn breath taking?
Wanda’s hands flexed lightly on the steering wheel, her lips curling up faintly as though she knew a secret you didn’t. “I don’t mind at all.” You finally replied.
“I’m glad.” Her eyes glanced over at you momentarily before settling back on the road. “How was work today? I remember you saying it was hectic.”
Someone wanting to know about your day felt unfamiliar to you. It was a nice change. “Work was good. There was this little boy, adorable, but he was so scared to get a shot. He was hiding behind his mom the whole time. Wouldn’t even come out to play with some of the blocks we had in my office.”
Wanda hummed to let you know you had her attention. “What did you do?”
A short chuckle fell from your lips as you watched the curvy road pass you in a blur. “He became so brave the second I pulled out this Iron-Man action figure we keep in my office. It was adorable. It was like he wanted Iron-Man himself to see he was brave, you know? I let him keep that toy after he got the shot. It was one of the most adorable things I’ve ever seen.”
“It’s sweet that you’re so good with children.” The sincerity in her words made you blush.
“I try to be. Part of the job description.” You joked lightly as you deflected the compliment.
Wanda nodded faintly, acknowledging the deflection as she changed the subject. “Do you know much about him?”
You shifted slightly so you could get a better look at her. “My client?”
The was a faint hint of tension that lurked beneath the nonchalance of her next words. You didn't understand why. “No. Iron-man.” She coughed slightly. “I know some people are big fans of his and you know... you had his toy in your office.”
Unable to help yourself, you chuckled slightly. Maybe she was wondering if you were a fangirl. “I buy a lot of different toys every few months or so to keep in my office for situations like this. I also have aliens, barbies, teddy bears. It depends on the kid.” You explained. “I really only know Iron-Man’s name because of the toy. I don’t know much about the revengers in general though.”
“The Avengers.” She corrected before she could stop herself. You noticed that she winced slightly.
You snapped your fingers. “Right, I always seem to get that mixed up. They typically stay on the east coast, so I don’t pay much attention to them. I do respect what they do though.”
Wanda’s shoulders fell slightly, almost as though she was relieved. “We’re here.” She informed you as she pulled off to a dirt space on the side of the curvy road.
When you stepped out of the car, you looked around as Wanda got something out of the trunk. “Yup.”
Wanda stopped at your side. “What?”
You looked over at her and squinted your eyes slightly. “This is the part of the movie where you kill me.”
For a moment she stared at you in surprise until her eyes crinkled and an unabashed laugh fell from her lips. “I promise that was never in the plans, Y/n.” She held out a hand. “The path can be a little tricky.”
Without hesitation, you slid your hand into hers as she led you forward into the dark night, the path only lit by the moon shining brightly above your head. There was something about Wanda that made it easy for you to place your trust in her. There was goodness to her. You’d follow her just about anywhere.
You continued to walk beside her in silence, the cool metal of the rings that adorned her fingers against your skin calmed you.
If it weren’t for her hand in yours, you’d be lost in the breathtaking sight before you when she finally came to a stop.
“Wow…” You breathed out, as your breath hitched in your throat.
Wanda looked over at you, a tentative smile on her face. “Do you like it?”
On stunned feet you stepped closer to the edge, feeling Wanda’s hand fall from your own. “Wanda, it’s amazing. How did you even find this place?”
“A lot of wandering. I like to come up here to think. To get away from it all. To find peace.” You heard her respond from behind you as you took in the bright lights of the city in the distance.
When you turned back you found Wanda setting a blanket on the floor. “I hope I’m not taking away from your peace by being here.”
Wanda pat the space beside her. You took a seat as you both took in the view. “You could never. For some reason, I feel at peace whenever you’re around.” She admitted, her gaze dropping to the blanket.
Your breath hitched again, but the view had nothing to do with it this time. “I feel the same with you.” You placed your hand over hers.
When her glimmering emerald eyes lifted up to meet yours you were sure you forgotten to breath entirely and for a moment it seemed as though the world around you slowed down. All that you could see was Wanda, and you could never look away. You didn't want to look away.
Your chest tightened as you watched her shift forward ever so slightly. You wanted to kiss her. You wanted nothing more than to kiss her… But it wouldn’t be fair to her. Not after last night with Leigh. Wanda deserved more.
With that in mind you begrudgingly turned away and looked back out in the distance. “Is everything okay?” Wanda questioned cautiously, unsure of what just happened.
“Oh, sure. Just a prisoner of my own mind. The usual.” You mumbled petulantly as you picked at the grass.
The curiosity in Wanda’s eyes came back in full force, but you couldn’t find it within yourself to look up and get lost in those eyes again. You wouldn’t have the strength to look away and not give into to what you desperately wanted a second time.
“In a sense aren’t we all prisoners of some sort? Prisoners to our memories, or fear, or disappointment…” Wanda tugged at her sleeves. “Aren’t we all defined by something we can’t change?” She added quietly.
You laid back, so you could look up at the moon through the trees. “I think we’re all defined by what we chose to allow ourselves to be defined by. Like you said, by memories, or fear, or disappointment. Even love and happiness. We chose, so maybe we can change it.”
You could feel Wanda lay beside you more than you could see it, her head rested softly against your own. “I would want to be defined by love.” She whispered.
“Yeah…” Like magnets your hands found one another in the open space between you two. “Me too.”
Once again, you realized that you could lose yourself in this moment. You would never be happier to be lost as long as you were getting lost in Wanda. The sound of your phone chiming in the night went unnoticed as you and Wanda spoke well into the night.
You both stayed there until the first breaks of daylight peaked over the horizon. The sky had never looked more golden or beautiful than when you had seen it reflected in her eyes.
Part 2! This was actually so fun to write (even if I did face a minor block). Hopefully this part made the dynamic that the reader shares with Leigh a bit more clear and developed what the reader is building with Wanda further as well. Don't worry, more will be revealed as the story progresses. Also Wanda has powers which will lightly come into play later.
Let me know what you all think, I'm excited to hear back! Thoughts and comments always welcome. :)
Tag list: (Please bear with me this is my first time trying this, let me know if I missed you.)
@khiaraaa-in-spacee @halobaby @madamevirgo @aimezvousbrahms @trikruismybitch @marvels-writings @izalesbean @causeitswhatjesuswouldfreakingdo
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hex-obsession · 3 years
Text
Silver Lining - Two
word count- 2,259
content warning- language, angst, indirect s**cidal thought
____________________________________________
Crows cawing, your eyes open just enough to hazily make out the all too familiar color of your room.
“Early bird gets the worm, you know,” a familiar voice murmurs. Pushing off the wall to your right, your body slides diagonally over your bed, your head dangling off the side. Upside down, Cheryl is slumped against your door frame, arms and legs crossed. Brazen as usual, just the way you loved her. You held your own in most regards but Cheryl was always there when you least expected it and needed her most. You swear there were a halo atop that adorable shaggy blonde head of hers. And not one of those tacky event items either.
“Like I’d get anything any time of day with all the birds around here.” A tickling squeeze builds in your abdomen, branching up your neck to your cheeks which now had a telling pink glow.
“So you gonna talk to old lover boy yet or what?”
You jolt forward and whip around fast enough to make any killer miss a swing. Your response is unnecessary as she’s already smirking devilishly, aware of what she’s doing. She might have been your closest friend but that did not stop her from tormenting you, or anyone else that crossed her path. All in good fun and love, of course. It went without saying that you enjoyed it and she knew when it was, rarely, time to pack it up.
Raising her eyebrows, she leans back and throws her hands up. “I’m just saying, if you don’t, you might lose your chance. That’s all I’m saying,” quieter now.
You sighed. She was right. You weren’t the only one who took a liking to Leon. But, unlike you, Yun-Jin did not hide her feelings, from anyone for any reason, ever. Of course, everyone thought he was charismatic and most, undeniably handsome. That was common knowledge. You ran out of things to talk about in a place like this, and secrets were few and far between. There was no reason to hide here. This was your foreseeable future, together. There was no getting out, no changing things. Being open and sharing everything together made your day to day bearable. The connections you lost in your old lives left gaping holes, but together as one tightly knit, weird, fucked up family, you helped fill the voids. Some took longer than others to accept that fate, and there were some inevitable hiccups, but everyone came around eventually.
Anyone who wasn’t blind could see the attraction Yun-Jin had for the newest addition to your group. Placing her hands on him in conversation whenever she got the chance, laughing a little too hard at the things he said, biting her bottom lip and smiling at him when he talked. You’d even caught her pecking his cheek playfully here and there. He’d always smile and look away, as if it were a game. Leon always had a sultry attitude to him, a ladies' man no doubt. Subtly flirting with everyone was just commonplace for him. That was part of the reason you held back. Fearing you missed your chance and someone else had filled the role you longed to be in. Maybe it was your fear of rejection or abandonment, or not wanting to lose something this important in a world as cruel and bare this. You were subconsciously working hard to convince him you were only a friend. Which you were, definitely friends. Close even, given the circumstances. Trauma bonding does one hell of a number to the timeline of friendship. Still, you sensed zero difference in his behavior toward you versus the others. Which, admittedly, was quite the letdown. Nonetheless, you had nothing to lose by casually admitting your feelings for him. Keep it light and airy and there would be no reason for things to change on the chance he didn’t feel the same. After all, you surely weren’t the only one with a harmless little crush. That’s all it was. Right? So what if you constantly day-dream about him holding you so close he might consume you, kissing you with four times the passion the Notebook tried to capture, never leaving your side regardless of what the future held. His taste, his smell… what his cock would feel like ramming into your cervix. Your brain was one giant knot, constantly distracting you and there wasn’t a single thing you could do about it. Except tell him, but keep it simple.
By your calculations, it was November 18th. You’d been keeping track, not sure if it made things better or worse. Your third anniversary in this place was not far off. Despite being a literal nightmare, it had its perks. Your need for food was no more, as well as your other bodily needs. Sickness was a quickly forgotten annoyance of the past. You stayed in this eerily perfect state. Makeup never crusty, hair never oily and always smelling of your favorite fruit. The dirt and blood you’d acquire during trials magically disappeared upon return. You had a handful of outfits to rotate but there was no real need. Another upside, there were no severe temperatures here. Jackets, shorts, sandals, snow boots if you were Nea. You were always mostly comfortable. Even on Ormond where snow blanketed the ground, those gusts of wind should have sent chills right through you, but they didn’t. It felt like living in a dream or a, simulation. Just, where you’re hunted all day and night for the rest of your existence. At least death wasn’t permanent. Sometimes you’d wish it was, just to escape.
Several months have passed since Leon and Jill were introduced to your world. You had inside jokes and more close calls than you could both count. You were a damn good team and got along smoother than melted butter. What were you waiting for? You inhaled sharply and broke your stare out the window.
“I’m gonna do it.”
To no avail, your deep breaths failed to remedy the painful pounding in your chest, or the heat radiating from your face. Nevertheless, you marched out to the campfire to seek out Yun-Jin. As selfish as you wanted to be with Leon, she was your friend, and you held that in high regard. She was easy to spot in a crowd given her loud attire, but wasn’t around the fire. Which lead to your next realization; neither was Leon. Your throat tightened, heart still pounding. You set off a little too quickly to find her, or them. First stop was Ace’s shack. Judging based on appearances, you figured he would be one of the last people she associated with. Quite the opposite, they were dear friends. Not connected at the hip per se, like her and Claudette, but they related to one another's childhoods. Trauma bonding, can't beat it. To your dismay, the shack was empty, a seed of despair planting in your stomach. Maintaining the most convincing composure you could, you continue your search. Heading left down the line of shacks, robust laughter grows closer. You’d know that laugh anywhere. Cutting through the row, David and Felix are reclined under a tree. They were one of the few monogamous couples among you. The others being Nancy and Steve, and Adam and Zarina. You understood the allure of being romantically involved with more than one person, especially given your less-than-ideal situation, but it wasn’t for you.
“Hi y/n!” Felix shouted toward you.
Not wanting to stop and chat given your current objective, you flashed a cheeky smile and waved to them. Before they could get another word out, you dipped back behind the row of houses. Nerves getting the best of you, you parted your lips to breathe through your mouth. Every breath burned your lungs, realizing now all the times you brushed off your feelings have come back to haunt you. You should never have waited this long. At this point you would be more than willing, desperate, to share Leon. Refusing to let your anxiety get the best of you, you ball your fists and dig your nails into your palms to get a grip on yourself. There was one more place they could possibly be. A sliver of premature acceptance wedged itself into your train of thought as you trudged toward your own shack. Leon’s was adjacent to yours. Feeling foolish for not checking earlier, you round the corner to the opening. As much as you wish you could close your eyes, they were pinned open with anticipation. Looking up from your feet you were shocked to see an empty room before you. Relief and confusion replace your foreboding. Too much time had already been wasted, so you return to the campfire.
“Hey, have you seen Leon or Yun-Jin anywhere?” you, as calmly as possible, ask Élodie.
“They got pulled a little bit ago babe.” She was intently focused on Jane, her concentration not broken. “Which do you like more, up or down?” her gaze still fixated on Jane.
You have to either keep the courage you finally mustered until they get back or give yourself emotional whiplash by releasing until they do. You hesitate for a moment, but to hide your disappointment you quickly retort, “Up, definitely up. Gotta distract the killer with that beautiful face you know?”
“Like they're looking at her face and not that dumptruck ass!” Élodie howls. Jane facetiously puts her fingertips to her chin and looks upward, a façade of innocence no one here would ever buy. You can't help but giggle despite your inner turmoil.
“Well hey,” you add through chuckles, “when they're back can you please send her my way?”
“Sure thing babe,” Élodie assures, finally turning to meet your gaze.
A horrible nauseating mix of dismal, relieving, lewd thoughts of Leon swirl in your mind as you wait for Yun-Jin to step into the doorway. You knew you liked him but holy shit, where did this come from? The realization slapped you in the face. Try to blame infatuation all you want, not that you did, but it was so painfully evident now you were dumbfounded.
A soft knock jerked you out of your thoughts. “Hiya y/n, what's going on?”
Her delicate eyes effortlessly comforted you from across the room.
“I...” your eyes now glued to the floor beneath your feet, a reservoir of tears barely being held back, “I need to know how you feel about Leon.” Your nerves went haywire just uttering his name to her. An icy splash of chills surged from your head to your feet as your chest panged with dread.
“Well of course I like him,” her brow furrowed ever so slightly.
All that could escape your mouth was, “Oh.” Emptiness, despair replacing the jealous unease you felt before. Tears streamed down your cheeks uncontrollably, feelings that danced around menacingly finally coming to a head.
At the sight of your distress, she rushed to sit next to you. “Honey, what’s going on?” her voice barely above a whisper.
You were ashamed for breaking down in front of her, afraid of guilting her for something that was not her fault, and now terrified Leon might follow her here, only to find you undone over him. You jerk your head up to face her and blurt out, “Jinny I think I love him,” face sopping wet with untouched tears.
She raises her eyebrows and smiles at you. “Honey I have fun toying with him all in good nature but there’s no connection there.” Your heart thuds against your ribcage. “Sure, I’ll admit he’s attractive, who wouldn’t, but I have nowhere near the same feelings for him that you evidently do.” She uses both hands to cup your face and pushes as much wetness as she can aside with her thumbs. “Why didn’t you say something sooner? Not only to me but to him!” Despite being similar in age, she feels like a mother to you. Caring for a child, your own or not, will do that to you. That’s not a trait you lose over time.
“I’m so afraid,” you softly whimper, “of what he would say, what you would say.” You're picking at your cuticles, a habit you acquired during puberty as an outlet for your overwhelming feelings.
She wraps her arms around you, carefully as to not tarnish her jacket with tears, which would definitely stain the material. “I was just having a little fun, and from what I’ve gathered, he was more so allowing it than participating. You know I love you all to death but I’m not looking for anything like that, definitely not here.” She gives you a squeeze, and suddenly you can breathe again, the air around you no longer dense and difficult to swallow. “Honey, go get him.”
“Oh Jesus, let me fix myself a little first at least,” the sudden relief causing you to laugh involuntarily.
You were grateful disease and ailments didn’t exist outside of the trials, if they had you're sure you would've had an aneurysm from the stress you went through in a matter of an hour. Yun-Jin left you to your thoughts, which were now solely you and Leon together, doing anything and everything you could think of. The rest of the day you contemplated telling him, more so, how to. Thankfully you didn’t have any trials together, you were far too disorganized for that right now. “Tomorrow,” you promise yourself. Nothing like a clear head and a night’s rest to help you be your most collected, confident self.
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Silver Lining masterlist
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one-boring-person · 3 years
Note
Hi, hope your day is going great ^^ if it's not a bother, I would like to request an imagine with David or headcannons. You know, I just watched Deadpool and Jesus, Nega and Yukio's relationship, I need something similar between David and the reader! Her being super cute, kind, and not afraid at all to try to confront him and raise her voice to him. Just her being able to see behind the sadistic, moody vampire and being able to soften his heart of stone.
I'll admit, I've never watched Deadpool in my life, so I had to look those characters up😅 I hope this is what you had in mind?
David (The Lost Boys) Headcannons.
Warnings: none
Masterlist
Only God knows how the two of them even managed to find each other, but that night in Santa Carla? It'll stick with them forever.
It was a pretty dull night, with very little action on the Boardwalk, somewhere in mid-October. The boys were roaming the streets, searching for some form of entertainment, but even the surfers were giving the place a miss tonight, so there really was nothing to do.
