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starkerforlife6969 · 4 years

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Starker - Gone

tw angst, mentions of drinking- but a happy ending.

It’s done.

It’s finished.

Tony realises it a little suddenly. Feels cold and hollow all over. Riddled.

Dusk has just gone, and the fresh darkness seeps in through the windows. The penthouse is empty. It’s just him and his perfect furniture and his state of the art, pioneering technology.

Peter’s gone.

Of course, he’s been gone for months now. Shuffled out, head held irritatingly high, face drawn tight, stuff in boxes, and stayed with his aunt.

Whatever, Tony thinks bitterly, the kid’s 300 million dollars better off, he’ll buy a nice beach house somewhere and Tony will never see him again.

Mr. Wobbles, the fucking awful cat, is gone too. He was Peter’s Tony had realised, even as he’d argued for it over the glass table.

“Yours!” Peter had screeched, making the lawyers on both sides wince. Making Tony smirk victoriously, finally, at having gotten a reaction. “I adopted him, Tony. Me. My name is on all the papers, you- you hate him! You never feed him, or play with him, or give him treats, Mr Wobbles is mine!”

“Tony,” Peggy Carter, his (very expensive) lawyer, had touched his arm and said quietly, “it’s a cat. Do you really want the responsibility?”

Tony had slunk back into the leather seat. Shrugged and looked away like he didn’t care if the cat lived or died.

He does care, is the thing.

He looks over to the kitchen, down by the side of the fridge, where the ceramic blue food bowl used to lie.

It’s bare now.

He remembers, as he loosens his tie, takes off his armour, how Peter had looked the first time with the kitten in his arms. Brown eyes glistening and lips so pink and stained with the strawberries from breakfast.

“Tony! Please, I promise, I’ll take care of him-”

“Sweetheart,” Tony had chuckled, dragging Peter in for a kiss, “it’s your home too. Have the little monster. You don’t need permission. It’s yours.” Peter had beamed, lifted Mr Wobbles up close to Tony’s face (the creature had tried to blind him) and said “He’s ours.”

Even now, the thought makes him smile. Crooked. Sad.

Hollow, again.

That’s how the penthouse feels.

Pepper’s done an excellent job. He hadn’t seen the pieces of Peter disappear one by one, he just left for one of the divorce hearings one morning, came back one afternoon, and it was as if Peter had never been there.

Gone are the pairs of beaten converse, even though Tony had bought him suede shoes, gone are the hoodies next to blazers on the coat hook. Gone are the fruits and vegetables for those disgusting smoothies he’d always insist Tony drink. Gone is the sugary cereal because the boy’s a walking paradox and gone is-

Peter.

Tony swallows hard. There’s a lump in his throat. The first tickle of grief in this whole, drawn out process.

Peter’s gone.

Mr Wobbles is gone.

***

He won’t turn on the lights. Won’t go to the bedroom.

What he does do, because Peter’s not here to give him those huge bambi eyes, is pour himself a glass of scotch.

Then another. Then some bourbon. Bitter. All the good stuff he hasn’t felt the need to touch in two years.

Two years with Peter.

On their second anniversary, he remembers Peter’s face- flushed pink, stammering, eyes darting around to take in every inch of the party. Streamers and friends and cake and a table almost buckling under the weight of the presents.

“Tony,” he’d hiccuped, curling into Tony’s chest, shy and excited, “it’s too much.”

Tony had kissed the top of his curls. Felt pride bursting over the seams. Happy to make Peter happy. He’d felt good. “No such thing, baby,” he’d promised.

He’d lied.

Instead, Tony drinks, toes off his shoes, and reaches for the box that his lawyer gave him.

Peggy’s a great lawyer. Expensive, but the one Pepper insisted on.

“I don’t need a lawyer-”

“Peter could claim 50% of SI, Tony. 50%, do you hear me?”

Peter could have, of course. But he didn’t. Tony knew he wouldn’t. Peter’s not the vindictive type. Even in the midst of heartbreak.

He reaches for the box. It’s full of transcripts of the divorce proceedings, there are memory sticks of the recordings.

It all had to be recorded, for some reason. The most high profile divorce of the century.

Tony winces as he thinks of the tabloids. Half of them smear Peter as a gold-digger, wrong wrong wrong, the other half say Tony was cheating, abusive, desperate to go back to his philandering playboy days. Those are wrong too.

But he guesses, Husband refuses to change doesn’t make that good of a headline.

His laptop glows with harsh brightness as he slides in the memory stick. He sits crossed-legged on the ground, muscles protesting, and he forgoes the glass and drinks from the bottle.

It’s not classy. His mom wouldn’t want-

“10% is too high.” Peggy says efficiently on the video, scanning through the contracts. Tony sits beside her, slouched, comfortable, sunglasses on. Pale blue suit. He looks bored. Like he doesn’t have a care in the world.

The real Tony knows better. Knows that those sunglasses were hiding blood shot eyes, eyes focused on-

Peter. Small. Tired. Straight-back, hands folded, in a crisp white shirt.

“We’re not asking for 10% of total assets,” Coulson says softly. “But Mr Parker has made significant contributions to the biochemistry division of SI and as such he is entitled to 3% of the division and a 2% shareholder stake in the company. His marriage to Tony justifies the other 5%.” Coulson looks up from the paper and at Peggy. His voice is gentle: “We’re within our right to go to 50%. We’re asking for 10%. 3% biochemistry, 7% of SI.”

Peggy meets Coulon’s eyes. She sighs. “7% total. 3% Biochemistry, 4% of SI.”

Coulson turns to look at Peter, who murmurs something. Coulson looks like he wants to argue further, but he doesn’t.

“Agreed.” He says.

Both lawyers write. Then they move on to the next thing.

Tony thinks about Coulson. Looks at him on the video. When Pepper had said she’d secured Peggy Carter, he’d nodded, then blinked.

“What about Phil?” He’d asked.

Pepper had kept her face carefully neutral. “He’s Peter’s lawyer.”

“Oh.” Tony had said.

He’d thought Phil was his friend. They’d known each other for years, after all, and then he chastises himself. Phil and Peter had become fast friends. Manning the barbecue out on the deck, laughing, fangirling over Captain America.

“Tony,” Phil had said, coming up to him at the end of it all. “Are you- are we, okay?”

“Yeah.” Tony had nodded. He didn’t have it in him to have another enemy. “I get it. He asked you first.”

“No, Tony.” Phil frowned, shaking his head. “He needed me more.”

What did that mean?

Tony thinks now, swirling the remnants of the bottle, watching the lawyers go back and forth and him and Peter not saying a word.

Why did Peter need Coulson? The divorce was Peter’s idea. Kid should’ve been happy.

The Peter on the screen turns to look out of the window. It’s raining. He’s framed with silver light.

He doesn’t look happy.

Tony tries to think harder. Mind whirring. Tries to think of things he’s long ignored.

Of the fighting.

Of Peter’s pinched face.

He thinks, with more shame, about the times he raised his voice. How he yelled. When Peter would try to pull him out of calculations, try to coax him into eating, try to talk him down from the edge of self-destruction. Tony remembers lashing out.

“You want me to give up being Iron Man? You’re out of your mind, Peter. You’re trying to change me.”

“I’m trying to save you-”

“It’s who I am!” Tony had roared, so loudly that Peter had jerked backwards: afraid. “You’re trying to get me to abandon who I am. Well, I won’t change that way. That’s me, baby, you either take it or leave it.”

He’d been so angry. So scared. At the thought of the red and gold being put to rest.

He’s Iron Man.

“Tony.” Peter had sniffled. “I love you so much. I...I don’t want you to get hurt, but it’s more than that. You’re older now. Sam is taking over from Steve, and...and I don’t think anyone would mind, people know how much you’ve done for us all, if you wanted to retire. There are other people to be heroes now, you can-”

“Peter.” Tony had whispered, hugging him. “I promise. I won’t get hurt.”

He’d been right. But it had been a band aid on a leaking roof.

He didn’t get hurt. He saved the day. Again and again and again and again.

And each time he was gone, Peter would be pelted with rain until he gave all together.

“I want a divorce.”

Cool glass table. Thick fountain pens. Lawyers. Mr Wobbles.

Divorce of the Century - Tony and Peter call it quits. Insider reveals all.

Iron Man = Iron Heart?

Caught in the Act : A Gold Digger’s Story.

Tony Stark: Playboy Extraordinaire.

***

The sun trickles in the next morning.

Tony has a hangover.

His laptop is still playing the footage.

He opens his eyes to Peter’s face, lit with gold, he hears Peggy agree to 300 million.

Peter should smile.

He just looks sad.

Tony reaches for his phone.

It rings 8 times. Tony can picture the man on the other end. Watching it ring. Watching his name. Debating.

He answers.

“Tony.”

“He never stopped loving me.”

“I know.” Steve says quietly, huffing air into the phone, “We all know.”

Tony’s pride has saved him. It also makes him blind.

Steve comes over. Awkward, a little hesitant.

Steve is another thing Peter won in the divorce. If anyone won. If anything can be won.

Peter got Mr Wobbles. Got Steve. Got Bucky, by extension. Got Sam.

Tony got Nat and Clint.

Bruce and Thor refused to pick sides.

But Steve’s here and Tony thinks brokenly maybe all isn’t lost

“He wants me to give up being Iron Man.” Tony croaks, as Steve casts his righteous blue gaze over the penthouse. Over the box of transcripts. Over the empty bottles. Over Tony. Over the video of Peter and Coulson and the end of love.

Steve nods. “You don’t want to give up Iron Man?”

Tony nods his head. Shakes it. Shrugs. Doesn’t know.

Steve presses his lips together. “Tony, Peter can’t breathe properly when you’re Iron Man. He can’t focus. Can’t function. He’s so scared for you. If you can’t function when you’re not Iron Man, this separation is for the best.”

It’s so cruel. Too honest and brutal to hear.

“But we love each other.” Tony insists.

Steve looks sad. “Sometimes that isn’t enough.”

Tony doesn’t go to shareholder meetings.

But it’s three days later. He can’t sleep in their bed. Keeps thinking he hears Peter’s laugh or Mr Wobbles’ plaintive meow.

So when he sees Peter on the list. When he realises Peter might come. Could come. Might be there, within touching distance-

He puts on his best three piece suit. A dark tie. Gets his hair done.

