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yespolkadotkitty · 4 years

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Agh!! Nudie Anon here. I’m open to any Ezra nickname at all!! Thank YOU!

Rainfall

Gorgeous gif by @ithinkwehitametaphor - thankyou! and thanking @mourningbirds1 for the beta read.

Warnings: dark(ish) Ezra, mild violence, swears.

****

“She’s fine, your little bit, ain’t she? Seen her somewhere before - that’s it. Men’s room wall in a bar named Hook, Line & Sinker on Aperture-4.”

And with those words from a fellow grifter he’d been drinking with, Ezra had taken off like a rabbit with its tail on fire.

No one got to look at you that way, especially while taking a shit.

He stalked through the crowded bar, not caring who he pushed aside, a tall, striking man with a mouth made for sin, soulful, whiskey-brown eyes that could nonetheless communicate your doom, and a natural blond streak on the right side of his head, the lightness commanding attention among his tousled, hazelnut curls.

A kiss of starlight, you called it.

And your words made him feel like he was made of starstuff. Made him feel like more than a one-armed, washed up Prospector, a harvester who couldn’t really harvest anymore, reduced to grifting around the Universe for whatever jobs he could charm his way into.

He’d always been lucky with his charm. Could talk his way into any woman’s smalls; but those days, the days of faceless women to drown his sorrows in, as interchangeable as any liquor bottle, were behind him since he’d met you.

Rainfall, he called you. Because you were essential to him the way rain was essential to most of the early Terras of the history books you so loved. Because he was sure as shit that he’d die without you. Waste away, become nothing but a footnote in the life you’d continue to shine in without him.

And he wouldn’t let other men look upon the one gem he’d found that was a thousand times more precious than aurelac.

Priceless, in fact.

He stormed into the men’s room, the stained door rickety, swinging in Ezra’s angry wake.

An unfortunate man - a floater too, by the look of him - stood by your picture, leering, his hands under his long jacket. In a second, Ezra could guess what the charlatan was up to.

Fury rose, dark like demon’s wings, in his gut.

He crossed the dirty space in three strides, ripped your picture from the wall, stuffed it in his pocket.

“Hey, fuck you man,” the floater began. “I don’t see your name-”

Ezra’s knife, concealed in a custom-made pocket on his sweater, was at the man’s throbbing pulsepoint in a hot second. He might only have one arm now, but he’d learned to use it with pinpoint accuracy. “Might want to rethink your words there, friend,” he said silkily, his tone soft. Deadly. “Lest they be your last.”

“Whoa, whoa.” The man held his hands up, empty palms out. The front of his coat darkened and Ezra noted with faint disgust that the stranger had pissed himself. “I didn’t see nothing, all right? Please, don’t kill me.”

“Killing you would be a waste of resources,” Ezra sighed, smiling cheerfully at the shuddering man. “I’m thinking it’s kinder all around to let you live out your miserable life. Don’t you?”

He pulled his knife away, leaving a single drop of blood to run down the shivering stranger’s pale, fleshy throat, and left the men’s room, pushing the door open so hard it creaked on its old, rusty hinges.

Once safely outside under a canopy of lab-grown trees - the only way trees existed in the mess they called cities, these days - he took the flyer out, studied it.

There you were. Rainfall. He mouthed the moniker he’d given you. Your breasts spilled out of a corset, half-drawn so your nipples could be seen, tempting, round. Your legs were curled under you but you wore no underwear, so the curls between your legs peeked out.

He knew you were no blushing virgin when you’d met. You had known other men. You had trusted them.

And this was how one of those men had thanked you for your trust, your body, your heart.

Ezra recognised the little doodle in the right hand corner of the flyer. He’d seen it before, on counterfeit ales, on counterfeit... Recreational substances.

And thanks to his grubby past, he knew exactly where to find this particular felon.

*****

“Rainfall?”

You looked up from the bread you kneaded - an outdated by enjoyable pastime, sometimes made tricky by the fact you could only get soya flour (crappy rise) - to see Ezra coming in through the door.

“Ez. I was worried! You’re two days overdue.” You left the bread in a sorry heap and crossed the room, throwing your arms around him, burying your nose in the curve where his shoulder met his neck. He’d taken his suit off in your makeshift porch, and wore his undersuit and boots, his hair a little sweaty, curling at his nape and over his forehead. He nuzzled your hair.

“I’m as sorry as can be, Rainfall. Had a little extra business to take care of.”

It was then that you noted the smear of blood on his forearm. “Ezra.” You snatched his arm, searching for the tear in the suit.

“Oh. Ain’t mine, sweet girl.”

The breath whoosed out of you, and you lifted your face for his kiss, so happy to have him home, this man who made you complete, whose broken parts completed the missing pieces of your own personal jigsaw.

Ezra indulged you, pressing his lips to yours, and you opened greedily for him. He snaked his arm around your waist, pulling you close as your tongues danced. You drank him in, the flavour of his habitual chicory coffee, mint chocolate protein bars, and something distinctly Ezra that you could never replicate in a thousand cycles.

“Found a flyer of you, Rainfall,” he muttered against your cheek, his facial scruff tickling pleasantly. “Adorning the filthy wall of a restroom on Aperture-4. Cheap entertainment for those without morals, men passed over by common decency, with gaping holes where their souls should reside.”

You bit your lip. “What the hell-”

“The culprit must have been a former paramour of yours, sweet girl.” Ezra let you go to pull the flyer from his pocket, showing it to you.

Your face fell as you took it, examining the picture closely, memories churning. “Yes. It was…. Almost ten cycles ago, now. He said that was for his private collection. Then, soon after, I found other girls…. Posing for his ‘private collection’ and I ended it. Oh, I should tell him-” You crumpled it in your palm, angry with yourself.

“A chore you need not trouble yourself with, Rainfall.”

You looked at Ezra askance, and then something dark passed over his face. The way Ezra could switch from charming to sinister in a heartbeat was one of the things that had most intrigued you about him, when you’d met two cycles ago.

And then you had dug deeper into this gorgeous puzzle of a man, and found light and shadow, softness and jagged edges. And you had fallen, hopelessly, for every part of him, even the missing ones, because they too, told a story.

“I may have had a fair illuminating conversation with your old flame.”

“Ezra…”

“The temptation to kill him was strong, I must confess, but I let him live, with all his appendages attached.” Ezra gazed down at you fondly, cupping your cheek. “Seems it may be a while before he’s moved to approach another woman, though.”

“Sometimes, Ezra, your moral compass is skewed just right.” You held him tightly. “Thankyou. The thought of a private picture, being shared that way-”

He nuzzled your hair, breathed in, sighed happily. “Can’t say it was entirely altruistic, Rainfall. Don’t sit well with me, others lookin’ on your beauty. You’re mine, and I don’t share well.” He kissed you fiercely, his arm banded around you, holding you close as could be.

“Yeah? I don’t share either.” You nipped at his lip. “I’ve missed you, and you interrupted at the perfect time.” You nodded towards the sorry-looking dough on the kitchen counter. “No way I’m getting a rise out of that.” Cheekily, you slid a hand down his body to cup him where he’d started to grow hard for you. “But I might be in luck, now you’re home.”

Ezra turned you in a circle, walking you slowly backwards towards your bedroom, dropping kisses on your neck as his hand worked the buttons of your rainy-stay-home jumpsuit. “My sweet girl. I’ll always endeavour to come home to you.”

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#ezra x reader #ezra prospect

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justfandomwritings · 5 years

Text

United In Fear (Part Three- Soulmate!Robb)

Pairing: Robb Stark x Reader; Soulmates AU

Word count: 6.1k

Warnings: literally just chit chat fluff and character building

Summary: The names were the greatest mystery in Westeros. Each kingdom had their own telling of the story. None of the kingdoms could agree on where they were from or how they came to be. Each thought a different god, their own interpretation of religion, was responsible, but all seemed to agree on one thing: they were a gift.

Notes: sooo… Tywin’s here to pay a debt. This will probably leave you with more questions than answers. Lots of bombshells in this chapter.

Hope you enjoy. Let me know what you think. Part Four is in the works now.

Start From the Beginning... Part One

Previously On... Part Two

The group that stood in the yard numbered only fifteen: Lord and Lady Stark, Robb, the King, two Kingsguard, the Lannister siblings, and their five senior soldiers.

The King had ordered the court to remain inside. He made his excuses about the weather and the cold in the air, and even though none were fooled, none defied his orders.

The small insult of no formal greeting, no fitting welcome worthy of a Lord Paramount, was one of the few slights the King could truly manage to bestow on the Lannisters without repercussion, without major repercussions rather. The Lannister siblings took nothing, even the most trivial affront, lying down. They returned the King’s favor by signaling their father’s approach well in advance of his party breaking the horizon and forcing the King and the Starks to wait in the late summer chill for a frivolous amount of time.

It was a petty retort, to be sure; but it agitated the King to no end, proving its effectiveness.

The Lannister siblings only joined the waiting line once their father’s group was clearly in view approaching the gate.

Cersei appeared first. Taking slow, deliberate steps from the keep, the deadly look in her eyes dared anyone to challenge her for her tardiness; and even her husband shied away from the obvious provocation. She stood beside him dressed all in gold and wrapped in a coat that appeared to be stitched from the hide of a stag. The material wasn’t as grand as the usual attire of the queen, but the message, wearing the dead skin of her husband’s sigil, was there.

Tyrion followed on Cersei’s heels. His appearance was nothing to be noted, but his sobriety was. The word of his father’s impending arrival had sapped all drink from Tyrion’s cup in the days prior, and he stood before the Northmen and the King all with a cool, calculating gaze that none had ever seen before. The drunken disgrace of House Lannister was no more, replaced with a dark, intelligent man. He stood several places down from the rest, leaving space beside the Starks.

Jaime came last, with his younger sister on his arm, as she had been every time she had been forced into the King’s presence since their collision. The knight was dressed in Lannister garb, a black tunic with gold stitching that matched the gold in the House Lannister coat of arms on his heavy winter cloak.

The Kingslayer had been wearing his house’s colors since he’d returned from the Maester’s with (Y/n). The King had relieved him of his duties as Kingsguard for the preparation and duration of his father’s visit, however long that proved to be; and the Lannister had taken full advantage of his moderate freedom by forming a united front with his three siblings.

(Y/n) wore her brother’s tunic in reverse. A gorgeous golden gown that trailed behind her just as far as Jaime’s cloak, with a black, laced embroidery of lionesses dancing along its hem; a single lion sat proudly displayed on her chest in the traditional pose of her house. It was the sort of Southern gown that Robb knew Sansa would die for, and seeing it on his mate he could almost understand why. In the light of day, glittering in the reflection of her golden fabrics, (Y/n)’s beauty demanded to be noticed. It demanded attention, and Robb was powerless to deny her it.

This, the four siblings dressed just so, poised just so, acting just so, was Lannister at its finest. It was no wonder the King wanted none to witness Tywin’s arrival. None would be there to witness the true majesty of House Lannister, none except themselves and the Starks.

“With all of your duties, it has been some time since you’ve seen your father.” Robb was unsure why his mother had taken to polite conversation with the Kingslayer, but since she’d witnessed the King strike (Y/n), Catelyn had gone out of her way to speak with the Kingsguard and his half-man brother. Speaking to them in a way she had not bothered before with them and had not bothered since with their sisters. “You must be happy seeing him again.”

Jaime’s back straightened as the metal of the gate before them creaked to a stop. He spoke bluntly and with no explanation, “Happy is not the word.”

He was here, following behind two squires carrying his house’s red banners as they rode in, with three knights at his back.

Broad shoulders and toned build of any born knight. Blonde hair and green eyes of any Lannister. Presence and confidence of only The Great Lion. There was no mistaking him for anyone else, and there was no mistaking anyone else for him.

If his children appeared exalted on their arrival. If (Y/n) acted as though everyone was beneath her, if Jaime seemed to be the golden knight of every tall tale, if Cersei looked to be the elegant royal. Their father didn’t try.

He didn’t appear exalted; he was exalted. He didn’t act as though everyone was beneath him; there was no acting required. He seemed the golden knight because he was the knight from the tall tales. He didn’t just look the part of royalty. He lived it.

Tywin Lannister rode through the gates of Winterfell in full metal armor, draped in the red sash marking the Lord of the Rock. Everything about the man, down to his white horse, was polished and pristine.

“Watch the King.” (Y/n) had told Robb the night before.

Robb started to wonder if ‘watch the king’ had meant ‘watch Robert’ at all. After all, she had told him Robert Baratheon was not a king, but a sheep. Robb was starting to agree.

The king should bow to no man.

As they approached, Robert Baratheon bowed his head to Tywin Lannister, and when Tywin Lannister dismounted his war horse, the favor was not returned.

“Lord Tywin,” Robert grunted as the senior nobleman approached. There was a tension to the Baratheon’s voice that told the entire court present exactly what he wanted to say to the Lannister but couldn’t.

Tywin tossed his reins to one of the squires and traipsed over in front the King. “Your Grace.”

Silence prevailed for several long moments, and no one else was brave enough to break it.

The rich lord with more money than the gods and the warrior king who saved the Kingdoms from certain destruction. Looking down on the pair facing off, anyone watching would have guessed their roles were reversed.

“You arrived far sooner than we expected, Tywin. Rushed?”

“Quite,” Tywin mused, entirely uninterested. “You see,” his voice lowered as he drew himself up, “I have a debt to pay.” Drawing to their full heights, Robert only came up to the bottom of the Lord’s nose, and Tywin used the extra length to look down on the heavier man with a hard, knowing look. It was the sort of look that made small children burst into tears, that made respectable ladies turn and run. It was the sort of look that made lesser men fall to their knees.

The King wasn’t given time to prove if he was the lesser man, for Lady Catelyn spoke.

“Lord Tywin,” Catelyn’s voice did nothing to cut the tension in the air, but it did draw eyes to her, “You will have to forgive us that we only have rooms in our keep for three. Your arrival is a most welcome surprise, and many rooms were already taken by the royal court when we heard of your journey.”

Tywin nodded to the Lady of Winterfell, stiff but no less gracious. “I am sure we will manage well. It is an honor to be welcomed into your home.”

“Perhaps, I could arrange for my sons to show you to your rooms. Casterly Rock is a long journey which you and your men have made in record time. You must wish to rest before the feast tonight.”

Robb kept his eyes straight ahead as he felt the piercing green gaze of Tywin Lannister trail over him. He didn’t know what Tywin knew of him, but he assumed Tywin knew all. It seemed a safe assumption.

“That won’t be necessary.” Tywin dismissed immediately, eyes still on Robb. “I had occasion to visit Rickard Stark several times in my years as Hand;” Tywin offered his arm without turning, and Queen Cersei quickly removed herself from Robert to accept it. “I am sure I will find my way.”

The Lannisters filed out without reply. Tywin led the procession with his eldest on his arm, Jaime and (Y/n) directly on their heels, Tyrion following behind chatting amicably with one of his father’s men.

They left as quickly as they arrived, as though they did not need to be given leave, as if it was not the King left in their wake, and now, in Robb’s eyes, it was not.

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“Leave us.”

Tywin had not waited even a moment before he sent away the group crowded into his tight guest chambers. The moment Tyrek had handed him his bag, Tywin ordered the others’ to follow the boy before Tyrek had even reached the door.

“Father,” Cersei began to protest immediately. She always protested exclusion, even in matters not involving her.

How Cersei found it within herself to raise her voice (Y/n) would never know. She often thought her elder half-sister quite brave in the way she dealt with her station as Queen, with her place in King’s Landing, and with her husband’s many afflictions. Then, Cersei would stand before their father, open her mouth, and remind (Y/n) that bravery and stupidity were easily confused.

“Cersei,” Jaime stepped up to his twin’s arm, warning in his tone. There were many things which Jaime did not understand. However, battle was one thing at which he excelled beyond all, and he knew enemy territory when he saw it. Winterfell was enemy territory, and it was no place to fight one’s allies.

“Listen to your brother,” Tywin ordered without batting an eye. He was far more preoccupied unpacking the saddle bag his squire had delivered to him. “Escort the boys and Ser Harwyn to the barracks if you wish. It should give you a moments’ more peace from your husband.”

Cersei visibly disapproved of the task, but the prospect of a reprieve from Robert was enough to secure Jaime’s pulling her to the exit.

“Father,” Tyrion, a silent witness as he usually was, nodded and turned to follow his elder twins.

“Tell the Mountain to stand watch.” Tywin called after his son. “No one need disturb or hear us here.”

The door swung shut, but not before (Y/n) watched Tyrion order a familiar, hulking figure to stand the breadth of the doorway outside in the hall. Leather and metal filled her vision with no obvious breaks between arms, torsos, or legs; only long bones and heavy muscles.

The moment the door latched secure, the satisfying thud as the wood hit stone, (Y/n) felt the tension in her shoulders relax.

Every moment since she left Casterly Rock had been a moment on guard. Riding with the King’s men had been a show of her skill on horseback. Arriving in Winterfell had been a display of prowess and nobility. Confronting the King had been an exercise in strategy and restraint. Singing with her soldiers had been a show to earn their trust and loyalty. Telling Robb Stark stories had been an attempt to make him understand her position.

Every moment had required forethought and attention. Nothing had been done for herself; nothing had been done out of emotion. She had been holding a mask in place in front of the North, the King, her mate, even her own family. With Tywin here, she could finally let it slip.

Tywin Lannister was never a man to knowingly offer anyone comfort, but (Y/n) took great comfort in his presence. She thought, perhaps naively, that the sentiment might be returned. In all of Westeros, she was the only person who had never let him down, never disappointed him; and they both knew she never would, whatever small comfort her unwavering loyalty provided him.