At some point, they came across a lone girl browsing at the video store. Paul had spotted her first, and had led the way into the shop itself, ignoring Max's looks of annoyance as he made a beeline for the girl. Upon approaching her, the other three had fallen into position behind him, and put on their best smirks, all except David, who was in a monumentally bad mood. The only thing he hoped for was some new prey for the night, but it didn't look like that was gonna happen. Not with how Paul was eyeing the girl up.
She saw them coming and smiled. It was a sweet smile, one that David now loves, but made him suspicious at the time. She had greeted them pleasantly, too, which had almost taken Paul off guard - he expected her to be cautious around them. Naturally, though, he recovered soon enough.
He'd asked her her name, but she had only grinned and shaken her head. Being Paul, he had pressed her for it, eventually getting one response: "I'll tell you my name if he stops looking like he wants to burn a hole in that shelf over there." She pointed at David, carrying a playful smile again.
Paul, Marko and Dwayne had looked surprised, then snickered and shot her knowing looks; "He never stops looking like that".
"I don't think so." She had laughed then "Or if he does, I can fix that."
David had only scoffed and gone to walk away, so the girl decided to take them on the night of their life.
Now, the empty Boardwalk definitely had its perks: the five of them wreaked havoc on all the rides (David maybe not so much), staying just this side of pissing off the security until the girl had suggested they start "having some fun". Before they knew it, the five of them were racing along the beach, easily outrunning the security guards, who have never had to chase people as far as they did that night. When the five did eventually outrun them, somewhere in the dunes, they'd all stopped, the girl out of breath and laughing with Paul, Dwayne and Marko, until she noticed David. At that point, she'd stopped and smirked, regarding the pale haired vampire with triumph.
"Told you I'd fix that expression. I'm (Y/n)."
Months later, and she and David had gotten close, way closer than any of the others expected. Apparently, he had taken a shine to her, and the two clicked perfectly.
None of the boys could even figure out how it happened: one day, everything was normal, (Y/n) and David were playing their good cop/bad cop routine, the next, she was latched onto his arm, almost chiding him with small kisses here and there. Paul and Marko had gone to make a comment, but one icy glare from David and their plans were thwarted.
For (Y/n), she felt that David needed the company in his life. She had taken to immediately, because she's good at that, keeping lonely people company. He seemed feared by most other people, and fear almost always brings a sense of loneliness with it, which she has seen in far too many people to count, so it became her mission to break the defences he had put up and help coax him from the cold facade he has long since adopted.
That was no easy task. Not at all.
David is a stubborn being, and he's got a dominating personality, so letting someone of a similar disposition but with different ways of showing it into his life was a stretch for him. It was tough for him to get used to her at first, but she warmed up to him, and he eventually found himself seeking out her swift retorts and her sweet personality. When she then became his partner, he couldn't believe he'd gotten so lucky.
With the two being incredibly stubborn, they often found themselves at an impasse. (Y/n), unlike him, feels some remorse for the people he often taunts, and that has led to explosive shouting matches, something he's never really had to face before; no one was ever courageous enough to snap right back at him. At first, he took them in his stride, but after a particularly bad one, where he actually manages to ruffle her feathers with an admittedly low-blow, the vampire quickly realised that he couldn't lose her. She kept him grounded, and kept him from turning into the monster he used to think he was.
David never showed his softer side until he met her, and suddenly the others saw their leader smiling, genuinely, laughing pleasantly and joining in with their more innocent banter. They'd never admit it, and neither will he, but (Y/n) is the best thing that ever happened to him.
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nerdyfangirl67 · 3 years
Text
Home for Christmas - Criminal Minds Reader Insert (12 Days of Christmas)
Pairing: Hotch x fem!reader, Jack Hotchner x reader (maternal relationship
Warnings: angsty at the beginning, lots of Jack x reader moments, fluff ending!
Word count: 2431
A/N: Y/F/C/M stands for your favorite Christmas Movie and Y/N/N stands for your nickname. I also believe that Aaron is the kind of person who texts with correct grammar, although he may use sentence fragments if he is short on time, so that is incorporated into this one-shot. This one came to me while listening to a Christmas song, called “Home” by Blake Shelton and Michael Bublé (linked below). I really enjoyed the idea of this one (it may have gotten away from me a bit!)
Home by Blake Shelton ft. Michael Bublé
So here it is, hope y’all enjoy it! If you’re looking for another Christmas fic to read, check out my Mini-Series masterlist, where the rest of my Christmas one-shots are. 
I know there aren’t any Aaron x Jack moments in the story but this was the GIF I thought fit best :)
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“Y/N, it 's Aaron. I, uh, I won’t be making it home in time for Christmas. We have yet to get a break in the case, so it could be another week before I’m home. I know you had a lot planned for Christmas, and I’m sorry I won’t be able to celebrate with you. I’ll try to call, but I can’t promise anything. I love you. Tell Jack I love him.” Aaron’s voice crackles in your ear as you listen to the voicemail he’d left you earlier, as in 3 am, that morning for the eighth time.
It had been the first time you had heard his voice in almost a week and part of you was overjoyed. The other part of you was exasperated. You knew he was dedicated to his work, you had known it since the two of you had started dating, but it still hurt. Every time he worked late and didn’t let you know hurt. Every time a case went longer than expected, it hurt. Every time you went to bed alone, his side of the bed untouched and cold, hurt. And it didn’t hurt any less now, despite your suspicions upon hearing the team had taken another case, so close to Christmas, that he would miss the holiday altogether. 
You let out a sigh as you stand up from where you had been sitting on the couch, wrapped in a Christmas throw blanket. You take your empty glass, which had been filled with your favorite holiday drink, into the kitchen and place it in the sink. You double-check the apartment door, making sure it was both deadbolted and locked (something Aaron had ingrained in you to do while he was away), before making your way towards the master bedroom. You stop at the door to Jack’s bedroom, cracking it open and using the light of the hallway to look at him. 
Jack was sprawled out in his bed, fast asleep. Tiptoeing into the room so as not to wake him, you reach his bed and pull the discarded comforter up off the floor, placing it on top of Jack and gently tucking him in. “Your daddy loves you Jack, and so do I.” You say softly, pressing a kiss to his forehead, giving him a long look, before making your way back out of his room. 
Upon reaching your bedroom, you head to Aaron’s dresser. You find one of his sweatshirts, well-worn and baggy, grab it from the drawer, and pull it on as you climb into bed. You didn’t typically wear his sweatshirts while he was home, but whenever he was away, it helped ease the ache created by his absence. After getting settled underneath the covers with your nose pressed into Aaron’s pillow, you soon fall asleep.
---
You are up early the next morning, quickly climbing out of bed before you realize that you have the next few days off, the 23rd (today) through the 26th for Christmas. You had used a few vacation days to extend your Christmas ‘vacation’, as you and Aaron (who had thought he would have had Christmas case-free) had wanted to spend time with Jack, as a family.
You couldn’t bring yourself to climb back into bed so you head downstairs, the idea of making breakfast for Jack coming to mind. Even though Aaron wouldn’t be home for Christmas, you still wished to make this Christmas special for Jack, just as you had planned to with Aaron. After going through your email and having a cup of your favorite morning beverage, you head into the kitchen. A few minutes of looking and you find your recipe for gingerbread waffles, a favorite from your childhood, and start gathering the ingredients.
Fifteen minutes later and you have your first batch of waffles made, bacon sizzling in a pan on the stove, and orange juice in glasses on the table. Christmas music is playing softly in the background when a small voice has you whipping around.
Jack is standing in the middle of the kitchen, his hair standing up at different angles on his head, and one of his hands sleepily rubbing his eyes. “Good mornin’ mama.” Despite not being his birth mother, Jack had been calling you mama since you had moved in with him and Aaron, over a year ago now. And every time you heard it, you were still overcome by joy.
You pull the boy into your arms, giving him a tight hug and a kiss on the cheek. “Hi bud. How’d you sleep?”
“I slept good mama. What are you making?” He asks curiously, peering around you to look at the stove. 
You stand and briskly stride back to the stove to flip the bacon and check on the waffle you had cooking before you turn back to Jack. “Gingerbread waffles and bacon.” You answer, plating one of the waffles and some bacon before bringing it to the table. “Here buddy. Eat up.” You said, placing the plate next to the glass of orange juice. Jack bounces to the table, sitting down and quickly digging in.
---
After breakfast, and a few games of twenty questions, you decide to take Jack to the ice skating rink not too far from the apartment. The two of you bundle up and hail a cab to the rink. You spend the five minute ride to the ice plex with Jack in your arms as the two of you play a game of “I Spy.” 
The cab reaches the ice rink, and after paying the driver you and Jack venture inside. You let out a laugh as he exclaims in excitement at all the trophies, fancy ice skates, and photos of skaters in the lobby. You rent a pair of skates for the two of you, before leading jack out to the seating around the rink. It takes you a few minutes to get skates on, and to help Jack with his but a few short minutes later the two of you are out on the ice. 
It is apparent that you are out of practice and try as you might, you fall several times. Jack is actually skating better than you and soon he is ‘teaching you’. 
“Mama, make sure you aren’t leaning backwards. That might be why you’re falling.” The nine, almost ten, year-old’s advice was helping you to stay on your feet for longer than thirty seconds. You had even started to move cautiously along the edge of the rink, with Jack skating confidently in front of you. The two of you stay out on the ice until Jack tells you he is cold. Admittedly, you were starting to get cold yourself, but you didn’t want to end Jack’s fun early. 
After ice skating, the two of you go to Jack’s favorite pizza place, a little Italian place (the boy had developed sophisticated taste buds, thanks to a certain David Rossi), within walking distance from the apartment. The two of you have a lunch filled with cheesy pizza, endless breadsticks (which both you and Jack enjoyed thoroughly), and lots of laughs.
Then, upon returning to the apartment, the two of you cuddle up on the couch and watch Christmas classics. You share with Jack some of the movies you had grown up watching (Y/F/C/M and Y/F/C/M) and he shares some his favorites with you (The Grinch and Santa Buddies).Your movie marathon only stops when you whip up a quick dinner, which the two of you eat in about ten minutes at the table, and when you get up and pop some popcorn for one of the movies. Jack stays up way past his bedtime, but knowing that neither of you have to get up early the next morning has you being more lenient with his bedtime. 
The next day passes in much of the same fashion. You and Jack take a walk, intent on finding the best Christmas decorations within walking distance. Although you had found some pretty cool decorations, Jack definitely won when he spotted the house decked out with a 12 Days of Christmas theme. Then the two of you stopped for lunch at one of the sidewalk vendors, something that Aaron probably would frown upon. 
After lunch, you and Jack went to a Christmas pop-up village, where you watched the ‘elves’ wrap presents and people take pictures with Santa. The two of you ordered deluxe hot chocolates and sat on a bench, listening to a choir sing Christmas carols. Jack sang along to the ones he knew and he even convinced you to sing along with some too. 
You two return to the apartment in late afternoon, shortly after which, the two of you start making Christmas cookies. You roll out the dough, while Jack stamps the cookie cutters into it, creating a variety of Christmas themed cookies. As the several batches of cookies bake, Jack reads to you from the kitchen’s small island as you follow the recipe for a sugar cookie frosting. When the cookies, and the frosting, are finished, you and Jack set to decorating the cookies. 
Three hours and an order of takeout later, and you have four dozen frosted cookies scattered across the kitchen counter tops, three bags of mostly eaten takeout, two empty mugs, and one frosting and crumb covered boy fast asleep on the couch.
You can’t help but smile as you look at the plate of cookies Jack decorated, not for Santa, but for Aaron when he returned from the case he was working on.There were several Santas, a Rudolph reindeer, a present, and a Christmas tree. As you cover the plate in plastic wrap, you can’t help but think that you would give just about anything to talk to Aaron for a while. It had been two days since he had left the voicemail, and since then all you had gotten were a few short texts. 
“Case progressing. Miss you and Jack.”
“Finally developed a profile. Love you Y/N/N.”
“Thought we had an unsub, but looks like we were wrong.”
“I love you and Jack. Wish I could be holding you both in my arms.”
You heave out a sigh and get to work doing the dishes from dinner and your baking escapade with Jack. The dishes, and tidying up of the kitchen, takes far longer than you want and it’s close to ten before you are gently waking Jack from the couch. You tenderly guide him down the hallway, making a pit stop in the bathroom to help wash some of the frosting off of Jack’s hands and face. After Jack is frosting free, with freshly brushed teeth and clean pajamas, you get him settled in bed. You read him “‘Twas the Night Before Christmas” and listen to him sleepily tell you about the gifts he thought might be under the tree, after which you tuck him in and give him a kiss good night. 
You take your time getting ready for bed, wishing the entire time that you would be crawling into bed with Aaron, where you would spend the rest of the night in his arms. But, alas, you are greeted with a cold, empty bed, which you reluctantly climb into as you shoot Aaron a quick text, wishing him a happy Christmas Eve and adding a short ‘I love you.’ You try to read a few pages in your latest book, but your mind isn’t into it. Instead you stare at the softly blinking Christmas lights shining in from the hallway, through the small crack between the door and the door jam, letting the rhythmic changing of the lights lull you to sleep.
---
You wake up to what sounds like the heavy apartment door swinging shut and the floorboards creaking, followed by a low thud and a muttering voice, which you can’t quite make out. Your heart is thudding wildly in your chest as you anxiously climb from the bed and tiptoe to the door of the bedroom. You can’t see any figures in the hallway, so you creep across the hall, placing a hand on the doorknob to Jack’s bedroom and noiselessly start to turn it open. You are so focused on opening the door and getting to Jack that you don’t notice the figure coming down the hallway towards you. A soft hand on your shoulder has you whipping around, landing a heavy hit with the heel of your hand to the intruder’s face. 
“Son of a-” You immediately recognize the voice as Aaron’s, which makes you gasp in shock.
“Aaron. I didn’t know it was you. I’m so sorry.” You say, as you start to fuss over him. You try to guide him to the bathroom, in hopes that you might be able to help him there, but his hands stop you. 
“Y/N, I’ll be alright. All I need is you in my arms.” His words, albeit a bit slurred (probably from the present throbbing in his face) bring a warm, fuzzy feeling into your chest and a cheesy grin to your face. You start to move towards the bedroom, but he pulls you close, scooping you up and easily carrying you back to the bed. The heat created by his body only leaves for a moment as you watch him, in the dull light, strip off his suit jacket and tie, before returning to your side. He pulls you incredibly close, his face in the crook of your neck breathing you in.
You don’t say anything, rather you just take comfort in his presence as you play with the small hairs at the back of his neck. “Gosh, I missed you.” He whispers, pressing a kiss to your collarbone before looking up into your eyes. One of his hands comes to rest on your cheek, his thumb tracing soft circles on your cheekbone. 
“Merry Christmas Y/N.” He says, giving you another kiss, this time on the lips. His kiss is slow and tender, as if he wanted to savor the moment and make it last as long as possible. 
Once you pull back, and catch your breath, you whisper, “Merry Christmas Aaron.”
He smiles at you, pressing another, much shorter, kiss to your lips. “I think I’ll wait for later in the morning to let Jack know I’m home; let it be a Christmas surprise for him.” He says, tightening his hold on you.
You smile back at him. “I think that’s a wonderful idea. For now, let me just appreciate my Christmas surprise.”
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Three Strikes [you're out]
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It was his fault, really.
Wearing that jersey at Citi Field practically required Nina to hate the mass of muscle sitting in front of her on sight. Plus, he didn't know how to score a baseball game. So, honestly, it made sense. To hate him. Ardently, even. To push buttons, metaphorical or otherwise. A game within the game.
And, if, she found herself having fun, well, that was neither here nor there.
———
Rating: T, with sports and kissing because of who I am as a person Word Count: 9.1 K, also because of who I am as a person AN: I don’t know, guys. I got thoughts. I got feelings. The only way I know how deal with either of those things is to write about them with sports and kissing. Did I suggest that being a Mets fan was a bit like being Grisha? Perhaps! Perhaps, I did! If this is out of character just...don’t tell me.
Also on Ao3 if that’s how you roll
———
The suggestion that an idea was capable of boiling a person’s blood, even in the most abstract and metaphorical sense, had always appealed to Nina. Not in a particularly violent way, of course. More in regards to the visual. 
Conjured up all sorts of possibilities. 
Little bubbles beneath her skin, searing emotion through her veins that inevitably led to tufts of smoke pouring out of her ears. Like one of those old cartoon characters, she could now only dimly remember. In moments like this, especially. When she wasn’t quite boiling, but certainly racing toward the vast and admittedly surprising precipice of abject hatred. Directed almost solely toward the mass of muscle who dared to wear a Chase Utley jersey to Citi Field on a Thursday in May. 
He needed a haircut, she thought. 
The muscle. Not Chase Utley. She couldn’t possibly care less about the state of Chase Utley’s hair. Unless he was choking on it, somewhere. Obviously. Then Nina cared very much. About Chase Utley. And this guy. With too-long strands that she was starting to believe fell almost artfully across the back of a vaguely golden-skinned neck, as if they existed solely to torment her. 
On a Thursday in May. 
Sitting there, with a seat digging into the middle of her spine and her frustration threatening the enamel on the back of her teeth, Nina was loath to admit, even to herself, that she couldn’t stop staring at him. Partially because of the hair. Which looked very—pushable, really. As far as her finger’s potential went. But mostly because of everything else. Watching the muscle was a bit like watching a statue at the Met, waiting with bated breath for it to actually surge to life because when she was that same kid who watched cartoons on weekend mornings, she rather strongly believed that the statues at the Met were wholly capable of smiling and turning and living. Artwork prone to the mystical and potentially magical.
She blamed Ben Stiller for that, honestly. 