He walks in, and fake-smiles at a few, blustering old men happy to see him.

In the long, oak boardroom, he sees Peter.

He looks young. Really young for the room. 25. In a pinstripe suit that looks- tailored. Good. Good for him.

And on his hand is-is-

It’s his wedding ring.

As soon as Peter looks up, he meets Tony’s eyes, and then honey-brown dart down to his finger, and they jerk under the table.

Tony can’t move.

Peter’s wearing it. Still wearing it. Why- what does-

His own is back in the penthouse. Set next to the photograph of his mother. Another sign of failure.

But maybe- maybe not yet. Maybe it isn’t over till the opera lady sings.

He spends the whole meeting watching Peter, and he isn’t subtle about it either. The other shareholders clear their throats awkwardly.

Peter lets him look. Open and graceful. He lets Tony drink his fill.

It’s never been difficult to look at Peter, after all. He’s stupidly beautiful. Big eyes, long lashes, and that jaw-

Pepper kicks him under the table. Tony barely feels it.

He keeps looking. Keeps drinking. Peter’s skin, soft, freckled, the bow of his lips, how he smiles, so wide he might burst.

He waits till the end of the meeting. Everyone files out very quickly- bar Pepper who lingers, before sighing.

Then it’s just him and Peter.

He watches Peter steel himself. Take a breath. Fix the armour in place that Tony found so frustrating during the divorce. The armour that hides Peter away. Behind an expressionless face and a blank, polite smile.

Gone, is the open boy.

Peter’s preparing himself for battle and-

Peter needed me more. Coulson had said.

Tony remembers asking Peter to join the Biochemistry division. He remembers asking Peter to move in. He remembers the late nights of equations. The way the tower would pull his iron man suit off him and Peter would be there, curled up, waiting.

He thinks. He thinks about Peter’s Oscorp Industries offer to head their Bio-tech division- rejected. For Tony.

He thinks of Peter’s dream to live in the sprawling country, away from the city.

He thinks of how Peter loves late night walks, hand in hand, staring at the twinkling lights of buildings.

He thinks of how Peter told him he was scared that Tony would get hurt.

There’s something about change. All the things Peter’s given him. Given and given and given until there was nothing left to give.

Tony hasn’t changed. He’s softer, more loving, but that’s because- of Peter.

All Peter’s ever asked of him, ever truly asked of him, was to retire.

Tony licks his lips- his tongue’s so dry- and he whispers: “It’s who I am, Pete. I’m sorry.”

Peter closes his eyes for a long, long moment.

Then he opens them, and smiles sadly. “I know, Tony.” He whispers, fragile, “I know. If there were any other way- you’re the smartest man in the world. You’d have figured it out. I think this…” he gestures between them helplessly. “I think maybe this is the only way. I’m sorry too.”

Then he twists the ring off his finger and Tony stops him.

“Keep it,” he begs, “please.”

Peter nods, tears slipping down his cheeks, and he hurries away.

Tony stands there, chest clenching- in more agony than he’s ever been. His jaws ache. He wants to scream. To disappear.

He goes home.

He’s aggressively stripping wires and thinking. Thinking. Thinking.

He’s picturing life in five years.

Picturing waking up with even more aches and pains than he has now. Of stepping down, of giving the suit to a plucky MIT graduate who Tony can mentor.

He imagines getting in his car, driving to the outskirts of New York, the rich, sprawling greenery.

Of finding Peter’s home. Gorgeous. Stately. Framed with foxgloves.

He imagines walking up the steps, knocking on the door and there’s Peter.

Even more handsome. Relaxed. Happy. He’ll smile, Tony will get down on his knees, beg for him back and Peter-

Peter will look heart-broken.

“Tony,” he’ll say, “I didn’t spend five years waiting for you. Hoping you’d come to your senses. I didn’t put my life on pause for you. And you should never have expected me to. I moved on.”

And then someone else will say, “Petey, who’s at the door?”

And he’ll come out. Peter’s husband. He’ll be handsome and young and everything Peter deserves.

Tony has to set down his tools because his hands are trembling with anger over Peter’s non-existent future husband.

Is that what he’s expecting? Is he expecting Peter to wait? To wait until Tony’s done with being Iron Man? To put his life on hold indefinitely until Tony-

It makes him sick.

He won’t do that. Not to Peter, not ever.

Online, a tabloid article: Iron Man = Iron Heart catches his eye.

They’re trying to say he has a heart of stone, but what he thinks is-

Iron Heart is a good superhero name.

Riri is wickedly clever.

She has wide eyes when he arrives at her dorm. She recognises him, clearly. But she quickly starts talking over him, shows him the prototype suit she’s designed.

He’s already seen it in videos.

“This what you wanna do?” He says, eyes catching a photo of her and a girl kissing on the wall. “You wanna be a superhero?”

“More than anything.” She says, getting to her feet, 21 years old and ready to take on the world.

“I used to want it more than anything too.” Tony nods, and he feels warm. “I want something else more now.”

She cocks her head. Trying to gauge him.

He tries to go for casual. “My hus- ex-husba- my Peter- he’s great with bio-tech. Do you- he could help- upgrade- I-”

“Mr Stark,” Riri says, pulling up her socks, folding herself onto her desk chair. “What’s the point in saving the world if you never get to live in it? Life is finite.”

“You’re a good kid.” He manages. “We might make a hero of you yet.”

She grins.

He thinks she’ll be a forced to be reckoned with.

It’s not a beach house. Or a stately home in the expensive part of New York, it’s a townhouse in Brooklyn.

Beautiful, large, homey. Tony rings on the doorbell, fiddles with his collar, wonders if he should have brought flowers-

The door opens. Tony imagines it’ll be May, or maybe a Butler, or maybe a boyfriend-

It’s Peter. He’s in pyjamas. Old ones. Tony recognises them. Mr Wobbles is curled around his feet. He shivers in the cold air.

Tony opens his mouth but doesn’t know what to say. Peter looks up at him, half hidden behind the door, the one eye Tony can see is wide and amazed. Like he maybe didn’t think Tony would come back.

“I love you, Peter Stark.” He says, remembering how Peter’s fingers had shaken when they’d signed the final papers. “And I’d do anything for you. I found a- girl. She’s great, you’ll meet her, Iron Heart, I thought, just toying around, she’ll need help. A mentor, maybe. Dead parents, always seems to be the case. But I thought maybe you and me- we could, help- guide her, I don’t-”

Peter edges out a little more. Mr Wobbles shuffles back into the warmth.

“I thought-” Peter bites his lip. “I thought Iron Man was a part of you?”

“You’re a part of me, Peter.” Tony insists. He laughs. “I’m old. Stupid. Even Cap’n Ice realised what I’ve been trying to ignore...the world doesn’t need me anymore.”

Peter reaches out, takes Tony’s hand. “I need you.” He confesses quietly, smiling.

“And you are my world.” Tony realises aloud, tingling with glee.

***

Iron Man Retires.

Stark and Parker ReUnited.

Iron Heart Makes Debut

Three Times the Starks made us Swoon

Tony Stark to celebrate 10th Wedding Anniversary.

***

He wakes up years later.

He trips over Peter’s shoes. Mr Wobbles pounces on his vulnerable toes as he walks past the bed.

He walks past one of the guest bedrooms: can hear Riri snoring.

He walks down into the lab. It glows with blue light, and there, hunched over the Iron Heart suit is Peter. He’s methodically working out all the damage it took on Riri’s latest stint. The fright she’d given them both- falling into that lake-

He looks like Tony, Tony realises. Of course his husband does, the narcissist that he is.

“Hey Pete,” Tony murmurs, rubbing his eyes, coming closer and kissing Peter on the head. “It’s late.”

“Is it?” Peter hums around a yawn, “I was just finishing up…”

“Yeah, yeah,” Tony chuckles, “I’ve heard that one before. Used it a few times."

Peter grins at that; tired, happy. “I guess maybe you need to tire me out,” he says wickedly, spinning in the chair, legs spreading further apart.

“Mm,” Tony murmurs, leaning down, kissing him. “Extra large pizza?”

“Cheese in the crust.” Peter nods, and they kiss again. And again.

And again.

#starker #peter x tony #angst #happy ending #fluff #divorce #make up break up #break up make up #age difference #marriage au #iron heart #tony stark #soft tony stark #precious peter parker

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floral-saturn · 3 years

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More modern GOT headcanons

Satin wears crop tops and so does Theon sometimes they go shopping together and sometimes they choose each other’s style.

Robb majors in law, he wants to be a lawyer just like his father was so he’s following in Ned’s footsteps

Satin studies photography and he takes very pretty and gorgeous photos of Jon and his friends

Theon majors in creative writing and sometimes he writes poetry and makes Robb proof read it, sometimes the poems are about him

Gendry would probably work in wood shop or something that has to deal with automobiles or something weird.

Arya is probably working in vet school so like something that has to deal with animals like cats, dogs.

Sansa works with fashion, and so does Margaery that’s how the two meet together

Yara is definitely like an artist, she paints stuff like nude bodies or like female figures and she hangs it up in her dorm room, it makes Theon uncomfortable for like....a tiny bit but he gets used to it.

Daenerys is a little complicated, but maybe she would be interested in studying history?, like think war of the roses, OH! And she listens to crime podcasts on Spotify

Pod takes soccer, Bran is a big techy who’s really smart so bran probably majors in something like computer science and probably looks up to Elon Musk to only be heavily disappointed when he figures out that Elon Musk is actually not that good—

Speaking of Lawyers!, Oberyn teaches law at Westeros university and his wife Ellaria works as an English teacher

DOMERIC IS INTO CRIMEOLOGY WE’VE DISCUSSED THIS ALREADY HE REALLY LIKES MURDER FOR SOME REASON

Ramsay is a college drop out but he works for his dad who makes guns

Roose literally tried asmr at one point in life

ROBB MAKES PLAYLISTS FOR EVERY SITUATION he also daydreams and just chills with music on while Greywind sleeps on the couch with him

Theon makes the most bomb ass pancakes in the morning, he took home-ec in middle school and cooking in high school so he would consider himself an excellent baker, in reality he just sends Robb recipes on Pinterest and Robb’s a little skeptical about the ingredients he’s always all like “are you sure you have enough ingredients to make this? And this looks like too much sugar for me” and Theon’s just like “it’s fine!, don’t worry about it!”