(Y/n) knew of only three people in the Seven Kingdoms who her father genuinely trusted. She was one of them, and his brother and sister were the other two.

“Uncle Kevan,” She addressed the third person remaining in the room. “I was not expecting you to make the journey.”

Kevan leaned against the wooden door, presumably keeping an ear for any noise on the other side. “Genna watches the Rock in our absence. She will miss the assistance, but it was a necessary evil.”

“She is more than capable of the task.” (Y/n) turned to her father who sat on the edge of his bed, deep in thought. “I assume she will not be alone much longer.”

“No,” Tywin confirmed. “This will not take us long.”

Certainty was not a word (Y/n) often associated with her father. He spent his life planning every eventuality, closing every loophole, filling every gap. Even when his idea was executed perfectly, he still saw room for improvement; but not today. Today his mind was set.

“Should I ask?” (Y/n) directed the question to Kevan.

Kevan shrugged. “You will know tomorrow.”

Clapping her hands together, (Y/n) changed the discussion. “Then might we discuss more pressing matters.”

“What matters,” Tywin looked up and narrowed his gaze on her, “could possibly be more pressing than the bruise that drunk left on your cheek.”

(Y/n) leaned forward, elbows to her knees. It was often that she found herself in these positions, and she imagined herself the only person living who could speak so casually and openly to Tywin Lannister without the slightest hint of fear. “Jon Arryn.”

“What about the old man?” Kevan rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest. “It was his time to die. I doubt you are in mourning.”

“I assure you I’m not in mourning considering I killed him.”

Kevan froze, but Tywin paused for only a moment, “Should I ask?” He repeated her question back to her, a darker tone to his voice than hers had held.

“My reasons were just and are known to me alone.” (Y/n) assured her father, her words warning him not to press the matter, “It is best they stay that way, though I fear that will not be the case if matters are allowed to progress unimpeded.”

Kevan interrupted the silent debate he saw going on between the eyes of his brother and his niece. “And how would you impede them?”

“A knight of no significance will need to be disposed of immediately,” (Y/n) gestured to the door behind Kevan. “I’m sure that will be of little consequence,” she hinted at the Mountain on the other side.

Tywin rolled his eyes at her answer. “There’s more.” He pressed his daughter. “You do not make mistakes, but even a flawless plan has more risk than one knight.”

(Y/n) assented to that with a tip of her head. “Ned Stark as Hand may pose a problem. I am of the understanding Ned Stark cared for Jon Arryn, and the man’s honor will no doubt be of mind to look into his cause of death.”

“A cause of death which was?” Kevan traversed the room to occupy the seat across the table from (Y/n).

“Poison,” She replied nonchalantly. “Maester Pycelle no doubt knows the truth of it, but even he does not know it was me, only that it is in Lannister interest that Jon Arryn be laid to rest in peace.”

Tywin stared into the stone floor thoughtfully as he spoke, “And Ned Stark may find proof of this poison?”

“No,” (Y/n) countered, “but he is the only man in Westeros who might find my cause for it.”

“And you are sure he is the only risk?” Kevan questioned.

“I am certain of it. He is no threat in Winterfell, and no one else is threat as Hand.”

“We must dissuade him then,” Tywin rapidly came to the conclusion.

(Y/n)’s eyes narrowed in on her father. “An easy explanation but not an easy execution, Father.” She pointed out. “His honor and duty outweigh all, and both belong to the Baratheon.”

Tywin shook his head and pulled himself to his feet, a sign the matter was closed. “Before this visit, I would have agreed.” Tywin touched his lower cheek, along his jaw, where Robert had struck (Y/n), “But he was there to bare witness to Robert’s crime.” Tywin brushed his own hand away with shake of his head, “No, no, that will not be allowed to stand. Lannister or not, Robert struck a young lady, struck his son’s mate, struck Ashara’s daughter. We only need remind him that the Baratheons are not worth serving over his own family, and he will,” Tywin added emphatically, “see you as family.”

“He will see me as family for Robb already?” (Y/n) asked, perplexed.

“For Ashara,” Tywin corrected. “You speak with him. Reminisce on your mother.”

(Y/n) looked to Kevan for explanation but found her uncle turned away, forlorn. “Why?” Usually, she followed her father’s orders without question, and she would still follow this one though it confused her beyond measure.

“Because, my daughter,” Tywin slowly, deliberately rolled up his sleeve, showing her where Johanna’s name had burned away, showing her his mate. “It is your mother’s name Lord Stark bares.”

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(Y/n) found Ned Stark in the crypts.

As best she could, she made it seem as though she stumbled upon him. Looking around aimlessly at the statues of Stark gone by, she wandered row after row, weaving her way between the long departed and recently passed. Lords looked down on her with judgment in their eyes, and she knew she should feel shame for what she planned to do. The grey, unseeing eyes of Donnor Stark, staring down on her from his mighty pose, certainly thought so.

She knew what she was supposed to feel, but she felt nothing as she walked amongst the bones. What she planned was harsh, exploitive even, but it was necessary. The Starks of the past might look on her ashamed to have their name on her arm, but that was only because Starks could not see past their honor to what needed to be done.

In that way, she would never be a Stark, and that was one point on which all involved could agree.

“That one is my brother.”

(Y/n) forced herself to jump in surprise, forced herself to look as though she had been the one caught rather than the one searching.

“Forgive me, Lord Stark,” She bowed her head in greeting. “I had thought myself alone.”

Ned walked in the light of his torch, looking around at the former Lords of Winterfell. “One is never truly alone in this place. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Yes,” (Y/n) looked up at the statue before her. “I would say so.” She paused for a moment, feigning confusion. “Brandon Stark, is it not?”

Ned nodded in response. “He was never Lord of Winterfell, but he should have been. That is why I buried him in this place.”

(Y/n) smiled sadly up at the departed man. “The stories of him always reminded me of Jaime, though I doubt that’s what you wish to hear.”

She did not have to wait long before Ned’s gaze narrowed, poorly concealing a hint of anger. “Why would my brother’s duty remind you of the Kingslayer’s betrayal?”

“Brandon bent the knee before the Mad King and swore his loyalty to Aerys. Your brother forsook just as many vows and committed treason just as much as mine, and they did so for the same reasons: family.” (Y/n) looked up at Ned Stark not that he would meet her. “Brandon, Jaime, they were meant to bare the burdens that fall to you and I. They were the ones born for this, yet here we both stand where they should.”

Ned Stark was an open book, an easy one to read. His face contorted in disgust, and he looked away from (Y/n) quickly. “I think that a simple and convenient explanation.”

“Perhaps,” (Y/n) conceded, “but isn’t that all history is. The story that suits the victor.” Sliding her feet back, (Y/n) leaned against the wall behind her, watching Ned with an openly curious expression. “They tell me you were the victor.”

Ned turned away from his family to face her, nothing but cold. “Victor over what?”

“Victor over my uncle.”

She had him.

Ned’s face dropped in an instant. The tension in his brow disappeared, the angry quirk fell from his lips, his eyes hit the floor. (Y/n) knew that face well. She’d seen it many times before.

Shame.

“Everyone makes a great fuss over calling him the ‘Sword of the Morning’, you know,” She continued as though she didn’t see the change in him. “The truth is, it’s only a title. Dawn, our ancestral sword, does not pass to the heirs of Starfall like most swords, like Ice,” she gestured to where the sword would have hung at Ned’s side. “It’s bestowed on any knight of House Dayne considered worthy enough to wield it, and they are all called ‘Sword of the Morning’. There have been dozens of them, but Arthur is the only one anyone will remember. There are even whispers of retiring the name when Dawn is given to the next worthy man.”

(Y/n) slowly sunk till she was seated on the dirt floor; Ned unconsciously mimicking her as he sat in the earth. “I always wondered, had he lived, who would have won the duel. Arthur or Jaime. They say Arthur was the greatest knight the Seven had ever seen, and they say my brother is the greatest swordsmen Westeros will ever know. I wonder which would prove true.”

She let the words hang in the air for less than a moment before she added, “Of course, the stories say you bested Arthur handily with time yet to slay Ser Gerold Hightower.” (Y/n) diverted her eyes to her hands as she felt Ned staring her down. “Whatever the true story, you walked away that day, and Arthur died. So I suppose, that answers my question.”

“Your uncle was a good man,” Ned rumbled in a voice deeper than (Y/n) recalled him having, “an honorable man. We offered him life, but he fought to his death to keep his vows.”

(Y/n) scoffed, “What honor is there in death, what honor is there in service if it hurts the ones you love. They say my mother died giving birth, but that’s just another story told by the victors, told by my father.”

She looked on Ned with an all-consuming rage, an anger that put the older man leaning away on palms. “I remember my mother. I remember tottering along the cliffs with her that day, barely keeping my feet under me. I remember a messenger running out to meet us with my brother on his heels. I remember them giving my mother the news. ‘Her mate, Eddard Stark, had murdered her brother.’ So they said.” She watched a tear roll down Ned’s cheek, but she kept going without delay, “I remember her screams, her pain. I remember the feeling of falling, the feeling of her hand in mine as she jumped from the cliffs still holding me; and I remember Tyrion leaping after me, wrenching me from her grasp while a servant clutched at him coats so we didn’t fall in after her.”

A tear forced its way out of the corner of her eye. Fake or real, she could not tell anymore. “Tell me, Lord Stark. What good is your loyalty to the crown, honor to your vows, if your family pays the price?”

Ned Stark, like his son before him, had no answer for (Y/n), and she quickly rose to her feet leaving him alone in the dust. “My mother paid the price. Do not make your children pay another.”

Kevan was waiting for her, lounging at the entrance of the crypts, “And?”

(Y/n) wiped the tears from her cheeks, taking only a moment to recompose her features. “I told him a story.”

“And?” Kevan rolled his eyes at the lack of explanation.

(Y/n) shrugged, accepting Kevan’s arm in escort. “And he believed it.”

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The feast was no less crowded than usual, but the volume of the celebrations had all but died. A number of the raucous Northmen had been forced out to make room for the far more diligent Lannister soldiers who usually dined outside by the fire with (Y/n). The shouts of Arya, Bran, and Rickon had been sent away early with their bastard brother to give seats at the high table to the silence of Tywin, Kevan, and the Mountain.

Jaime, usually on guard during the feasting, had taken up a home at the long table with his soldiers, but the rest of his siblings sat in their usual chairs. Cersei by her king husband, (Y/n) beside the heir of Winterfell, and Tyrion at the end of the table, now seated next to his uncle instead of the child Rickon.

With Sansa sat beside Joffrey at the King’s side, Tywin’s place was at (Y/n)’s right. They did not openly speak, but occasionally Robb would see (Y/n) lean over to her father and whisper something in his ear that brought a variety of emotions to the old man’s face. He never returned her comments, but his features seemed to tell his daughter enough to answer her questions every time.

The entire mood of the hall had been altered to one of silence and secrecy. Even that which was not under Tywin’s direct influence had been changed.

In another small insult to the Lord of the Rock, Robert Baratheon had given his skilled, Southern musicians a night’s reprieve. Sat in the music box at the corner of the hall were the typical Northern music troop, the ones who had taken leave to sit outside with the Lannisters for the last weeks. Their playing was satisfactory to Robb’s untrained ear, but the change of pace had certainly had a negative affect on the royal court’s mood. Every piece was met with some disapproval.

A tankard of Northern ale slammed on the table, silencing the tune of the Wolves in the Hills. “Enough of this Northern fair,” Robert ordered in a slurred speech. If Tywin’s presence had served to sober his youngest son, it had done the opposite for the King. “We have Lannisters in our midst. We should welcome them properly.” A floppy wave of his arm in the air brought all conversation in the hall to an end. “Play the Rains.”

Tywin looked down on his daughter with a sneer meant for the King and spoke for the first time that night, so quiet only (Y/n) and Robb, on her other side, could hear. “Handle this disgrace.”

The musicians were too occupied reseting their instruments to notice as (Y/n) Lannister pushed to her feet, but the rest of the hall held their breath in a silence even quieter than the King’s wave had commanded.

Stepping down, (Y/n) approached the lead harpist with steps so noiseless that the man jumped when he looked up to see her.

“My Lady,” Robb made out the words on his lips before the man bowed.

Whatever passed between the Lady and the man was quick and without words. They shared a look, and she slipped him a small coin. That was the matter settled.

A slice of their leader’s hand through the air ordered all the other musicians to cease their movements as he alone began to pluck the strings and play the Rains of Castamere.

(Y/n) remained facing the harpist as she sang. “And who are you, the proud lord said, that I must bow so low? Only a cat of a different coat, that’s all the truth I know.”

Robb knew his mate could sing. He had heard the Song of the Seven she performed with the squire that first night he found her, but this was different. It was personal, emotional, haunting.

She sang with a grief, with a vengeance, with the rage of a battle she was not there to witness. “In a coat of gold or a coat of red, a lion still has claws. And mine are long and sharp, my lord, as long and sharp as yours.”

Her head turned to the high table, but her body remained in place. She looked past Robb to the center, and he knew exactly who her words were for: the King. “And so he spoke, and so he spoke, that lord of Castamere. But now the rains weep o’er his hall, and not a soul to hear.”

(Y/n) walked slowly past the table as the notes of the harp echoed off the stone. The sound would have made most think that Winterfell was Castamere, that Winterfell was the empty hall where none lived to see the rains fall.

“And who are you, the proud lord said, that I must bow so low? Only a cat of a different coat, that’s all the truth I know.” Her voice rushed over the court and sent a chill down every spine as they all remembered the tale behind the song.

She came to a stop at her brother’s shoulder, at the top of the Lannister table, “And so he spoke, and so he spoke, that lord of Castamere. But now the rains weep o’er his hall, and not a soul to hear.”

The harpist began to play out the song to its close, but as he plucked the final notes, the Lannister soldiers joined their Lady, as if cued, “And so he spoke, and so he spoke, that lord of Castamere. But now the rains weep o’er his hall, and not a soul to hear.”

The deeper tone of their voices gave (Y/n) a chance to sing atop their voices in a higher pitch, a haunting pitch that would echo in the ears of all when next they heard the song without her there, “And so he spoke, and so he spoke, that lord of Castamere. But now the rains weep o’er his hall, and not a soul to hear.” The men’s voices died off as (Y/n) finished, “And not a soul to hear.”

Any other song, any other singer, would have gotten standing applause from all who heard such skill, but as (Y/n) resumed her seat at the high table, she received only quiet claps around the hall out of a polite show of respect.

Because everyone, even the Northerners unskilled in the lies and deceits of King’s Landing, could see past this façade. Even they knew what the song was. A warning.

Winter was coming, but the Lannisters were already here.

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Ser Barristan Selmy was on watch at Robert Baratheon’s door the next morning when Tywin Lannister finally arrived to speak with the King.

It had been Lord Tywin who called the meeting, but as seemed the usual with the Lannisters, they liked to wait on no one and had arrived last.

Lord and Lady Stark were already inside the King’s chambers with their heir and Winterfell’s Maester when the entire Lannister family arrived, flanked by Ser Gregor Clegane and Ser Harwyn Plumm.

“I would ask the guards remain outside,” Barristan rested his hand on the hilt of his sword in warning.

“If you wish, Ser Barristan,” Tywin acquiesced without complaint, taking his family past the Kingsguard while Harwyn and Gregor remained outside.

The sight that greeted the family was a familiar one for (Y/n) and Jaime. The King lounged, bored, at the desk in the corner. The Starks, joined this time by their Maester, were scattered about the room in what (Y/n) could only assume to be their usual spots given how naturally they had assumed the positions twice now.

“Your Grace,” Tywin waited for the door to shut behind Tyrion in last position before he spoke. “We’ve come to discuss recent events with you that cannot go unspoken.”

The King’s eyes hardened. “Is that why you called us all here? To exact your debts in front of the Lord and Lady of Winterfell?”

Tywin placated in a calm tone one might us on a child in tantrum, not that his tone had ever been so kind when his own children had tantrums. “No, Your Grace. We merely believed the matter was one which deeply involved House Stark and warranted their inclusion.”

“Then this is about the arms?” Robert seemed skeptical. Even he wasn’t so thick as to assume Tywin would forgive.

Tywin merely gave a nod. “Your Grace, it has come to my attention you wished my daughter marry into House Stark at once upon her arrival at Winterfell.”

“I wished your daughter to marry a match made by the gods that even you can’t buy a change,” Robert growled out against the accusation. “Do not worry. Your pet denied my offer and denied her chosen mate happiness. You’ve trained her well.”

(Y/n) gave no sign she’d heard the King’s words. They were meant to invoke a rise in her, she knew. Last time she had been in this room, it was she who got the better of his emotions, and the King was looking for his turn. A turn (Y/n) was determined not to give him. He truly knew nothing of her and her family if he thought referring to her as a dog performing her father’s tricks was accurate enough to warrant her wrath.

“My daughter meant no offense, I assure you.” Tywin lied smoothly. “Any confusion over her response was simply a misunderstanding. You see, my daughter knew it was not her place to offer her hand as it had already been promised.”

The King sat straighter in his chair. Catelyn stiffened in her chair. Ned glared down Tywin, but Robb simply looked away. He knew something like this was coming.

“Your daughter,” The King fumed, “is betrothed, and said nothing to me?”

“She was only aware of my conversations. Not it’s confirmation.”