Amy Adams to a slightly lesser degree. 
Robin Williams would suffer no criticism in this argument, naturally. 
The muscle shifted. 
Twitched just a hint in his seat. Altered the angle of his, frankly, impressively wide shoulders. Rolled his neck between them. The seat was too small. He was too big. That jersey must have been ancient. 
And, really, when it came down to it, Nina hated him most for the pencil. Tucked behind his right ear, it looked comically small whenever he pulled it between his fingers, scratching across a legitimate scorebook because in the thirty-seven minutes or so she’d spent observing this fascinating specimen of humanity, she’d noticed it was, in fact, a scorebook. 
Not a piece of paper.
Not a printout. 
Not even the one she was only vaguely confident they handed out in the rotunda downstairs. 
An actual scorebook. 
That he brought with him to Citi Field. 
She glanced down to make sure she had not actually burst into literal flames in section 205. Row F. Seat 27. No such luck. Weird. 
The pencil was back in his hand. One leg crossed the other, leaving his knee propped in the air, and there was just so much of the muscle that it was a rather small miracle of an exceptionally narrow field of science that it didn’t collide with anyone around him. Instead, it provided a built-in desk, that stupid scorebook propped up against jean-covered skin and even more muscles, pushing against fabric like they were personally offended by the concept of the blue-colored prison. 
Nina bit her lip. 
Tried to keep breathing. Because fires required oxygen, and there could be no boiling without fire and—
“‘Scuse me, ‘scuse me, ‘scuse me, just trying to—” Blood flooded Nina’s mouth, making it impossible for her to open that same mouth and let out the laugh already pushing against her lips. There were at least four little wrinkles pinched across the small expanse of Jesper’s nose, two boxes of popcorn clutched in either one of his hands and a soda between the slight bend of his elbow. He tiptoed his way around disgruntled fans, glaring at a few red jerseys for good measure. As if he actually wanted to be there. Nina kept biting her lip. “Just trying to get back to my seat,” Jesper finished, “won’t bother you again, rest of the game, absolutely, one-hundred percent guaranteed.”
Nina’s lips tilted up. 
Scrambling to her feet, she couldn’t quite balance on the edge of the seat that immediately swung back up. Something sticky stuck to the bottom of her shoe and eventually, she would find herself wondering why she didn’t simply move into Jesper’s seat. For a myriad of reasons, she assumed. 
Some of which might have mystical and potentially. 
Goddamn, Ben Stiller. 
“Accommodating sort of group, isn’t it?” Jesper mumbled, pushing past her and Nina had to applaud his dexterity. Not a kernel lost in the battle. 
“Should have waited ‘til the middle of the inning. This is just bad form on your part.” “And miss all—” He waved an imperious hand toward the field. “What am I missing, exactly?”
Opening her mouth, Nina was certain she’d come up with a reasonable explanation for the romantic nature of baseball, only she was a little busy. Keeping her head connected to the rest of her body. 
Snapping to the left, her breath caught. In that dramatic sort of way that always seemed like the perfect soundtrack to any great sporting moment. Eyes wide and fingers digging into her palm, hope mixed with the bubbles and the boils, and she barely noticed the awkward angle of her bent knees. Or just how close she was to—
Him. 
The muscle. 
She heard his pencil drop, she swore. 
Oh, Gods, but he had blue eyes. Sharp and staring right at her, Nina resisted the very real urge to let herself melt right there. In section 205. Row F. Seat 27. Well, in front of seat 27, technically. 
Pulling her knee back did not do that same knee any favors, muscles almost audibly objecting to the force of Nina’s split-second reaction, but then she forgot about the pain and the concept of depth perception. The yell tore itself out of her lungs, found its way to the rest of the noise circling the stadium, wrapping its way around people until the hope of that one, singular moment settled on the tips of her eyelashes and the backs of her heels and she wasn’t sure if she heard him at first. 
No one should be capable of possessing a voice quite so gruff, that’s why.
“Not going to make it.”
Glaring at the monstrous mass of muscle and questionably good hair wasn’t so much as a decision as something far closer to instinct, pulling her brows together and letting her tongue push at the bottom of her teeth, and he—
Looked. Right at her. And her tongue. 
Shoulders tensing, a hint of nervous energy appeared in those same ridiculously blue eyes, gone almost before Nina had a chance to realize it was there at all and she didn’t see the play. Heard it, though. The groans and the grunts, complete despair, and the first shreds of desolation drowning out the hope and pulling it from a grip that was always a little tenuous. 
No home run. No hit. Just a run-of-the-mill fly ball in center field. 
One side of the muscle’s mouth tugged up. 
“Told you.” “Oh, fuck off.”
Surprise, she thought, was a very good look on him. Most of them would be, she imagined. But right then, on a Thursday in May, with two outs in the bottom of the fourth, Nina relished the surprise. 
And sat back down. 
To be a Mets fan, was to believe in the impossible. 
The amazing, even. 
It was right there in the slogans. The advertising campaigns. On a variety of shirts, both legitimate and those sold at the bottom of the 7-train stairs. To accept the amazing, to wish for it, even, was part and parcel of the history of an organization that relished its underdog status. Thrived in its role, the second team in a city that toed the line between excess and restraint. 
Winning with this team was unexpected and unpredictable. Came without much pomp. Certainly no circumstance. Only a few trades that drew national eyes and back page headlines. More often than not, this was a team that discovered amazing when it simply should not exist. 
Misfits who created something wonderful. Who sparked something among people who, at least for nine innings, believed orange was a worthwhile color to wear. Who smiled at a mascot with a massive baseball for a head. And his wife, who sported some rather impressive eyelashes, actually. 
To be a Mets fan, was to understand heartache. 
To accept being the butt of jokes across decades. 
Every year, the knowing smiles came. Paying goddamn Bobby Bonilla. Cracks about pyramid schemes and owners who couldn’t find their way out of a money-based paper bag, team antics that occasionally drew those headlines, and players who fell in wayward ditches on their farms, ending their season before it ever really began. 
Winning didn’t come often, but it was loud when it did. The crack of a bat and a ball finding the back of a glove, shoulders slamming into the left-field wall with its massive M&Ms ad. Feedback from a microphone as David Wright thanked the Seven Line Army, in all their orange-clad glory, memories of that near-perfect October and what could have been imprinting themselves across a generation. 
To be a Mets fan, was to live and die with each pitch. Each hit. To hold your breath and wait for magic that lingered beneath skin and forced its way into bloodstreams. 
To be a Mets fan, was to hate anyone wearing a Chase Utley jersey. 
“Stew, stew, stewing, a rather hearty beef stew.” Nina narrowed her eyes. “What are you talking about?” “You are stewing,” Jesper said pointedly, as if it was an obvious affliction and they both hadn’t casually descended into madness caused by extra innings. Putting a runner on second was supposed to help avoid all of this. Runs were meant to be scored in extra innings. Nothing had happened yet. “Any more and that little divot between your eyebrows is never going to disappear. Then what will we do?” Answering would only acknowledge that the divot was more like a rather obvious ravine now, and the little half-moon circles left by her nails were going to be permanently etched into Nina’s palm. 
He was still keeping score. 
How he hadn’t run out of columns in his scorebook was beyond her, but Nina figured if the muscle was someone willing to purchase a scorebook, he probably made sure it was one that also included, like, fifteen innings on each page. 
If they made it to the fifteenth inning, she would cry. 
It would be embarrassing. 
Jesper probably wouldn’t come back for the rest of the series. If she cried, that was. And she needed him to come back for the rest of the series. Sitting anywhere else wasn’t all that appealing, even if it might have been warmer up there now. 
She wrapped her arms around herself. Better to stew with, that way. 
“Do games normally last this long?”
Nina shook her head. 
Jesper groaned. Loudly, complete with his head thrown back for extra emphasis and even clearer frustration and she didn’t think she imagined the way the muscle tensed. Staring at him was becoming something of a pastime in the middle of a more acceptable one. Light didn’t quite reflect from the hair she was starting to become just a hint obsessed with, but it certainly appeared determined to try, and his ability to hold so much tension in the region directly surrounding his jaw would have been impressive in any other circumstance. 
As it was, Nina was a little concerned about the state of the muscle’s back molars. 
It was why she didn’t react as quickly as she should have. Or so she would argue for the rest of time. 
Once she got the popcorn off her feet. 
A waterfall of butter-coasted kernels landed on her shoes, a few bouncing as she did, thrust out of her seat like a canon. Whatever bit of her heart that existed solely to document the ebbs and flows of the New York Mets success flew into her throat, where it immediately took up residence directly in the middle. Wide eyes immediately started to water, which brought her straight back to the entirely metaphorical cliff of her potential embarrassment and the muscle was leaning forward. 
With his own brand of emotion. 
No obvious tension, just that steady sort of hope born among the din of baseball-type sounds and, even more importantly, baseball-type feelings and Nina was mumbling. 
“Turn ‘em, turn ‘em, turn ‘em, two, two, two, two, get the—” Suggesting she screamed made it seem as if she weren’t in complete control of her faculties. And despite the potential of extra innings insanity, Nina was just as lucid as ever and just as capable of throwing her hands in the air, while also screaming. 
Undeniably so. 
As soon as the ball jumped over the outstretched glove at short, Francisco Lindor’s lanky and overpaid body stretched out across the infield grass. Curses flowed from Nina’s mouth, some of them sharp enough to make even Jesper choke on whatever bits of oxygen he was able to gulp down, and she didn’t stop. Kept screaming and shouting, increasingly mobile hands and dexterous shoulders, miming her own throw home because whoever was playing left field was not moving quickly enough for her. 
He didn’t make the throw. 
Not in time, at least. 
Dirt flew into the air as a leg stretched over home plate and the umpire’s arms were nearly as impressive as Nina’s. Marking the runner safe and giving the Phillies their first and only lead of the night. 
Frustration mingled with out-of-place despair, far too early in the series and the season to be feeling quite as desolate as Nina suddenly was and, really, she wasn’t sure why she looked. Something about magnets, or simple curiosity, but her eyes drifted and her head tilted and she felt her jaw drop as his stupid, little pencil scratched out E6 in his scorebook. 
“What the hell, man?”
He didn’t turn. Figured. Screaming was becoming her base setting, so Nina wasn’t entirely surprised that the muscle didn’t acknowledge it, but then she was moving and leaning and tapping on a shoulder that somehow seemed sturdier when she had kneed it several innings earlier. 
“That’s not an error.” Moving in slow motion only made sense if the man was, in fact, a piece of marble. Strands of hair stuck to his forehead, acting as little paths toward his eyes and they were still blue. Good, that was good. Bad, that was bad. 
Jesper wasn’t even trying to contain his laughter. 
“Excuse me?” “Not an error,” Nina repeated, careful to pause between each word for emphasis. The muscle didn’t flinch. Stared at her incredulously, though. “Did you not see that hop?” “I saw your multi-million dollar man throw his arm out without much regard to actually making a routine play. Is that what you’re talking about?” “How is that possibly an error?” He lifted a shoulder. She was boiling over. “Should have made the play.” “It was impossible!" “C’mon now,” he chuckled, and the good fought with the bad. A symphony of contradictions blaring between Nina’s ears. Neither of which were steaming, it seemed. “Nothing is impossible in baseball.” “That was!” “Might need to come up with a better argument.” “Home scorer is not going to give Francisco an error on that. He had to dive!” “Maybe he should have been in better position, to begin with.” “The shift was on.” “Well, the shift is ruining baseball, so—” Nina gagged. Let her tongue push between rows of teeth that she couldn’t believe were going to survive the rest of the night if the acid churning in her esophagus was any indication. He looked. Again. Whatever heat lapping at the base of her spine was only marginally distracting. “A baseball purist cannot possibly wear the jersey you are wearing.” “I wasn’t aware of the rules, but, please, go on.” “Fuck. Off.” “Getting less and less creative.” His eyes hadn’t moved. As if he was documenting each twitch of her lips for his own personal posterity. Nina found she didn’t mind the idea as much as she should. 
Jesper was going to crack a rib. 
“Chase Utley is an asshole who doesn’t know how to slide.” “Ok.” “An asshole!” “I heard you the first time,” he said, losing the war with his lips. Curled up, they cut across the serious mask his face had become in the world’s least serious conversation. It was nice that Jesper ended up crying before Nina, honestly. “And he wasn’t a Phil when he hurt your guy, so I don’t think that should count at all.” Nina did not know what noise she made. Wasn’t human. Hurt a little. “Did you just call him a Phil?” “Guys,” Jesper mumbled, but she couldn’t be bothered with something as menial as the bottom of the inning when the muscle in front of her kept doing that thing with his eyes and his hair and—
Reaching out, she managed to bypass his rather impressive reaction time, grabbing the pencil before he could stop her and the crack of it between her fingers was as loud as any grand slam this slightly ugly ballpark had ever witnessed. 
Not that Nina would ever admit she thought Citi Field was slightly to moderately ugly. 
It was the color scheme. Way too much green involved. 
She gave herself exactly seven seconds to relish the look of pure amazement on the muscle’s face. 
“Use a pen,” Nina sneered, “at least stand by your scoring convictions.” “Chase Utley is going to be in the Hall of Fame.” “As a Phil?” “World Series champion.”
His ability to emphasize words with meaningful pauses was far better than Nina’s. “It wasn’t an error.” “You’re paying that guy more than anyone in the world deserves to get paid, if he’s going to lay out for a liner, then he should be able to make the play, don’t you think?” Nina bit her lip. Boiled. Stewed. 
Ah, damn. 
Her silence was an answer in the middle of a sea made up of equally disheartened fans. Who all suddenly remembered how terrible they looked in orange. Always worse after a loss. 
The muscle nodded. Once. Exhaled. Through his nose. As if he’d won, and not just his team, and Nina didn’t offer to replace his pencil. 
On a Friday night in May, Nina genuinely believed that he wouldn’t come back. Hoped for it, even. And something else almost akin to the exact opposite. 
Both were very strange feelings to feel contained in one human, body. Draped, even as it was, in blue and orange and New York City’s less famous pinstripes. With PIAZZA splashed across her back, Nina felt as if she were obligated to sit a little straighter. As if slumping in her seat — by herself tonight because Genya was not at all interested in sitting in the stands and Zoya would have laughed at the suggestion, and Jesper had to get back to the Crow Club — would somehow tarnish the reputation of a name that didn’t belong to her. 
Didn’t it, though? Just a little. Wasn’t that how sports worked? Throwing yourself into the camaraderie with both feet and occasionally flailing arms, willing to sit in an uncomfortable seat that she’d have to mention to Nikolai at some point because these were starting to feel a bit like torture devices masquerading as plastic, and a piece of paper floated onto her lap. 
He’d folded the piece of paper. 
The muscle. Not Nikolai. Who was sitting in the owner’s box, in fact. Nina assumed those seats weren’t rising up in revolt against him. 
The muscle wasn’t wearing a jersey this time. A cup of what smelled like over-brewed coffee, though, was held tightly in his left hand, while the right clutched his scorebook as if it were made of gold. Nina’s tongue swiped her teeth. 
He watched. 
Documented. 
Kept track. 
“What the hell is this?” “Is that your favorite curse, you think?” “Why are you throwing paper airplanes at me?” Lifting shoulders appeared to be his default form of response. “Felt just quirky enough not to be overtly threatening.” “Because of the guns generally associated with fighter planes?” “What do you know about fighter planes?” Rolling her whole head did not get her a smile. Or even a hint of such a thing. It did get him a few grumblings of frustration from those whose view he was blocking. Because there was so goddamn much of him. Imposing, that was the word for it. Taking up space and settling into the seat with a near amazing amount of grace, practically folding in on himself, like he was made of smooth lines and crisp edges, capable of soaring through air in a way that belied that flimsy nature of paper airplanes, and there was that word again. 
“Always liked the ones that had painted teeth on them,” Nina said, somehow fully prepared for the huff of laughter that fell out of him. He pulled a pen out of his jacket pocket. 
To hand to her. 
“You would.” “What is that supposed to mean, exactly?” “It means,” he said, nodding at the pen when she kept gaping at it, “that in my limited experience with you, Ms. Met—”
“Thought we covered lack of creativity last night.” He ignored her. Eventually, it might be a good idea to learn his name. Where that might also be the worst idea in the history of the world. Maybe Nikolai could track him down. Like through ticket sales, or something. That seemed like a breach of power, though. 
“You do have a rather impressive set of teeth on you, yourself.” “Oh, that’s an insult.” “Should unfold the paper airplane.” Most of her wanted to crumple up the piece of the paper, toss it back in his face and then possibly stab him with his own pen. But Nina also didn’t know the muscle’s name, and cold-blooded murder on a Friday night in May required a certain sense of personalization that they hadn’t quite reached yet. So, there was no crumpling. Her fingers didn’t shake. Her heartbeat held steady in her chest. 
Unfolding the paper with his eyes on her, Nina did hold her breath. For eight straight seconds, approximately. Until it all rushed out of her, entirely amazed and perpetually annoyed because the paper airplane left creases between the boxes of what was very clearly her own personal scoresheet. 
With provided pen.
“This is a trick.” “That not being a question gives me pause,” he said, but it sounded like an admission. One tinged with regret. Presumably for Chase Utley’s tendency to be a complete and utter asshole. Prone to injuring Mets’ middle infielders. 
“Is it not?” He shook his head. And the pen in his hand. “Get to stand by the convictions of your scoring actions.” “Errors occur only on routine plays.” “Yuh-huh.” “You’re here by yourself.” “Also not a question.”
“Or an answer,” Nina pointed out.