Margaery is very popular on TikTok, so is Joffrey think of him as like a straight TikTok creator like little huddy and Sansa has a whole phase where she becomes obsessive about him but it’s not like stalker obsessed she just follows him on all his socials and stuff

Oh yeah and speaking of the Baratheon Family Myrcella is also a TikTok creator think of her as like the Charlie D’amelio of Westeros in a sense, she also took dancing lessons from kindergarten and everyone’s just like: “How the fuck is she even famous like all she does is just flailing her fucking arms around and moving her body that shits not dancing it looks like a demon possession!”

Trystane Martell is a YouTube creator, think like David Dobrik or Jake Paul he’s really annoying and controversial like he gets in trouble every two to three weeks and he has to post an apology video of him fake crying for whatever weird shit he’s done

Samwell Tarly is a folk artist, think Angus and Julia stone or something that’s soft like Hozier

All the parents hate eachother because they tend to really like comparing their parenting skills so every time one has a fucking cook out or something it always ends up being a big fight over who has better parenting skills.

Oberyn: so how was your guy’s kids doing?

Roose: Well...you see, mine managed to take my credit card and buy a hello kitty switchblade knife on the dark web not really sure why, he just impulsively bought it

Oberyn: oh...uh, well, my son went to jail this weak for staying in a Walmart for 24 hours.

Ned and Catelyn always look at each other in these situations and they always make shit up like:

Ned: well, Arya brought home a fat raccoon that she allegedly stole from the Lannister’s garbage can.

Robert: well you know what Ned, my daughter makes weird videos of her dancing, don’t really know why, she just does

Balon: sometimes Yara draws boobs on the walls, I don’t know why she does it, and Theon wears skirts my children are two different breeds.

Jamie: hey, brienne remind me to not have a single kid with you

Brienne: Jamie, don’t have a single kid with me, even though you always have the same talk about kids as soon as we get home.

#game of thrones #modern au #idk what im doing #prompts #a song of ice and fire #satin flowers #jon snow #samwell tarly #daenarys targaryen #college au #yara greyjoy #theon greyjoy #roose bolton #ramsay bolton #sansaery #sansa stark #margaery tyrell

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nazyalenskyism · 3 years

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Let’s Get Married 1

Summary: A Zoyalai modern AU with fake dating in latter parts.

Ao3: Let’s Get Married

Excerpt: He raised a brow, easing back in his chair, “can I help you?”

“What’s this?” Genya exclaimed without any preamble, grabbing a paper off the top of the stack in David’s hands and slapping it onto his desk.

“Paper, I assume, darling Genya.”

“I mean what’s on the paper,” she snapped, “it says you’re married.”

“That sounds great. See you at noon tomorrow. Yes, Madraya I know how to get to the Palm Court. Yes, I promise I won’t be late. Okay, I’ll see you soon.” Nikolai gently placed the receiver into the cradle before dropping his head into his hands. He was lucky that it was a Friday evening, the firm was empty which meant no one was around to witness this. He was nestled away in his favourite hidden corner in the law library which was the perfect place to get his work done, though he wondered how productive he would be now that he had to create a game plan for the following day. He was practiced in making sure his mother didn’t spill any secrets which was often the result of wanting to spite his father and one too many drinks, but no matter how good he thought he was his mother always managed to surprise him. And then there was the matter of his brother and father. He wanted nothing more than for them to burn with their continual mistakes, but he couldn’t. Whether it was out of some strange sense of loyalty to people who only made his life more difficult or to protect his mother who always stood silent at their sides when they tormented him, he didn’t know.

The only thing he did know was that he was about 15 hours away from another lunch with his mother and her gossiping group of friends where his father would decide not to show up at the last minute because Vasily wanted to go golfing in the Hamptons where they would undoubtedly spend the rest of the weekend philandering. Another weekend where his mother pretended she didn’t know what was happening, deciding to drop as much money as she could manage, just to irritate her husband. Then it would be Monday again, where Nikolai was left to pick up the pieces from the damage that his family caused, wishing that he could close his eyes and disappear off the face of the Earth for just a second if it meant he could be left without responsibility over people who didn’t care about him.

“What are you doing?” From between the shelves stepped out another lawyer, not just any other lawyer, it was Zoya. Zoya Nazyalensky was a talented lawyer who had joined the firm a few years after he had, right out of law school. She was skilled, hardworking, and an expert in making the most egotistical men shrink by simply raising her brow. They had worked a few cases together over their time at the firm, but more often than not, they had their separate cases that they chose to work on together. Most days they could be found in each others’ offices, working silently for hours with only occasional requests for advice or lunch orders. Despite all the time they spent working together, Nikolai, who considered himself something of an expert when it came to others’ feelings, had no idea if Zoya actually liked him or if she simply put up with him because he was the least terrible person at work. He always welcomed her company though.

“What are you doing here so late?”

She raised a brow before crossing the space and sinking into the couch cushions next to him. “I could ask you the same thing. In fact, I just did.”

“I’m putting some things together before the weekend.”

“Was your phone call that bad?”

Nikolai wanted to wince, “you heard that?”

“You were on speaker.”

“Saints, as if I needed that broadcast to the entire firm.”

“Oh, there’s no one here. You and I are the only ones left,” she said as she pulled off her high heels and curled her legs onto the couch.

“You haven’t answered my question, why are you still here?”

“You first.”

He sighed, she’d already heard the entirety of his conversation with his mother, it’s not like he could ruin her image of him further. “The sooner I go home, the sooner the reality of tomorrow will hit me.”

“Is getting tea with your mother really that bad?” she asked almost hesitantly.

Nikolai threw his head back, “I love my mother, but these luncheons usually involve my father ditching at the last minute to go and break his wedding vows, while my mother pretends she doesn’t know what’s happening

“And you have to go?”

“Someone has to make sure she gets home in one piece, and I trust her friends as far as they can throw me.”

“Isn’t the saying that you trust them as far as you can throw them?”

“I excel at everything I do, naturally but they can’t say the same.”

“Ah, I see.”

They sat in silence for a moment before she spoke again, her tone hushed as if speaking any louder would shatter the calm. “Is that why you don’t work for your father?”

Nikolai exhaled, “that’s a part of it.” His father was C.E.O of Ravkan Industries, and unlike his brother, Nikolai hadn’t joined the family business right out of highschool. Make no mistake, he wanted to be a part of the company, he knew he needed to be a part of it to spare the world of further misguided leadership from his family. It pained him, but they were the worst thing to happen to the company, and he often feared that he was the only person who could stop the trainwreck that was his family from derailing.

She nodded, “I know a thing or two about bad families.” Her legs had been drawn up to her chest, and she rested her head against her knees, eyes trained on him, “I can’t speak about anyone else, but your brother is definitely a jackass.”

“You’re right, I’m sure everyone who’s ever met him agrees. Speaking of which, when did you?”

“I came to your office a few weeks ago looking for you. He was waiting for you, gave me a sleazy once-over and asked me out. He got offended when I said no, and I told him that I didn’t date men who look like the Walmart versions of their younger brothers.”

Nikolai shook his head in amusement, “I’m surprised I haven’t heard him complaining about that. You must have really wounded his ego.”

“What,” Zoya said, fixing him with the withering glare she dished out when someone was being incompetent, “like it’s hard?”

“Ooh,” Nikolai groaned, rubbing a hand over his chest, “glad I’ve never been on the receiving end of one of those.”

She gave him a small smile, picking at a loose thread at her sleeve, “how do you usually spend your Saturdays when you’re not cleaning up their messes?”

“Go on a run, get pastries and coffee from the bakery across the street, read a book with my cat, catch up on some shows…”

“That sounds…. surprisingly pleasant.”

“ What did you think I got up to?”

“I don’t know… peach picking or something?”

“Aren’t you allergic to peaches?”

Zoya looked startled for a second, “yeah, how did you know that?”

“That time that we helped Genya with her groceries because she broke her leg? You weren’t paying attention and grabbed them, 10 minutes later you got hives.”

The look she gave him was intense and assessing, had he said something wrong? As much as he liked to think he knew how everyone operated, Zoya Nazyalensky was a bit of an enigma to him still. “What about you? What are you doing tomorrow?” he said in an attempt to maintain the conversation.

“I’ll go on a run with my dog, get breakfast, do some work, get some flowers and do my laundry. The usual.”

“Have you ever had lunch at the Palm Court?”

“No, but my aunt took me to the champagne bar when I graduated,” her smile was small, “it was the nicest night I’ve ever had.”

“I can’t promise that tomorrow will be anything less than a disaster, but would you like to accompany me to lunch?”

Zoya fiddled with the chain around her neck, fingers running over the seams of the locket, as if she was contemplating opening it. “Would it be proper?”

“You said it yourself, you have nothing else to do tomorrow morning, you’ll get a ridiculously expensive and delicious lunch for free.”

“But wouldn’t I be intruding?”

“My father’s going to cancel at the last minute, remember?”

“And what if he doesn’t?”

“He will. He always does, and he is nothing if not a creature of habit.” His phone rang at that exact moment, “like clockwork,” he murmured. “Hello.”

“Tell your mother that I can’t make lunch tomorrow, Vasya and I are going golfing.” The line cut before Nikolai could reply, not that he’d been planning on it.

“So, Nazyalensky, are we on for afternoon tea then?”

She sighed, “fine. But it better be as tasty as you’re saying it is.”

“It’s absolutely heavenly. The Dom Pérignon really brings out the subtle undertones in the Pistachio Dacquoise Cake. And the Devonshire cream is absolutely to die for.”

“I didn’t understand half of that.”

“Don’t worry, after the first time, you’ll be begging that we go back.”

She raised a brow, “is that a challenge, Lantsov?”

He grinned, “when is it not?”

“This is a pity lunch, I’m not going because I actually care about you.”

Nikolai nodded understandingly, “of course, of course. This is strictly a pity invite too, since this brunch will definitely be more entertaining than a Saturday spent at home.”

“Great. So we’re on the same page then,” her smile was sharp and Nikolai felt his blood rush at the sight. Maybe tomorrow would be bearable.