Untrue, of course. (Y/n) hadn’t known her father’s plan until she heard it spoken for the first time with the other occupants of the room. Her rejections of the King had been exactly as Robert thought, affronts to his authority. It was only years of practice devoted to the arts of politics and deception that kept her face trained into its usual pacification.

“Ser Harwyn Plumm,” Tywin motioned to the door, “is just outside if you wish to meet the man. He is a third born son and valiant knight of House Lannisters’ most loyal ally, and he has known my daughter her entire life, saved her life on occasion even.”

“A third born?” The King’s lips curled in disgust. “You deny your daughter her mate, the future Warden of the North, lord of more country than any man in the Seven, for a landless knight of a lesser house.”

Tywin turned his eyes on Ned Stark. “I assure you I gave the man my word that my daughter would marry him before we ever knew of your son, Lord Stark. My daughter is an honorable soul who does not wish to break that vow.”

It was rare that (Y/n) had cause to see her father in this light. Usually, debates of policy required only Tywin’s presence to see their resolution; occasionally he would need to glare; but never anything more. This sight was a first. Tywin Lannister actually needing to play the room, but he did it with a practiced ease.

“And we would not wish to dishonor her so,” Ned conceded easily but not without pain.

“Then it appears the matter is settled.”

Robert shifted between his old friend and his old enemy with shock and anger. “That is it then? She marries the Plumm boy?”

(Y/n) wanted to hear the words almost as little as Robb, but they both knew from their talks that there was no escaping this fate. They needed only to accept it.

“Yes, Your Grace, sooner would be better.”

Robert scoffed. “If Ned willingly gives it, you have my leave to wed her when she is back in your mines.”

“Actually, Your Grace,” Tywin barely hid his smirk. There was nothing to see outwardly, but (Y/n) heard the uptick in his tone that signaled what was coming. Tywin Lannister was paying a debt. “That is why I’ve brought the Maester. Lord Mace Tyrell is only a few days ride behind myself with enough food and drink to replenish and overflow Winterfell’s stores. We wished the royal court to see their union.”

Understanding flashed in Robert’s eyes for a moment before it died in confusion, “What are you saying?”

“I am saying that (Y/n) will be married here. Immediately. In the Sept of Winterfell.”

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Next Time on... Part Four

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I apologize if I missed tagging anyone, and I’d like to apologize for not personally responding to anyone who requested to be on the taglist like I normally would. It was a hell of a week when I didn’t post y’all got no idea. Personally a tumultuous time, but hopefully I’m back on track.

Let me know if you want on any of my taglists/if I missed adding you to any taglist (because I’m sorry but I think I missed one or two).

And most of all let me know what you think about the dynamic between Tywin/Reader.

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moon-ruled-rising · 4 years

Text

as the rain hides the stars

Read the full story on ao3...

ix: just an arrogant son of a bitch

You can’t blame me darling,

not even a little bit.

And I’m just an arrogant son of a bitch,

who can’t admit when he’s sorry

-Harry Styles, “To Be So Lonely”

Sitting in the cavernous official office of King Rhaegar Targaryen felt unsettling. Whether it was the dark color scheme or the dragon statues leering at him, Jon couldn’t say, but the subject they were gathered to discuss certainly didn’t help.

They were situated around a smaller table in the room, not the impressive desk at the other end. Papers were splayed around and Ned and Rhaegar spent hours discussing each point in the new contract. Daenerys stewed in silent rage across from Jon, as she had that morning.

The Starks were invited to breakfast in the formal dining room with the royal family. Jon expected another stuffy, extravagant hall with a mile long table weighed down by hundreds of food options. The Targaryens basking in the glory of their ostentatious wealth. What he got surprised him.

The impressive chandeliers were off in favor of the natural light from the tall windows. The mile long dining table was much more modest with just enough seats to fit all of them in. And the light breakfast foods were offered on a platter in the center.

The only open seat was across from the Princess and Jon swallowed down the curses he wanted to utter. She had her back to the windows, the morning sunlight making a halo out of her white gold hair. The princess looked up when he entered, something strange flickering in her eyes before she tore her gaze away. Under any other circumstances, Jon would’ve appreciated the beautiful scene and maybe tried his hand at a compliment, but considering their confrontation the night before he thought it best if he kept his mouth shut.

Just the look of her brought back images of last night. Wet hair over a black clad shoulder, a whiskey bottle clasped in a pale hand. The drenched, see-through slip and a pair of violent violet eyes trying to conceal their anger at the world.

She avoided eye contact with him the whole time, preferring to push her food around her plate and throw a few disinterested comments Elia’s way.

She spoke to Jon only once, breaking her pointless silence to say, “I trust your jacket made it back to you.”

“In perfect condition,” he answered.

They returned to their silence for the rest of the breakfast. Occasionally, Jon would sneak a glance at her, only to find that she was looking at him too. They both averted their eyes and went back to their food.

The two played the same game as Rhaegar and Ned discussed yet another point on the treaty.

“There is one thing I would like to propose as an amendment to the contract,” the young woman spoke up, straightening her posture from the slouched, disinterested pose before.

“What’s that Daenerys?”

“The Crown Matrimonial.”

King Eddard sighed and Jon tightened his hands around the arm rests to keep his face from betraying him.

Reading the change in demeanor the princess asked, “Is there a problem?”

Eddard began, “No, it’s-”

“You’ve no right to it,” Jon blurted

She arched an eyebrow at him, tilting her chin up in defiance.

“What my son means is that traditionally the crown matrimonial is-”

“I know. Only granted when the consort in question proves themselves worthy through an act of honor or great courage. I think entering a lifelong commitment to provide your country with supplies to make it through winter is an honorable action.”

“Dany…” Rhaegar sighed.

As she turned her head to look at her brother, Jon noticed the numerous braids in her hair. All wrapped and pinned around each other with precision. She looked like a queen sitting on a war council, carefully planning her next strategic move.

“Normally, the honorable action is childbirth or, in ancient cases, serving in war. It’s a title that must be earned, not bartered away. I hope you understand that this is the reason we withhold the crown matrimonial.” Ned explained.

Rheagar and Daenerys exchanged looks, the King’s eyes burning in warning.

“Is there any way we could keep it on the table?”

“Of course but the final decision rests with the Council of High Lords.”

Jon didn’t want to believe what he was hearing. Were they really so desperate?

Daenerys hummed, “No crown, no contract.”

With that she stood and strode from the room, as though it was a casual conversation between passers-by.

“I’m very sorry about her. She just needs time.” Rhaegar collected the papers and put them into a folder marked with the Targaryen crest.

Ned nodded, “I understand.”

“She asked that we give her a month before anything is finalized.”

“And if she decides against this?” Jon asked.

Rhaegar reached for a second folder and opened it, “ I doubt she will but, just to be safe, we planned a month-long tour of the North. If you give her a chance to see why your people need her, she’ll be sympathetic. Daenerys may not act it but she has the biggest heart in this family.”

The tour of the North was strategic to say the least. The first stop in White Harbor, a public appearance at one of the homeless shelters there, then to Winterfell for a few days before setting off to the Mountain Clans. They would arrive in time for Midsummer celebrations.

It would be fun to watch the southern princess try to understand the ancient celebrations. He couldn’t wait to see her reaction when they told her it was rude to not participate.

When he returned to his rooms he found Robb and Sansa planning a night out. And before he knew it he was dressed up and towed to a rented car.

Sansa made a big deal about wanting to spend more time exploring the city instead of stuck in the castle where they felt like outsiders. Jon knew she just wanted to be seen by the somebodies of King’s Landing.

“Sansa, where are we going?”

“I heard a couple of ladies talking about the Dragonpit last night.”

“The Dragonpit?” Robb rolled his eyes.

Everything in the damned city had a dragon theme to it even when the business didn’t exclude dragon energy.

“It’s super exclusive with tight security and I think we should go.”

“What makes you think they’ll let you in? You’re still seventeen.” Jon joked.

Sansa protested in her usual way, “And three-fourths! Besides, my age doesn’t matter because I’m somebody.”

“Yeah, everyone in the South knows who we are.” Robb’s sarcastic comment had no effect on her positive disposition.

“They will by the time we leave.”

The Dragonpit was in the basement of a high rise in the New City. Cameramen crowded the entrance, held back by a velvet rope. The flashes of their cameras like lightning in a summer storm, their shouts the accompanying thunder.

Sansa walked down the paved path with all the confidence of a queen. Flipping her hair and smiling for the cameras, flanked by her brothers. Robb gave his best performance but Jon couldn’t find it in him to fake anything. The bouncer didn’t even try to stop her and as they descended the stairs, they found themselves in another world.

The name ‘The Dragonpit’ insinuated a medieval vibe but the space beneath the building was ultra modern. The dance floor was crowded, the people revealed through flashes of the stage lights surrounding the DJ’s booth. Low red lights around the club signaled where the extra seating was. Sansa went straight to the dance floor, Robb following to keep an eye on her. Jon however, went straight for the bar.

The backlit liquor options and the black marble countertop were too fancy. The heavy bass from the music made it so Jon had to shout his order to the bartender. His unwillingness to be there doubling by the second.

A commotion at the entrance drew his attention. The song blasting through the speakers faded out and the DJ proclaimed over his mic, “Looks like a special guest just dropped in. Ladies and gentlemen, Her Royal Highness Daenerys Targaryen!”

This time Jon did swear, the applause and cheers loud enough to drown him out. The Gods had it out for him, he was certain of that now.

The track switched back on, the bass reverberating through the crowded club again. Jon’s eyes followed her as she was swallowed by the people on the dance floor. The bright strobe lights reflected off her silvery hair and the impractical hoops hanging from her ears threw it any which way.

It wasn’t long until she made her way to the bar.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she complained when she saw him.

Her hair was still braided from earlier but the short red dress was a complete turn around from the soft grey sweater she’d worn that morning.

“If you care to know, my sister dragged me here.”

“You’re sister? Isn’t she a bit young to be going to clubs?”

“No one tells Sansa no.”

“Maybe someone should.” Despite her previous rudeness upon seeing him, she sat next to him.

“I understand you changed your mind,” Jon said, eyeing her.

“I didn’t change my mind, I bought myself time.”

“So you can try to wiggle your way out of having responsibility?”

Instead of the deathly stare he expected, she arched a brow at him.

“So I don’t have to spend the rest of my life with you.”

The bartender came around and took her attention away.

“A Braavosi Apple Martini and a Dragon’s Blood.”

“Cocktails? You were drinking stronger stuff last night.”

“I’m here with Missandei and I’m banned from drinking in public.”

“Whatever you say,” he smirked.

He knew what game he was playing. It was how he got Theon to do anything stupid. Jon didn’t want Daenerys to embarrass herself but their love of liquor was the only thing they had in common.

“You don’t know anything about me,” she sneered.

“No, but I’ve heard plenty.”

Her jaw tightened and she lengthened her neck. Jon learned quickly that it was her little way of gathering confidence, preparing for battle.

“Fine,” she declared and reached over the bar, “If that’s how you want to play it.”

She slammed down two shot glasses. The bartender came over with her previous order and she demanded a bottle of Crown Royal.

He knew he should’ve stayed away from the alcohol, it never ended well, but the princess was a challenge he was determined to beat.

“Let’s turn it into a game. We make assumptions about each other. For each one you get right, I take a shot and vice versa.”

“I have to warn you, I’m very good at reading people.”

“Unfortunately for you, I’m impossible to read.”

Jon shook his head, no one was impossible to read. Bastards had to learn to notice things and that aspect of his nature was honed during his military time.

“Ladies first,” he offered, sliding his original glass out of the way.

She narrowed her violet eyes at him, scanning his face.

“Your best friend is your brother.”

Jon took the shot then considered Daenerys as she refilled his glass.

“You’ve played this game before.”

“That’s obvious,” she pointed out, the edge of the glass hovering in front of her lips.

The nude shade she wore was soft and inviting unlike the vicious red of the night before. Jon found himself watching as they parted into a smirk before taking her shot.

“You smoke. You told everyone you quit but you still do it.”

Jon took his shot.

“How the fuck did you know that?”

“When you gave me your jacket last night.” she reached into her bag and slid the pack across the bar. “You left your pack in the pocket.”

“And you’ve been carrying it around with you?”

She shrugged, “There might be a couple missing. Your turn.”

A few shots later, Missandei came over to see what was taking Dany so long. She saw them together and simply grabbed her drink and told Jon to keep an eye on her.

“You joined the military because you felt like you had something to prove.” she stated.

Jon couldn’t refuse her and took the shot. The previous assumptions were light, simple things that barely scratched the surface of a person, but Daenerys made it clear that she wanted to move on. She had ripped away the skin and was ready to tear into the meat of her prey.

“You ran off to college to escape your family.”

“And this dreadful city,” she added before tipping back the glass.

“Your father is the reason for your discharge from the military, not an accident, like your profile said.”

Shot. It was only half true.

“You’ve been with more than three people.”

Shot.

“You’ve never been with anyone.”

He allowed himself a stupid smirk as her eyes shifted from the shi\ot glass to him.

“Am I wrong?”

“Yes.”

She looked at him as though she didn’t believe it before reaching over the bar and taking the shot for him.

“For getting one wrong,” she excused.

As they carried Jon felt the pressure building in his head as he tried to come up with something.

“Your relationship with the Dothraki Khal was much deeper than people know.”

Her jaw ticked as the words left his mouth. She furiously threw the shot back, setting the glass down with more effort than needed. He’d really struck a nerve. He should’ve backed off and sober him would’ve but the alcohol made him bolder. It blurred the lines between the self he presented and the one that looked at the world through a bitter lens.

They continued, the world blurred around the edges but both of them were determined to get the other to quit. Especially Daenerys.

“You hate me.”

Gone was the diplomacy and tact. She was messy, trying to get as many hits on him as she could, trying to get him where it hurt. Jon thought he saw how ruthless she could be last night but she proved herself to be even more devastating now.

He clasped his hand around the shot glass but when it came time to take it, he paused. He wanted to take the shot, to throw it in her face that she didn’t phase him and her little games were pointless, but something deep in his mind stopped him.

She took note of his hesitation, “Well?”

The smug look on her face was all it took. Before he could second guess it, the liquor was sliding down his throat. He found comfort in the way it burned.

“Good because I can’t stand you either.”

He didn’t need to think hard on what he would say to her, he’d figured it out last night.

“You’re in love with that Tyrohsi millionaire- what was his name? Daario Naharis?”

From the way her eyes widened Jon knew he caught her off guard. The corner of her mouth twitched like she wanted to say something, but she snatched up the glass and downed her shot.

She slapped money down on the counter for their alcohol and leaned in close, “Don’t ever say that name again.”

“I thought you didn’t get attached.”

She released a bitter laugh, “I don’t usually. But I’m a woman and we’re known to get too emotionally involved. The press has been profiting off of that my whole life.”

“If you weren’t so public with your exploits, the media wouldn’t have so much stake in your life.”

“Let’s think about this critically for a moment. If you were to exhibit the same behaviors-”

“I wouldn’t-”

“Don’t interrupt me,” she snapped.

Jon didn’t think the look in her eyes could turn any more venomous but it did.

“If you were to do the same things, people wouldn’t bat an eye because you’re a man. I don’t care what higher moral authority you think you have but don’t assume for one second that makes you better than me. If the roles were reversed, your reputation wouldn’t be affected at all.”

“That’s where you're wrong,” Jon corrected.

“Oh really? Explain it to me.”

“I was born a bastard. When I was legitimized that title didn’t go away, it was put under a magnifying glass. If I stepped out of line there would be more than whispers in the court. It’s not only my reputation on the line, it’s my family’s.”

He stopped himself before he could mention the underlying tensions with the other high lords. That was deeper than he needed to go. And there was no need to discuss private matters of state with a woman who could care less.

She was quiet in that contemplative way when people thought things over. Jon was reminded of last night, when his outburst led to her reconsideration of the marriage contract. That same night he realized he was the only person who had ever told her off. She could’ve used that during their meeting to free herself from the arrangement but she didn’t. Not for the first time did Jon wonder what was going on in that pretty, stubborn head of hers.

“Do you think I have a higher moral authority now?”

“No. But I’m not one to ignore the pressures and restrictions monarchy puts on us. Let’s call it a truce. At least until you give me another reason for an alcohol fueled confrontation.”

She held her Dragon’s Blood cocktail up, her face betraying no emotion. Not even a smile at their hastily made peace. He clinked her glass with his empty one. She retreated to the dance floor where her friend was, surprisingly sturdy on her high heels with the alcohol she’d consumed. Then again, she boasted about her ability to hold liquor.

He had no interest in joining the mass of bodies and heat that was the dance floor. He preferred to observe what kind of foolishness took place.

Sansa danced near the edge of the floor, Robb kept an eye on her from outside the commotion. He was usually in the middle of it all but Talisa gave him quite the talk before they left. It was a good thing Robb was taking it seriously. Jon liked having Talisa around.

One of the spotlights blazed across the crowd and Jon’s eyes followed. When they landed on the braided, white-blonde hair of Princess Daenerys, he didn’t look away. She mouthed the words to the song with her eyes closed, head thrown back and body moving with the beat. The track ended and as the crowd on the floor responded to the DJ, she looked dead at Jon. A new bassline rumbled through the club and she was leaving. For the second time that day, she was storming out because of Jon.

#jonerys #jon snow x daenerys targaryen #ao3 #jonerysfanfic #jonerys fanfiction #ao3 link

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recurring-polynya · 5 years

Text

I think it’s pretty evident by now that I am something of a connoisseur of Bleach filler. Like greatness, this is not a thing I have chosen for myself, it is just a thing that has been thrust upon me. And to that end, I need you to know that Bleach #147-149 is the template on which all other filler should be built. I love it. It’s perfect.