“Where’d your friend go?” “What do you put in your coffee?” “Nothing,” he answered, “seriously, where’s the friend?” Something lingered on the edge of the question. Something Nina didn’t want to notice, but couldn’t possibly ignore. Not when it came with concave shoulders, curling toward her like they were preparing themselves to block wind and glares in equal measure. The second of which was really a more pressing problem at the moment.
“Had to work.” “As a stand-up comedian?” “Hardy har har,” Nina grumbled. Leaning back against the force of his ensuing smile was as natural as wearing a Mike Piazza jersey and searching for the prize at the bottom of a Cracker Jack box. What she was less prepared for was the ability of that same smile to twist its way between her ribs, lighting another new and imaginary fire and if her mouth dried just a bit, then that was neither here nor there.
Between her and the baseball gods, fickle as they were. 
“You don’t put anything in your coffee?” He shook his head. “Sugar makes me nauseous.” “God, what a depressing way to live life.” “Eh, there are things that make up for it.” “Chase Utley?” “I think you might be obsessed,” he said, dropping into his seat so as to avoid being pelted with cheese fries from Shake Shack. The guy three seats away looked real serious. “Going to write him a letter asking for a game of catch?” “You’re making pop culture references.” “Not a question, either.” “No, a stunned statement of fact.” She wanted that laugh on loop. Wanted it to play as the soundtrack for the rest of the night and the rest of the series and quite possibly the rest of her life, lingering softly in the background of everything she did for the rest of forever. 
Matching in perfect rhythm to the predisposed nature of her blood to boil. 
“Where are all your friends, then?” Nina asked, almost desperate to change the direction of the conversation and her internal dialogue. The blue evolved. Right there in his eyes. Darkened until it looked like the sky before a storm and that was ten-thousand times worse than any other drivel she’d come up with so far. 
Licking her lips was idiotic. Naturally, that’s what she did. 
“Not here,” he replied, “but I know the hitting coach.” Strictly speaking, that should not have been quite as awe-inducing as it was. Nina hadn’t paid for her tickets, after all. Had no intention of paying for tickets ever again, if she was being honest. So, really, seeing how caution swept the muscle’s face was kind of a dick move. 
On her part, specifically. 
“Should I be impressed?” Shoulder lift, right on cue. “I knew him in college. Was, uh—” “—Wait, did you play baseball?” Color didn’t rise on his cheeks. Not in any romantic way. Nothing about it was swepping, which was good because the Phillies had won the night before, meaning any sweeping would also guarantee Mets losses. It arrived in splotches. Bits of pink and nearly-red, tiny pinpricks of unregulated emotion that immediately affected the ability of Nina’s pulse to stay even. 
She grinned. 
Wide and honest, ignoring the strands of hair that fell in her eyes when she let her head fall. 
He didn’t look away. 
She’d think that was important, later. 
“You contain multitudes, Muscle.” “Insulting,” he grumbled. “Quite possibly the tallest man I’ve ever encountered in the flesh.” “That can’t possibly be true.” “You don’t look like a baseball player.” Back to the correct shade of blue. Just for a moment. Disappearing in the haze of a 90 mile per hour fastball. Right up the middle. But Nina had always been fairly good at tracking pitches, and she might not have been a former baseball player, but picking out the slider amongst a never-ending stream of heaters was like her personal superpower. 
“So I’ve heard.” “From scouts?” “Sometimes, yeah.”
“Of the professional variety?” “Every now and then.”
Letting out a low whistle, Nina’s spine relaxed. Tension that had taken root between her shoulder blades loosened, watching the face in front of her and the mask it was so obviously clinging to. Kept slipping, though. While staring directly at her. 
It was, she would argue, why she did what she did. Without mumbling. 
“You wanna sit?” “With you?” “Rude. You threw paper at me.” “It was a well-constructed airplane,” the muscle argued, “so you could also score the game. This was a nice thing I was doing.” “Past tense.” “Am doing,” he corrected. “Currently.”
“That mean you're going to sit?”
She counted. Seconds. Moments. Breaths. Dug her teeth into her lower lip. Against the side of her tongue. He nodded. 
And climbed over the seat. 
So, that was only going to marginally mess with her brain. 
“Alright then,” Nina said, doing her best to flatten her paper against the bend of her knee, “tell me everything about your baseball tale of woe.”
He didn’t. 
At least not at first. 
It took until the fourth inning for them to begrudgingly agree that mowing patterns in the outfield was an abstract art form that did not often get the credit it deserved, before deciding, in no uncertain terms, that the NL East boasted some of the better uniform options in all baseball, even if that was mostly because of the Marlins and—
His hand moved to his shoulder. 
The right one. More than once. Gently massaged the muscle there, a slight grimace that Nina only noticed because she was sitting squarely in the middle of objectification and she didn’t even know his name. Yet, she reminded herself. 
They’d get there. 
They didn’t. Not in that game, anyway. 
A Saturday afternoon in May didn’t present the same sort of chill that required scalding hot coffee with absolutely nothing else in it, but Nina was playing with hope and resting on her not-so-cautious expectations. Seeing how wide his eyes could get was extra. 
Sugar on top, if you will. 
They got very wide. Frozen, even. Stuck halfway down the row, still no jersey, just his dropped jaw and slumped, possibly injured shoulders, ignoring the jabs from nearby season ticket holders who were starting to believe this mountain of muscle existed solely to block their sight lines. 
Nina figured that’s what it was, at least. 
He smiled. 
That smile. Her smile. When she’d begun to claim it, she couldn’t begin to pinpoint, but it might have been six and two-thirds innings into last night’s game when his left arm had bumped her right, just enough warmth wafting off him to be noticeable. To leave goosebumps in his awake, too. 
“There’s no sugar in it,” she promised, “so you don’t have to worry for the state of your stomach.” “I didn’t once think you were trying to poison me.” “High praise.” “Deservedly so.” She flushed. Ducked her eyes. Tried not to chew her tongue in half, or allow the burning-hot blood racing through every single one of her extremities to burst its way out of her skin. That would be off-putting. And traumatic. 
“Here,” he added, tugging another folded piece of paper out of his back pocket, “for you.” “Are you printing these off in the hotel?” “Should be a private investigator, Ms. Met.” “Did your coach make you stay in Queens, Muscle?” The hand that landed on her waist — to move her, just to move her — was warm and blistering and those were two very different words with a pair of very different meanings and even more jarring consequences, and he sat down next to her. 
Huh. 
Huh. 
“Been taking the train in from Grand Central.” “Ugh, he’s making you stay over there? There’s no good food in that part of the city.” “Quiet, though.” Sticking her tongue out when she gagged continued to be one of Nina’s less impressive traits. “I blew my shoulder out my junior year of college.”
One of Nina’s knees buckled. Only one. The right one, actually. She refused to believe that was a sign. From baseball gods, or otherwise. “Hitting?” “Throwing. Probably because of the hitting, but the blowing out actually happened on what was considered by most in the know to be a pretty routine throw from left field. Hurt like hell.” “Yeah, I bet.” “I don’t remember a ton of what happened right after. Might have yelled? Quite possibly blacked out. Definitely heard something snap, which admittedly terrified me, but then there were a bunch of people talking and walking me down the tunnel and more lights and tests. The phrase never the same again was thrown around with alarming regularity.”
Cold. Nina was cold. Freezing beneath a mid-afternoon sun, one of those May days that tease of summer yet to come. They smell like cotton candy and potential, of a distinct lack of responsibility and SPF 70. 
She had sensitive skin. 
“Were you by yourself?” Asking questions she somehow already knew the answer to was equal parts cruel and unusual, particularly when asking it of a man whose name never got to back pages. Or her ears, it seemed. She swallowed whatever was sitting in the back of her mouth. 
“Brum was there,” he said, but it sounded like an excuse. A practiced line that had started to reek of insincerity. “My—well, my parents had been gone for a while. Same old sob story you always hear, y’know? Kid loses everything, finds salvation in the dogma of sports, gets pretty good at it, and then—” “—Loses it all again?” Nina finished. She thought she did. Whoever was talking didn’t sound like Nina. Sounded like someone who had painstakingly refolded her paper airplane the night before. To keep on the nightstand next to her bed. 
“Some of it, yeah. They wanted me to stick around. Stay on staff. Coach. But that was—” He clicked his tongue. Distant eyes stared past that goddamn M&Ms ad, and Nina didn’t think. Wasn’t that how the best athletes were, though? All instinct and lightning-fast reaction times. Responding to a situation before the rest of us mere mortals could even begin to fathom the circumstance. 
He didn’t push her hand off his. 
The coffee was going to go cold. 
“Very maudlin way of approaching things.” She chuckled. Tried not to cry, for entirely new reasons. “Impressive vocabulary for a jock.” “Keep workshop'ing your insults, Ms. Met.”
“Brum, he just got hired by the Phillies, right?” She knew that answer too. “Is this the first game you’ve been to?” His eyes slid to hers. In that same slow motion as before, and that couldn’t possibly have been less than seventy-two hours ago, but life had a tendency to be weird like that and good like that and, well, you can’t predict baseball, Suzyn.  
“Why the Mets?” It wasn’t the question she expected. Felt far too big and more than a little terrifying, jumping into the deep end of the pool from the highest diving board. But that same pool was always crystal clear, the sort of blue they wrote songs about. Summertime and the living was easy. That sort of thing. 
“Because there’s something wonderful in a team that defies every bit of sports conjecture. That breathes in the chaos and spits out something that, every now and then, is absolutely beautiful. That lets me be bigger than myself for nine innings and a minimum of one-hundred and sixty-two games. That takes all my shortcomings and accepts them because one time this team claimed there was a raccoon fighting with a rat in the dugout tunnel. Because they don’t play The Imperial March during lineup announcements.” Something, something—she needed better sunscreen. 
So as to not get burned by the force of his sun-like smile. 
“I think a raccoon could probably take a rat, don’t you think?” “I don’t know,” Nina wavered, “I own a fair amount of Staten Island Pizza Rat merch.” His hand flipped. Fingers curled around hers and held on with an ease that settled her acid and cooled her blood, finally finding that middle ground between frigid and fission. 
“Explain the single seating.” “I had a friend here on Thursday.” “And he had to go back to work. Where does he work?” “Bar in Jersey.” Curiosity flashed in the blue, but then it was gone and Nina must have imagined it, looking for more common ground and mutual understanding. Her fingers looked minuscule between his. 
“If I told you that I know the new owner of the Mets,” Nina started, “because I went to college with his girlfriend, and he’s been listening to me talk about this team for the better part of a decade now, so he decided to spend some of his inherited millions to buy it, and now that same girlfriend is sitting up there perpetually confused why I like to be out here, do you think you’d hate me on principle?” One blink. Two. Head tilt. Jaw clench. His lips popped when they opened. 
“No.” “No?” “No,” he echoed, “Nikolai Lantsov shouldn’t have spent so much money on your shortstop’s contract.” “Wasn’t an error.” Both shoulders lifted.
“Nina Zenik,” she said, a tardy greeting that should have happened well before the hand holding. The hand holding continued. 
“Matthias Helvar.” “Did you bring a pen?” He pulled another one out of his jacket pocket. 
They disagreed on no less than half a dozen calls. Impressive, since they didn’t actually start paying attention to their separate score sheets and books until early in the third inning after Nina had barely cleared the cheese sauce off the corner of her page. 
Introducing themselves made it feel as if they’d crested another level in whatever the proper term for this not-quite relationship was. 
Jabs weren’t nearly as sharp, but elbows brushed and noses scrunched. Makeshift disdain blurred against subtle infatuation, sunshine in his hair and pressing against the barrier of Nina’s consistently reapplied sunscreen. They talked. Laughed. Shouted and screamed, standing at different times. Much to the chagrin of everyone around them. 
She didn’t bother asking about the Chase Utley jersey. Knew that it was as much a part of Matthias’s fandom as the Piazza jersey was to hers. Connecting him to something that was only partially his, because no matter how much this sport might be capable of sweeping over them, of bringing them along with the current, there was a riptide always threatening just below the surface. Capable of drowning and filling lungs, leaving them both taking on water and hastily constructed metaphors. 
Plus, they both hated the Yankees. So, they talked about that. 
Talked about places in the city they liked to go, Nina’s knowledge of hole-in-the-wall restaurants leaving his eyes as wide as she’d hoped they could be, tiny pools she was more than willing to dive into. With perfect form. 
Laughter became the new normal for the pair of them, chancing glances when they thought the other wasn’t looking. They always were. As if those magnets were real and forceful, leaving them both grinning like idiots whenever they were caught in the act. 
Once an inning, then. 
Matthias didn’t sing during the seventh-inning stretch, but Nina was loud enough for the pair of them. Especially when she was standing on her seat, a hand flat on the small of her back. 
“So you don’t fall,” Matthias explained, and the words immediately branded themselves on that corner of her brain where Nina kept good things. 
They shared a plastic helmet of swirl ice cream. With rainbow sprinkles. 
He called them jimmies. 
She made fun of him. 
And then—
It was over. 
No drama. No walk-off hits. No extra innings. Just a Mets win that didn’t require the bottom of the ninth. And she was happy with that, she was. Less so with the way her stomach dropped as soon as her knees bent and her chin lifted, barely tempered hope and the sort of want that did not require magnets to direct her gaze. 
Matthias loomed above her, casting shadows and the desire to finally push her fingers into his hair was nearly too much to ignore. Nina did. In favor of what came next because she knew what came next, and this was not that serious. Sitting on opposing lines of a flimsy at best baseball rivalry did not mean she couldn’t push up on her toes and catch the mouth of someone who no longer felt like a stranger. Until that same mouth inevitably opened and she got to do whatever she wanted with her tongue. 
Only—
One of the season tickets started grumbling, and the sea of fans pushed forward and the only way Nina stayed upright was because of the arm around her waist. Matthias’s nose ticked her skin along the back of her neck. 
“Told ya,” he mumbled, and if he saw the goosebumps, he didn’t mention them. 
That was nice. 
He was nice. 
She was—
A mess, at best. 
Mostly because there was no kissing. Almost like they were nervous of what would happen if they did. Of shattering this tremulous understanding and shaky alliance, but Matthias’s fingers squeezed Nina’s hip before he said, “See you tomorrow.”
She did not see him tomorrow. 
When tomorrow was tonight and now and Zoya and Genya kept doing circles around the room. 
Sunday Night Baseball on ESPN required a certain amount of protocol and it was the first broadcast with Nikolai in the owner’s box, which meant plenty of shots at the owner’s box, and Nina sat in her very plush, decidedly warm seat, with only minimal argument. 
There was champagne, so. That helped. 
Plus, she figured she’d— “Is it a guy?” Genya asked without preamble, propping her chin on her hand. “Is that why you don’t want to hang out?” Nina sighed. “You know me better than that.” “Sure, sure, sure, looked real cozy down there, though.” “Are you spying on me?” “Nah, Zoya was.” Frustration clawed at Nina’s consciousness. Surprise did not. This was par for the course and several other out-of-place sports cliches. 
Zoya finished her drink before adding, “I didn’t leave this suite all afternoon, yesterday, the security guards that Nikolai knows in that section though…” “That’s splitting hairs,” Nina argued. “And they were just doing their job,” Nikolai added, shouting in a way a multi-millionaire absolutely should not. Zoya rolled her eyes. 
“Whatever they were doing,” Nina said, “they didn’t need to be doing it. What if someone got robbed while they were watching me?” “You think people are getting robbed in broad daylight inside this stadium?” “Maybe!” “Were lots of Phillies fans here,” Genya pointed out. Laughter clung to her words, quiet snickers from the rest of the assorted peanut gallery. Before they noticed that Nina wasn’t lacking. Might have paled, if the matching expressions she was met with were any indication. “Oh,” Genya exhaled, “good looking Phillies fan, huh?” Nina grit her teeth. “He knows Brum.” “The bastard,” Nikolai sneered. 
“Most people don’t like him.” “Because he’s a bastard, yeah.” “How’d the Phillies fan know Brum?” Zoya asked, and it wasn’t like Nina wanted to tell them. Words poured out of her all the same, excitement carving its way into the conversation because even if she could rationalize the lack of kissing after a three-day conversation and occasional argument, none of her friends could understand how she didn’t get his number. 
Neither could she, quite frankly. 
“This is either disgustingly romantic,” Nikolai said, “or it’s exceedingly dumb. Of both of you.” Genya clicked her tongue. In agreement, Nina figured. “Second one, for sure. Do we have to go arrest him for something? Bring him up here, nervous and scared—” “Same sentiment,” Nina mumbled. “—Only for him to see you, awash in a sea of moonlight and outfield lights, and then you live happily ever after despite your baseball allegiances?” “He hates the Yankees too.” “Something, at least,” Zoya said, but it was missing the edge. The acid. The anger Nina had almost prepared herself for. “You going to go down there, or….”
Finishing the sentence was pointless when Nina was already standing, Nikolai’s laugh ringing in her ears as she did her best to push her finger straight through the elevator button. She bobbed on the balls of her feet, impatience skittering up her spine and there were too many buttons and too much laughter, but that was likely a good thing, and the security guards didn’t stop her. 
From running into the section. 
Only to find two sets of empty seats. His and hers. A weird, depressing, matching set. 
Nina waited. Stood at the top of the section stairs, waiting for a flash of familiar hair or those eyes that she probably hadn’t dreamed about the night before. Never came. The goosebumps did, for an entirely new and even more depressing reason. 
The security guard asked her to leave. Twenty-eight minutes after the last out. 
Matthias hadn’t been at the game. 
To be a Mets fan, was to wait. 