***

“Anything I need to know before we go in?” Zoya crossed her arms over her chest, staring up at the façade of the infamous hotel the following morning, suppressing the urge to run home. Was she nervous? For what? To meet Nikolai’s mother? No, that couldn’t be it. She was nervous to lose her bet with him, that was it. He had called her early this morning to make sure that the terms of the bet were solidified, if she fell in love with any of the food, she had to accompany him to any future lunches, whenever he asked. If she won, he had to accompany her to any errands she wanted. She had thought about making him assemble all of her IKEA furniture for the foreseeable future on the way here and had nearly bumped into him while she daydreamed about him carrying her groceries every week.

“If a question doesn’t feel like a trap, then it is one. If it feels like it’s a trap, then it’s definitely a trap. If it feels like someone is fishing for a response, then that’s a trap.”

“So, everything is a trap?”

“Exactly!”

“And you do this every month?”

“More like every two weeks.”

“Saints,” she swore, “and you don’t get sick of the food or company?”

“Well, they do let a little bit too much slide about their husbands’ schedules, most of them are on the board of my father’s company, and if I can get on their good sides they might vote for me over Vasily to take over one day.”

“You’re always playing the long game, aren’t you?”

Nikolai raised a brow, “and you’re not? We both know your ‘favourite hangout spots’ are coincidentally the same places where you can poach clients from Fjerdan Holdings.”

“Wait,” Zoya frowned, ignoring him completely. “If your father and Vasily are both skipping, who else did you invite? I'm taking your father’s place and what about Vasily’s?”

“I’m honoured you think I’d be invited in the first place.”

“You’re not invited?”

“Only when Vasily cancels, which is every time.”

“They really don’t invite you to family lunches?”

“I’m something of a problem child to them.”

“Nikolai,” she said and he could feel her gaze on him, “are you sure about this?”

“Yes, Zoya. I’m sure.”

“Let’s get moving then, we’re about to be late.”

“Ruthless as always,” Nikolai sighed, pushing open the door.

“Punctual, as always,” Zoya retorted, following him through the lobby, “you should take a lesson or two from me on showing up on time.”

“Never heard of fashionably late, Nazyalensky?”

“That’s just an excuse people with no dress sense use to justify their inability to choose a functional outfit.”

“Ruthless.”

“Honest.”

***

“Kolya!”A blonde woman dressed in beige exclaimed, beckoning him over before pulling him down into a hug . Zoya looked down at her pale blue dress, was she too colourful for brunch? But no, Nikolai’s dress shirt was the same colour as her dress, surely that meant that it was okay. She’d forgotten the ultra-rich nature of Nikolai’s family and the way that high society acted. Sure she made good money at work, but this world, the world of her clients, was something else. She’d grown up eating lunchables when she’d lived with her parents, while she suspected that he had never eaten anything that wasn’t prepared by a gourmet chef before he went to university.

“Madraya, this is my friend, Zoya,” he said, pulling away, “she’s the one I told you would be joining us this morning.”

“Thank you for having me,” she smiled, trying to put on her most charming persona, The Nikolai, as she liked to call it.

Nikolai’s mother shook her hand enthusiastically, “Zoya, this is Svetlana, Kolya’s auntie. Please! Sit, sit.” The other woman assessed her slowly from head to toe and Zoya shot her a cool glance, a challenge, to which Svetlana turned away from. Off to a great start.

Zoya reached to pull out her chair, faltering when she felt someone else’s on top of hers. “Your jacket,” Nikolai whispered, “I can take it.”

She stared at him. What? She went rigid as Nikolai helped her out of her coat, the warmth of his fingers brushing against her skin, making her thoughts freeze too.

“You alright, Nazyalensky?” he murmured in her ear as he pulled her chair out for her. “You should stop staring, it’s rude.”

She rolled her eyes at him, whatever spell had fallen over her was broken now, “thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he winked in return, but she could see the surprise on his face. Did he really think she was so ruthless that she had no manners?

“So Kolya, tell us about how you and Zoya met!”

***

Lunch was rather mild, and nowhere near as horrific as Nikolai has mentioned. In fact, it was pleasant, certainly much more enjoyable than any meal she’d had with her own mother. Nikolai’s mother cared for him in her own vapid way, and once Nikolai had reiterated that Zoya was not his girlfriend, Svetlana had thawed considerably, both of the women asking her about her clothes, work, and life. The lies came easily, they always did when it came to her family. She wasn’t embarrassed by her past but she saw no value in mentioning the people who had conceived her but had done nothing more than that. Zoya was also not in the mood to be pitted by these women, and she spun them a web of what they wanted to hear. A girl from a rich family who grew up doing all of the things they had.

She told them details from trips she had always dreamt of taking with her aunt but that they’d never been able to afford, easily replying to their inquiries of, “oh, I love Paris! When you went, did you eat at the cafe 3 blocks east of the Louvre? With the 100 year old bakery? It’s a must!” with an exact order of their most deep-menu items. Zoya smiled as they tittered on about the delicacies, as if an evening dining there didn’t cost more than what a month’s worth of groceries had cost as a child. To them her weekends were spent at tennis practice at the local country club instead of split between doing homework, working at her aunt's cafe and in the mail room at the law firm across the street to earn a little money. She didn’t say this explicitly of course, but she didn’t deny it either when they acted like she shared their experiences.

She’d never spoken to Nikolai about her past, nothing beyond the fact that she was raised by her aunt and that she had a younger cousin. He’d never asked, not out of a lack of interest in her, she knew that— but out of understanding that she didn’t particularly care to share that information. In the world in which she now found herself, anyone that deviated from the norm was looked down upon and she refused to be a source of entertainment for them.

The conversation quickly turned away from her however, with a few carefully timed lines from Nikolai. He brought up childhood memories of his own that made everyone laugh, recounting his numerous hijinks through the years. He told stories about the more interesting cases he and Zoya had worked on recently, his flow pausing naturally to let her throw in her own banter as well. She learned of the multiple times Nikolai had nearly burnt their beach house down, how he once “accidentally” lured a hoard of sheep to chase his brother when they were visiting Scotland, and how he was the youngest in his highschool graduating class, finishing at 15 before going to university, and then sailing around the world for a year.

As enjoyable as seeing Nikolai’s nose scrunch when his mother recounted a particularly adorable story was, by the time the desserts rolled around, Zoya felt fatigued. How did Nikolai do this all the time? When he wasn’t charming his family he was charming clients, coworkers, whoever he needed to. She had enjoyed the afternoon a lot more than she had anticipated, especially the food which was heavenly, like he’d said. But in the end she was adamant not to admit defeat to Nikolai even if it meant more meals like this. She would rather stab herself with the salad fork than admit he was right— or was that the dessert fork? Why were there so many forks? She was granted a bit of a reprieve when the ladies saw another group of their friends and decided to go chat with them at their table. Then it was just her and Nikolai, who had gone unusually quiet and was staring at her empty plate quite critically. “What’s wrong?”

***

Nikolai had been right, inviting Zoya to lunch had been a great idea, he couldn’t recall the last time he’d genuinely enjoyed one of these lunches. She had been brilliant, with the way that she handled all of their questions and discussed topics that interested them, the way that she’d chimed in at the perfect moments in his stories to add a little detail that made the anecdote even better. Everything had gone better than he could’ve imagined, except for the fact that it looked like he might be losing their bet, and after today, he didn’t think he would hate these lunches if Zoya were attending them with him.

Af first he’d been genuinely worried that she wasn’t enjoying herself since her reaction to the food had been muted, but the longer he watched her the more he was able to figure out exactly what was going on. He knew she wasn’t touching the desert tower because she knew that it would be her downfall. Most of the sweets were exactly of her taste and she was desperate not to lose to him. What had she intended on making him do if he lost that she was fighting so hard to win?

“Try it,” Nikolai mumbled, pointing at the tea tower, “it’s delicious.”

Zoya rolled her eyes, “you’ve said that about everything so far.”

“I’m serious, Nazyalensky. You’re going to love this.”

“I’m going to love it, or you’re convinced I should love it so that you win?”

Nikolai pulled a face, “why can’t it be both? Come on, it’s a dark chocolate cherry custard, that’s pretty much all of your favourite foods.”

Zoya peered at the dessert as if she was holding herself back, “it does look slightly edible…”

Saints, she would do anything to beat him, wouldn’t she? Nikolai smothered his grin, holding out a spoonful of the custard to her, “you know you want to try it.”

She let out an exasperated breath, taking the bite. Her eyelashes fluttered as she tasted it and she turned to him, scowling, “damnit, that’s so good.”

“I won’t say I told you so, Zo,” he laughed, as she smacked his shoulder with one hand, the other wielding a spoon that was digging into the custard on his plate. She hated that nickname.

“Well, Nik, or should I say Nikky? Or Niko? Or Nikola? Or--”

“Ah, that’s enough, dear,” Nikolai groaned, he definitely had worse nicknames.

“Whatever you say, Kolya.”

“Who would’ve guessed that brunch Zoya was a gloater?” His tone was teasing as he leaned in, brushing the bottom of her lip with his thumb to get rid of a chocolate smudge. “I certainly figured you were the modest type,” he trailed off, realizing what he’d done.

“Me and gloat don’t belong in the same sentence,” Zoya said, but her voice was low and her eyes were trained on his fingers. Nikolai repressed the urge to sit on his hands or flee from the table, but she said nothing and neither did he.

“Kolya, sweetheart, be a dear and wait for your father’s card.” His mother was back. Nikolai shot out of his seat, walking over to her. “We’ll be down the street at Svetlana’s daughter’s boutique. Zoya, hon, are you coming with us?”

“Oh, I’ll just wait with Nikolai,” Zoya smiled.

“Of course, dear.” His mother then pulled him aside, “you should bring your girlfriend around more often. It’s been so long since you’ve brought someone home.”

Nikolai looked at her, bewildered, “girlfriend? Zoya’s not my girlfriend. We’re just friends. Not even friends, coworkers is probably a better descriptor for our fully platonic relationship.” Was he rambling? He felt like he was rambling.

Instead of replying his mother simply patted his cheek with an infuriatingly knowing look before she followed her friends out of the dining room. Nikolai shook his head out, walking back to Zoya as they waited.

“ ‘Not even friends?’I have to admit, that’s probably the best thing I’ve ever heard come out of your mouth,” Zoya said, tossing her hair over her shoulder.

“I was just taken aback,” Nikolai protested, “of course we’re friends, okay,” he said, raising his hands in surrender at her pointed glare, “I consider us friends at least, I don’t invite strangers to the brunch from hell.”

“It wasn’t that bad,” she scoffed, flicking a piece of lint from his lapel absently. “The food was good, and they were nice enough.”