I’ve chosen to group it in with the Advance Team Filler, even though it really takes place during the early Hueco Mundo arc. There’s more HM filler much, much later, but it’s after the Cap’n Amagai filler arc, and I feel like this fits more thematically with the Advance Team filler. Also, all the other members of the Advance Team got their own episode and these are Rukia’s.

These episodes are everything I wanted #136-137 to be. One thing that I always want in filler is shitty bad guys who are way below our heroes’ usual standard. I get enough of Ichigo training and tapping into his inner strength during the canon parts. When I’m watching filler, I only want to see him whale on some throwaway villains. The Fullbringer Arc is not actually filler, but it has Big Filler Energy, and Zaraki killing that butler dude in half a second is the most gratifying part of it.

So, let’s jump in:

We’re in Hueco Mundo, Rukia and Renji have just showed up in their sweet capes, everyone is riding around on Bawabawa. Runuganga, the huge sand dude they defeated last episode, shows up again (he’s made of sand, so he can never die, I guess?) Rukia tries to Second Dance him, but she’s standing on Bawabawa during the part of the attack where the blades go down into the ground, they go into poor Bawabawa instead and he freaks out (and then Renji scolds her, it’s beautiful). Runuganga then makes a sand whirlpool and the process of falling into it, Rukia falls off Bawabawa and gets separated from everyone else as they fall down into the ::Forest::of::the::Menos:: (end reverb)

Everyone in this filler is extremely stupid, but it’s okay, because it doesn’t matter, in fact, it is charming and hilarious. There’s some physical comedy of the Great Desert Brothers falling on Ichigo’s head, Ishida holds forth on Hueco Mundo flora, and literally like 10 minutes pass before Renji notices Rukia is gone and everyone’s like “Whaaaaaa? Rukia, whaaaaat?” They go looking for her, and once again, I cannot emphasize enough that Ichigo and Renji are just Jason-from-the-Good-Place level morons in this episode. Ichigo theorizes that perhaps Rukia is so light that she has been blown away and Renji is all aboard his idiot train.

So, where is Rukia, anyway? She lands somewhere else and immediately gets attacked by Hollows. She’s not really having any trouble holding them off when this dude in a stinky cape covered in Hollow skulls shows up and “saves” her. It’s like this guy saw Renji’s bankai capelet, and said, “this, but cocktail length with extra skulls.” He takes Rukia back to his bachelor cave, where he has cubbies full of mushrooms and a sweet kidou lamp he made himself. Rukia realizes he is a shinigami and yells “WHAT’S YOUR SQUAD?” at him a bunch. He takes off his mask to reveal that he is in fact, dreamy. His name is Ashido and he is Extremely Rukia’s Type, by which I mean he is tall, has spikey hair, and is not very bright.

We get a flashback of Ashido’s sad origin story: he and a bunch of his squad members followed some Hollows back through a Garganta and got stuck in Hueco Mundo. He figures that he can do more good exterminating Hollows where they live rather than trying to get home, so they stay there and fight Hollows until all his friends are dead. Oops. The very sexy Hollow Zorak skull he wears as a mask was in fact, the head of the Hollow who killed his last friend. He uses Hollow skulls to deflect ceros which seems… useful? And sort of made up? As he’s telling this story, the camera pans out and there are a bunch of graves? And he’s like, “I wanted to tell you this story in front of my friends so they could hear the voice of a shinigami again.” Rukia, of course, is like “Ahhhh cool cool cool cool cool cool, no doubt, no doubt” as if she doesn’t also have a hill of friend graves that she likes to pose in front of. He asks Rukia if they have noticed a decrease in Hollows in the Living World due to his efforts and Rukia refuses to answer or to make eye contact. He then observes that some weird crap has been going on lately, did something happen in Soul Society? and Rukia is like “So many things happen in Soul Society, it’s basically unknowable.” Rukia is my queen and president, I love her.

Asido then observes that some morons with too much reiatsu seems to be fighting nearby and attracting every Hollow in the vicinity. Rukia is like, yeah, they’re mine. As they head off in that direction, they get attacked by Hollows and Ashido relives his entire flashback again, but in negative colors. Baller move, Filler Episode.

Some other stuff has happened-- Chad and Ishida rode Bawabawa up a tree? Nel and her Fraccion got kidnapped by the Hollows whom Aizen has allegedly put in charge of the Forest of Menos? I feel like Aizen just said that to get rid of them, these guys are more like some over-enthusiastic Steelers fans you accidentally sat next to at the bar than actual villains. All this is slightly boring, except for two things:

1. Everyone has started treating Bawabawa like Lassie, where he goes “BAWABAWAWAWABAWA” and someone will reply to him like he’s a person, “Nel has been kidnapped? She’s stuck in the old abandoned well?” I love Bawabawa so much, I love yelling “BAWABAWA”, and I never once got sick of this gag, not even for a second.

2. As you might expect, the Forest of Menos is full of Menos. Hundreds of Menos. Pantsloads of Menos. You may remember a million episodes ago, when Ichigo still had Rukia’s powers, and he had to tie his sword to Ishida’s head in order to defeat a Menos. Those days are over. Menos are bowling pins now. Ichigo and the gang are just annihilating Menos. Menos corpses everywhere. Chad punches a Menos in the foot and it dies. I’m pretty sure Renji deflects a cero with his bare arm and then kills like 30 Menos who are standing in a line, which makes them very convenient to run over with Hihiou Zabimaru. Ashido has been down here for *hundreds of years* trying to reduce the number of Hollows, and it’s clear that the Karakura Kids + Renji could clear this place out in an afternoon and still have the energy to go Cosmic Bowling afterwards.

Meanwhile, Rukia and Ashido run into Ashido’s old nemesis, the Boss Hollow of the Forest. Ashido fights him dramatically for a while, and then he makes a bad deflection and the guy is about to hit Rukia, “RUUUUUKIIAAAAA NOOOOOOO!”, mantis skull flashback *again.* And here is where this episode becomes next level, because Rukia goes to shikai and just goes ham on the guy, and you realize that she has been slumming this entire time. Ashido is a joke. He doesn’t even have shikai. Rukia is so much better than him and the only explanation for this is that she’s been letting him look cool because she wants to tap that. Ashido just accepts this, and I assume this is the point where they have mediocre Hueco Mundo sex.

We go back to the boys, who have defeated all the Hollows they could find and found the exit, and are fretting because they still don’t know where Rukia is. Then Rukia just walks up, “Hey guys, what’s going on in this thread?” They all start to leave when one of the Hollows from earlier comes back (you had ONE JOB, Ichigo, everyone else killed their Hollow) with 50 Menos. Keep in mind, based on earlier events, this would take Ishida like 6 seconds to take care of, but Ashido has to dramatically face them himself. There’s a hilarious bit where he turns back to fight the Hollow and Ichigo and Renji run right past him. He can’t even run fast. He’s terrible. Anyway, some rocks start falling and Ichigo and Renji get entranced by them (shiny!) and Ashido jumps past the rockslide to fight the Hollows and is therefore trapped and they have to leave him behind.

Back on the surface, Rukia takes a knee and makes a dramatic speech while Ichigo and Renji stand behind her like good wingmen and press F in chat. It ends with this:

I cannot see this without thinking about that part in Shrek 2 where Shrek says “I promise I shall repay you, unless I can’t find you, or I forget!” Especially because Rukia 100% forgets that Ashido exists and we never see him again.

Advance Team Filler Masterpost

#bleach filler #rukia kuchiki #ashido #hueco mundo #menos #six hearts beat as one #morons #these utter buffoons #BAWABAWA #rukia is perfect #i bet orihime is sad she missed this

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leswansong · 5 years

Text

Marichat May - Kitty Cats & Ballet Shoes

Day Seven: Roommates

[ A03 ]

Sipping her warm coffee Marinette smiled down at the still sleeping thief on her white sofa, his breathing was strained and muffled, she couldn’t hold back her concern but there was nothing she could do until he woke up. Finding him in the halls falling asleep was a shock to her, he had always been so careful with who saw him and by the pale look in his face, something bad had happened to him. She couldn’t find it in herself to leave him there and the fact that her dance partner Leon was only a few minutes behind her forced her to act quickly.

Checking her phone for the time she started to make breakfast for him. She grabbed her mother’s small recipe book because she could never remember when to add the cinnamon. She tried to keep the noise down as she started to mix in all the ingredients but she accidentally knocked a plastic cup off the counter. Wincing and looked over to Chat he shifted a little but didn’t wake up. Letting out a sigh of relief she picked up the cup and returned to her cooking, placing a pan down on the stove top, she buttered it and slowly brought the heat up under it when a sharp painful grown reached her ears.

She glanced over, Chat was trying and failing to sit up, her hands reached for the stove dial and turned it off.

“Chat wait!” she yelled trying to wash the excess butter off of her hands, “Lay down please.”

He ignored her and continued to try and sit up, she groaned and dumped the tea towel she was using to dry her hands on the countertop and ran to him. She held herself back so she wouldn’t knock anything off of the small side tables littered around her apartment. Reaching his side she pushed him back down onto the sofa, he yelped in pain and she murmured him a quick apology.

She waited a minute before asking him, “What happened?”

He groaned, “Marinette,” he whined, “I’m-” he tried to say ‘fine’ but was caught off guard when a cough surfaced. He looked around and realised where he was. “How did I get here?”

“I found you in the corridor, you were in and out of consciousness and I… I just couldn’t leave you there.”

“I- You walked me down the streets…”

“Yeah… No one noticed I made sure that I was roadside and my really large jacket hid most of your… suit,” she really had no idea how to explain what he was wearing.

“Thank you,” her eyes met his and she felt the weight behind his words.

“Are- Are you okay,” she stuttered, “What happened, you looked really- sick last night.”

He averted his eyes and murmured something beyond her range of hearing, she frowned and was about to ask him to repeat himself when he did it for her.

“I kinda crashed into a brick wall,” he told her sheepishly.

“What!? How? Do you need to go to Hospit-“

“No! Please don’t call an Ambulance, I’ll be fine,” his words were panicked.

“Okay, Okay,” she said trying to calm him, “But how did you-“

“End up crashing into a brick wall?” he finished her sentence for her.

She nodded.

He sighed and instantly gritted his teeth, “My grappling hook… I hadn’t used it before,” he explained, “And it was a little more effective than I thought and well…”

“Did it hurt,” she asked even though she could tell it did.

He paused and swallowed his pride before nodding his head, “I’ve got a few cracked ribs and easily a bruised lung among other minor injuries.”

She frowned at the list, they sounded extremely painful and her head urged her, even more, to take him to a hospital but Chat had made it very clear his thoughts on it. Chat tried to sit up again but this time she gently pushed him back down.

He sent her a slightly infuriated look.

“Stay,” she commanded, “you’ll get extra pancakes if you do.”

His eyes grew wide and he instantly complied with her demands.

She smirked internally and headed back to the small kitchen making quick work of the batter sitting on the countertop. Soon she had two tall stacks of pancakes, one was slightly taller than the other, she placed the two plates down on her small round dining table. It took some time but eventually, she helped Chat over to the table, her shoulder protested the heavy weight on it as it hadn’t recovered from the night before but she bit her tongue and just dealt with it.

“Thanks,” he replied happily already digging into the tall pile on his plate.

Marinette tried to find something to break the silence but nothing came to mind, she wanted to ask him questions to get to know him better and she would have asked him if it weren’t for the crazy amount of ways he could interpret them. Very quickly Chat polished off his plate, Marinette pushed him what was left on her plate knowing that she definitely couldn’t finish it.

“Thank you Marinette,” he said after he finished eating, “this… This was lovely but I’d best get going,” he used his extendable stick to help him stand.

Her eyes grew wide at the sight she hadn’t seen anything like it. She shook her head to snap her back to what he had said, “No,” she protested, “You’re not going anywhere while you’re injured.”

He sputtered, “Marinette, I’m- you can’t- I-“

“I have a spare bedroom,” she told him, “and you’ll be using it until you heal.”

He let out a huff and slumped back into his chair in defeat, he didn’t argue the point any further but Marinette could see that he really wanted to.

Her eyes shot over quickly to her front door just to make sure she had locked it properly the night before, her keys were nowhere in sight although she didn’t doubt that if Chat really wanted to leave her door wouldn’t pose much of a challenge. Turning back to him she gave him a small smile and headed off to her spare room.

She hadn’t exactly been in there for a while, the kittens had wandered their way in there and she had spent several minutes looking for them but her old sewing supplies still sat untouched with a small layer of dust atop them. She held her breath as to not breath any of it in, she felt around in one of the draws for a feather duster and gave everything a light dusting, it would have to be given a proper cleaning but that was a job for later. Her attention moved to the old trundle daybed to start setting it up, she pushed aside the small bedside table to convert the bed into a queen size one. It was the first time in a very long time that she had converted it and she had forgotten how heavy it was but using all her strength she triumphed. She tried to dress the bed as best as she could but it ultimately looked like she had just thrown everything on it.

The sound of someone trying to open her locked front door reached her ears, she smiled and waited for Chat to slowly hobble over to her. She stuffed a pillow into its case and threw it onto the bed.

“Marinette?”

She spun on her heels to face him, he was using the doorway as support, “You shouldn’t be walking around,” she commented and picked up another pillowcase and pillow.

He shrugged his shoulders, “I was bored.”

“Here,” she threw the pillow she was holding towards him, once he had caught it she threw him the case, She picked up another pillow and started to stuff it into a case.

“How long will I be staying,” he inquired.

“Until you can walk without pain.”

“That’s… A while, It takes bones like six weeks to heal.”

“You’ve clearly never broken a bone.”

“Only slightly,” he replied smiling, he threw her back the pillow which was now in its case.

“Well, you’ll be staying until it heals.”

“But-“ he tried to argue.

“You’re staying,” she ordered.

“The necklace.”

“You’ll get another opportunity,” she threw her own pillow onto the bed.

“No, I won’t.”

She sighed and sat down on the bed, she patted the spot next to her urging him to sit and he reluctantly did.

“Listen,” she started, “If you stay here for at least two weeks and I can see that you can at least walk with little pain, you can leave but not before then. I don’t want to find you seriously hurt in a corridor again.”

“Okay…” he replied disheartened by her words, “But if I’m still here the night before the Gala, you have to help me steal the necklace.

Marinette had to stop herself from Immediately agreeing, she had to think this through. If she agreed she could no longer turn him into the police because her fingerprints would be on it too and he could easily say that she was his accomplice in all of his other crimes as revenge. It dawned on her that she’d be the one stealing the necklace, she wouldn’t be playing some distant background role, she’d actually be in the room with the safe.

“You’d have to crack the safe of course as well as everything I’d normally do like casing the place and making sure nothing is left up to chance since you’ve… well… made me your unofficial roommate and declared that I can’t walk,” he explained.

“I- I get it, I’d- I’d essentially be you for a night,” her voice was small and she stuttered her way through the simple sentence.

He smiled brightly at her, “Do we have a deal?”

She took a deep breath and sighed, every fibre of her being told her not to say yes even if it got her a little revenge on Lila, the girl couldn’t and wouldn’t stop bragging about her getting the lead in the Christmas production. The thought of the girl flipped a switch in her head, she really couldn’t believe she was going to say yes, she shut her eyes and slowly nodded her head.

“Great!” he replied a little too enthusiastically for her liking, she got the sudden feeling that he was planning something.

She got up to leave only to feel his gloved hand reach out and grab her when she walked a little too far, she faced him.

“Don’t worry Marinette, I won’t make you do anything too extreme, I promise.”

How he managed to pick up on her insecurities baffled her but a small part of her was glad that he did and that he wasn’t going to push her boundaries because stealing was already extremely far out of her comfort zone.

She smiled at him giving him a silent reply and exited the room.

She wondered how she ended up in this position, just the thought of the thief used to terrify her and now, seeing him hurt in that hallway she never wanted to see him hurt again.

Entering her kitchen, she got to work cleaning up the mess breakfast had caused, she scrubbed the pan cleaning off the baked in pancake residue, she wiped down the counter top all while regretting her decision to help Chat and asking him to stay. He would be in her very small apartment for at least two weeks, she definitely hadn’t thought that through.

She wondered what Alya would think of her situation, her best friend would most likely insist that Marinette had a small crush on the man but Marinette knew that to untrue. She knew her own feelings very well and knew that she was nowhere near ready for another relationship not after how her last one ended. No, her relationship with Chat was a friendship slowly being built on trust even if her now slightly skewed moral compass tried to argue against it but it couldn’t ignore the facts, she texted him more than her other friends and with Alya out of the country Chat Noir was the only person she saw out of her dance classes and rehearsals.

Marinette reached for a pen and started to write a small list of things she would have to get if Chat was actually going to be staying the full two weeks.

Made For @marichatmay

<—Previous Drabble Master List Next—>

#marichat may #miraculous ladybug #miraculous ladybug fanfiction #miraculous ladybug fanfic #miraculous #marinette dupain cheng #chat noir #adrien agreste #marichat #Kitty Cats & Ballet Shoes #SwanSongWrites #I keep drabbling on

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eerythingisshaka · 6 years

Text

The Coffee Prince Pt. 2

(T’Challa x Reader)

*Part 1*

Word Count: 3k

Plot: Stuck in your ways of living, one day at the coffee shop, you run into a tall dark roast that threatens to wake you up from your romantic hibernation.