For wins. For David Wright’s body to heal. For that same rush that came in 2015, only this time, it also came up with a World Series championship attached to it. 
Nina wasn’t very good at waiting. 
Summer crept forward. As it was apt to do. Going back to the ballpark was second nature to Nina, but the Mets were on their West Coast swing, and spending a week and a half with Zoya and Genya touring the greater California coast wasn’t entirely appealing. So, she was in New Jersey. 
Leaning against the bar of the Crow Club, Nina watched the crowd. Most of them saturated with fruity alcohol, drinks that never came with those little umbrellas because the thought of such a thing would have set Kaz’s teeth on edge, but this was Atlantic City and that required a certain level of nonsense to be met consistently. 
Plus, Nina knew Inej liked those drinks. 
And that was that, for Kaz. As they say. 
Heads turned at tables while she watched, conversations that only occasionally acknowledged the baseball games on TVs hanging above them, others recounting beach exploits from that afternoon and plans for the rest of the evening, a steady din of noise and humanity that somehow made it easier for Nina to breathe. 
It smelled like salt when she did. 
“Looking awfully thoughtful,” Inej said, appearing out of nowhere to grin knowingly at Nina. “Give you a nickel for them.” “They’re not worth that much.” “What about one of those tokens from the casino down the boardwalk?” “Does Kaz know Jesper went to play there again?” “Absolutely.” “And?” “And what?” Inej parroted. “Who are you looking for, exactly?” “No one.” It was the wrong answer. A telling answer. An answer Nina didn’t realize she was capable of providing until the very moment those five letters in that specific order passed between lips in desperate need of ChapStick. And kissing. Gods, she couldn’t believe she hadn’t kissed him. 
“Our dear, darling Nina is pining,” Jesper explained. Drink in hand, the soft clink of casino tokens was as absurd as it was not, a mix of youth and age and responsibility and not. The perfect blend of summertime status. 
Nina took a sip of his drink before he could offer. She assumed he would offer. 
“For that,” Jesper hissed, “I’ll tell Inej the rest of the story.” He did. Spared no expense, really. Recounted scorebooks and shouting matches, although some dramatic license was taken at that point, drawing a small crowd that included a guy Nina had never met before, staring openly at Jesper like he’d hung the moon. She’d make fun of him for that. Maybe. After the story. Probably. 
Inej was a rapt audience, taking in details and occasionally letting her eyes flit toward Nina. Who never once disputed anything. There was nothing to dispute. The goddamn paper airplane was still sitting on her goddamn nightstand. 
“And you just never saw him again?” Inej asked. Nina shook her head. “That’s tragic. Not—maybe not grand scheme, world level, but tragic all the same.” “No kissing either,” Jesper added. 
Nina’s heart dropped. Shattered at her feet. Like one of those plates, you could shoot at in the arcade. “How do you know that?” “I didn’t, until right now. Simple assumption, though. Who could pine at your level if there’d been previous making out?” “Two different things,” Inej murmured. 
Jesper hummed in agreement. “And Nina wanted both. Fraternizing with the enemy.” “He hated the Yankees, too.” “So, what? The enemy of my enemy is my friend? My good-looking friend?” “He was good-looking, right?” That earned her another hum — and got Jesper a look of passing consternation from the guy at his side. Nina desperately needed to learn names in a more timely fashion. Determined to remedy at least one situation, she took a deep breath and immediately, very nearly died. 
It was very dramatic. 
Sweeping, even. 
Because the door opened and she knew the music didn’t stop and the Earth didn’t pause mid-rotation, but it felt like her center of balance had been inextricably altered and that wasn’t the bad thing it should have been when Matthias Helvar took his first step into the Crow Club. 
Not falling over really was a rather monumental miracle. 
If she decided to move, Nina did not remember it. Could not bother with something as menial as cognitive reasoning or the ability of the neurons in her brain to properly fire, not when she was twisting around tables and reminding herself of all the very important properties oxygen possessed. In regard to continued consciousness. 
He didn’t move. He waited. Watched. Documented her, it felt like. 
She wasn’t entirely opposed. 
Their shoes nearly brushed. 
“Huh,” Matthias breathed, slumping slightly to get into her eye line. Or just closer to her. The specifics didn’t matter. “I was right, then.” “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” “You said your friend worked at a bar in Jersey.” “This is a bar in Jersey.” “Yeah, we might be going in circles, actually.” “What are you doing here?” Nina was dimly aware of Jesper shouting something, but the buzz between her ears was far too loud and even the concept of pulling her gaze away from Matthias’s made her want to grit her teeth together until she ground them down completely. 
She licked her lips. 
He smiled. “After I got hurt,” Matthias explained, “I didn’t know what way was up. So, I went...up. Best as I could, really, up the Shore.” “Is that a joke?” “No, I thought your friend looked familiar. Was driving me nuts, honestly.” “How?” “Twenty questions, Ms. Met.” “Matthias!”
Her voice cracked. Her foot stomped. Air crackled and the world very likely did shift because the hands on Nina’s cheeks were warm and perfectly sized to pull her that much closer and she was legitimately proud of herself. For not stepping on his feet. He didn’t really give her the chance. 
Rocking against each other, there was a joke about tides and current to be made and Nina pushed them back, down or up, and direction didn’t matter and time didn’t matter. Sports allegiance was the least of her worries. Not when Matthias’s arm found her waist and there was something to be said for the stretch of his upper body. Capable, as it was, of lifting her up and he was ten-thousand times better at any tongue thing than she could have possibly imagined. 
Tracing her lips and twisting around her own, like he was taking a very personal and detailed inventory. One of his thumbs brushed against Nina’s cheeks, but she honestly couldn’t figure out which one. Everything was sensation and feeling, a bases-clearing double that kept the rally alive and the roar in the background wasn’t the crowd at Citi Field, but Inej perched on the edge of the bar and Jesper balanced on the rungs of a rickety stool, and they only broke apart to fall back together. 
Nina closed her eyes. 
Better to remember, that way. 
To let her breath catch whenever Matthias’s neck dipped again, the sort of angle that sonnets were written for, and epic romances documented. Right side up and cross dimensions and Nina’s eyelashes fluttered. Open, closed. Once, twice. 
He was still there. 
“You go down the Shore, everybody knows that,” Nina whispered, still somehow sounding like herself. Good, that was good. And only good, that time. 
“I think you’re getting paid by the disagreement.” “I liked shouting your name.” His eyes—
Sparkled, maybe. 
She didn’t even hate herself for thinking that. 
“Probably about as much as I enjoyed hearing it,” Matthias said, “and I’ve been here before. Spent that summer drinking at,” his head jerked toward the corner where Inej waved, “that corner. This was as far away from school and baseball and everything I thought was gone as I could find.” “Ah, the scorebook makes sense now.” “Does it just?” “You know baseball isn’t often predictable nor nearly that organized. That’s the appeal, so people claim.” “They do,” Matthias admitted, “but I—is that demon-looking guy still working here?” “Kaz owns this bar.” “Of course he does. You know everyone, don’t you Ms. Met?” “Impressive like that.” Humming wasn’t really her favorite of the audible, non-word responses, but Nina heard something different in that sound than she ever had before. Almost like hope and something worth waiting for, if only because the waiting found her first. 
She kissed the bottom of his chin. 
It was all she could reach. 
“I really wanted you to be here, Nina,” Matthias said, “and I’m sorry I wasn’t there Sunday. For that game, I—that wasn’t part of the plan, but...well, Brum had set up this whole interview with a college team in the middle of nowhere, thinking I’d be good with that and—” “You weren’t good with that?” His hair shook when his head did. “Not really, no.” “Did he kick you out of your hotel?”
“Smart too.” “Total package.” “Yeah,” Matthias said, a note of awe that made Nina’s skin prickle, “anyway, I’m pretty much in New York full-time now, but trying to find you there seemed impossible.” “So you figured you’d try a bar in the middle of Atlantic City?” “I leave a very strong impression,” Jesper yelled, practically jumping off the stool when Kaz glared. Inej’s smile was hypnotic. 
“Something like that,” Matthias agreed, “so this is the part where we actually give each other our phone numbers and then—” His arm tightened again, finding a bit of space that certainly hadn’t been there twelve seconds before. Just enough to make sure Nina heard him mumble I like you before he kissed her. Or she kissed him. 
Either or, really. 
They went to Yankee Stadium on Labor Day weekend. 
Nikolai pulled some strings to get them suite seats with complimentary well drinks and never-ending popcorn and both Matthias and Nina wore wholly out of place jerseys. Supporting neither of the teams on the field. Just each other, maybe. At least without much argument. They had better things to do, anyway. Fingers laced together, Nina shouted at the field and Matthias stared at anyone who dared glance in their direction and it was weird and wonderful and exactly what sports was supposed to be. 
Caring about something beyond reason, something bigger and better than any one person was alone. 
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tessa1972 · 3 years
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A tiny miniature of "The new guy". Dedicated to my beloved friend @tarasylnin-lavellan ❤
Out of the blue 
Well, it was not really planned to spend much time outside Tilani Ranch. They could eat comfortably at home, Maria cooked excellently and Dorian and David would have liked to cook together to show their gratitude to the hostess. 
But Mae was a Dallas personality, a lady of the world, she loved fancy restaurants and talking to people of all stripes. 
David had been able to meet Mae at Abacus back then, it was a revelation for him: the lady, the ambience, the food. Pure madness for a country bumpkin like Trevelyan!
Professor Tilani knew every corner of the city, every museum, every restaurant, every location. She knew where to go to be seen and also where to go almost incognito.
"He is excited. Will be fine." Mae patted Dorian's hand. He sat opposite her and kept glancing towards the toilets. 
"We have so much to talk about, Dorian. I miss you here! I miss musing with you and going out to dinner so much. Weren't the old days wonderful?" Maevaris' smile was divine, Dorian melted away and good memories poured down on him like warm summer rain. 
Before he could say anything back, someone suddenly addressed him.
"Dorian Pavus? Dorian, is that you?"
The striking and beautiful female voice snapped Dorian out of his thoughts.
"Pavus?" Thundered loudly after him. 
Dorian knew that voice too, after all.
Lord in heaven - it was Bull and Tarasyl'nin! 
To elaborate in detail: It was Tarasyl'nin WITH Bull!
As if shot out of a cannon, Dorian jumped up from his chair and turned in the direction of the voices. 
Tara ran up to him and grabbed his face with both hands. She kissed him on the lips, nothing and no one could have stopped her. Then they both embraced and held each other tightly without another word. 
Ifan stood a little distance away and remained rooted to the spot with his mouth open. Maevaris looked first at the giant with the eye patch, then at the couple who were still holding each other tightly. She began to grin.
A few moments later, Tarasyl'nin and Ifan sat down at Maevaris' and Dorian's table. They immediately started chatting.
"Bubbles, how are you doing? You look great!" Tara's eyes lit up like the purest crystals.
Bull was still in some sort of shock, but before Dorian could reply, the man with the eye patch said, "Bubbles? THAT'S Bubbles?? Wait! What?"
"Long story, we'll find time for it later. So, meeting you and Maevaris here is pure madness! I'm so happy, Bubbles!" The elf-like beauty moved closer to Pavus until their shoulders touched.
"I have to wash the sweat off my forehead first, excuse me." Chow stood up and walked towards the restrooms.
A few moments later, Bull stood in front of the fancy mirror of the posh restaurant's washstand and looked at his face. 
Bubbles was Pavus - how crazy was that!
Suddenly the door to one of the booths behind him opened and a medium-sized guy in a dapper suit came out. 
"Now somebody fry me a stork! Jesus, Trevelyan, YOU? HERE?? The world's a bloody small place!!!" Bubbled out the giant who couldn't believe his own eyes and the reflection in the mirror in front of him. He whirled around.
"Bull?" The man behind him took two steps back and now stood with his back to the cabin door. His eyes were bulging wide and he swallowed hard. 
"Gotcha! Dave, old nose, what are you doing here? Isn't this place a bit too ... freaky for you and Kai? Where is he then? Heyyyyy.... Wait a minute, now don't tell me... you've made out in the toilets?" Ifan's look was a mixture of curiosity, amazement and respect.
David just cleared his throat and shook his head. Slowly he walked in Bull's direction and stood next to him and began to wash his hands.
"Yo, dude! Believe it or not, Dorian and Maevaris are here too! I mean Bubbles and Mae of course! How funny and surreal is this show going to get!" Chow laughed and slapped David on the back. 
"Bubbles? Why are you calling him Bubbles?" Trevelyan didn't understand anything anymore. 
"I'm sleeping with the woman who wanted to marry him then - wink wink." 
"I'm on the edge of my seat, I'm going to puke again." And Trevelyan's face went horribly white.
Bull grabbed his colleague by the arm and led him to the exit of the gents.
They went out and stopped in front of the door. There was a kind of curtain wall there to visually separate the toilets from the restaurant proper. From there they could both see directly to Dorian's and Professor Tilani's table without being immediately spotted themselves.
Deputy Chow whispered, "Just look! The woman next to Pavus is my Penina! A beauty and my lifesaver and Dorian's best friend from childhood and...."
David could no longer concentrate on his colleague's words. 
He saw these three beautiful people sitting there at the table. The atmosphere in the restaurant was so classy and chic, the clothes of the three people were as if they matched each other, they were talking, they were giggling, the gorgeous woman with the dark hair was snuggling very close to Bubbles as if they were siblings and Mae was confidently patting the delicate and big hand of the man David would have died for with a smile on his lips. 
Everything was so coherent, everything was perfect. Dorian seemed so free and happy here with his friends. 
Trevelyan's heart warmed, but then he realised that he would never be like those people over there. He could never offer Dorian this life here.
"With Chow, then. He's a good man, hardworking and conscientious and remarkably tall and also a bit scary and okay okay... admittedly very attractive." Dorian's voice was pure velvet, he spoke softly and level-headedly, yet also with such a radiant smile that it was pure joy just to listen to him. 
"A tangled and long story, wild and a little crazy - you know me, Bubbles." The woman next to Pavus had such an engaging charm that Dorian could not take his eyes off her. 
Maevaris looked at them both sympathetically and listened to their conversation. But then her gaze wandered over to the toilets. For a moment she felt as if she had seen two men glancing surreptitiously around the little wall, but perhaps she had been mistaken and somehow she did not really miss Trevelyan and the giant. 
"You two were such a cute couple even then - the dynamic duo, yes, a dream team you were... hahaha." The blonde laughed and Tara and Dorian joined in the giggling.
"Hey, where are you going, bonehead? Wrong way! Aren't you going to say hello to Shadow, D.P. and the Prof? And I'll knock you off your socks if you don't tell my Penina at least one of your best jokes!" Bull said cheerfully as he held David by the arm. 
"I need to get some air!" David tore himself away and ran off.
"But you forgot Kai! While no one knows where, but ... Jesus, Dave!" Only now did Ifan rein in his voice. He cleared his throat, shook himself for a moment and then walked quickly towards the table of his acquaintances. 
"Sorry, but here I am again. Shadow, we should get back to our table now too." Said Chow conspicuously gallantly.
"Oh, come on, join us for a minute. The chair is free, isn't it?" Tarasyl'nin asked.
"No, it isn't." Answered Dorian and looked towards the toilets again.
"Dorian, you won't believe who I just met? Guess what, you won't guess!" Bull's grin was wide and confident.
"Trevelyan, right? And where is he now?" Pavus asked as if in passing. 
"Well, this is just the bad luck of having cops as friends, they just guess everything, spoilsports! Hahaha... and to answer your question, he ran outside." Deputy Chow laughed and shook his head. 
"Go sit in my seat, Chow! Be right back!" And Dorian jumped up and ran out of the posh shed at a fast pace.
The tip of the cigarette glowed softly, fine swirls of smoke rising into the cool air of the evening. David looked at the glow stick and sniffed. He closed his eyes. 
"Here you are! Are you still feeling sick, David?" 
That voice, David got goosebumps. 
Dorian ran to his beloved and leaned next to him against the wall. They were in the car park of the restaurant, it was large and surrounded by high hedges and walls, only the barrier offered a little insight to the noble cars waiting there for their owners. 
"I'm going to get a taxi or we'll be blown, Bull is already looking for Kai." Trevelyan spoke softly, sadness in his voice. 
"Nonsense! You have to meet Stormy!" 
"You can invite me to your wedding!"
"Are you offended, David? What's wrong?" Pavus became concerned and reached for David's hand. 
"I'm sorry, I'm just not feeling well. I want you to have a good time. I'm spoiling everything. Your girlfriend is so beautiful, all your friends are adorable." The deputy sighed. 
"You're right, I like to surround myself with beautiful and magnificent people. Don't mind if they are smart too. David, I've never had many friends, I'm grateful for each one and their longstanding loyalty. People may call me self-centred, selfish and bizarre, but friendship means a lot to me."
Dorian was still holding David's left hand. 
"I like having you as a friend, Dori, and I hope you know how much our friendship means to me." Spoke Trevelyan, raising his arm and kissing the back of Dorian's hand. 
"Then come with me, buddy! You must meet my Stormy now!" 
Pavus ran off, simply dragging his colleague by the hand behind him. 
Arriving at the restaurant, David released himself from the coroner's grip. They walked one after the other to their table where their friends were talking cheerfully. 
"You found Dave, good, but where is Kai now?" Chow asked, still wondering. 
"David's not here with Kai, he..."
"Dorian, please..." Trevelyan interrupted him. 
"Ssssh, David is here in Dallas with me, Ifan." Said Pavus calmly with a pinch of pride in his voice. 
"Is he sick?" Ifan didn't understand anything anymore. 