“Oh, they’re not nice at all,” he laughed, turning to take the card from the approaching waiter, “you just knew how to handle them.”

“I suppose I’ve spent enough time with clients like them to know how to act,” she frowned, “I didn’t really have to think about it.”

“That makes you a perfect fit in their social circle,” he winked, holding the door open for her, “you’re clever enough to outsmart them all, they can’t get anything from you unless you want them to have it.”

“I thought being clever was your brand?”

“I’m okay with having a worthy companion in that bracket.” Nikolai jested, surprised when she slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow as they began their way down the street. She probably just needed to keep her balance, he couldn’t imagine navigating the cobblestone path in the high heels she was wearing. He couldn’t recall her ever wearing anything but heels, now that he thought about it. Perhaps she would require further assistance walking in the future, he didn’t think he would mind that.

“But really,” she said, tilting her head up to look at him, “you’ve never thought about us?”

Nikolai turned away for a second, unsure of what exactly to say, and when he turned back to her, she was already looking away. “I can’t say I have. To be fair, I didn’t think you liked me until yesterday, or that you considered us friends until today.”

“Of course we’re friends,” she scowled, punching his bicep with her free hand, “we’ve been friends for years, you dolt. You think I waste my free time on people I can’t be bothered to tolerate?”

“Oh.”

Zoya rolled her eyes, “yes, oh. I always knew I was smarter than you but this is pathetic on your part, Lantsov. What did you think when I gave you that scarf for Christmas?”

“I thought you were just being nice?”

She groaned, “take that back. I’ve never been nice a day in my life.”

They walked in silence for a few minutes before she spoke, “you really didn’t think, ‘hey, we do our work together at the office, we have the same friends, and I’m the only person in the office that Zoya hasn’t threatened to throw out the 29th floor window? so maybe that means something?’”

“You threatened to throw me out the second floor window 3 days into working at the firm.”

“Exactly!” she nodded, “you would probably survive that fall. That was essentially me telling you I didn’t hate you that much.”

“You work in mysterious ways, Nazyalensky.”

“Hold on,” Zoya put out a hand to stop him, “your collar is up.” She stepped towards him, fingers brushing his neck as she folded the fabric, her gaze intent upon him.

“If it weren’t for my newfound knowledge that you consider us friends, I would think you were considering strangling me.” Nikolai laughed, feeling her pause in her movements.

“That can certainly be arranged,” she teased, smoothing out the lapels of his coat, her hands resting on his chest for a second. Her eyes met his and she looked away quickly towards the boutique, freezing when she saw the occupants staring out the window at them. “Why are they looking at us like that?” Zoya murmured.

“I think that Svetlana thought she could get me to marry her daughter.”

“Aren’t you all about love, is it really that bad of an idea? She owns a boutique, that’s pretty cool.” She stepped back, shoving her hands into her own coat pockets, and Nikolai instantly regretted opening his mouth.

“I’m not really her type.”

“I thought you were ‘everyone’s type?’”

“Am I?” Zoya turned away from his gaze, and he thought he saw her face flush. “She dated Tamar a few years back, and then she was with my sister for a few months, but I doubt her mother knows if she’s dating anyone right now.”

“Wait, wait, wait. You have a sister?”

“That’s a story for another time,” Nikolai grinned. “It may cost you another lunch date.”

“If they have food as good as today’s, every Saturday is yours.”

Nikolai smiled as Zoya waltzed into the boutique, an elegant but disruptive storm in his life. She hadn’t flinched when he’d called it a date, hadn’t hesitated when he’d asked her to accompany him again, hadn’t protested at the fact that he’d won the bet. Despite all the good that had come out of the day, he felt something gnawing at his chest, ‘what, you’ve never thought about us?” and he doubted it would ever leave his head now. ‘Whatever’ Nikolai thought, trailing after her. It wasn’t like even if he wanted to, they would ever be together. There was no use in worrying over something that would never happen.

#zoyalai fic #my writings #zoyalai #nikolai lantsov #zoya nazyalensky #kos #s&b #tgt #gv

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adarafaelbarba · 3 years

Note

If the bois got an animal companion (like Ariel and Flounder type companion) what would they be?

This was kinda hard, but I hope it makes sense 😅

Sonny - Golden Retriever (made me think of Cookie 🥰 also the golden retriever is basically Sonny in dog form, change my mind 🤣)

Mike - German Shepard (having been in the army he would maybe be familiar with the dog breed and would have it easier to train his own)

Nick - Staffordshire Bull Terrier (I feel this dog would be a good fit to Nick and would be trained well so it can be around his kids, but is also an excellent companion and guard dog)

Peter - Black Cat (it was hard to choose a companion for our lawyer bois, but I think Peter would have a great companion in a cat 😅)

Rafael - Cat (I suck at cat breeds okay 😅😩. But Rafael would have great company with a cat. It would fit his lifestyle as well as his general mood 😅)

#sonny carisi #rafael barba #nick amaro #mike dodds #peter stone #animal companions #karen responds #teamsladsandgents #thank you darling 🥰

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mariatudy · 3 years

Text

✨ about me ✨

hello, everyone!

I saw on tumblr from dear @kimvibes, and since i'm procrastinating too... I decided introduce me :)

Name: Maria Antônia, Maria, Marie, Mary...

Pronouns: She/Her

Age: 21

Bday: Feb 01 (yea, aquarian! and no, i'm not cold. lol)

Undergraduate: second period of Law

future goal: graduating law school '25

future career: lawyer, and/or teacher of civil law

pets? no :( Last month my cat died, she had 16 old years. I want to adopt soon a little cat :3

short description: I'm brazilian. bisexual (she/her), myopic, short hair.

aesthetics: dark/light academia, chaotic academia, city pop, plant mom (font: madmeaning.com)

interests:

kpop/kdrama (i'm starting to follow...)

plants (i'm mom of plants, i assume!)

animes (i started Uramichi Oniisan, Sailor Moon, Boku no Hero Academia, so far these are)

coffee, tea, matte.

youtube videos, studyvlogs, medvlogs, univlogs, study w me, generally productivity (my favs: Maria Silva, Mar Fortuno, Jem, Yoora Jung, kwok (she's student law in oxford, i love!) etc...

apps of productivity (i love to use app forest, flip, and recently i start to use app Yeolpumta. excellent!)

i love to record small parts of my day, compile them into short videos on youtube (my channel is: mariatudy)

Music taste:

indie, rock, lo-fi, kpop, MPB.

Currently studying:

Ethic (subjetc special vacation)

Theory of Methodology of Science (special vacation)

Psychology in legal context language

Legal Argument

Criminal law II

Constitutional law

Civil Law - obligations

Business Law I

Society, Culture and Citizenship

Brazilian Sign Language

Critical Theory of Law (study group)

What does my username mean?:

- Maria, my name. "tudy" = study.

What I’m up to this quarantine?

oddly enough I didn't miss going out and socializing so much, maybe if it was a few years ago it would be really hard, but not now... I tried to keep my mental health healthy doing little things that make me happy and less anxious :)

Found myself - discovered what I liked to do, identified my bad habits and thoughts (just like my friend @kimvibes hihi);

I started to read more;

I started to grow little plants in my room (it's a jungle)

I decided to start watching some animes and kdramas

I took whole days just to sleep (bleh, I know)

Got into law school and I gave up on the idea of getting into medicine;

I started to get into the habit of listening to podcasts after lunch while having a cup of coffee;

Why am I here? :

i want to help and be helped... hihi. I want to meet other people, I want to exchange ideas and share moments, I want to make this a diary where I can remember all the moments I spent during college.

if you have a question, ask! I will love to interact :)

Have an awesome day/afternoon/night 😊

thank you for attention :)

#study #about me #diary #dark academia #lawblr #studyblr #law school #law student #brazilian studyblr #kpop girls #kdrama

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kieraelieson · 3 years

Text

Centaur AU 6

Thomas was woken by the sound of a barn door opening, and an exasperated “there you are.”

He blinked, trying to sit up and figure out where he was and what was going on. He was practically cuddled up to Emile, who was also just waking up, and Remy went to stand between them and the man at the door.

“Who are you, and what do you want here?” Remy snapped, hands on his hips.

The man rolled his eyes, reaching into his suit pocket to pull out a thick envelope. “I’m one of the Authier’s lawyers. I was supposed to draw up and finalize an agreement with Thomas this morning, but I have to be somewhere by 10 and it’s a bit of a drive.”

Thomas stood up, looking for the clock and wincing when he saw the time. 8:43. He was supposed to be at the stable by nine. Ugh, that was the danger of sleeping away from an alarm clock.

“Um, thank you for coming, I’m sorry I wasn’t available earlier.”

The man just looked him up and down, probably noticing every wrinkle and bit of dirt and hay. “No, I expected it. Mrs. Authier does like to hire people that ‘play the party’ so to speak. I’ve drawn up the agreement already, I just need your signature.”

“What, um, what does it all say?” Thomas asked, trying to rub his eyes with it being obvious.

“To summarize, you may either stay in the stable or in the bunk room with the other employees, free of charge. Your centaurs will be able to stay there and eat and receive medical care free of charge as well. You will be paid double what you are now, but will be considered ‘on call’ twenty-four seven. The other eight hours of on call will pay for your housing and your centaurs. If your centaurs get registered for any kind of public engagements the prizes for those will go to the Authiers, and it will be allowed to be assumed that they are owned by the Authiers. However, you still are the legal owner, and retain full possession, provided you allow the pretense to continue. You will decide whether or not to register your centaurs in anything at your own discretion, though if you choose to do so they will have the same advantages as any of the Authiers’.”

Thomas’s mind was more than a little spinning, but it sounded relatively ok. He didn’t really want to register Remy or Emile for anything, and everything else seemed good.

“O-ok.”

“Excellent. Sign here, and here, and here. I’ve had a key to the bunk room delivered to the stable. And also here is a card. You are allowed to use it for any discretionary purchases for the centaurs, provided you keep a record of those purchases and deliver the record to me monthly. Here is my card, the number is on the back.”

Thomas’s mind was still spinning. He just managed to nod and sign and accept.

The lawyer smiled. “Thank you, Thomas. Please call me with any questions or problems.”

And then he left. Leaving Thomas feeling like his brain had been stuffed with cotton.

“That… was a lot.” Emile said.