*Previously*

You are unphased and not listening when you get up and see this 6’0 man picking up his drink and turning towards you. He makes his way to the side table, and your heart literally stops pumping for a split second from the anxiety. He hasn’t seen you yet and he could easily leave very soon without your acknowledgment, What if he doesn’t recognize you? The L’s you could take outweigh the dubs by a mile.

You get up to go get an unnecessary sugar packet.

“Excuse me,” you say.

He looks to you and gives you a crooked smile.

“Ahh, how are you today, Ms. Macchiato.” He says while stirring his coffee.

You spontaneously start ovulating at his title for you. He remembered your order, and made it a pet name for you!

You smile goofily as your heart threatens to fall out of your chest, “Yeah, that’s me! How have you been….Thomas?” Your voice rises an octave as you coyly played like you couldn’t remember one of the few things tied to him from your one engagement.

He furrows his brow at your statement. “Ohh, you must have me confused with some other American coffee drinker.”

“Oh? So that accent makes you from where, Boston?”

You both laugh. Your mouth is getting dry from anxiety, so you sip your drink.

“Gah! Fuck!” You sputter some of the liquid down your chin, tongue hanging out fanning it. The drink was scalding hot still.

‘Thomas’ gets a napkin and hands it to you, concern clouds his face.

“Are you all right? Should I go get you some water or…”

Heated with embarrassment noe more than the coffee, you shake your head trying to speak clearly. “It’th fine, thankth.” You say with a scalded tongue.

“Please, sit a moment. I’ll be right back.” He touches your arm to guide you back to a table and makes his way to the register. You keep fanning yourself, mortified by your not so graceful behavior.

“Ok, come on, get your thit together. You are a queen goddeth. Anyone would be lucky to dick you down proper.”

You take a deep breath and look off to one side and see an old white woman shaking her head looking at you. Of course that last sentence would come out clear as a bell, but you gave her a look of ‘and?’ while she continued eating her oatmeal.

‘Thomas’ comes back with cold Fiji water, cracking it open before handing it to you.

You take it in you hand with shock clearly displayed cross your face, ‘Thomas’ sits down across from you and notices your expression immediately.

“Is something wrong with it? Is something in it?” He leans to look at the bottle clutched in the hand.

Why did he have to be so cute when he scrunches his face with worry? You snap out of it and try to relax again. “No, it’th juth uh, you know they have free water cupth, right? Like, you didn’t have to pay for one”

He waves his hand in protest, “It’s nothing. I mean, you don’t need lukewarm tap water, this is better for you.”

You say before taking a sip, “Well that was very thweet of you. I owe you one.”

“Don’t worry about that. I can’t standby while you’re in pain. Though, the temporary speech impediment is kind of cute, I must say.”

“What do you mean? Thith ith my real voice. I wath juth trying to impreth you with perfect diction last time.” You say, blowing your coffee, batting your eyes.

He chuckles, “Right, and I’m from Boston.”

You smile and look out the window for a second. The high you feel from being in his company makes it hard to come back down to the reality that you have to make conversation, and you’re suddenly lost for words. You want to know more about him but don’t want to come off as nosy or interrogative, or too eager, though you could smile at him giddily all damn day But this is a cute guy, who is clearly attentive, splurging on some fresh H2O. Ask him something! Get some personal shit out the way!

You face him to see his round, gorgeous eyes looking at you. You can’t read his expression before he looks down at his coffee again.

“What is your name, by chance? I don’t think I got it before.” he asks before puckering his lips, that look like they’ve never known ash, to take a sip.

“Oh, it’s (Y/N)” you say.

“Ah, (Y/N) that’s a beautiful name. It doesn’t seem too difficult to me.”

You practically melt at him saying your name. You’d never want a different one long as those lips spoke it.

“Well, it shouldn’t be. But people sense something has more than 2 syllables and their mind just flips.”

“Does it have any meaning behind it?”

“Mmm, not that I know. I’d have to Google. But all I know is my mom just liked it. But what about you, ‘Thomas’?” You say with a goofy grin, resting your chin on your hand.

“Yes, my name is T’Challa.”

“T….Challa?”

“Yes, that’s right! First try!” He holds his hand up for a high five.

The world seems to go into slow motion when connecting your palm to his. His hand is a skyscraper compared to yours, trying to memorize the feel of his hand through the little contact you had.

“What can I say, I’m a pro!”

“Very nice. Impaired tongue and all!” He pauses a moment before continuing, “Have you got time for a walk around to get some air? It’s so beautiful outside. May be nice…”

You look at your phone and see you should've been back at your desk 15 min ago.

“Uh… actually I do need to go…”

“Bast! Well that’s ok. Maybe our paths can cross again in the future?”

Your face fallen, “Yeah, hopefully so. Thanks again for the water…”

You start to get up and leave, “Ah, Miss (Y/N)?”

You turn to him, “Mhm?”

“Do you think I could call you sometime? If it’s not too forward, we could arrange meeting outside of your work hours so it’s more convenient?”

You heart jumped into your throat at the proposal. He’s asking for your number!

“Sure thing! I would love that. Just let me know or I’ll call you whichever. Cool!”

You back up to leave before you add anymore positive phrases to your long phrase affirming his invitation.

You step out the door of the shop and do a little Tiffany Haddish ‘she ready’ dance. You couldn’t wait to fill Tavia in on the details. T’Challa, T’Challa, the name just rolls off the tongue.

“Miss (Y/N)! I thought you trying to dine and dash but …”

T’Challa was standing behind you for God knows how long, struggling to hold back his smile.

You straighten up, mortified. Could he possibly be any more handsome and you be anymore a dork?

“Oh, no. Um, what do you mean?” you stammer, folding your arms to look semi-normal.

He pulls out his phone. “We actually need each others numbers to call each other right?”

You still didn’t exchange numbers! Thinking of how much of a mess you are you say, “Yeah, sorry! Of course, allow me.”

You take his phone and type it in with your name saving it.

Handing it back, T’Challa takes it and puts it in his pocket, eyes never leaving your face as he gives you a closed mouth smile.

“You have a good rest of your day, (Y/N). I look forward to connecting with you soon.”

He turns and strides down the sidewalk away. As much as you hated to see him go, you loved watching him leave. Was the dip in his gait put on or natural? Either way, you loved it.

Later that day you go home, light as a feather. You lowkey hate how some male attention could give you such an array of hormonal bliss that you felt like a traitor to the sisterhood.

Your roommate hadn’t gotten home yet so, you take the time to cook yourself some food, even though your hunger was honestly minimal. Whenever you got really excited in any emotional direction, your appetite just goes south. But you earned a meal today, so why not celebrate with dinner. You look up a bookmarked recipe on your phone for some baked chicken with steamed vegetables and curl up to some Grown-ish as you work. The episode with Yara Shahidi’s character obsessing over the relationship status of her and Cash was queued up. Seeing her send literally 30 text messages to Cash saying an unintelligible number of things made you cringe hella heavy. Why would she get caught up with a college athlete anyway? You knew where this episode was going, as you turn back to seasoning your food.

While binge watching, you only eat about half of your food, which is better than nothing. You have more energy than you know what to do with though, so with the extra living room space, you decide to knock out a little yoga to center yourself. Laying out your mat and queueing up YouTube you switch to a yoga channel for beginners and put a chill playlist on shuffle. You close your eyes as the instructor tells you to be present in today’s practice, breathing deeply and exhaling equally. The practice started off simple enough with some cat-cows and downward dogs, but the intensity picked up soon once some planks and chair poses were thrown in. You perspired like a Pinocchio meeting a woodpecker but pushed through each pose with a little motivation in your head. If T’Challa could see me now. Each challenge you faced, you thought of him being under you while you planked, over you while you did a bridge. Once the poses were over you’d curse yourself for being so silly but hey, it worked.

During the cool down, the instructor tells you to get into happy baby pose, which you welcome with a deep sigh, wiping your brow. You didn’t expect such an intense workout, so luckily you didn’t go ham on your food.

You hear the lock turn on the door, and in walks in Tavia.

“Well damn, bitch, am I interrupting something?!”

You look between your legs at Tavia, “Nah girl, I’m almost done.”

“You sure? Cuz looks like you just getting started to me. Why are you spreading your legs for anyone who walk in here?”

You roll out of your pose, grabbing your water. “Nothing, it’s been a minute since I got my mat out so…” you say taking a sip.

Tavia takes a seat in a easy chair across from you, taking off her shoes. “Mmhm, so what else is it bitch, cuz the fact that you ain’t posted up here smashing some cookies, watching Chocolate City or some other trash got me almost concerned.” She says, faking her best concerned face.

You roll your eyes, “It’s nothin! Really, but I mean, I may have ran into someone today, but that’s not why I’m over here ‘pussy poppin’’ like you say.”

“Uh-uh. How juicy is this? I was drinking tonight anyway but lemme know should I grab my bottle right now?”

You look at her sideways and give a slight nod.

Tava screams like the Holy Spirit just caught her as she runs with her hands raised over to the fridge. She gets out her moscato and runs back to her seat.

“Uh, I don’t get a glass?” You ask offended.

“No ma’am, you got talking to do. You can’t talk and drink at the same time.” Tavia says with a tongue pop.

“ANYWAY, so I’m going to the coffee shop on my break, right?” You say excitedly.

“Right, ‘break’.” Tavia says clutching the bottle while doing air quotes.

“Listen, plenty of them folks go and do whatever on company time. I need some caffeine to get through the mess.” You say defensively.

“Whatever, continue!”

“Ok, so I’m getting my shit, and just as I’m bout to leave, HIS order gets called.”

“Who??!”

“Thomas!”

Tavia’s body melts into the chair as she exclaims, “Whaaaaa??”

“YES! By the way, his name is T’Challa.”

“BITCH, you talked to him??”

With a little dance you confirm, “Hell yeah, fucking right!”

Tavia gets up to do a quick celebration twerk with you, passing the bottle. “Go head girl! Ok, so how did you go up to him? What did he say?”

Your face hurt from all the cheesing, “I just walked past him and he was like, ‘Hey, don’t I know you?’ and I said, ‘I hope so, cuz trying to know you.’ And eventually he remembered, so we got a table and talked about real surface level stuff, then I told him I gotta go back to work, so he was all ‘Well, I can’t have you walk out here without seeing you again. Put your number in.’ So I did, and that’s really about it.” You say content with your ‘story’.

Tavia was on the edge of her chair during your entire explanation until she said, “You gave him your number?”

You nod proudly, “Mhm!”

Tavia throws her hands in the air, “Girl! You ain’t gonna be nothing but a booty call then.”

Ou screw your face up at this admission. “Whatchu mean? He ain’t hood actin’, I just gave you the clipped version of how it went down. Why you think that?”

Tavia sighs, “You gotta get his number, so you have control. But since it’s the other way around, you gonna be waiting for him to call, and then when he does at 11pm, you gonna be showing off your wingspan and upset cuz he ain’t called you since.”

“Tavia, calm down. It ain’t even been a day. I’m not tryna wild like that, and he don’t seem the type.” You say with less spirit than before.

“And if that’s what you wanted, you know I’m down for you; hit a split on the dick shawty act up! But I know you for real want some committed peen, so I’m just giving you worst case before it slaps you in the face, ok?” Your good vibes from earlier are coming down faster than guillotine so you decide to dismiss yourself.

“Don’t be upset girl. You still did your thing, and milk him for all it’s worth either way. Hate the game, not the player!”

You roll your mat up and go back to your room. Your eyes go straight for your phone. You think back to the articles you read on dating. People usually wait 3 days to call right? Or is that just after the first date? What’re the rules for the phone exchange? He could’ve texted you right there to have his number, but he didn’t so, could Tavia be right? And if she was, is it so bad? Dick is dick, and it sure hasn’t been present in your life.

You go to pick up your phone, opening up to the main menu.

Missed Call (1) Voicemail (1)

Your heart thumps in your chest as you check the number. It’s just digits, not one of your known numbers. You walk across your floor couple times before listening to the message, calming yourself down and for the first time hoping it was just a bill collector. You select the number and dial before closing your eyes to center yourself like the yoga instructor told you. A few rings pass before you realize what you may have done.

“Hello?”

Your pulse literally stops as your eyes fly open at the voice on the other line. You accidentally hit call back instead of call voicemail.

“Miss (Y/N) Is that you?” T’Challa says.

“Yeah, hey, how are you doing?” You say in as steady voice you can muster as you pull at your hair in frustration.

“I missed you earlier. Uh, your call, I mean. Well, I called you. Did you get my message?”

So that was him on that voicemail. You didn’t want to lie but you didn’t want to look weird calling without context either.

“Uh, yeah. I did. Thanks for calling by the way.”

He could’ve called to say he didn’t want to see you again.

“Please, I should be thanking you for offering your time. So do you know when you would like to do it?”

Heat crawls from neck to your cheeks, out of your pits, from your nani, all at once. Do what?! Is he inviting you somewhere or asking a favor?

“Uh, how does Saturday sound?” You freeze at the anticipation of his answer.

“That’s great! I have no problem with that. We will try for 5pm?”

You nod like he can see you before responding, “Yeah, that’s good to me. I can’t wait.”

You could practically hear T’Challa smiling as he said, “Wonderful. Forgive me for the time of the hour, I hope I didn’t wake you.”

You sit on the bed to keep from falling under your buckling knees. “Not at all, I was just turning in so I didn’t want to leave you hanging.”

“You’re too kind. I will see you then, if not at the shop first! Good Night (Y/N).”

“Good night T’Challa.” You press the red symbol and take the deepest breath you’ve done all day. How erotic did that sound ‘goodnight, T’Challa’? Geez just call him back to come over and get it over with already, you thought.

You turn off the light and lay in your bed electrified with that same energy from before. You almost forgot, but you pick up the phone and push for voicemail this time and listen:

Hi, I hope this is the right number. (Y/N), I’m just calling to see if you would come with me to the music festival this weekend. I don’t know if you heard about it or if it is your thing, but it sounds like a nice time. We could just walk around, enjoy the sounds. Uhh, just let me know when you get the chance, or I may see you at our favorite place. (laughs then clears his throat) Umm, but yeah, sorry for the long message. This is T’Challa by the way. Hope to hear from you soon.

Your phone prompts you to save or delete the message and you carefully save it before you listen a couple more times. Putting your phone away you turn on your side, squeezing your legs together to bring yourself back down again. You remind yourself that this is still just nothing more than two people meeting up at a public place with a bunch of other people. No one has claimed nobody yet. But like Tavia said, gotta milk it for what it’s worth, and how you feel right now is pretty damn priceless.

Part 3

Other Works

King Kil’mawalls

T’akia

N’Jadaka’s Helpful Hands

Some Weeks Are Better Than Others

The Coffee Prince

Commencement Day

My Ragtag

@sweetpeachjones@scrumptiouslytenaciouscrusade@hairhattedghooligan@universalbri @therevolution-willbelive @you-like-this-chain @sarcastic-sunshines @airis-paris14

groovybbyy and nyeebey, yall here too! I just can’t tag you for some reason <3</p>

#t'challa #t'challa fanfic #t'challa x reader #t'challa x you #coffeeshop au #black panther au #black panther fanfic #marvel fanfic #black panther #marvel #fanfic

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obsessive-fics · 7 years

Text

Title: Drink Up Your Movements (Still I Can’t Get Enough)

Rating: T

Word Count: 7.9k

Summary: All Dan, an extremely skilled ballet dancer, wants to do is make it through the next dance competition. So extra rehearsals with Izzy, a ballerina he’s known forever, are just another step towards the win. What he doesn’t expect, is the constant, extremely distracting presence of Izzy’s older brother, Phil

Playlist

Art: Coming soon!

Warnings: None

A/N: Thank you so much to my beta @botanistlester for encouraging me and putting up with all of my random questions and to my artist @noreallywhatareyou

[Read on Ao3]

There were two things in life of which Dan was absolutely certain of. The first was that he loved ballet more than anything in the world. The second was that he absolutely, without a doubt, despised Phil Lester. It had been that way for as long as he could remember. Phil's younger sister, Izzy, was in his class, and as a result he was forced to see his smug face every week smirking at him and making him miss his grand jetés.

This week was no different. Dan and Izzy had stayed after class to practice their big lift. Izzy was the ideal lift partner- she was almost as tall he was, but had enough core control to make herself weigh almost nothing. Really all Dan had to do was stand behind her and make her look good. He both envied and admired her.

"Iz! We were supposed to be home an hour ago," Phil called, strolling into the studio like he owned the place. Dan was so shocked he almost dropped her. You were not supposed to interrupt a rehearsal. Ever. That was the first rule they were taught, and Dan lived by it. Yet here was Phil freaking Lester leaning against the mirror like he hadn't done anything wrong.

"You can't be in here," Dan finally spluttered out, letting Izzy down as gently as he could.

"Sorry Dancing Queen, but this is kind of urgent," Phil replied, with absolutely zero urgency in his voice.

"First of all, do not call me 'Dancing Queen' ever again. Second, I'm serious. Whatever it is can wait," Dan snapped. He was definitely not getting distracted by how deep Phil's voice was or by how blue his eyes were. Nope, he was completely composed, if a little red faced.

"It's fine, Dan. We can practice at my place tomorrow after school," Izzy promised, picking up her duffle bag and hoodie. Dan wanted to protest, to offer his house instead, or the studio- maybe Ms. Jill would let them in between practices. But Izzy was already hugging him- clear Izzy speech for "I’ve made up my mind and you can't change it." He sighed and hugged her back.