"Sick? Why sick? Do you have to be sick to be with me?" Dorian put his hands on his hips. 
Tara and Mae followed the confused conversation in silence and wonder. 
David stood behind Dorian and blushed.
"Together? Huh?" Bull's questioning expression showed his absolute confusion at best. 
Suddenly, service staff from the restaurant approached.
"Excuse me, but is there any problem, Professor Tilani?" Asked a young man in livery.
"Everything is fine, thank you. The reunion of old friends, you understand." Mae's enchanting smile put the staff at ease and they moved away. 
"You know what, my dears? We'll eat first and then meet you at the ranch. How about you two? Are you free for brunch tomorrow morning?" 
... and who could resist Maevaris Tilani's invitations ....
▪︎▪︎▪︎
"You've been silent for most of the evening, David. Is everything alright?" Dorian asked when they arrived in their room.
"Yes, everything is fine. I just feel sick, everything will be better tomorrow. Don't worry about it darling." David smiled but his eyes didn't show the happy cheeky flash that Dorian liked about him.
"Maybe you really do need to see a doctor!"
"I'm certainly not wasting a single second of our holiday together on a visit to the doctor, forget it! I'll be fine soon!" Assured the deputy. 
Dorian shrugged his shoulders and began to undress himself. 
"Tarasyl'nin is so beautiful. You must tell me more about her. I remember you telling little stories here and there from childhood and there was a Stormy in it. Now I can finally picture who she is. So gorgeous! You... you love her very much, right?" David's voice was so deep and full, Dorian listened to the singsong of it and thought of Tarasyl'nin and the good times. 
Pavus was in thoughts and so he did not answer. And Trevelyan did not ask further, he was glad that his beloved was happy, that was all that mattered to him.
(OC Tarasyl'nin by @tarasylnin-lavellan , OC Kai by @darth-salem-emperor-of-earth )
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lov3nerdstuff · 4 years
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Voluptas Noctis Aeternae {Part 3.4}
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*Severus Snape x OC*
Summary: It is the year 1983 when the ordinary life of Robin Mitchell takes a drastic turn: she is accepted into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Despite the struggles of being a muggle-born in Slytherin, she soon discovers her passion for Potions, and even manages the impossible: gaining the favor of Severus Snape. Throughout the years, Robin finds that the not quite so ordinary Potions Professor goes from being a brooding stranger to being more than she had ever deemed possible. An ally, a mentor, a friend... and eventually, the person she loves the most. Through adventure, prophecies and the little struggles of daily life in a castle full of mysteries, Robin chooses a path for herself, an unlikely friendship blossoms into something more, and two people abandoned by the world can finally find a home.
General warnings: professor x student (however no underage romance), blood, violence, trauma, neglectful families, bullying, cursing
Words: 3.6k
Read Part 1.1 here! All Parts can be found on the Masterlist!
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Hogsmeade was quite as underwhelming as Robin had anticipated, but she found that she enjoyed it nonetheless. High street was crowded with students of all ages, as well as with adults of all ages, which overall was something Robin didn't enjoy. However the shops and taverns looked rather appealing in their particular aesthetic, and she made sure to actually take the time to visit some of them the next time she came here. Today however, she was on a mission.
Finding the way Professor Snape had described was easier than expected, and Robin had to snort at the sheer understatement of him saying students rarely came this way… Everything that lay off high street was practically void of any life in general! Deserted so much that she felt comfortable immediately. No people was better than too many people.
The walk to the shop wasn't actually all that long long, but then again, it was a really small village in general, so this was not at all surprising. Soon, Robin stood in front of the black building with the gold inscription and gave it a lookover. The place seemed dubious, gloomy and just so incredibly low profile that it must undoubtedly be important. Just the place she would expect nobody but Snape to know about. Now… she only needed to gather up the courage to go in. With a deep breath, Robin built up her walls to force all anxiety and doubt out of her mind. If there had ever been a time to allow herself to be bold, it was now. Bold, and stoic, and serious… sound familiar much? Robin rolled her eyes at herself, and opened the door.
"Scurry off, kid… This isn't a place for the innocent." A scratchy male voice greeted Robin the very moment she set foot into the shop.
"If you talk to all customers like that, I'm not surprised that I'm the only one in here. And the first in just how long…? Going by the dust on the shelves and the look on your face, I'd say it's been a while." She shot right back, a perfect copy of calm indifference on her face, even though her heart beat like crazy. No place for the innocent indeed.
The man's eyebrows lifted higher than Robin thought possible, and he let out a small laugh in accordance with his astonished expression. "Fast mouth for such a little thing… Say, how old are you anyway?"
Robin completely ignored the question and simply looked at the man for a moment, making it clear that she wasn't here to chat. Then she went straight to the core of her presence. "I need a variety of ingredients for a potion and I was told I could get them here."
The man lifted an eyebrow at Robin again, but his superior smirk vanished to make room for a neutral expression. Good, maybe he would actually start taking her seriously now. "You want to talk business, alright… Who told you that you could find what you need here, with me?"
"Does it matter?"
"Yes! It matters because I haven't made my mind up if I'm gonna screw you over or not, and your affiliations could play an important part in that decision."
"Who says I can be screwed over in the first place?" Honestly, Robin didn't know why she didn't just tell the man that Snape had sent her. It would likely make things way easier for her to just rely on the professor's reputation. But then again, exactly that was the issue: Robin wanted to be taken seriously for her own sake. And she would never achieve that if she placed herself in Snape's shadow now. Then she'd never be more than the little errand girl.
"You'd be surprised who I've already conned… Wizards far more experienced, and witches far greater than you." The man chuckled. "But I like you, kid. No funny business. What do you need?"
Tersely, Robin read the list of ingredients to him and he moved through the room behind the counter to gather up the various things in return. A minute later, he placed what she'd asked for on the counter. Almost what she'd asked for.
"This isn't Abraxan hair. But you surely knew that already, seeing as you tried selling it to me. It's probably Granian, isn't it?" Robin commented with an (admittedly feigned) unimpressed expression. "I'll grant it to you, they're very similar, but not enough to fool me. You see, while Granian is originally grey in color, it can bleach out enough to turn white naturally. That however, even in the best cases, leaves it with just a hint of an undertone of a different color. Abraxan hair on the other hand is purely white by nature, and thus void of every and any undertone. Looking at this, there's definitely more grey than white in it, wouldn't you say?"
Now the man's jaw dropped in anything BUT amusement, and he looked as incredulous as any person probably could. Surely he hadn't seen that coming… but Robin for her part merely kept looking at him in perfect neutrality. After half a minute of dead silence, he finally spoke up with the first honest expression he had worn since Robin had entered the shop. "Who the hell are you?"
"Someone you don't want to screw over no matter who I'm affiliated with. Now, would you be so kind and bring me the correct ingredients?"
"As you wish." He replied immediately, finally void of all humor and joke, and went back to the shelves to bring out what looked like the same seven ingredients already present on the counter. Those ones he merely swiped out of the way, and placed the new items down with much more care than the first time. "Is this everything you need?"
Robin let her eyes travel over the ingredients slowly, considering and foremost conscious of the fact that she was being watched. The Abraxan hair now looked like what Robin assumed it was supposed to… and that was about everything she could tell. Honestly, to her, all of the other ingredients looked exactly the same as before. She had absolutely no knowledge about any of these items, leave alone any clue to identify if they were what they were supposed to be. It had merely been her dumb luck yet again that she had recently read an article about freaking Abraxan hair and it's astonishing similarities to Granian hair, and even more dumb luck that she had been right in calling him out. Dumb luck was rarely deserved… But she would still take as much of it as she could, as it obviously had just sufficed to make this man believe that she knew more than she actually did.
With her neutral facade still running smoothly, she looked back up at him behind the counter. "Yes, this will be everything. For now."
"You're freaking me out, Miss, but I do respect your knowledge. Not many people would've known the difference between those hairs, and I least expected it from s-..." He stopped mid-sentence as he noticed Robin's glare, then a muscle in his jaw ticked and he avoided her eyes in fairly obvious discomfort. "...from someone like you. This will be sixty five galleons."
"For account of Severus Snape."
"Bloody hell…" The man groaned and hid his face in his hands. "You're with him?!"
"Do you have a problem with that?" Robin rose her eyebrows in question and stared him down again, which clearly seemed to make him even more uncomfortable. On the inside, Robin's pride did a happy dance… she really was doing Snape justice here.
"Let's say I have a lot of respect for that man… But you're no better than him, looking like you can kill with your glares…" He made a face that was almost the opposite of the mocking distaste he'd shown her when she'd entered the shop. "Just take your stuff and go, will ya?"
With a small, innocent smile Robin packed the ingredients into her backpack and then looked back at the man once more while she made for the exit. "Thank you for your assistance. Have a nice day." Without waiting for a reply, she opened the door and let herself out into the street at last.
She managed to keep her neutral facade up until she took the first turn back towards high street. Then the grin on her face widened until it was simply unstoppable, and she had to walk up and down the alley a few times to calm down her racing heart and her lasting excitement. Bloody hell, that had been both absolutely exhilarating and absolutely frightening all at once. Robin couldn't believe that she had actually managed to be intimidating all on her own, and that she'd been taken seriously because of that. No wonder Snape preferred everyone to be intimidated by him… it surely was a good way to get respect.
Finally her heartbeat slowed down, and Robin made her way back to high street with a small smile. If she wasn't mistaken, there was a candy shop here in Hogsmeade… and Snape would surely still be stuck with David until dinner. Maybe it wouldn't hurt to visit that shop before heading back to the castle… maybe it wouldn't hurt to do something normal for once.
… … …
It was late afternoon when Robin left Hogsmeade to head back to the castle, not long after her quick visit to the candy shop had come to a rather sudden end when she had felt absolutely overwhelmed by a horde of people storming the shop, which then had resulted in Robin's immediate departure. Unfortunately, this was exactly the time when most other students decided to return to the school as well, which left Robin stuck in an entire throng of people on their slow trod back to Hogwarts.
"Didn't expect to see you here, jay, out of all people…" A boy one year above Robin spoke up as he fell into line with her. She didn't know him, not really… she only knew that he was one of the Slytherins who took particular joy in bullying her for some reason. She had never cared enough to find out more about him than that though.
"But then again, David did say something like that." He mused, shrugging, then skipped a step ahead and walked backwards as he looked at Robin. "He also said something about you getting him into trouble with Professor Snape, do you happen to know anything about that?"
Robin continued to ignore him, and simply looked at a point far behind his shoulder as she walked on. This kid was friends with David? And David had spilled the tea on the events of last night? Great… that certainly didn't make it easier to ignore his mocking. Robin would just have to stay neutral and ignore this incident, same as always. But obviously the boy wouldn't have that, and neither would his friends who Robin only noticed closing in as they had formed a loose circle around her already. Oh geez, she really wasn't in the mood to deal with these idiots right now… today had already been exhausting enough as it is.
"David said you would be running some errands for Snape today… Is that what you were doing in Hogsmeade?" He frowned at Robin with a mean grin. "You're such a teacher's pet, you know that jay?"
"If that's what it takes to talk to someone other than you idiots for a while, then yes, I'm indeed a teacher's pet. Happily." She replied at last, refusing to let that be used as an insult against her. Getting along with her professors was a good thing, getting along with Snape was great, even, and nobody could convince her otherwise.
"So what is it that you did for him in town? Got him some new torture device? Or poisoned a few people?" The boy mocked, and his friends proved themselves to be loyal peasants as they laughed about his every joke. Again, Robin decided to say nothing. Even if that wouldn't stop them from being jerks, it at least wouldn't make her one of them. Insults never led anywhere other than to more insults, and Robin could very well refrain from getting involved in it. That however was until their strategy changed from insults to actions. "Why don't we take a look into that backpack of yours, huh? See what you hide in there…"
In an instant, the boys beset her and the bag was ripped from her shoulders while they held her arms at her sides with two boys each. Alright, neutrality went a long way with Robin, but this was a step too far. In a natural response of fight or flight, she chose to fight indeed and moved to free her arms, actually succeeding in that, before she lunged at the boy in front of her. Nope, she wouldn't let this vile creature touch any of her belongings.
The boy barely escaped Robin as she jumped at him, but before she could make any attempt to either go at him again or draw her wand, he dashed off together with his friends, Robin's bag still in his hands. In an instant she was after them, not even caring if she had to push people out of the way or go at a full sprint over uneven ground to catch up with them. She would get that bag back, no matter what. This was the third time today she was forcefully reminded that she was only a student, one who didn't fit into her house, one who couldn't escape the cage she had been put into, one who couldn't even prevent getting involved in the childish behavior and shenanigans of her peers. However this time, for once, she had no other choice but to get her hands dirty as well.
… … …
It was over an hour later when Robin made it back into the castle, her bag clutched tightly in her blood and mud covered hands. Hopefully nobody would see her like this. Hopefully she could sneak past everyone despite the stupid limp caused by a twisted ankle. Hopefully… this day would just be over soon. Every step felt like a knife to the core, every inch of her skin burnt like it was clawed open and dipped in salt, and every muscle felt like it was ripped apart anew with each movement. Put shortly, Robin was in quite a bit of pain, but she refused to allow herself to cry over it, to even be bothered by it at all. She wouldn't give them that last pleasure, not even in their absence. She refused to acknowledge that their sheer idiocy had resulted in her getting hurt, even if it hadn't been their intention. There was only a certain capacity for emotions Robin could endure every day, and today she had long run out.
Once she caught sight of herself in the glass of a cabinet, she still had to close her eyes for a moment to force away the anger, and the embarrassment. Honestly, she could be partaking in a contest for the best zombie costume… only that the blood and cuts covering her skin were her own, and the dark bruise forming on her cheekbone was only one of the many that remained hidden under her clothes. However she still considered herself lucky as she made her way to the dungeons, entirely unseen and soon swallowed by darkness. She had gotten her backpack back, and it was still as good as it had been this morning, with its entire contents merely a little shaken up from the run but otherwise in perfectly ordinary condition. The same thing really couldn't be said about her own self, but quite frankly Robin worried more about her possessions than about her body. Bodies healed, objects didn't. Especially not rare potions ingredients that weren't even her possession in the first place.
Robin's feet carried her to the door of the potions classroom without detours, but before she opened the door she took a moment to remind herself of what she would likely find behind this door. The reason for her catastrophical evening going down like it had in the first place, and thus the (even if indirect) reason for the agonizing pain she was in. David. Truth be told, Robin felt very tempted to burst into the room at once and torture that boy without even having to voice a single spell and before he even realized that she was there. But that revenge would be short lived, unproductive and highly inappropriate, even if probably very satisfying for a very short moment. This was the same situation she'd been confronted with in her first year with Alexander, only on a different scale… and she wouldn't make the same mistake twice. She'd try to be better this time.
After taking a deep and thereby slightly painful breath, Robin opened the door and walked into the room with as little limping as she could. Slowly and forcefully calmly she walked towards the front of the classroom where Professor Snape hadn't even bothered looking up from the book on his desk. Perhaps he was so focused on whatever he was reading that he hadn't noticed Robin's fairly silent entry… He didn't look like he was deliberately ignoring her, at least.
On her way to the front, Robin focused her entire attention on Snape, thus on her own part deliberately ignoring David and two other students who were sitting at their own desks and probably writing up some assignments. They, however, didn't ignore her.
"Bloody hell, what happened to you?!" David of course was the first to blurt out the obvious, though in a tone so entirely amused that Robin felt tempted to reconsider her decision on torturing him. "Looks like you've finally fallen out of your ivory tower, huh?"
That at last got Snape's attention, and his eyes lifted off the book in lightning speed to find David across the room, however his gaze came to a sudden halt on Robin instead. The sheer amount of barely noticeable microexpressions flashing over his face right then would have sufficed to keep Robin thinking for an hour at the least, but she wasn't granted that time before he was back to neutrality and addressing her in the gravest of tones. "What happened?"
"I would rather tell you about that without… the additional ears, sir." Robin brought out in a quiet and calm voice that however was just a bit too breathy to not give away how she truly felt. In pain, but also surprisingly numb. Looks like she really had run out of any emotional capacity for the day.
Snape's eyes moved from Robin to the clock on the wall, then to the three other students sitting in the room, and finally back to Robin. "Detention will be over when dinner starts, in approximately forty minutes. If you have no other obligations, you should wait for me in my laboratory."
The laboratory? Goodness, Robin wouldn't be able to decline that no matter how much pain she was in. "Thank you, sir, I will do just that."
"You know how to enter." He merely replied with another of those pointed looks and finally turned his eyes back down to his book.
Robin could tell that he wasn't reading though. The muscles in his jaw were clenching, even if only subtly, and he looked way too tense to be focusing on anything but the room around him. Yet, she understood that this wasn't the place for further conversation, as of her own request, and thus she made her way back to the door with quick steps that hurt more than could be healthy. Three pairs of eyes followed Robin as she grabbed the doorframe too tightly to replace a pained hiss, opened the door abruptly and almost fell into the hallway before slamming it shut again. So much for being subtle.
The walk was luckily short and dark, and Robin found that she could enter the lab with the same spell as the classrooms indeed, but this time she made the effort to lock the door behind herself with the corresponding spell for once. Only then she felt like she could finally loosen the grasp on her bag, could finally allow herself to hurt, could take a true breath at last. The small space really had a calming effect on her, even now. She didn't bother lighting up the candles before she dropped her bag in a corner and sat down on the floor with her back against the side of one of the shelves. Having the wood pressing her jumper against her sore skin wasn't the most pleasant feeling, but sitting at last was enough of a relief to still allow a deep relaxation to wash over her nonetheless. Now that the adrenaline was slowly wearing off and the necessity to protect herself was withdrawing in her head, she felt surprisingly dizzy as she stared out of the window into the last bits of dark grey sky that were slowly taken over by blackness. Before she knew it, the blackness had swallowed her as well.