“You’re sure he isn’t all sneaky and tricking you?” Remy asked.

Thomas just shrugged helplessly. “I… need a shower.”

He took a quick shower and then packed a backpack as quickly as he could, rolling up a blanket and a pillow and shoving them into a pillowcase. That’d be enough for tonight, and he would have more opportunity later to get more of his things.

“Oh, no, I have to get those things for Patton too. Ugh… I’m gonna be so late.” Thomas scrubbed a hand over his face. Well, he was trying his best. He could make it. Maybe late, but he’d make it.

Remy and Emile had also packed up a few things, and Remy was wearing the ‘carry-saddle’ when Thomas got back. It was a cobbled-together thing, an old saddle with hooks and straps on it. Thomas was able to hang his backpack from a hook, and tie on the pillowcase bundle.

“Do you mind if I ride, Emile?”

“Not at all,” Emile said, holding a hand down to help pull Thomas up.

“We have to stop at the pet shop on our way, I promised Patton a rat cage and toys.”

“They have rats?” Remy asked, screwing his face up.

“Not loose, not for much longer. I have to get a cat too. And probably cat supplies. Are you good with carrying all that?”

“Not the cat, but I can carry the rest.”

“If the cat’s in a carrier, I don’t mind,” Emile said.

Thomas agreed readily. A carrier would be a good thing to have anyway.

It felt strange to rush through a pet store, almost wrong, and he was a bit surprised they just let him adopt a cat when he was so frayed and hurried, but they did. He got an old, black cat that seemed calm. He didn’t want anyone to worry about a frisky little kitten darting around underfoot.

Everything packed up, they were finally on their way.

When they arrived, Thomas opened the door, alarmed to hear soft sniffling and Roman speaking softly but harshly. “...and that’s why you can’t do that!”

“Whoa, hey, can’t do what?” Thomas asked, careful to keep his tone gentle.

Roman frowned, crossing his arms and turning slightly away. “Can’t talk. Not when it’s not safe.”

Thomas looked to see Patton rather teary, holding his arm, but not in the usual embarrassed-type pose.

“What happened?”

“Oliver did,” Virgil said, his tone dark and bitter.

Thomas turned to see Virgil in Logan’s stall, smushed between him and the wall.

“Ok,” Remy said, “I’m sick of this dancing around. What happened, completely, and who’s this asshole?”

“Oliver is the Authier’s… I think nephew,” Patton said quietly. “He came in earlier and was mad about Virgil being in Logan’s stall. I tried to get him to leave, but he got mad at me too.”

Patton moved his hand to show a red wheal on his arm.

Thomas set the carrier down immediately, rushing to get the cream.

“But then why would you fuss at him?” Remy asked sharply.

“Because he could avoid getting hurt like that if he just shut up!” Roman snapped. “And the whole thing wouldn’t have happened if everyone was following the rules!”

“Yeah, like victim-blaming is helping anything,” Remy said caustically.

“That’s not-- If they do it right it does help!”

“Remy, Roman, please,” Thomas said firmly. “Don’t argue.” He gently tended the mark on Patton’s arm, and the stable grew very quiet and still, only Emile coming over to be on hand to help Patton, and to subtly direct Thomas’ attention to Roman.

Once he was done Thomas turned around to Roman, who backed up a step, a sudden, but genuine fear flickering through his eyes, especially when Thomas opened his stall. Things were clicking together in Thomas’s mind, things Roman had done, had said, as well as certain behaviors he recognized as being similar to Remy a long time ago.

Thomas moved slowly, deliberately, holding out a hand to Roman.

Roman stared at his hand, eyes wide and alarmed, before finally reaching out tentatively to take it.

“Roman,” Thomas faltered seeing the repressed flinch, but took a breath, almost sure he understood the situation. “You’re trying to protect your friends.”

Roman made no response.

“It’s worked for you before. You made sure that by following all the rules and laying low that you were safe, and you just want them to be safe too.”

There was a tiny nod, and Roman’s face pinched, the slightest glimmer of tears in his eyes.

“You did well. I’m sure they all appreciate you trying to protect them. You did enough. They’re safe now.” Thomas echoed some of the words Roman had said to him the day before, and Roman blinked tears back, scrubbing away the one that made it past. “The things you protected them from are not right. Not ok. Not at all. I’m throwing out all those rules. You don’t need to keep them anymore.”

Roman took in a shuddering breath, looking like he was trying hard to control his emotions.

“I’m going to be here for you all as much as I possibly can be. You don’t have to be strong for them all, you can call me and I’ll help, ok?”

Roman nodded, scrubbing at his eyes.

“Roman?” Patton said. Emile had moved close to him, and it seemed they had talked about something.

Roman nodded in acknowledgement that he was listening.

“Thank you for trying to protect me. Protecting all of us.”

Roman shook with a half-sob, turning away and trying to hide his face from all of them. “Y-you’re welcome.”

“But… you… also hurt me, with the way you were doing it.” Patton said hesitantly.

A ragged sound tore out of Roman’s throat. “I-I know. A-and-- and I’m sorry. I thought-- I thought it would be better, cause I could-- I’d just fuss at you-- but the humans hurt you!”

Roman suddenly turned, and Thomas stepped out of his way, Emile moving Patton’s door, and Roman crashed into a hug with Patton, shoulders hitching with sobs he tried to keep quiet. “I’m so sorry, Patton. I-- I never wanted to hold you back, I just wanted you safe…”

Patton hugged back tightly.

Thomas figured they’d appreciate a bit of privacy, at least by not having him staring, so he started unpacking things carefully and quietly. Remy also seemed a bit ashamed, and very quietly helped.

There was a soft rustle, and Thomas saw out of the corner of his eye, since he was still trying to not stare at anyone, that Virgil and Logan were having some kind of conversation composed mostly of stares and touches. It was slightly odd. He was used to those silent conversations, when he’d seen them before, being mostly facial expressions and hand motions. He was beginning to realize that something, though what he had no idea, was going on that he was missing. Something with Logan.

And then Logan spoke up, clearing his throat and drawing attention to himself. “I would assume that the two of you are Remy and Emile?”

“Yes, we are,” Emile said politely. “I think we may have arrived more suddenly than was expected.”

Logan nodded. “Indeed. We hadn’t been aware you were coming at all.”

Emile shot a look at Thomas, who raised both hands. “I didn’t really know either, I’m kinda flying by the seat of my pants here. I’m… I’m sorry if it’s uncomfortable for you guys though. I should’ve found a way to make sure it was ok first.”

Logan nodded slowly, looking like he was rolling information over and over in his mind. “I see. I don’t believe any of us would strongly object to new stable-mates.”

Virgil shook his head a little in hesitant agreement.

Roman and Patton weren’t full hugging anymore, standing pressed against each other side-by-side, much like Logan and Virgil, though much more evenly sized. They were holding hands though, and both were trying not to look as teary as they were.

“It’s fine,” Patton said. “I’m happy to have new friends.”

Roman just nodded, a hand covering his face as he tried to calm down.

“I’m glad,” Thomas said, his mind whirring a bit trying to figure out where was best to put Remy and Emile so that no one would argue, but then he stopped abruptly. He was literally treating all of them like pawns in his mind right now. “Um, where do you guys think would be best for Remy and Emile to stay?”

There was a lot of looking back and forth between the centaurs. Apparently none of them had considered that yet.

“We can stay wherever is most convenient,” Emile said.

Gradually all the stares converged on Logan. He frowned slightly. “I believe it would be best if Remy was not near Virgil or Roman. And I think it likely that the two of you would prefer to be closer to each other. And seeing as the rat cage was intended to be mounted in the stall adjoining Patton’s, there will be less room there. It seems the best option would be if Remy was housed in the stall next to mine, and Emile next to Virgil’s.”

There were nods all around, though Remy’s was more hesitant.

Emile tried to lessen the tension by walking into the stall suggested for him and looking around. He then looked around the rest of the barn. “You only have standing beds here.”

“That is correct,” Logan said.

Emile just nodded, looking around the stall some more. “Thomas, would you help me make a straw bed?”

Thomas nodded quickly, hoping that doing something helpful would release the tension he was feeling. “Yeah, absolutely. And I think we need to make one for Logan too. He isn’t supposed to be standing up nearly as much.”

Logan blinked. “I am curious as to how you could make a bed sufficiently comfortable for sleeping out of straw.”

“I’d love to show you,” Emile said cheerfully, smiling at Logan.

So for the next hour or so Thomas hefted down the rectangular bales of hay, and Emile helped stack and arrange, and eventually tore a few open for a softer top layer. Finally, Thomas got out some heavy blankets to lay over the top, noting that to have enough he was using all the blankets there were in the closet.

“This is the last one, but I can buy more. I’ve been given permission to buy whatever you guys need.” Thomas said.

Logan looked at the bed suspiciously. It took up a good half of his stall, and Virgil had had to leave while they made it. But then slowly, carefully, he knelt and flopped to the side, and then let out a long breath with so much relief in it Thomas felt a sudden pang of guilt for not having remembered to get him more pain medicine right away.

Thomas sat down on the floor outside of his stall. “I think the vet is coming back sometime this morning. It’s mostly just so she can prescribe medication so you can get better. And then after that, I think you all have a mostly free day. Patton has something this evening, but the afternoon is fine. So I think I’ll go shopping to get whatever you all need. I’d really like it if you mostly just laid around for the next bunch of weeks, so is there anything I can get you? Books maybe? Or craft supplies?”

Logan squinted at him suspiciously. Thomas tried not to worry, or to get defensive, but it seemed he’d gone and said something dumb or unknowingly hurtful again.

“You are unaware that I am farsighted.” Logan said, his tone perfectly flat.

Thomas’s eyes widened. “Yes. Yes, I was completely unaware. Patton has glasses, why wouldn’t you, if you needed them? Did they break?” He caught himself before he just rambled endlessly and shut his mouth.

Logan just sighed. “I think you’re a good person Thomas.”

Thomas was caught entirely off guard by the sudden change of subject. “Um… thank you? I certainly try to be.”

“But you’re also quite unobservant.”

Thomas frowned slightly, but just nodded.

Logan raised his voice just slightly. “And we’ve made matters worse by assuming the opposite of you in both cases.”

There was a slight acknowledging grumble from behind him.

Thomas just nodded again, hoping to figure out where this was going.