"Sure, Iz. I'll see you later," he told her, resigning to his fate. Maybe Phil would be out of the house every time he came over. Maybe this would be the last time he'd ever have to interact with him.

"See you around… Dancing Queen," Phil called trailing after his sister. Wishful thinking never helped anything.

The next day at school Dan spent all of lunch complaining about Phil.

"He just walked in! Who does that?" He ranted to everyone that would listen.

"Dan, don't you think you're a little... Fixated?" Louise, one of the other ballerinas asked.

"Fixated! On that arrogant jerk? Of course not... did I tell you he had the nerve to call me-"

"Dancing Queen. Yes, we know. But as cute as your crush on my brother is, I come to school to get away from him, not discuss him for hours on end," Izzy butted in, rolling her eyes and taking a fry off of Dan's tray.

"I do not have a crush on him! I hate him! He has zero respect for what we do or proper etiquette," Dan argued, sliding his tray over before Izzy could get her hands on any more fries.

"I'm flattered you think highly enough of me to talk about me so much," a smug voice said from behind him. Oh no.

"What do you want?" Dan demanded, turning around. Phil was standing there, Chris and PJ on either side of him, looking as smug and arrogant as ever.

"Just came to tell my baby sister I'll be giving her a ride home. Riling you up is an added bonus," he answered lowly.

"Well mission accomplished, can you go now?" Dan asked as coolly as he could manage. Phil had the nerve to look amused, of all things.

"Gladly. See you tonight, Dancing Queen," he said, leaning in so only Dan could hear. And then he was gone before Dan could manage a response.

"Oh my God!" Carrie squealed once he was out of earshot.

"What?" Dan wondered, covering his ears. He loved all the other ballerinas, but sometimes he couldn't help but wish he had male friends.

"What do you mean ‘what’, you two were eye fucking that entire time!" She pointed out excitedly.

"We were not. I was glaring at him, because I hate him, remember?" Dan replied (He was not being defensive, okay? He wasn't).

"Yeah, right. You definitely don't look at any of us like that," Louise teased, poking his side.

"I also don't hate any of you," he reminded her. Him, attracted to Phil Lester! As if.

"Suuuure," the girls chorused teasingly. He really, really needed to make some male friends.

"You have to."

"No, I don't."

"You promised!"

"No, you assumed my answer was yes."

"Daniel James Howell, if you're not at my house in the next five minutes, I will come and get you."

"... I'm outside."

Izzy opened the door grinning smugly. Apparently, that ran in the family.

"I don't see why we have to rehearse here," Dan grumbled following her inside.

"Because my living room is bigger- and has hardwood floors," Izzy explained pointedly.

"Stupid carpet," Dan complained as they entered the living room. Of course. Phil was sprawled across the couch, video game controller in hand, eyes narrowed, tongue poked out in concentration. It was almost.... Endearing, his mind supplied, but he stomped the thought out as soon as it came.

"See something you like?" Phil asked, not taking his eyes of the screen.

'No' was what Dan wanted to say, but what came out was, "You wear glasses?"

"... Yes?" Phil answered, for once sounding caught off guard.

"Oh," Dan said, wishing the floor would open up and swallow him whole.

"Out of the living room, Four Eyes. Dan and I have to practice," Izzy interrupted, standing in front of the tv.

"Iz! I was gonna beat my score!" Phil whined, and Dan really needed him to stop bickering with his sister and to stop wearing pjs and glasses, like, well a normal person. It was distracting. Dan looked over at the tv, noticing the Mario kart start screen. Perfect.

"I'll tell you what. If you can beat me, we'll go. But if I win, we're rehearsing. Now." Phil smirked, his arrogant persona back.

"You're on, Dancing Queen."

"Is it too late to add 'don't call me Dancing Queen?' to this?" Dan asked exasperatedly.

"Yes. Yes, it is." Dan rolled his eyes and grabbed a controller.

"Ugh, boys. I'm gonna change. You better be done when I get back," Izzy said heading for the stairs.

"As you wish," Phil called back, voice equal parts teasing and affectionate.

Phil, as it turned out, was terrible at Mario Kart. Dan beat him three times before Izzy came back downstairs.

"HA! Who's a queen now!" Dan cried jumping up victoriously.

"Alright, alright, I give," Phil conceded with- was that a smile? Not a smug look or a smirk. Dan couldn't help it, he smiled back and took a mental picture. Who knew when that expression was coming back?

"Sorry to ruin the mood, but Dan is here to rehearse, remember?" Izzy pointed out, crossing her arms.

"Right. Sorry Iz," Dan said pulling off his jumper and realizing entirely too late that he was just wearing a t-shirt and tights. His face heated up, and he did his best not to appear self-conscious as he felt Phil’s eyes on him, with an intense, but unreadable expression.

"It's fine, I understand. Can you guys move the coffee table?" Izzy asked sweetly. Dan sighed- she was going to grill him about what happened while she was upstairs.

"Sure, Iz," Phil answered, and Dan pretended not to notice that he'd been staring at him up until that point.

After they moved the coffee table, Phil disappeared without saying a word while Dan changed into his ballet slippers.

"Is that how you pick up boys, then? Challenge them to Mario Kart?" Izzy teased. Dan wanted to protest, but it was no use.

"Works on girls too. Do you want to try it with or without the music?" He asked, in his best attempt to change the subject.

"Well it's clearly working. I usually get a text when we ride home together, not a personal reminder. I think he likes you," Izzy whispered theatrically, completely ignoring Dan's question.

"Shut up, he does not. With music then?" Dan asked opening up the music app on his phone.

"Yeah, we should do the whole routine so we know we can go straight into the lift without focusing on it too much," Izzy agreed, tying her laces. Dan nodded in agreement and went to get in position.

"I also think you should ask my brother out," Izzy said, almost making Dan miss his count. Of course she said that right before they had to start, so Dan settled for glaring at her before allowing himself to focus and become lost in the music.

They went through the entire routine, completely in sync as always. Izzy was graceful and effortless, the music seeming to flow through her. When she leaped into his arms, Dan wished they were in the studio so he could see how good they looked. He gently let her down and they transitioned into the jumps perfectly, before going into their double pirouettes and striking the last pose Ms. Jill had taught them.

"Please tell me that looked as good as I think it did?" Dan asked, going to turn off the music.

"You know I don't settle for anything less than perfect, but that was pretty close," Izzy agreed grinning.

"Think we'll have it together in time for competition?" Dan asked grabbing both of their water bottles.

"Let's keep working on it, and we'll see how it looks in class next week," Izzy replied taking hers. Dan nodded. Izzy was definitely the harshest critic out of all of them, so satisfying her was nearly impossible. Getting an 'okay' from her was an honor.

"I don't understand you guys. I thought it looked good," Phil said coming downstairs.

"That's because you're not a dancer. We could just move side to side and it would look good to you," Izzy told him rolling her eyes.

Phil shrugged, unbothered, and went into the kitchen.

"He's a klutz," Izzy whispered comically.

"Am not!" Phil called back, as if predicting her comment. Izzy rolled her eyes.

"You should see him awkwardly bounce around at parties. Anyway, let's run it again." Dan put his water down and got into position. You did not want to get distracted when rehearsing with Izzy- she was ruthless.

"Looking good, Dancing Queen," Phil called from the doorway of the kitchen. Dan ignored him in favor of making sure he was doing this dance to the absolute best of his ability. The last thing he needed was to give Phil something else to tease him about.

“Dan! That was the best you’ve ever done. I mean, you’ve always had great form, but that time… Where’d all that passion come from?” Izzy asked once they were done.

Dan shrugged, because, ‘I was thinking about how much I hate your brother,’ was not something he wanted to admit out loud. “You inspire me to be better Iz,” he settled on instead. Izzy grinned proudly.

“Thanks. I think we’re good for today. Same time tomorrow?” she asked handing Dan his phone.

“Sounds perfect. Bye, Iz,” he said hugging her and leaving.

Lunch was a complete disaster. Dan had barely even sat down before everyone started talking all at once.

“Is it true?” Louise asked moving so she was sitting next to him.

“Lou, please, I really don’t wanna talk about this,” Dan pleaded looking down at his tray.

“But Izzy said-” Carrie broke in before Dan cut her off.

“Well she was there wasn’t she? So it must be true,” he told her. Whatever Izzy told them was probably completely romanticized, but he didn’t have the energy to deal with it right now. He just wanted one day that wasn’t centered around Phil fucking Lester.

“Walk with me, Dancing Queen.” Dan didn’t even need to turn around. Of course he’d manage to show up at that exact moment. He briefly considered fighting him on this, but staying here just meant more questions Dan didn’t even remotely feel like answering. Also, maybe spending time with Phil wouldn’t exactly be the worst thing in the world.

“Fine. I’ll see you guys in class,” he announced standing up.

“I don’t know how you do it. Being around all of them for more than five minutes makes me wanna scream,” Phil said conversationally as they walked. Dan was confused. Where were they going? And why?

“Relax Dancing Queen. You looked miserable over there. We were going out anyway, so I figured I’d save you,” Phil explained with a shrug.

“I did not need to be saved. Sure they can be a little overbearing, but they’re my friends,” Dan argued in a huff.

“So you want to go back?”

“Definitely not.”

Dan ignored Phil’s smirk in favor of studying his jumper sleeves and followed the other to the car.

“Took you long enough,” Chris called when they climbed in.

“Dancing Queen, I trust you know Chris and PJ,” Phil said in lieu of a response.

“Yes. And for the last time, stop calling me that,” Dan replied, already regretting this.

“So you’re in Izzy’s dance class?” PJ wondered. He sounded genuine enough, so Dan decided to try and be nice.

“Um, yeah. We’ve been dancing together since we could walk,” he explained sheepishly. Male ballerinas weren’t something people were usually very accepting about and he wasn’t sure how well it would go over here.

“That’s so cool. We’ve been to a few of your guys’ recitals, actually,” Chris told him.

“Wait, really?” Dan asked, shocked.

“Of course. Izzy would never let us live it down if we missed one,” PJ explained.

“Plus Chris is in love with her,” Phil teased, earning an “Am not!” and a shove from Chris.

“It’s okay, I won’t tell her,” Dan promised, then, “Where are you guys going anyway?”

“Diner downtown. We’re starving and the food in the cafeteria’s terrible.”

“Right, of course.”

Mary’s was a quaint restaurant in what everyone in town referred to as the Centre, but was really only a few shops and a parking lot. Dan spent most of the ride debating whether or not to mute the dance class’ group chat while Chris and PJ argued over music selection.

“We’re here, Dancing Queen. Unless you want to stay in the car and text,” Phil teased, opening the door for him.

“Actually shut up- I don’t have to be here remember?” Dan pointed out petulantly, but he was already climbing out of the car.

“Last time I checked, I was the one saving you from a horde of gossiping ballerinas.”

“… Fine. Let’s just go.”

Spending lunch with Phil, Chris, and PJ was… surprisingly pleasant. Dan was apprehensive at first, but then Phil brought up how he’d destroyed him in Mario Kart, and everything just faded away after that. As it turned out, he and Phil had a ton in common- from music taste, to movies to tv shows.

“I’m actually gonna throw up,” Chris whined after they’d made yet another obscure anime reference and dissolved into a fit of laughter.

“Sorry,” Dan said, trying not to laugh, but Phil just grinned at him and stole a chip from his plate.

“Tell. Me. Everything,” Izzy demanded the minute she opened the door.

“I’m not gonna tell you anything. We’re going to rehearse so Ms. Jill doesn’t skin us alive tomorrow,” Dan answered, pushing past her.

“Okay… Well, just so you know, my brother asked for your number when he got home,” Izzy sing-songed while she tied her hair up.

“He did?” Dan asked before he could think better of it.

“Nah, I just gave it to him. I like to think of myself as a professional matchmaker,” Izzy announced gleefully. “Now let’s get started.”

“I hate you so much.”

“You’ll thank me later, just don’t drop me.”

“Tempting, but we need you for competition.”

Their routine looked better than ever after being run a few times, and Dan almost couldn’t wait for competition. They were definitely going to win gold this year.

“Hey, you’re here! Do you wanna come see if there’s a video game I can actually beat you at?” Phil asked coming down the stairs. Dan, trying very hard to ignore that he was wearing glasses (again), just nodded for a second.

“Obviously we know I’m better than you at pretty much every game, but if you wanna find out for sure,” he answered once he collected himself.

“Will you two stop flirting for a second? We have a competition to prepare for, remember?” Izzy broke in, shattering the moment (Was it a moment? No, it was nothing).

“Iz, I’m exhausted. If anything needs work, Ms. Jill will tell us tomorrow,” Dan reasoned, ignoring the very knowing look she was giving him.

“Okay, fine. But if it looks sloppy I’m gonna tell her it’s because you were playing video games instead of rehearsing,” she announced, leaving in a huff.

“So Player One or Two?”

“Do you really have to ask?”

Four different games and a Studio Ghibli marathon later, Dan realized it was after dark, and about ten minutes to his curfew.

“My Dad is gonna kill me, I should go,” he said apologetically searching around for his shoes.

“Do you need a ride? It got pretty cold out,” Phil pointed out, reaching for the giant bowl of popcorn they’d nearly finished.

“That’s okay, I live pretty close. I’ll um, talk to you tomorrow?” Dan wondered, praying that didn’t come out as hopeful as it felt.

“Of course- hey, at least take a jacket,” Phil offered, holding up a leather jacket.

“You know, you wear a lot of leather for a nerd with a plushie hoarding problem,” Dan remarked, but shrugged the jacket on.

“I do not have a problem.”

“You have three different Totoro plushies- why do you need three?”

“I was sad to see you go, but if you’re only here to shame my decorating choices, I take it back.” Dan laughed, pausing in the doorway.

“You didn’t have to walk me out,” he said, but the smile in his voice said otherwise.

“Wanted to. Night, Dancing Queen,” Phil answered, and there was that stupid smirk again. Honestly, what would it take to wipe that ridiculous expression off his face?

“Okay, that’s it. I hate you so much,” Dan answered, probably less annoyed than he should have been. Phil just stepped forward, and zipped up his jacket.

“If you think this is hate, then I guess I hate you too. Bye, Dan,” he said, pulling away.

“Right. Well, good to know you, um… Know my name. I’m going now,” he announced turning away and walking towards home to get the warm feeling he’d gotten from their proximity completely out of his mind.

“And then he said ‘if you think this is hate, then I guess I hate you too.’ What does that even mean?” Dan complained to Louise the next afternoon at the barre.

“Probably that you’re way more obvious than you think and that he likes you too,” Louise answered as they switched to frappés, their favorite warm up to do at the barre, next to dégagés.

“This is why I don’t tell you things,” Dan muttered, resolutely ignoring the flutter in his chest that hoped maybe she was right.

“Oh, come on. You’ve been texting nonstop since Izzy gave him your number and you wore his jacket all day today,” Louise said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“That doesn’t mean-”

“Louise! Daniel! If I catch you talking through another warm up, I’m going to make you do the entire thing again by yourselves.”

“Yes, Ms. Jill.”

The week leading up to the competition was a complete blur. He spent so much time at Izzy’s rehearsing, his mother suggested he just stay there for the week. Which was meant to be a joke, but they had work to do, so their parents reluctantly agreed to let him crash on the couch for a few days.

It was during this week when Dan was woken up in the middle of the night by the sound of someone bustling around in the kitchen. He briefly considered the possibility of there being an axe murderer in the house before deciding to go check it out for himself.

“Oh, hey, did I wake you?” Phil asked, sitting on the counter with his hand in a box of cereal.

“Um, yes? What are you even doing?” Dan replied, confused.

“Midnight snack.”

“At one thirty?”

“That’s the best time to have one.”

“Okay, well, I’m gonna go stare up at the ceiling, as there’s no way I’m getting back to sleep now.”

“Better idea. Since we’re both up now- why don’t you teach me something,” Phil suggested closing up the box of cereal and putting it back in the cabinet.

“What, dance related? So you can fall over and break something?” Dan teased leaning in the doorway.

“Hey! I’m not that bad,” Phil protested with a pout.

“Prove it then. Come on, we’ll start easy.”

With that, the pair moved into the living room where there was more space.

“Okay, this is first position-”

“I know what the positions are, you think Izzy would let me get away with knowing absolutely nothing?”

“Shut up- how was I supposed to know you actually pay attention to your sister when she talks?”

“Have you ever tried not listening to my sister when she talks?”

“I’m still alive aren’t I?”

“Exactly my point.”

“Okay, fine. We’ll start with poses. Can you do an attitude?”

“What, this thing?” Phil asked leaning forwards in an attempt to get his back leg off the floor. It would be an attitude if he wasn’t wobbling and flailing his arms to keep balance.

“Not that bad huh? Here, look, you don’t need to move your arms, your body will balance naturally. I’ll fix that in a minute, but first straighten your leg. And for the love of God, point your foot,” Dan reprimanded moving so he was standing in front of the other.

“How’s this?”

“Better. It’s okay to breathe too, you know. Actually, it’s encouraged. Now to fix your disastrous posture. Keep one arm in front of you and the other out to the side. Ninety-degree angle,” Dan instructed, guiding Phil’s arms himself.

“This is kinda harder than it looks. Not ballet as a whole, ballerinas are more disciplined than most athletes. But like, Izzy stands like this while she makes breakfast. And she’s been doing that since she was four.”

“Maybe a passe would’ve been easier- Not on relevé though,” Dan suggested while pushing Phil’s shoulders down. As it turns out, having a ballerina for a sister had done nothing to better his posture.