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ineloqueent · 4 years
Text
Starstruck: Part 5
Brian May x Fem!Reader
This is Part 5 of a multi-part fic. Click the links below to read the Masterpost, the previous part, or the next part of the fic :)
Masterpost / Part 4 / Part 6
Summary: When studying at Imperial College in the 1970s, your path is crossed by a beautiful boy as much in love with the stars as you.  
Warnings: swearing
Historical Inaccuracies:
I have no idea whether Deacy and/or anyone else of the Queen entourage ever frequented or even visited The Speakeasy Club (also known as the Speak) in Oxford Circus, but the place was popular amongst the likes of David Bowie and Jimi Hendrix. The history of the place is incredibly fascinating, though, so let me know if you’d like some resources to learn more about it!!
Word Count: 3k
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⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓・*˚⁺
Despite the fact that the universe seemed rather intent on having you and Brian repeatedly encounter one another in random places, you didn’t see him again until the arranged Thursday.
You found yourself missing talking of stars and actually having someone understand what it was you were saying, and you missed silly banter.
You were not the only one missing a curly-haired astrophysics major, however, because Freddie, John, and Roger embodied being only three-quarters-full without Brian. There was no one to mother them, no one to shout the loudest in the apparently frequent arguments of the Queen family, no one to tease for an absurd attachment to a red guitar.
The week and four days about to pass would seem to you a very vast expanse of time to be without someone, especially when that someone had been a regular presence in your life for the past three days.
But for now, only a week and two days had passed. Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday, Monday again; it was now Tuesday night once more.
“He’s gone for a week and the world stops turning,” sighed Roger, tapping a sparkly-shoe adorned foot to the corner of the carpet beneath Deacy and Veronica’s dining table.
“A week and two days,” you corrected Roger.
“Hm, you’re starting to sound rather in love with him, darling,” Freddie clucked his tongue at Roger, who scowled.
“Yes, do be quiet, Roger,” John put in. “I can hardly think here, and writing songs is difficult enough for me as it is.” He scratched at his head with the tip of his pen.
“Yes, if ‘Misfire’ was any indication,” grumbled Roger.
“Roger!” you and Freddie cried in unison. Deacy just looked affronted.
“You know how sensitive he is about his song writing,” Freddie berated Roger.
You were sitting next to Deacy, across from the other two, and wrapped him in a hug. You could see that he’d already gotten over Roger’s remark, because while it had held a grain of truth concerning Deacy’s lack of confidence, it had not held any real malice. You hugged John all the same, and he cuddled you back, pouting in Roger’s direction. Deacy was simply precious by nature, so no one could resist babying him just a little. But Roger was in a bad mood. For the time being, it appeared he had taken up Brian’s torch.
“We could easily have made room for another song on the album if we hadn’t had to have that on there,” Roger said.
Freddie immediately cuffed him on the back of the head. “Roger, really, enough!”
“Hey!” Roger batted at Freddie and a small cat fight ensued.
You patted John’s soft head of hair. “How are you today?” you asked him, as though Roger and Freddie were not tooth and claw before you.
Deacy smiled. “Quite alright, you know, quite alright. How are you, Y/N, dear?”
You sighed. “Forever tired and worrying about things I shouldn’t, but holding up well nonetheless.”
Deacy chuckled. “Worry-wart,” he jabbed your side and you finally jerked away from him.
“Oi!”
“At least you forgot your worries, just then,” he said.
“Fair enough,” you acquiesced.
“NOT MY HAIR!” Roger vaulted up from his chair and it fell to the ground with a clatter. “Not my hair,” he repeated more quietly, and pointing at Freddie warningly, he seemed rather unhinged.
Freddie leaned back in his own chair and folded his arms, languid as one of his cats. “I didn’t touch your peroxide-green hair, dearie.”
“You tried to,” Roger bit out. “And it’s not green.”
“Not today.”
“Freddie, I swear I’m going to maul you—”
“Okay!” Deacy stood up, raising his hands in the pursuit of peace. “Since Brian’s not here, I’m going to have to be the responsible one. Even though you’re both other than me and I should not be parenting you,” he rolled his eyes.
Freddie and Roger remained unmoving.
“I think we’ve all been cooped up in here for too long, too many rounds of Death Scrabble and whatnot, so I suggest we get out. Maybe do something fun.”
You nodded in agreement with Deacy. “What a good idea. What do you suggest?”
Roger whistled through his teeth. “Not a good idea, Y/N. Never ask what he suggests.”
“Says the bloke who’s lost each and every girlfriend because he talked too much about cars,” you said, and Roger made a face in your direction.  
“I was thinking,” Deacy began.
“Here we go,” said Roger.
“Shut up and sit down,” Freddie pulled Roger down to sit on his knee. Roger stuck his tongue out at Freddie, but shared his chair all the same.
“I was thinking disco!”
“Strangle me with my own jacket,” Roger muttered.
Freddie sniffed, “So long as you don’t try to sell my jacket again.”
“Disco,” you said thoughtfully. “What’s so bad about disco?”
“Nothing at all. Excellent pastime,” Deacy responded.
“Everything,” said Roger at the same time. “Have you ever gone to a disco, Y/N?”
“No,” you replied slowly.
Roger threw up his hands. “There’s the sense.”
Deacy looked at you in something like concern. “We’re five years into this decade and you’ve never been to a disco, Y/N?”
“And you shouldn’t go to one either,” said Roger. Deacy raised an eyebrow at him.
You decided to consult Freddie. “What’s your opinion, Fred?”
Freddie shrugged. “Deacy’s a precious darling whom I love and who could do no wrong.”
Roger faced you with his hands on his hips. “Brian doesn’t like disco.”
You felt laughter bubble up in your throat. “We’re not the same person, Rog.”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
“Where the hell is he, anyway?” you asked the three of them. “I can’t believe he’s called just the once, and only to assure you that he wasn’t dead in a ditch somewhere.”
None of them had any answers. The last you’d seen of Bri was over a week ago, and the last you’d heard of him was when he’d called Freddie over the weekend to apologise for his absence from Queen’s most recent rehearsal.
“At least we know as much,” Freddie sighed.
“Would it have killed him to give me a call?” you said, running your fingers through your hair and feeling generally restless.
“Maybe he tried,” Roger hypothesised. “Maybe that’s why he’s not here now.”
“What?”
“It literally killed him to call you,” Roger sniggered, and Freddie cackled.
“Okay, and now I am going to literally kill both of you,” you stood up.
Poor Deacy was looking quite overwhelmed at this point. In John’s eyes, you might as well have covered your face in warpaint and charged at Freddie and Roger.
“Disco time!” he said, putting a hand on your arm.
You turned to Deacy. “Now?”
“Now.”
“But surely she can’t go dressed like this?” Freddie gestured to your well-worn corduroys and button-up shirt.
“No, Cinderella cannot,” said Deacy. “But I’ll give Veronica a call. She should be going home in just a bit, so she can play fairy-godmother to her.”
“Let’s stop talking about me in third-person,” you said, then stood up. “I’m going to get a glass of water. Anyone else want anything?” You knew your friends’ houses as well as you knew your own, so the offer came naturally.
You received ‘no’s and ‘no thank you’s in response, so you went for your glass of water while the other three remained at the table, staring at a full Scrabble board.
“Freddie,” you heard Roger say through gritted teeth, “I thought you said I was Cinderella.”
⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓・*˚⁺
Ronnie came home on time, as her husband had said she would, and was dragging with her a stubborn-looking Heather. The two of them worked part time at the same corner cafe, and so when Deacy had called the cafe’s phone to see if Ronnie would be finished soon, Ronnie had taken initiative and invited Heather with her.
“She didn’t like it when I said disco,” Ronnie whispered the word as though it were taboo. Sure enough, Heather groaned.
“That’s my girl!” cried Roger, happy to have someone to complain to about the night’s turn of events.
Heather waggled her fingers at you in greeting, then flung her arms around Roger. “Hello babe,” she said, and kissed him.
John reached for Veronica, so Freddie grabbed your arm.
“Quick,” he said, “while they’re distracted, let’s raid Ronnie’s wardrobe!”
You giggled together like school girls and snuck up the stairs before Deacy or Ronnie could stop you.
In the upstairs bedroom, Freddie flung open the wardrobe with all the flair and drama of a film noir actor.
“Ah, what’ve we got…” He began rifling through the contents of the wardrobe. You watched over his shoulder.
“Where’s Mary, anyway?” you asked him conversationally, leaning against a bedpost. But at the mention of Mary, Freddie went rigid. “Freddie? Is everything okay?”
Just then, Veronica entered the room.
Freddie glanced at Ronnie, then smiled at you, albeit uneasily. “Everything’s just rosy,” he said. “Now, I’ll let you two ladies decide the outfit, so long as I get to do the make up, yes?”
He slipped out of the room without waiting for an answer, in an unusual hurry.
You and Veronica exchanged a glance.
“Odd,” she said.
“I’ll talk to him later.”
“Or else I’ll get John to. Freddie, like most people, can’t resist my husband’s charms,” Veronica winked at you. “Now, what can we get you, from my admittedly humbly-sized selection…”
⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓・*˚⁺
Half an hour later, having taken the tube to Oxford Circus, the six of you stepped into the bright lights of The Speakeasy Club.
Before you went inside, you glanced up at the sky, because you had remembered that there was a full moon tonight. You spotted the moon easily, dazzlingly bright in her ephemerally whole beauty, round as infinity and promising more.
Heather had to tug you away. You could’ve stood on by the kerbside forever, entranced by the world above you.
John led you all down the stairs of 48 Margaret Street and into its basement, where the club was situated. Despite its modest location, music pounded heavily from the Speak, and everything was awash with light, light in every colour imaginable.
Everyone inside of the club was as colourful as the lights, the hues of skin and hair and lips and eyes dying away to be replaced with rainbows and sparkles.
Deacy turned around, and in spite of his reputation for being often smiley, you’d never seen him beam like this before.
He spread his hands, “Isn’t it wonderful?!”
Roger muttered, “Fucking kill me.”
John frowned at Roger. “I never complain when you talk about cars,” he said.
“Well, obviously, I should talk about them more often,” Roger sniffed.
Deacy ignored Roger and took Ronnie’s hand, spinning her around and making her giggle.
“Oh, but I have to agree with Deac,” you told Roger, looking around at the people who smiled as they danced, dressed in glitz and glamour and everything in between. Every person you regarded was equally as radiant as Deacy in this environment, and the energy of the club was thus made infectious. You wondered honestly why Roger hated this— he himself was rather high energy.
“You can forget about your little friendship with Brian,” Roger told you. “This is not his scene.”
“Well, said Freddie, “he’s not here right now, is he, darling? So speak for yourself,”
You shook your head at Roger. “You are having a bad day, Rog. Lighten up a bit,” you ruffled his fluffy blonde hair before he could stop you.
“Yes, come on, Rog,” said Heather, “one dance can’t hurt, can it?”
Roger sighed. “Suppose not.” He glanced at you. “Sorry, that was a bit mean of me, Y/N.”
You let it go. “I like your shoes,” you winked.
Roger pointed his toes in his sparkly pink shoe. “I do have quite the fashion sense.” He scampered away with Heather who was pulling him onto the dance floor.
Deacy and Ronnie followed after them, and in your platform heels and curled hair and sequined boots, you stood at a bit of a loss, until Freddie nudged your shoulder.
“We’re here to dance, darling!”
You smiled and let Freddie lead you out onto the dance floor.
After about twenty minutes of dancing, you were beginning to have fun, to forget yourself a little while, to forget to miss the presence of Brian May.
Roger and Heather spun wildly, tapping toes and dancing basically attached at the hip.
Deacy and Ronnie were more family-friendly in public company, and had shown you a few moves. Deacy was in his element, and unlike Roger, his dancing was tight and controlled. It was obvious that he danced not to be seen, but for the wealth of his soul. He loved to dance, and his wife did too, and it was clear that their love was made in heaven.
Freddie however, did dance to be seen. Which was peculiar, really, given he was already going out with the classy Miss Mary Austin. But his eyes followed other people entirely. And soon enough, he winked at you and disappeared off to dance with some pretty boy.
You’d never pegged Freddie for completely heterosexual, but then again, this was the seventies, and it was hard to tell. Not that you cared who he chose to partner with for romantic encounters, but you were worried. From Brian comforting a crying Freddie on a bathroom floor the other night, to the brawl, to Freddie freezing at the mention of Mary, it was clear that something wasn’t right. And you’d be damned if you let one of your best friends suffer in silence.
You continued to dance alongside the others, but throughout the night, you kept a watchful eye out for Freddie. Thankfully, he never disappeared for more than a couple of minutes at a time, so your nerves relaxed a little.
You’d corner him someday soon and find out what it was that was bothering him. For now, though, you were dancing on your own, wondering if a certain curly-haired guitarist might have wanted to dance with you.
Wondering if he’d gazed up at the full moon in the same way that you had.
⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓・*˚⁺
The phone rang Wednesday evening, and you hoped it wasn’t your mother calling.
She worried even more than you did, and though it didn’t greatly show, you could see it, in the twitch of her mouth, in her fingers that tapped an armrest or tabletop, hear it in the way her pauses became more frequent between sentences, hesitations hovering like bumblebees.
You couldn’t face her right now, because she’d ask if you were okay, if you were managing your stress, and presently, you were growing increasingly concerned about the whereabouts and well-being of Brian Harold May.
You really hoped it wasn’t your mother calling.
“Hello, Y/N Andrews speaking.”
“Brian May,” said a tired voice on the other end of the line.
You hurtled forward, gripping the phone with both hands.
“Bri!”
You could almost see his soft smile. “Hi, Y/N.”
You sputtered, “But where have you been? Where are you? Is everything okay?”
There was a sigh and another noise that sounded like Brian shifting the phone from one ear to the other. “How many times must you ask before you realise that I can’t give you the answer you want?”
There was no bite to his tone, just a rawness that suggested he didn’t want to worry you by not telling you what was going on, but also thought that details would weigh you down with problems that shouldn’t be yours. You understood the nature of his tone so well because it was one you were guilty of on a regular basis.
“I’m just worried about my friend,” you responded quietly. You didn’t want to pressure him, but nor did you want him to feel that he was alone in the world with his troubles.
Another sigh. “Yes, I know. I’m sorry.”
“What’ve I said about apologising, Brimi,” you muttered. “Why are you calling me?” You meant why was he calling you now specifically, though you also wondered why he was calling you. As far as you were aware, he hadn’t contacted Freddie again, and he hadn’t spoken to Roger or John at all.
“To tell you that I’ll be there tomorrow night.”
Tomorrow night, Thursday. For guitar lessons and derivation help.
“Brian, surely, if things are so bad that you disappear for a week, you know I’d understand if you didn’t turn up tomorrow.”
“No questions asked?” he said.
You didn’t hesitate. You didn’t have to, for there was no doubt in your mind. “No questions asked.”
He laughed that gentle half-laugh of his, the one that expressed a resignation, a sadness, rather than mirth. It shattered you a little bit.
“I did say you were a wonderful friend. But I’ll be there tomorrow. Eight in the evening, if that’s alright?”
“Yeah,” you said, feeling a little dazed. “I live on Camden High Street. The rickety green house behind the Plaza Cinema.”
“I’ll try not to get lost,” he replied, a touch of his usual humour resurfacing. But good god did he sound tired, worn down and worn out. “Tell the others not to worry. I’ll be home soon.” He had the air of a man who had travelled the cosmos in their entirety, walked the sky and the path of the stars for eons, lonely but unafraid.
He breathed quietly, “Good night, Y/N.”
It was odd, you thought, how you were always saying good night to each other. Perhaps some kind of magic existed in the night that brought you together.
Oh, but it did exist— the magic was the stars.
“Good night, Bri. Safe travels.”
You put down the phone, and only then did it occur to you: he had not called the others.
He had called you.
⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓・*˚⁺
A/N: bit of a short one today, m’dears. sorry about that. maybe i’ll have to do a cheeky mid-week update... 🥰
taglist: @melting-obelisks @hgmercury39 @stardust-killer-queen
Masterpost / Part 4 / Part 6
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special-ingredients · 3 years
Text
Prologue
This story is for....
Apollo and Vincent. My hopes, my lights, my loves. I will cherish you forever and always, I love you. Christopher David Baker. One of the greatest men on this earth. Nan couldn't have asked for a better or more hard working husband. We miss you.
Nick.  The greatest friend one could ever hope for. Thank you, for sticking around. 
~~~~~~~~~~~~
A young woman walked through the empty streets of Belgravia alone, the depth of night surrounding her. The street was eerily quiet. No cabs went back and forth, up and down the road, which was highly unusual for London on a Saturday night. Lucie was more than slightly tipsy as she had proclaimed, having had a pint and a half at a nearby pub. She was only a lightweight, so it was extremely difficult for her to keep up the tally of drinks like her friends did. Whilst they could go on and on into the wee hours of the morning, Lucie could usually only last until early on in the night. She couldn't even make it to midnight without blacking out entirely, with the way she always tried to drink with her friends. 