“I believe my glasses are somewhere amongst the paperwork,” Logan said. “And I would greatly appreciate books to read.”

Thomas nodded quickly. “Yes. I’ll see if I can find them.”

He shuffled through the paperwork until he found a pair of glasses, vaguely remembering having seen them before, and assuming they were a backup pair for Patton, as they looked almost exactly the same.

“Are these them?” He asked, handing them to Logan.

Logan put the glasses on, and nodded, studying Thomas’s face, and then turned to look at Remy and Emile. Then he laid back and seemed to fall asleep very quickly.

And now all eyes were on Thomas again. He’d have to get used to this.

“Um… I guess, let’s set up the rat cage, and then hopefully the vet will come, and if any of you want anything, let’s get it all on a list for me to go get it?”

There was a general nodding and a couple ‘thank you’s, and Thomas forced a confident smile onto his face. Maybe he didn’t have everything under control, but he was certainly about to do his best.

#my own work #sanders sides #virgil sanders #patton sanders #roman sanders #logan sanders #remy sleep #emile picani #character!thomas #centaur au

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fogedcummings8 · 2 years

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My family is a huge fan of camping, and nothing's better than that. However, we have technology on hand.

I would like to emphasize this piece of information right from the beginning that we are a camping family as well as a real outdoors family. We are able to spend as much time bonding with nature as we can. We have pets, cats and dogs. They are our joyful campers throughout the day. We are aware of where we are and how we got there, as well as where to find water and how to spend a few hours watching TV together as a family. We do not want to let go of our little vices, or leave home with no music or entertainment. We actually insist on bringing a generator and a nice (well quite tiny, but still functional 32" screen).. We do travel in a large camper trailers and so why not take all the things we can? Sometimes people think we are like nomads with no home or land.. No, we live in Seattle and our dad has a great job as a lawyer with a unsavory company, which pays him huge sums of money. Mother informs me that he has a camping trip every year for four days to clean up the dirt from his job.

While we enjoy our smartphones and tablets at campfires, we also enjoy technology. Even on camping trips we continue to utilize our devices. Although our father isn't too concerned, he does turn off his phone during the weekend. He says it helps him relax. After a day's worth of hunting and fishing, we eat a big meal in the forest. After dinner, we enjoy the TV or music videos or shows that we have downloaded before our trip. We usually cannot get any Internet in the forest and this could be the primary reason why our parents don't have a problem with being on the phone and eventually we're out of games and saved emails to respond to, and then get back into conversations. We usually copy videos before leaving for excursions using Youtube clip converters or other websites for downloading videos. HULU is an excellent tool as it lets us watch hours worth of movies and shows that we already downloaded to computers prior to our trip. youtubedownload Videos and series not only make camp trips more enjoyable, but they are also great for getting there. Three hour trips in a campervan can often be boring. My dad is a big fan of this time. He is focused on his road, and needs the ability to control this enormous machine.

We'll continue to use GPS on our camping trips. In times of emergency it's crucial to be aware of where you are, and how to get back to the city. While we've never had any major issues on our travels, there are stories about people being stranded because of snow and dirt avalanches. GPS will always lead you to safety so long as safety is known. Satellites that are compatible with GPS will guide it to the right direction. This is the reason we have another piece of technology that allows us to safely get to our campsite. A helicopter could be sent to your location , by zooming into it in the event of an emergency. It is also recommended to carry a GPS along on any remote trip. It is important to keep in mind that the importance of technology in everyday life.

#ytd

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tea-for-you · 2 years

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“When The Morning Comes” chapter 3: Nathan version

no seriously, read the AO3 version, at least it’s got proper formatting

There is a black cat the size of a tennis ball, head bigger than its body, eating cheese in Tom’s fridge. It blinks owlishly at him from where it’s made its nest on the cheese platter left over from last night, and then shoves another piece into its moth.

“This chevre is excellent.”

“Yes,” Tom sighs, and reaches for the yogurt. “I’ve always been particular to it myself. Would you like me to get you some more later?”

The little cat’s eye lights up. “Would you?! Oh, that’s great!”

Tom squashes the instinct to reach out and pet it. “Would you like to keep me company for breakfast? I won’t want to leave the fridge door open for too long.”

He eats his yogurt and cereal and the little cat polishes off what remains of the cheese, offering mostly flattering commentaries upon the selection.

“You’re quite the gourmand,” Tom comments as he warms his hand on the coffee, cereal bowl set aside.

“You’ve got to enjoy the pleasures in life while they’re there,” says the cat, “that’s what’s great about Adrien. Say what you want about his father, but he did have the funds to get me whatever cheese I liked. Always stocked the finest camembert. If only he’d ever learned to appreciate it.”

The enthusiasm gradually dims; by the time he stops speaking, his head is hanging.

“So he really is going to stop being Cat Noir, then?”

“That’s his decision.”

“It doesn’t sound to me like he wants to.”

“Of course he doesn’t want to!” the cat snaps, “being Cat Noir is great! But I guess by now we know it’s not great for the miraculous to be too far away from where they’re supposed to. And he’s not wrong that Cat Noir should be around Ladybug. Even if she’s never gonna make him leave me behind, he’s figured he should.”

“He’s leaving a lot of people behind, isn’t he?”

It isn’t really a question. The last couple of days have seen a notable increase in the teenagers coming and going; he’s fairly confident that most of Marinette’s collège class has been in and out of his home since Sunday.

“He’s leaving everything. That aunt of his, she’s not paying attention, she’s not seeing. He needs someone who sees. And his cousin has no respect for cheese. None! I wish he didn’t have to go there,” the cat shakes his head. “And whenever it’s just him and Marinette now, it’s unbearable! I didn’t think people not talking could be so loud. I know I should at least ask Marinette before helping myself, but sometimes a kwami needs to soothe his nerves!”

There really is a miniscule magical cat sitting on his kitchen table and telling him that it’s been comfort eating over his daughter’s unresolved friendships.

“I’m sorry to hear that. I know she’s upset that he’s leaving.”

“She could’ve chosen a better way of showing it,” the cat says waspishly.

After it has thanked him somewhat brusquely for the cheese and disappeared through the ceiling, Tom goes downstairs and starts his first day of work without his father.

***

The Yeti enters the bakery as opening hour turns and Tom is just pouring the brioches into their basket. He looks around for second before he greets them with a grunt and a nod.

“Are you here for Adrien?” Sabine asks, and continues with a smile without even waiting for an answer, “he’s in the back, I’ll go fetch him.”

That this man knows the one teenage boy in Paris who can reliably be counted on to to be awake at six in the morning is telling of something more than any normal assistant. The way Adrien softens as their eyes meet fairly says the rest.

“It’s good to see you,” says Adrien, “thank you so much for bringing over my things back then.”

The Yeti only nods, and pulls an envelope out of the inner pocket of his blazer.

Adrien reads the letter with a serious mien, and nods, once. “Right. Well, on behalf of - myself, I guess. I mean, I thank you for your service, M. Moulins. I’ll notify my father’s lawyers so that they can sort out the formalities - and I’ll ask them to make certain there will be a solid severance package. I don’t know if it will be worth anything from me, but if you ever need someone to vouch for the qualities of your work, I’ll be happy to give you the best recommendations.”

The Yeti nods, and silence descends between the two of them.

“Speaking personally,” Adrien finally says, “I can never tell you how much I appreciated your discretion and your lenience in your work. I know I got you into trouble with my father by running off, and for that I’m sorry. Even though I shouldn’t have to run off in the first place.”

At that, the Yeti breaks into a fond smile, and out of a different pocket he pulls an action figure that he holds out to Adrien.

And Adrien grows pale and wide-eyed, and doesn’t take it.

“Those were the first dolls,” he croaks, “back when - it had been like six weeks. I can’t accept that! They’re going for thousands of euros on ebay!”

M. Moulins says nothing, but Adrien shakes his head.

“No, no way, that’s way too rare for someone like me! And besides, I’ve - I - you know - oh god,” he drags his hands over his face, “you know. Great. Fine. Fine. They were kind of rubbish, anyway. See the eyes? All wrong colour, did they even try? The second line was so much better.”

But he’s smiling brilliantly at the Cat Noir figurine that he’s holding, and when he turns the smile to M. Moulins, Tom is certain he’s understanding, for the first time, why it was that Marinette loved this boy so fiercely after having known him for only a week.

“Thank you. For everything. For all of it,” says Adrien, and if his giggle is a little thin and a little wet as M. Moulins reaches out and tousles his hair, no-one says.

A brittle silence fills the bakery after M. Moulins has left, and Adrien is still holding onto the letter and the Cat Noir doll.

“I don’t know what my father paid him, but I hope it was well. That man, he put up with my father’s temper, and he kept getting me out of trouble, and protected med from all sorts of people, and sometimes he’d even let me in peace even when he wasn’t supposed to.”

“He seems to care very much about you,” Sabine says.

Adrien sniffles, and swallows. “He was there my entire life. After we lost mum, it was just him and Nathalie and my father. Now there’s nobody left.”

“He sure seems to like Cat Noir, though,” Tom says as the alarm of the oven sounds in the back and Sabine ducks out to get the baguettes.

“Yeah,” Adrien says, running a hand over the figure’s plastic hair with a fond smile, “He did, didn’t he? I somehow don’t think he’ll like the new one quite as much.”

“Does there have to be a new one, though?” Tom tries, “seems to me like there are many other heroes around in other cities.”

“It’s not about the city,” says Adrien, “it’s that Ladybug, she needs Cat Noir around. And Cat Noir doesn’t have to be me, someone else could do it just as good. I got my run, and it was great. I can’t cling to that just because of my personal feelings. She’s much too important than that, she needs everyone around that she can have.”

Tom feels his belly sting. Ladybug needs superheroes, and Marinette needs to not worry about other things. Marinette needs her family, and doesn’t know that her grandfather once again has locked his door to her. And right now, Ladybug is losing Cat Noir and Marinette is losing the boy she’s been in love with since she was thirteen, and Tom only hopes that she’ll have the time to let that heal and scab over before he’ll need to bring her the news about this wound she hasn’t even known.

Adrien isn’t the only one losing people, these days.