“I didn’t understand about half those words. They sound pretty when you say them, though.”

“I thought you listened to Izzy when she talked,” Dan teased, looking up for the first time. And, oh. They were really close.

“Yeah, well, I might be better at faking it than I let on,” Phil admitted with a completely unfair sheepish half smile. And then he fell over, sending both of them crashing to the floor.

“Izzy wasn’t kidding when she said you were a klutz,” Dan said.

“She really wasn’t,” Phil admitted, sending them both into a laughing fit.

Eventually their laughter died down enough for them to realize the (compromising?) position they were in. Dan thought they were close before, but now they were literally flushed against each other. He could see the flecks of green in Phil’s startling blue eyes.

“What?” Phil asked, catching him staring.

“You have really pretty eyes,” Dan told him before he could talk himself out of it.

“You have really pretty everything,” Phil replied, making Dan’s entire face turn bright red. That was not the answer he had been expecting at all. He was dimly aware of the fact that they’d been sprawled out on the floor entirely too long, but Phil was looking at him with an open, unreadable expression that made it entirely impossible to move.

“We should probably get up,” Dan pointed out a few seconds later.

“Probably,” Phil agreed, but neither of them made any attempt to move, which just sent them into another laughing fit. This one, however, ended the second they caught each other’s eyes.

“Can I..?” Phil asked, leaning in slightly. Dan just nodded, not trusting himself to say anything, and was about to close the gap between them when they heard footsteps approaching. They sprang away immediately, scrambling to get up off the floor before anyone saw the way they’d been lying together.

“Relax it’s just me,” Izzy said rolling her eyes and stepping into the living room.

“It’s not- We weren’t-” the pair scrambled to explain, but she just waved them off.

“Calm down, it’s not the first time I’ve caught my brother down here with someone.”

“It’s not?” Dan asked, turning to Phil, who was staring determinedly at the floor.

“This is the first time recently of course! I’m not helping, am I? Look, I just came downstairs to remind you we have a competition in two days and you need your rest. No time for distractions,” Izzy explained with a pointed look.

“You’re right. I’m going to bed right now,” Dan promised, knowing he would get a full-blown lecture if he wasn’t at full energy the next rehearsal.

“Good. I suggest we all go to bed- in our own rooms,” Izzy said with such finality it’d be impossible to argue. Then, satisfied, she headed back upstairs.

“I should probably go back to my room now. The last thing I want is Izzy lecturing me about how I don’t take her craft seriously,” Phil said once she was out of sight.

“A smart choice. I’ll, um, see you tomorrow then?” Dan said, shifting awkwardly.

“Definitely. Maybe I can finally beat you at Mario Kart,” Phil suggested, effectively erasing any awkwardness that had formed between them after getting caught.

“Ha! You wish,” Dan replied and just like that, things between them felt comfortable again, if only a little unfinished.

“Good night Dan.”

“Good night.”

Dan lay down on the couch and stared up at the ceiling. There was a lot going on in his head that he didn’t particularly want to think about. For one, there was no denying it anymore: he definitely had a crush on Phil. And he was pretty sure they would have kissed if Izzy hadn’t interrupted. But where would that have left them? Not that it mattered much anyway; Izzy had made it clear that it was way too close to competition for him to be worrying about this. He sighed and texted Louise. She wouldn’t get it until morning, but she was the only person he felt comfortable sending his middle of the night rambles to. Well, the only person he didn’t have a massive crush on.

“I’m going back home tonight,” Dan announced walking into the kitchen the next morning. He’d been texting Louise all morning, and they’d come to the consensus that the best thing to do was distance himself and deal with his feelings after competition.

“Competition is literally tomorrow! You can’t go home now,” Izzy pleaded, dropping her spoon into her cereal.

“We have a dress rehearsal today, we know every part of this routine frontwards and backwards. The best thing about me having been here all this week is that we got lots of extra practice in. It’s going to be fine,” Dan reassured her the best he could.

“I swear to God if this is about my brother-” Izzy started with a glare, but was cut off by the sound of footsteps.

“If what is about me?” Phil asked, wandering into the kitchen in pjs and mismatched socks.

“Nothing. I’m just… I- I think it’s best if I stay at home,” Dan explained, wishing this conversation was happening anywhere but here. Izzy sighed loudly, grabbing he cereal and stomping out of the room.

“You better be absolutely flawless at rehearsal today, Howell!” she called over her shoulder.

“So… You’re not staying here anymore? It’s not because of last night, is it?” Phil asked, looking worried.

“No! I mean… I just really have to focus on competition right now. You heard Izzy, I can’t afford any distractions,” Dan told him quickly.

“Am I a distraction then?” Phil asked with a smirk. Dan rolled his eyes but couldn’t help his smile.

“The biggest.” Phil smiled then, an actual genuine smile, the one that lit up his face and took his hand. Dan decided immediately this was his favorite of Phil’s expressions, a close second being the pout he wore whenever he lost at a game.

“I had a question for you, but I don’t want to distract you further,” he said, holding up their linked hands.

“Izzy would probably have you beheaded,” Dan agreed, smiling back.

“Damn right I would. Now please stop this gross display of affection before I throw up,” Izzy said, walking into the kitchen with her now empty bowl.

“I should go. I’ll see you at lunch?”

“Sure you don’t need a ride?”

“I can get to school by myself, you know. Besides, I like walking.”

“Okay… Sure you don’t want a ride?”

“Rain check,” Dan replied, squeezing his hand one last time before letting go.

“See you later, Iz,” Dan added, turning to Izzy who rolled her eyes and waved goodbye. He waved back and headed to the living room to grab his stuff.

Dress rehearsal was a mess. The routine was perfect, everyone was in costume at the right time, and the lights and music hit all the right cues. No, it was the downtime in between run throughs that were the problem.

“I think I’m actually going to get a cavity from how sweet this is,” Louise announced dramatically. She and Izzy had decided to go through his texts and were reading conversations he definitely hadn’t wanted them to see.

“When does this water break end?” Dan muttered helplessly, sliding deeper into his seat.

“Aw come on, I think it’s nice. It’s about time, too! You were in denial for how long?” Louise asked pointedly.

“I was not in denial,” Dan protested, but Louise just looked at him, unimpressed, and turned back to his phone.

“You should’ve seen them this morning, Lou. Holding hands and smiling at each other! It was equal parts nauseating and precious,” Izzy broke in handing her the bottle of water they’d been sharing.

“You were holding hands?” Louise practically squealed and Dan made a note to never do anything in front of Izzy ever again.

“I mean, kind of? It’s really not that big of a deal-” he started to explain, but was mercifully interrupted by Ms. Jill calling them to attention.

After another complete run through of their routine, the dancers sat in a circle around their teacher as she gave her usual “day before competition” speech.

“You have all worked so hard, and I’m so proud of each and every one of you. No matter what happens tomorrow, you did your best and that’s all that matters,” she was saying, but Dan was only half listening. He was much more interested in the text Phil had just sent him, asking if he knew that when elephants were reunited with their friends, they made happy sounds and cuddled really close, complete with visual aids. He was still smiling at the elephant gif when Ms. Jill wrapped up her speech and implored them all to get some rest before the big day.

The dancers all applauded and thanked her for all her hard work, before breaking up and erupting into excited chatter. Dan, still only half-listening, just followed Izzy and Louise around and waited for them to be ready to head home.

Dan awoke the next morning with the same mix of excitement and nerves he always felt before a competition. He checked his phone to see how much time he had before it would be time to leave and smiled when it lit up with a “Break a leg!” text from Phil. He read it over a few times, before replying and going to get ready.

The air was practically buzzing in the convention center as ballerinas from different studios sat huddled together, awaiting the announcement that would begin the competition. Dan was sitting next to Izzy as they waited for Louise to get back from perfecting her stage makeup.

“I’m so nervous,” Izzy said, glancing around at the other groups competing. Some were stretching, some were helping each other adjust their costumes, and some were standing by the concession stand, munching on overpriced pretzels. All in all, not the most intimidating set up in the world, but Dan could see where Izzy was coming from.

“We’re gonna be fine. You can do this routine in your sleep. Just remember what Ms. Jill says: be in your body, not your mind,” Dan reminded her in his best attempt at comfort. They’d been friends for years, and after many a breakup or failed audition, he was getting better and better at knowing exactly what to say to put Izzy at ease.

“How do I look?” Louise asked walking over, her makeup completely perfected, and not a hair out of place.

“You look amazing,” Izzy replied, reaching up to touch her hair self consciously, “Can you fix my bun?”

“Iz, you look perfect,” Louise assured her, “But I’m going to make you look even more perfect.”

Dan watched Louise pull all of Izzy’s bright red hair into another perfect bun in about two minutes. He’d seen her do this at pretty much every recital and competition, other dancers lining up to have her work her magic, and somehow it never got less impressive.

“Will all performers report backstage?” A loud voice boomed over the speakers, startling everyone in the room.

“I guess it’s time,” Dan said, standing up and grabbing his dance bag.

“Let’s do this,” Izzy and Louise replied determinedly, and the trio made their way backstage where Ms. Jill was giving her usual pre competition talk.

“Okay, our routine is number 57, which means we’re about in the middle. The judges will be starting to get fatigued, so I want you to wake them up. As much energy as you can, okay? And remember - be expressive! No one wants to watch a dancer that looks bored. Alright, break a leg, all of you.” She nodded, satisfied, and gave them the smile they’d come to learn meant she wished she had time to hug each of them. Instead, she held out a hand. “Circle time.”

Circle time was what they called the ritual they did before every performance, competitive or otherwise. They stood in a circle, holding hands. Ms. Jill would start, squeezing the hand of the dancer next to her, and that person would squeeze the next person’s hand, and so on, until it reached Ms. Jill again. It was meant to spread positive energy and bring them closer together.

It was super awkward the first year of classes, but then everyone bonded over how much they hated it, and Dan knew without a doubt even if Ms. Jill wasn’t there, they’d probably still do it. They completed the circle and did a quick chant before going to watch the other routines on one of the tvs set up in the room.

Finally, after what felt like eons of waiting, they were called to the stage. They lined up in the wings and watched as the previous group struck their final pose. Dan shot Izzy a reassuring smile, which she returned determinedly, and then the stage went dark. They waited a few seconds for the previous act to start leaving the stage before running to their places.

The minute the lights went up, Dan was completely in his element. He let his mind go blank, allowing his body to take over and move with the music the way he’d been trained to. He stole a few quick glances out at the audience; everyone was watching in complete silence, but they all seemed to be paying attention, which was good. Audiences tended to get a little restless once the competition had been going on for a while. Most of the performance was a blur, as usual, a mix of muscle memory and adrenaline, but the lift earned a big reaction from the audience and the rest of the routine went perfectly. Dan basked in the enthusiastic applause from the audience and blushed when he caught sight of Phil standing up next to his and Izzy’s parents and cheering loudly. The lights dimmed and they hurried to get out of the way of the next act.

“That was amazing! I’m so proud of you guys, the judges really took notice,” Ms. Jill told them once they were all huddled backstage. They all took a quick moment to celebrate before dispersing to take off their slippers, touch up their hair and makeup, or grab a drink of water.

Dan was putting his slippers back into the bag when he noticed someone in the doorway waving him over. He looked to see Phil standing there holding a bouquet of flowers and walked over to him.

“Hey- I think Izzy went to get a snack, but I could give them to her if you want,” Dan offered once he got closer.

“Oh! Um, actually… these are for you?” Phil replied, holding them out sheepishly.

“Oh.” Dan took the flowers, and blushed looking down at them. Orchids. His favorite.

“Yeah. I just… My parents always get Izzy flowers when she performs and I remember you saying these were your favorite so I tho-”

“Phil,” Dan broke in, cutting him off.

“Yeah?”

“You’re rambling,” Dan pointed out, but he couldn’t help but smile.

“Sorry. I do that sometimes.”

“I’ve noticed,” Dan teased.

“Shut up,” Phil said laughing, and the two relapsed back into silence.

“I should get back, but um… thanks for the flowers,” Dan said finally.

“Oh, right. Do you still say ‘break a leg’ if the person has performed already?” Phil wondered.

“That’s… A really good question. I have no idea,” Dan answered shrugging.

“Well, I'll see you after you win then,” Phil told him smiling encouragingly.

“Definitely.”

Dan waved, and turned to walk away when he felt a tug on his wrist. He turned around, confused to see Phil staring at him determinedly. Before he could ask what was going on, Phil shook his head, and then kissed him, soft and slow.

“For luck,” he explained, pulling away.

“Oh… Thank you,” Dan said, still slightly in shock.

“That’s all you’re gonna say?”

“Well, you could always… Do that again maybe?”

“Of course,” Phil answered laughing, and then they were kissing again. It was a little awkward, with Dan having to hold the bouquet out of the way, but it was also completely perfect. Until the squealing started.

“Finally!” Louise and Izzy cheered, causing the two to jump away from each other.

“Sorry about them,” Dan apologized, before glaring at his friends pointedly.

“Don’t be. I’m gonna go back before my parents realize I’m gone,” Phil told him, reaching down to pick up the flowers Dan had dropped when they were interrupted.

“Right. We’ll, um… Continue this later?” Dan wondered hopefully, taking the bouquet back.

“Definitely,” Phil answered with a smirk, and then he was gone.

“Look, I’m really happy for you guys, but I would appreciate if I didn’t have to watch you and my brother suck face,” Izzy said, scrunching up her face.

“No promises,” Dan replied smiling down at the bouquet.

Izzy just rolled her eyes. “Come on Lover Boy, let’s go watch the other acts.”

Soon, every act had performed at it was time to announce the winners. Dan lined up with the other dancers, ready to go out on stage.

“Remember, I’m proud of you all no matter what. You’ve worked so hard, and that’s what’s important,” Ms. Jill told them as she lead them to the stage. They all murmured their appreciation, but everyone was thinking the same thing- they had to win this.

Once all of the ensemble groups were in formation on stage, a host came out holding the cards that had all of their fates tucked away inside. The host gave a brief welcome, making a few jokes that garnered polite laughs from the audience. And then it was time.

“In third place… Entry number seventy five, Swan Lake!” The group stood up and moved to the front of the stage, accepting their trophy. Their routine had been good, but Dan had noticed that the execution was a little sloppy. He quickly turned his attention back to the host, eager to hear the name of their entry called.

“In second place… Entry number twenty, Once Upon a Dream!” the host announced cheerfully. Another group of ballerinas ran to take their place next to the other group. This was it- either they’d won first place, or they hadn’t placed at all. Dan crossed his fingers on both hands.

“And finally, the winner of best ensemble, in first place… Entry number fifty seven, Young and Beautiful!” the host announced with a cheer.

That was them! They’d won, they’d actually won! First place, Dan couldn’t believe it. He stood up with the rest of the ballerinas to take their place at the front of the stage. The host handed Izzy the trophy and put out his microphone. “Can you tell us what studio you’re from?”

“Ms. Jill’s Elite Dance Centre!” Izzy exclaimed proudly. The cheering continued for a little while longer, and once everyone calmed down, the groups exited the stage so that the solo competitors could find out their rankings.

“First place! Congratulations!” Ms. Jill all but squealed once they were backstage. The ballerinas all ran forward and gave her a huge group hug (which was quite a feat, considering there were about fourteen of them).

“I want you all to get lots of rest okay? This means we’re officially going to the World Ballet Competition, and I need you all to be at peak performance level,” she instructed.

“Yes, Ms. Jill,” they answered in unison, but most of them were too excited to even start thinking about Worlds. They’d won! It was an exhilarating feeling, one they basked in for as long as possible before going to get changed or leaving to celebrate with their families.

“Dan! Are you coming to get dinner with us?” Louise asked after they’d finished changing.

“Not this time- there’s somewhere else I have to be,” he explained, barely containing his excitement.

“Oh, of course. Say hi to Phil for us,” Louise teased, poking him.

“Will do!” Dan called over his shoulder as he left.

“You won! How does it feel?” Phil asked the minute he saw him.

“It feels kind of amazing, actually. I still can’t believe it,” Dan answered. He’d been replaying the moment in his head over and over again, but that did nothing to lessen the shock.

“I can. You and Izzy practiced non-stop,” Phil pointed out as they walked.

“I wouldn’t exactly say non-stop, Mr. Come Play Videogames with Me I’m Bored,” Dan joked.

“Okay, fair point,” Phil replied laughing, “But still.”

“Still.” They fell into silence then, neither of them sure how to proceed- it seemed like they’d been building up to this moment for months, and now that they were here, neither of them were sure exactly how to proceed.

“Do you wanna go to Mary’s?” Phil asked finally, after what felt like an eternity of awkward silence.

“Yes,” Dan answered, nodding quickly.

They sat in the corner booth of Mary’s, squished together on one side and sharing a brownie sundae. The familiar environment eased some of the tension, and they slipped back into conversation easily.

“So… what exactly were you gonna ask me yesterday?” Dan wondered after their conversation died down a little.

“Oh! Um… Well, I was just wondering if you wanted to… Go out with me?” Phil asked in reply, searching his face for any kind of reaction.

“What are you, twelve?”

“Dan,” Phil whined in protest, but Dan just laughed and kissed his pout away.

“Is that a yes then?”

“No, I kiss everyone I’m about to brutally reject,” Dan replied, deadpan.

“You’re a brat, you know that?”

“You like it though.” Phil shrugged noncommittally, and then they were kissing again, lazy and sweet.

“Hey! You two! You can’t do that here, this is a family restaurant,” their waitress scolded, placing the check on the table

“Oh my God,” Dan groaned, hiding his face in Phil’s arm, which was currently shaking with laughter. He purposefully avoided eye contact with everyone in the restaurant as they left.