She stumbled down the street, humming some random showtune loudly to herself. Every few clumsy steps, she would trip slightly, but most times she managed to save herself. However, it didn't take her much longer to lose her footing completely, and she ended up falling upon some steps, with her head jerking forward as she landed, her head nearly smashing against the concrete. Her teeth did smash together though, a resounding clack vibrating through her skull for a good five or six seconds. It was only when she recovered, and sat herself up, that she realized how far from the pub she had wandered, and how far she was from home, or anything she was able to recognize properly. The dawn of this fact was admittedly rather sobering, but it wasn’t enough to bring everything back to her mind. It merely made her scarily aware of the things happening closest to her. 
Casting her mind back through her foggy memory, she had taken a cab to her friend's home, in Putney. Then they travelled to the Spotted Horse, meeting up with a few other of their friends. As the night wore on, they paid a visit to The Boathouse, having another drink- or two, in the majority of her friends' case- there, before finishing their journey on the other side of the river, at The Waterside. Although it may not have felt far when she was with her mates, she was in no position to trek back over the river and home in the state she was. Lucie looked up to the heavens, some childish part of her hoping to see the stars. Alas, this was London, and the light pollution was so strong that the only thing visible through the orange haze, was the peach tinted lunar body of the moon, and even then it kept disappearing behind wisps of cloud. Her gaze stayed there, eyes straining against the light. What was she supposed to do to get home now? 
She felt like she had only stayed there a few minutes at most, when in fact, nearly an hour had passed by, quicker than a flash of lightening. The thing that brought her out of her daze, was a light tap on her shoulder. It was so brief, she almost thought it was her intoxicated brain trying to play a trick on her. She shook her head quickly, before turning her torso round, and looking up at the figure, almost curiously. Whilst an instinct within her subconscious had told her it could now be am extremely dangerous situation, she was very happy with the vision she was blessed with. The woman had long, dark brown hair, which looked almost black in the dim light of the early morning. Despite being hastily tied back, her hair cascaded over her shoulders, and down her back, like some sort of ink waterfall of the night. Her eyes were a similar brown, almost black, giving her a warm and motherly look about her, even if her expression was one of concern and worry. "Are you alright, sweetie?" The woman asked, her thick Texan accent immediately apparent to Lucie, despite her drunken state. Lucie slowly began to nod her reply. "Yeah..." she slurred over her response. "I think so..." she blinked slowly up at the woman who had approached her. The woman smiled ever so slightly at the positive reply, and kindly held out her hand to drunken girl. "Come inside." She offered. "You can rest until the morning, then you can be on your way. We can get you nice an’ comfy on the couch." Lucie, not knowing what else to do, and being in no state to refuse, took the woman's hand, and hauled herself to her feet, using the weight of the other woman as leverage.
Once she was at least fairly stable, she was led inside by the loving young woman, an arm round her shoulder in a protective embrace, and the door shut behind them quietly, producing a lion's roar in the cold and silent street.
The next morning, the friends that had accompanied the young woman the night prior reported to the police.  Lucie Robertson was declared missing by noon. 
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greymattermaelstrom · 4 years
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Ozlander Fan Gathering 2020  -   The Rik and Sophie Show
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I attended Ozlander in Melbourne. What an incredible weekend so would like to share my Ozlander experience with you. Of course, it was during the very early days of covid-19 which I’ll address shortly. I’d never met any of the cast before, nor any group of like minded fans. Of course, you are usually lucky to know anyone who watch the TV show (not counting a partner) in your circle of friends let alone personally know a group of fans to chat with. It’s funny though, I’m not sure what I expected, but I thought people would have in depth discussions about OL characters/plots during coffee breaks or in line ups for autographs/photos. I didn’t experience that. I think it was a given that we were all deep into OL. Instead, I found we just chatted and got to know each other, ‘Where are you from?’ etc. As this was the first formal Outlander convention held in Australia, this was big news. I bought my ticket the day they were available (Nov 2019). It was a long way off but I knew the gathering would occur a short time after the first few episodes of Outlander S5 were broadcast, so when S5 started airing, my anticipation grew. Prices were steep admittedly, but a number of us felt it may be the first and last opportunity to meet a cast member, so we did what we could to get there (i.e. sell the healthiest child, blackmail the rich, etc).
Article from “The Scottish Banner” Feb 2020.
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Unfortunately, 4 weeks out, Ed Speleers withdrew due to work commitments but local, David Berry, was announced as his replacement on the same day. Then 10 days out, Graham McTavish withdrew due to work commitments in Slovakia. No news of a replacement was announced (I learnt at the event that organising a visa etc with Covid-19 developing had made it nigh on impossible to organise a replacement in time). Ozlander organisers revisited the program and added extra value features to the various tiers. The gathering weekend was so close, yet seemed so far away in these uncertain times. Every day, I anticipated receiving an email stating it had been cancelled. I knew the organisers must have been pulling their hair out. Selfishly and as long as it was safe to do so, I was hoping it would still go ahead. The virus was not as advanced in Australia. Most of our relatively low number of cases were brought in by travellers (residents returning or tourists) from Europe/Asia before flying was cancelled. The Federal Government had restricted public gatherings to less than 500 at the time. Attendance was actually under 200.  FYI, below are the global covid-19 stats as of 19 April 2020, a month later. Australia’s population is 25 million.
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A few days after the Ozlander event, only crowds of less than 100 were permitted by the govt. We were so, so lucky!! Of course, that reduced further as precautions were implemented over time. We have self-isolation and a lot of business closures, cancellation of sports/entertainment etc. It is dreadful, but not a total lock down in Australia. We could walk dogs and make necessary trips to the supermarket, pharmacy, doctor or special court appearances. Anyway, just wanted to address this concern. ~ Tickets sold well (premium tickets sold out). I saw fans on sm stating the date of the event clashed or it was a bit expensive so I know more wanted to come. Yes, the cost was relatively high. Return airfares for cast, accommodation, plus I assume their appearance fee was always going to be an expensive venture, especially as our AUD had been declining sharply against the USD for some time. Australia can miss out on some things because of distance and a relatively small population, but overall, I think we have done well over the years. ~ Rik (Richard) and Sophie posted IG photos from Melbourne a couple of days before the event. Yay!! They were in the country at least, enjoying the sunsets, cuddling koalas and hypnotising wallabies lol. Sophie posted a selfie from a public toilet (bathroom) - as you do. See Sam’s comment below. Toilet paper was becoming a precious commodity....🤔
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So the odds looked good and finally, Ozlander arrived.🥳 Before we took our seats, a lone piper slowly walked into the throng playing Waltzing Matilda (iconic Australian bush ballad) which segued into Outlander's theme song. Goosebumps! Applause all 'round. The piper was a big fan too.
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What a thrilling start to proceedings. We took our seats and Meagan Taylor (the one who dared dream the dream), welcomed everyone. The age range of fans was predominately 40-65. We were excited and expectant. Housekeeping announcements focused on coronavirus precautions of course. Wash hands, use hand sanitiser when you can't, no handshaking and no touching the cast. This last request was a little disappointing after seeing photos from other OL cons, but it was quite understandable. I think we were just over the moon Ozlander went ahead so we were more than happy to comply and consider the health and safety of others. Then Meagan had the unenviable task of informing us David Berry had unfortunately cancelled his appearance due to health reasons. Yikes! What a shame. (David released a press statement 15 March(?) outlining his difficult decision. Sydney is Australia's Covid-19 hot spot, so David being a Sydneysider, had to consider this I guess). There are IG photos of David, Rik and Sophie together in Australia, just not sure where. So of course, it surprised everyone that David wasn't attending. Refunds of his meet and great and the re-jigging of tiers was to be announced on the fly. Then there were two, Rik and Sophie (and no pressure whatsoever!)🤪. Meagan then advised that the five panels across the weekend would be all audience Q & A which got a loud cheer. On with the show! The Rik and Sophie show! 🎉 They came on stage ready for a good time. Rik opened with 'G'day'. Great start I thought and continued his half decent Australian accent. It's a hard accent to imitate as we know. Rik's was a bit exaggerated but that was part of the fun. 
‘G’day. ‘How are ya’?’
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Sophie in an outfit she bought here. Same brand as Saturday’s dress that she brought with her.
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Roger Mac is in da house.
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I’ll admit, I wasn’t quite sure what to expect. I have seen Rik and Sophie in a lot of interviews, OL promos (talking to camera) and taking part on OL panels on YouTube. I can find their rapport a little strained and snarky at times. Luckily, I was very pleasantly surprised that their 2020 version was very endearing and entertaining. I think they’ve worked on this. I also think, that the spectre of Sam and Cait, through no fault of their own, does loom large at cast events. Therefore, it was great to see Rik and Sophie rise to the challenge of working the room in the absence of their cast mates. And I think they really relished this (albeit exhausting) opportunity and the small theatre made it a casual and intimate affair. They answered questions in an engaging manner and often expanded on it, citing on set examples, many I’ve never heard before, and I’ve seen a lot of OL interviews. Almost as soon as they came on stage, Rik was asked if he would play his guitar and sing for us. While flattered, I think it was too early in the piece and he said maybe he would do so during the weekend sometime. Alas, time wasn’t on our side so it didn’t eventuate. ~ Rik was asked if his hair ticks were under control (ep 501)😂. Combing his fingers through his hair, he replied in his strong Scottish brogue that most of them were gone now. Good sport. ~ He was told the OL bts photos he posts on sm (taken on set) were great and much appreciated and to keep them coming to which the audience applauded. I think he quietly enjoyed that moment. All creatives will take that, knowing their skills and hard work meant something to someone, much like our appreciation for OL and these sorts of events!
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Then on to costumes, wigs and make up. It was thought that it must be nice to have your scalp/hair attended to in the makeup. ‘No, it’s not’ R&S said in unison.😂 Verra uncomfortable process apparently. The hair is flattened and held down with clips. The hairline edge of the wig is ‘glued’ to the top of your forehead and then alcohol is used to get the glue off after shooting, which dries the skin. Some hair falls out over time with this process also. We know this has happened to Sam to an extent.😬 Rik is hoping to grow his hair long enough so he doesn’t need a wig, which accounts for his current hirsute glory. ~ Sophie said they both share a make up trailer and added that Rik has a magic make up chair. Being early morning, he often goes to sleep in it and upon waking up, hey presto, it’s Roger Mac. At make up time, they do know if the other is a bit touchy, so they try not to annoy each other. Too much.😂 ~ At one stage, we were a bit shy in asking questions. Meagan said if this was in the US, there’d be a line up for the mic.😂
Ozlander Fan Gathering 2020 selfie. 
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~ Sophie responded to a geeky question about wearing wireless mics secreted in their costumes or hair as well using the usual overhead boom mics you see on bts videos. She was asked about her experience with ADR which she’s not a great fan of it. The audience asked, ‘What’s ADR?’ There are a few accepted terms in the industry, Additional Dialogue Replacement is one. It’s when some dialogue needs to be re-recorded late in post production if the original dialogue audio recording at the time is less than optimal for a variety of reasons (thanks Google). Sophie gave an instance when in S4, Bree told Claire she had been raped. The stream in the background got into the dialogue mics too much in this particular outdoor location, so Sophie had to re-record her dialogue (like lip syncing) saying exactly what she said at the time, whilst watching the scene on a screen in a recording studio. It’s hard to get the context and emotion of the scene back into your voice and that’s why some actors hate doing it and plead to have the original dialogue kept as much as possible. But ADR happens more than you realise and for various reasons (see Google). It is impossible to tell when you watch the show, what scenes have had ADR done, it’s blended so well. They would record the stream/ ambient sounds separately at some point and then mix it in lower against the dialogue after ADR is done. 😅
 ~ Sophie talked about her audition process and was sat down in an exec’s office and was told OL fans are very passionate! (we are?🤔😁). They have an idea of how book Brianna should look and Sophie confirmed she wasn’t tall enough, eyes the wrong colour, etc and that yeah, as expected, she received some not so nice things on sm. But she tried not to read too much of it and pressed on with the role of Bree. Her tone wasn’t sarcastic or indignant at all, but humble. I was impressed. 
Queuing for photos with Rik or Sophie on this occasion. We weren’t allowed to touch but we all had a squirt of hand sanitiser (just to be super safe?).🤔            
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There were a few photo opportunities over the weekend and a bonus or two thrown in make up for the cast that couldn’t make it. A refund was offered for people with meet and greet tickets for David. However, R & S kindly offered to do a meet and greet for David’s fans instead and they happily accepted. Legends! I don’t know where they found the energy to be constantly ’on’ with so many people over the weekend. Chocolate? Youth?  ~ As it was a small event, there weren’t any extra security staff that I could see. I think it was only the Museum staff and the security cameras which were hardly noticeable. ~ When getting my autographs, Rik and Sophie didn’t ask for my name, but when I read their personal messages, they had used my name (which they’d seen on my Ozlander lanyard. How cool is that? Very slick!). There were assorted costumes, the de rigueur wedding dress of Claire’s which added to the ambience. Of course, most of the audience were women but good to see a handful of men there, some even in kilts! Saw some Aussie Peakers in their MPC tees too. Cool. 
To settle a pronunciation question, Sophie asked the audience after lunch, ‘Is it scone (as in, phone) or scone (as in, shone)? 
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An emphatic SCONE (shone) came back. Rik said “Oh, wow, a shouting(?) majority?’ 
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Just to be sure, someone asked who lost, Rik pointed at Sophie. He didn’t gloat too much. Poor Sophie!
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Of course, what would an OL event be without the cast having a drink or two to lubricate the tonsils (as we say).
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Here are a few more tidbits. All the info I’m sharing has been gleaned from the panels and time spent with Rik and Sophie over the weekend as my tier allowed (which was a lot). ~ Yes, they had tried Vegemite (similar to marmite/promite), courtesy of David Berry. Sophie has some in Scotland. Onya Davo! (good on you David). Incidentally, Sam tried some when he was here in 2016 on Studio 10 (morning talk show - March 2016, his interview is on You Tube). It’s a thing. ~ Rik didn’t know if Sam’s whisky would be his cup of tea, but said it was ‘good actually’. ~ Rik was sometimes surprised by the particular take post production used for the show, but was more surprised by what was edited out of a scene (to add dynamics or guide the narrative a certain way which would apply to all productions everywhere). ~ The pyre scene with the Jesuit Priest at the Mohawk Village Ep 412 was hard to watch on TV. He said it was hard to watch them shoot that scene on set as it was so dangerous!😬 ~ Sophie very occasionally discussed the historical accuracy of things in a scene with directors ie. birthing stool or not in Ep 413 and 1960′s The Mashed Potato moves in S5 are different to how we know them now. She convinced the director’s on those 2 occasions. To me, it shows her passion for the show! ~ When asked about Bree meeting Jamie for the first time in S4, Sophie was asked about the eww factor but didn’t think about Jamie’s hand touching her face after he had relieved himself as he had only used a fruit juice bottle.🤣 ~ R & S were asked to respond to: ‘Aussie, Aussie, Aussie!’ And with relish they replied: ‘Oi, Oi, Oi!’. Someone did their homework. Cool. It’s a parochial call and response thing some aussies do at sporting events etc. ~ R & S often went for an early morning run. Before Sunday’s program began, Meagan asked us all to be very quiet. ‘That sound’, she said, ‘is Rik having his hair blown dry backstage.’ Laughter at Rik’s expense all round. Sophie came on with her’s still damp.
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Graham McTavish ‘popped’ in from Slovakia to say hi and sorry I can’t be there. Rik and Graham had a good rapport. After some banter, the audience was now supposed to ask a question and GM rolled his eyes as he heard Rik’s voice again, this time asking him what he conditioned his beard with? ‘Well”, said GM, ‘well Richard, um, I, ahh (chuckle), I condition it with...., obviously a little bit of your love ..’. Much laughter in the theatre.
Then GM commented further, (which I missed, sadly), to even more laughter.
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Who knows what would have happened had GM been at the event in person?! There is so much more I could share, but you get the idea. 
Sophie wasn’t feeling the best during the last panel just before the close of the event, but she pushed through like a trooper. Rik said she had eaten too much chocolate. A weakness of Sophie’s. I think fatigue was catching up with both of them. They did so much.
Meagan presented Rik and Sophie with an Akubra (pron. uh·koo·bruh) each (iconic Australian outback hat) as a memento of their time here at Ozlander. Rik had the Crocodile Dundee style whilst Sophie’s was more demure. In his best aussie lingo, Rik said: ‘I’m Richard Dundee and this is my partner, Skippy (Sophie).’ (Referencing Skippy the bush kangaroo ? - a much loved Australian TV show 1968-1970). 
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The Scottish Banner article promised an intimate relaxed chance to get to know stars from the Outlander TV series and I’m happy to say that this is exactly what we got. Whilst it’s a shame we didn’t get to know Ed, Graham or David better, we certainly got to know Rik and Sophie better than we had ever anticipated. As a result, I see Rik and Sophie in a new light, esp in S5, where they have more scenes together. In a small way, I’ve gotten to know a little of the person that inevitably informs their TV persona (ie facial expressions, mannerisms, speaking cadence and inflections). What a memorable time I had (can you tell?). Thanks to Rik and Sophie, the gathering organisers (who got a special mention on stage at the close) and the other fans I met there. Thanks for reading this far on a rather lengthy post.😊 I know it’s my take on the weekend, but I’ve tried not to editorialise it, but present it, as accurately as I can, hence, it may be a bit dry to read.😅  I think Ozlander is a great name and I look forward to Ozlander Fan Gathering 2021.  
Ozlander graphics: Ozlander Fan Gathering (I tweaked the circle logo in the title)
Ozlander Fan Gathering 2020 selfie: Ozlander Fan Gathering
other photos: all permissions obtained    
Ozlander Fan Gathering article: The Scottish Banner February 2020
Sophie Skelton post: Instagram
global covid-19 cases stats: Wikipedia
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