“The sun is setting, come on!” Phil called excitedly the minute the were outside.

“Where exactly are we going?” Dan asked, but he let himself be pulled along.

“We’re gonna watch the sunset,” Phil explained as they walked, hand in hand.

“You just live for cliches don’t you?” Dan teased, but he couldn’t help the fond smile that spread across his face, completely without his permission.

“Just humor me. Please?” Phil pleaded, pouting slightly. As if Dan was ever going to say no to him.

“Okay, okay.”

They walked until they came to a clearing that lead out to a small cliff. Phil dropped himself down unceremoniously at the edge and patted the spot next to him. Dan shook his head, but sat down, curling into his side, pulling his arm around him. They sat in silence for awhile, watching as the sun turned the sky shades of orange and red. Dan couldn’t even remember the last time he stopped to appreciate a sunset. It was nice. Really nice.

“See? How amazing is it that we get to witness this? And it happens every day,” Phil said, and Dan could practically feel the excitement radiating off of him.

“It’s really nice. I’m glad we’re here right now,” Dan admitted, for once not feeling the need to hide his sincerity behind a joke.

“Me too,” Phil answered softly, smiling at him in a way that made Dan feel warm all over. He pecked him on the cheek, and turned his attention back to the sight before him. Phil kissed his temple, wrapping his arms tighter around him, and Dan focused on taking a mental snapshot of this perfect moment to look back on whenever he needed it.

There were two things in life of which Dan was absolutely certain of. The first was that he loved ballet more than anything in the world. The second was that sitting here, watching all the colors of the sky, he could feel himself falling- where exactly, he wasn’t sure. But he knew Phil would be there to catch him. He couldn’t wait.

#pbb 2017 #phandom big bang #phandom big bang 2017 #phanfiction #Phanfic #enemies to friends to lovers #teen AU #ballet AU #my fic

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lasentimentael · 5 years

Text

Her Home

From the crack of dawn till the late evening hours, Dolores was always working. She would wake up, kiss Santiago goodbye as he left to wash dishes at the Chinese restaurant a few blocks down, and make breakfast for Raul and Luna so that each tummy would be full and ready for learning. She would pack lunches for her family, walk the kids to the school down the street, come back, and walk Lady the Poodle immediately after. From 8:00 to 2:45 she would sweep, mop, pay bills over the phone, do laundry, then pick up the kids, cook dinner, listen to Santiago express his day’s frustrations, and wipe her counters again for a fresh start the next morning.

Dolores did not get a break. Raul and Luna, seven and five, took up lots of time, each demanding attention and food and help on homework all while Dolores would peel potatoes and dice tomatoes and cook the chicken thoroughly so her children would not get sick. She would season precisely and evenly, listening to her children talk about what they learned at school, struggling to follow along when their homework instructions used English words she didn’t know. Then, they would be done with that and running around the house, playing and playing while Dolores continued her work.

Some days Santiago would come home a little late, sometimes past 6 and sometimes past 9. Dolores would feel a little guilty for being upset at his tardiness, remembering he said he would pick up extra hours at the restaurant whenever he could. Tired and dry hands would greet hers, the dish water and food stains adorning his plain white shirt, and he would walk slowly past the kitchen into the living room and plop on the couch as Raul and Luna would sprinkle in, yelling, “Papi! Papi!” As her children would talk loudly over each other, eager to spend time with their father who dozed off in front of the television set, Dolores would busy herself in the kitchen, finishing supper or cleaning her counters and reflecting fondly on their one bedroom apartment that she worked so hard to take care of.

The apartment did not stretch out infinitely nor did it have new windows or tiles, but the tiny kitchen with shabby wooden cabinets had charm and the dark brown carpet made it easy to hide spilled drinks and mud tracks. The blinds were broken and some were missing, the tile was cracked and the paint was peeling in many spots of the ceiling because of water damage. She, her husband, and her children made the most of the bedroom space and squeezed a small bunk bed and queen-sized bed, shoving one bathroom and one closet with what little belongings they had. Occasionally a roach would find its way inside their home and Dolores would squish it. In the hot summer months the ants would get busy and she’d frantically reprimand the children not to leave food out. And every so often, a mouse would try to hop through the various cracks and holes of apartment #A on the ground floor of 297 Alpine St. before she’d set out traps to kill the squeak. Yes, it was not much, and it was not perfect, but it was theirs.

“Niños, por favor,” Dolores said one morning. It was mid-November and Los Angeles had finally begun to feel cold. Dolores had pulled out thick animal-print blankets that would keep them all warm at night, and now was attempting to get a hoodie through poor Luna’s head while her brother made faces and poked his unsuspecting sister, giggling as she shrieked in surprise. It was 7:16 on a Monday morning, and Chinatown was already awake. The honks were loud on Alpine St., and she thought to herself, if I close my eyes I can see an angry, impatient business man on the corner of Hill almost running over a middle aged mother and her two munchkins. But they were at the door of the apartment, and she was trying to get the kids out of the house so they would not be late. Only Raul and Luna were too busy being superheroes now.

“Mami! Ma! Look at me, I’m Superman!” Raul had half taken off his red sweater so now the sleeves were tied and the rest draped along his skinny body like a cape. He posed with his bony brown fist in the air just long enough for Dolores to see, and then he was off chasing Luna who had only just gotten her hoodie on. Dolores let the kids be kids, grabbing keys and her own sweater. She closed the door, never once sparing a glance at the disheveled, thirty-four year old woman the mirror at the end of the hall would show.

When she had dropped the kids off and walked Lady the Poodle, she came back to find a mouse trying to hop through the gap underneath the front metal screen door. This mouse zoomed out of sight the moment it saw her. Dolores quickly went inside, and began her routine. Based on eleven years she’d lived there, she knew better than to be unprepared. More than anything, she was disgusted and a little angry that they continued to be there in spite of all her cleaning, she thought they were gone. She set a trap out by the front door where she had first seen it, two at the foot of the couch, and one more underneath the stove. She put Lady the Poodle in the bedroom and locked the door behind her, and she could hear Lady whine and paw at the door. She ignored it. The little one would be caught in an hour or so.

At noon, Dolores decided to sew a missing button onto her husband’s only coat, a task that had been on her mind since February, when the button first popped off. As she worked on the couch, she remembered her life before her children, when Santiago worked less and would call her during his lunch break, of a life when he didn’t come home late even though the restaurant closed at 8 and his shift usually ended at 6, but no, she thought, I mustn’t overthink that, he said he was working extra hours. Never mind Rubí with the coquette eyes who waitressed at the restaurant. She looked around the living room, and she thought of all the times her children had playtime in makeshift blanket forts in that same room and sneaking away for a quickie with her husband once upon a time. She remembered when they were younger— he would take her out on the weekends, they’d go dancing to the salsa clubs and end up in the bed with clothes strewn across the floor and a million I love you’s in her ear.

It was 1:10 when Dolores heard Lady bark from the bedroom and the front door unlock. She froze, afraid to turn around, ears straining for any other sounds. Almost immediately, the heavy boots she heard made her sigh in relief, and she turned around, confused, but happy. Santiago could be heard cursing “hijo de su puta ma-“ before the door closed, and his tall, bulky frame came striding through the hallway and into the living room.

“Dolores, que pasó?” he said, tenor voice weary.

“Viejo! Why are you back so early? Did something happen?”

“It was too slow today. New management is impatient, and they only needed one dishwasher. The younger Santiago stayed. Fine by me. My hands need the break. Why are there so many traps out? Where is Lady?” Santiago’s Spanish was crisp as he pointed to the two traps he could see underneath the couch and his brows furrowed.

“It’s okay, I only saw one. Lady is in the bedroom.”

“Just one.” “Yes, one.”

“Last year we saw one, and it turned out to be two.”

“Yes, Viejo, but I only saw one.”

“Hijo de su puta madre, why are they here?”. Santiago went from the living room to the kitchen, through the hallway until he ended where he first stood, a convenient feature of the apartment’s tight layout that did little to separate each area from the next.

“Just relax, Viejo, did you eat your lunch already? Should I heat it up?” Dolores stood up at once, leaving the coat on the couch and gesturing her husband to sit down.

“I left the container in the car, it’s empty.” Santiago went off to get the container, outside. Dolores rubbed her eyes and briefly thought how it would be nice to not pick up the kids today, if Santiago went instead, for once.

When Dolores opened her eyes, she saw it. The thing was standing at the foot of the couch, right next to the glue trap as if it was not there at all. She held her breath. Its ears flattened against its head, nose wiggling and beady eyes looking all around. There it was! Small pink hands held each other as it took in its surroundings, before another crawled out from underneath the couch. Dolores watched in horror. Two!

Santiago then came in, door slammed shut, and a ruckus in the kitchen confirmed the used Tupperware was in the sink.

“Shh!” Dolores waved her arms frantically, trying to quiet her husband.

Santiago, finally noticing Dolores, became stealthy at once and tiptoed closer to the living room, leaning on the counter to try and see the mice, which had now scurried back under the couch.

From Dolores’ position, she could see the tails still poking out. She mimed this at her husband, who went to the kitchen to grab gloves and a plastic bag. Dolores was only panicking a little as the furry bodies scooted out once again and a third accompanied them this time. Three!

“Hijo de su-“ And the mice went back underneath.

Dolores shook her head, and desperately, silently pleaded with her husband to shut his mouth. This time, Santiago and his big heavy-duty boots went back through the kitchen, down the hallway, and into the living room until he was right next to Dolores, who he now gestured to move towards the other side of the couch, right where the little heads had first poked out. He handed the traps that belonged to the stove and front door, as well as a broom for protection. He had his own broom in his hand and the look of a lion—curly, slightly peppered hair, frizzy and puffed out like a mane. Dolores mostly followed her husband’s cue, only settling behind the small coffee table that conveniently provided a bit of distance from the couch. For protection.

They stood there, each guarding their post for a whole ten minutes before Santiago grew tired and wanted to take a break. Dolores shook her head, disappointed she had married a grandpa, although Santiago’s handsome face at the age of forty was anything but. So they coordinated again, this time adding old pieces of cardboard they found lying around and trying not sound off a barking Lady in the room next door. They set up the cardboard to block the back of the couch and the sides, so there was only one exit, right where Dolores was. They waited.

“I’m tired.”

“I’m not doing this by myself.”

“Let’s just leave them, they’re kind of cute anyways.” “You’ve got to be kidding me. Three!”

“C’mon, Raul and Luna like them.”

“Estás loco.”

“We can name them.”

Dolores didn’t even bother to reply. She glanced at the clock, 1:43. This needed to be over and done with. She had things to do. She was a busy woman.

A long, brown body inched out, wiggly nose and all, followed by the three little gray ones that had come out before. The brown mouse, which looked like something had nicked its’ ear, bumped noses with the other three, before the tiniest of the grays went real fast from the foot of the couch closest to Dolores to the coffee table. Dolores couldn’t help but scream and the others went back under the couch. Four!

“Now you shush,” Santiago retaliated, laughter bouncing off the walls of the living room and provoking a bark from Lady in the background.

Dolores drew herself up, and grabbed her broom a little more tightly. “Shut up.”

Santiago continued laughing and Dolores focused on couch, and the brown mouse that was still underneath the coffee table. It wasn’t long before a brave little gray one joined that one. Their noses bumped and the tinier one squeaked. Dolores cringed. They were communicating.

Santiago and Dolores had cornered them, yes, but these mice were smart. The two that were still underneath the couch would poke out their heads, waddle around the traps before seeing Dolores and her broom and running back for cover. It continued like this for fifteen minutes until Dolores realized that she and Santiago had been so focused on the couch, that they had not noticed three more bodies underneath the coffee table. Seven!

Two of three looked identical to the brown one, only neither had their ears nicked. The third of these mice was just as long as the brown ones, but gray like the others and twice as fat. It was the biggest of them all.

“Seven!” Dolores whispered loudly, wild eyes looking at Santiago.

Santiago said nothing, and walked away, through the hallway and into the kitchen, digging underneath the sink, and pulling out a stack of glue traps from the cabinets. He was serious.

In total, they set 24 traps, each one placed right next to the other so that they covered the perimeter of the coffee table, and the space by the foot of the couch, dog food scattered here and there for lure. There was no way to escape.

The first one fell pretty quickly, a tiny one she hadn’t seen before (or at least, she thought she hadn’t. She wasn’t sure anymore) stepped right onto the glue, squeaking desperately and becoming more stuck the more it struggled. Dolores and Santiago also watched as the second one tried to reach the kibble by walking over the body of the first only to lose its balance and get its face stuck right against the clear glue. More squeaking. It was 2:20.

“Wow. We should have tried that sooner.” Santiago looked at his successes.

Dolores, however, stared, and the gray one that had its face glued, stared back with one eye, the squeaking so loud that it made Lady the Poodle begin to bark and whine from inside the bedroom. It was cute. Small round ears and a tiny snout, whiskers that tickled and pink hands that were only looking for food. It was cruel, really.

She moved to try and get rid of it, but couldn’t, her legs unresponsive. It was a mouse. She had picked them up before. She had picked up the ones last year no problem, Santiago hadn’t even been there when those mice fell for the trap. Dolores had moved quickly that time, swallowing her disgust and leaving no evidence, only a story to relay to Santiago when he came home late that night last year. Sure, Dolores had been angry for weeks, berating her husband for not helping around the house and with the kids and working too much and leaving Dolores alone at home, why did he get home so late again? Never mind that, the mice were dirty and proof she needed to clean more, that was it, she needed to clean and make do because they couldn’t afford to move.

Dolores stared at this mouse, watched it wriggle violently and get more and more stuck just like its brother, and she began to weep. It was innocent and it lived in this apartment as much as she did, had wanted no more than to live comfortably the way she tried to raise her children. It rolled around the same carpet her children ran over, searched through the same cabinets that she stocked and cooked from, and maybe, just maybe, would one day move away from its family across a border to start a new life with another little mouse. This little body did nothing but here she was, ready to kill it, and its’ family, and yet she could do nothing else. This was her home.

“Oralé, Vieja, why are you crying?” Santiago could not cross over, for the endless glue traps remained in the way, but the concern in his voice was clear. It made her cry more. When was the last time he saw her cry?

“Vieja, it’s okay. Look, I’ll pick it up okay? Then you won’t see it anymore. Would that make it better?” Dolores did not answer, but her eyes stayed locked on its beady eyes. She stared, breathing heavily and swallowing snot that had built up in her nose and travelled down her throat, as Santiago carefully moved just enough traps to get to the mice and folded the traps so that there was no chance of escape. She could still see its’ eyes as he tossed it in the trash bag.

“Okay okay, how about we do this. Those five underneath the table haven’t moved, but they’ll have to move eventually, there’s nowhere to go. The couch is surrounded and the cardboard will hold up. It’s 2:25. Let’s pick up the kids together.” Santiago reasoned, taking off his gloves slowly and reaching towards Dolores for an embrace. Her grip on the broom was now loose, and she stood there crying still, looking in many ways, as small as Luna who had cried when her ice cream had fallen from her tiny hands the week before.

They left. They washed their hands and dropped the brooms and walked all the way to the school with Santiago’s arms around Dolores, in silence. His closeness meant she could smell him as they walked, a faint combination of sweat and body wash. On the way back, Raul and Luna bounced ahead, sweaters tied around their waists, parents trailing behind them holding hands. When they got home, Santiago asked the children to head straight to the room, not wanting them to see the many traps that adorned the living room. Only Santiago and Dolores would see what was waiting for them at 3:07.

It was more than five. It was more than ten. Dolores stopped counting at sixteen tiny gray bodies, amongst them three long brown ones, with one nicked ear as well. They piled on top of one another, small mounds of mice that had climbed over one another in a hopeless attempt to live. She saw tiny hands chewed off and tails with bite marks, and many, many, many, beady black eyes staring at her. Santiago did what his wife could not, putting on gloves and tossing every single one of them inside a new white trash bag.

He picked up all but one of the remaining glue traps, placing it at the foot of the couch, because even without knowing exactly how many they got, neither had seen the nasty gray that was twice as fat as the others.

It wasn’t until after Santiago had taken out the trash, washed his hands—only after they had furiously and thoroughly cleaned the crime scene—that they let out the kids and Lady the Poodle. Santiago bought McDonalds as a treat for his children and wife. He listened to his kids whine that they were full but ask their mother if they could have her leftover fries, as Dolores nodded slowly, wordlessly. He helped the kids with their homework this time, struggling even more than Dolores usually did, and wiped down the counters like Dolores did even though no one had used the kitchen that day. His wife remained in bed with a momentary break for a shower, and at the end of the night, he crawled in to join her, closing his eyes and breathing in her coconut shampoo.

“We set out twenty-four traps.”

“It’s done. It’s over.” Santiago said, beginning to doze off already.

“The big one is still out there,” Dolores was wide-awake, her face still a little blotchy from the afternoon of crying.

“Go to sleep.”

Dolores shifted in the bed, turning to face her husband. His mouth was slightly ajar as if he was going to say something but never did.

There was a pause. “The big one is still out there,” Dolores stared at her husband. Santiago was far-gone now. “Are you cheating on me?”

Dolores waited a bit, knowing her husband would not respond, and then turned again so that she faced the ceiling. Eventually, Santiago’s arm found its way around her midriff, and she laid there, drifting in and out, the warmth around her tummy not enough to make her forget all the cleaning she would need to do in the morning. She did not rest.

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