***

The days tick by in bread and brioche and custard and customers, and then it’s the thirteenth tomorrow and Adrien and Marinette, separately, disappeared out the door for some kind of get-together at Anarka Couffain’s barge. Marinette leaving thirty minutes earlier ostensibly to help prepare; Adrien staying behind twenty minutes later ostensibly because his aunt wanted him to make sure he’d gotten all his grades for the year documented and ready for transfer to whatever boarding school she’s enrolled him in after Christmas. Amélie Graham de Vanilly is traveling with the morning departure of the Startrain; the kids, separately, promised they wouldn’t stay the entire evening out.

Five minutes before the bakery closes, Chloé Bourgeois comes in.

“I’m afraid Adrien’s not home,” Tom tells her, and she rolls her eyes.

“I know. Zoé tried to make me come to their stupid - to that party. As if I’d hang out with those people, but she kept insisting it wouldn’t be late, so I’m waiting here until he shows up.”

She loiters by the door while Tom swabs the floor and wipes down the counters, bags up the bread and closes the till.

The leftover macarons fill up a box two thirds of the way. She’s been studiously ignoring him, her nose in her phone, doing nothing to conceal her agitated sighs.

“Here,” Tom says, and she looks at him in confusion as he hands her the box. “Since you liked them so much.”

“Oh,” she says, and accepts it awkwardly.

“I don’t know when Adrien and Marinette will be back,” he hints.

“I don’t care if I have to wait.”

After the number of times Chloé Bourgeois being reduced to tears by her mother in front of him, Tom is fairly certain that he will in fact get away with throwing her out of his bakery. How productive that will be is another question, however. She probably won’t accept an invitation to follow him upstairs, and with how jealously Marinette is guarding her room from her, that would probably be another debacle entirely.

“My dad, he’s always praised your pastries.”

“That is a great honour indeed, coming from someone who employs the best chefs in the city!”

“That’s right! Daddy knows what he’s talking about!”

“He has always been a good customer.”

Chloé nods, confidently. “He’s great. And super nice. I’m lucky to have him.”

“You should save him a macaron and send him my greetings.”

“Sure. I bet that’ll make him happy. You know, the other day - I got him a coffee! He was so happy!”

There’s some tragedy in the joy in Chloé Bourgeois’ face at that little story. But Tom never hears the end of it, because that is when Adrien returns as prophetised, and freezes at seeing his friend.

“Finally!” Chloé complains, setting her hands to her hips, “do you have any idea how long I’ve been waiting for you?”

“I didn’t even know we were meeting up,” Adrien snaps.

“Oh, whatever. Look, did you ever get your dad coffee?”

Adrien looks completely at loss.

“What?”

“Your dad, did you ever get him coffee?”

“Why would I get him coffee? I never even saw him eat, and Nathalie was always around.”

“Well, did you get him anything else then?!”

“Birthday presents! And Christmas - Chloé, what’s this about?”

“Daddy’s a lot nicer than your dad.”

“Yes,” Adrien says, helpless and annoyed.

“When I got him coffee, he was super happy. And it felt a lot better than making Jean-Jaque upset again because mother yelled at him for being incompetent.”

“And so what?”

“Being Queen Bee was only fun when people were happy. And my mother never cared about her at all. My mother likes me when I’m mean, but it was more fun saving my dad and others and seeing them be all happy because I did it. I realised that now.”

“That’s great,” Adrien says dully.

“I’m lucky that my dad is around. And, and even Zoé, she was so stupidly happy when I said I was gonna talk to you after all. And Jean-Paul, he was happy when I put my breakfast dishes on the tray.”

“What’s your point?”

“It’s not selfish to care about people. It’s only selfish if you make them unhappy by clinging to them. But your aunt won’t be happy taking you to England and you won’t be happy going there and Félix is a stupid jerk. You should be around people who are happy that you’re there and you were wrong to call me selfish just because I want you around. Unlike all the rest of them, I could at least try to do something.”

Adrien says nothing, and Chloé says nothing, and then she turns to Tom.

“Thank you for the macarons the other day, M. Dupain. They made me feel a lot better. I’ll be sure to share these with daddy.”

But as she places her free hand on the door she stops, her shoulders tense, and then she turns around and pins Adrien with her stare.

“I’m super selfish, but it’s not selfish that I care about you. But you were right about my mother. She ruined everything for you and she was wrong and you better believe you and I’ll be going shopping whenever I’m in London next time. My mother wants me to be mean like her, but you’re a better person than her, and I’m choosing me.”

She opens the box and inspects the contents, and then she pulls out the only strawberry cream macaron and hands it to Adrien before she finally leaves.

“That’s the first time I’ve heard her say something against her mother,” Adrien says, turning the sweet over in his hands. “Maybe she’ll finally realise that she can be better than her.”

“It’s difficult, isn’t it?” Tom says, locking the door and turning off the lights, “we’re always so sure our parents know what’s right. And even when we know differently, it never feels like that.”

Adrien nods, and that’s the last he says on that topic. “By the way, I wanted to drop by your dad and say goodbye. I don’t imagine anything I make would mean much to him, but I’d like to bring him something. Do you know something he’d like?”

Tom can almost feel his own face fall, but out of all of them, Adrien is the person it hurts the least to tell.

“I’m afraid it won’t do any good to go there. The last time I saw my father, we argued and he told me to stay away. And everyone else, too.”

Adrien looks more upset at the news than Tom might have hoped for, but accepts the news with only a nod.

“I guess you can’t just apologise, huh.”

“I’m not going to. He was the one who was wrong. Last time, it took him twenty years to come around, and he never apologised for that.”

“All because of a bread recipe?”

“You know, at least your father had a bit better reason for everything. And this time - this time it wasn’t because of a recipe. I told him that he was wrong all along, and I guess that he was just assuming the same of me. Sooner or later, we’d both realise that we never understood each other at all. But all in all, I suppose I’d rather it happened later.”

“But that’s so stupid! My dad, he’s a criminal. Your dad’s just being stubborn!”

“That’s right. But if I can only be around my father by letting him think I’m something I’m not, then I won’t. If he changes his mind, he can come back. But I won’t lie to him just to make him happy.”

Adrien makes a sound of agreement, and they stand together in a companionable silence.

“Does it get any easier? To not have your dad around, I mean?”

Tom sighs. “I guess it did. It was different for me, of course. In the beginning, I thought he’d be over it within a week. By the time I realised that this was permanent, I’d already grown used to it.”

Adrien mulls over that.

“I hope you work it out, though,” he finally says, “after everything, it’d be so sad if you lost your father again.”

“I don’t know if I ever got rid of him,” Tom says, looking around the empty bakery lit only by the streetlights and headlights from cars passing by outside. “Everything that’s important to me, it’s because of him. Baking. Even making pastries. This bakery, it used to be his before. Every time I set a dough, that’s him in the back of my head berating me for not doing something good enough. Maybe none of us ever stop wanting to be like our parents, or accept that we never can.”

“I’ll never want to be like my dad!”

“I’m pretty sure that until three weeks ago, Marinette did. In vocation, at least. I’m clueless about fashion, but the way she used to talk about him - at that, if nothing else, he must have been a genius.”

“A genius supervillain, too.”

“And my father is a rude, xenophobic old fool, yet there is no-one whose bread compares. I think that is why I like making pastries so much. Bread, that’s all him. But cakes and pastries - he never cared much for things he couldn’t put yeast in.”

Tom finds himself smiling at the boy in front of him.

“Even Chloé Bourgeois doesn’t have it easy, does she? Not even Marinette, but I’d like to think that that at least wasn’t our fault.”

Adrien nods, and then he bites into the macaron.

“I’ll go over and see if he’ll at least answer the door.”

“Pain suisse.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Bring a pain suisse. He never would admit to it being his favourite, but he always picked that when there was a choice.”

Brioche and pastry cream and chocolate chips, and Tom pulls one of the tray of leftovers and bags it. It’s only a few hours; it won’t be stale yet. Brioche like his father always made it. Pastry cream like Tom was taught when he did his training with Pascal Alibone. His father would probably complain about the “grease” if there was even a chance he’d condescend to eat it, but Tom can’t muster the energy to argue with Adrien’s cause. He simply hands the boy the pastry, and Adrien nods, unlocks the door, and leaves into the evening.

With the boil already punctured and leaking, Tom decides to spare Adrien that task, at least, and he goes upstairs to wait for Marinette.

***

Marinette’s room is dark and empty. He hasn’t been up here for weeks, but not much speaks of its other occupant; the blanket is neatly folded on her chaise lounge and the bag is discretely stacked next to the wall. The rest of the room looks as it always did, and Tom climbs the ladder leading up to the rooftop patio that’s been Marinette’s very personal escape for a long while. Hardly more private than her room, really, but somehow feeling like an escape even with the view of the city before them. It’s the place for having conversations that must be had, whenever she comes home.

But when he pokes his head out of the hatch, there’s a silent firework of colour fluttering in the air for split second, and when he’s blinked, there’s only Marinette left there, even though he is completely certain that she didn’t come home.

Through the front door, at least, but that quietepiphany takes the back seat to the observation that Marinette’s eyes are smeared with make-up that stains her hand as she ineffectively drags it across them.

“Papa? What’s up?”

“I just wanted to talk to you for a bit,” he says, and pulls his torso and legs up.

“I’d rather talk later, if that’s okay,” she mutters and wipes her eyes again.

But the hatch has been shut and there’s no denying the fact that she’s been crying and that he’s already seen it, so Tom doesn’t bother with the polite pretending and scoots over to pull her closer instead.

She buries her face in her knees sniffles inelegantly.

“I just don’t know what to do,” she whimpers, “he’s always been here. Before anyone else. And even when everybody else was gone, he was there. Me and him, it was always us two against the world. And now he’s just going away and leaving me all alone.”

“Oh, Marinette,” he rubs her shoulder.

She sobs, loud.

“He always said, he was always the one who cared the most. I didn’t even realise that he was lonely, that Ladybug was the only friend he even got to see on his own volition. I was so busy with everything else, I thought he was, too! He always wanted us to know. And then he did, and for what? He’s moving away and he won’t be Cat Noir, but I can’t have it be anyone else! I can’t! That was the entire point, that he was the one who I didn’t choose, he was the one who was chosen with me. Cat Noir has to be him, but he won’t be! And I get it! I do! If I had to be Ladybug only to fight you and get your locked away forever, I’d want to quit, too! But he doesn’t even care any more. He said he’s happy that Ladybug is me but he used to be all - and now he’s not, and he’s going away and he’s happy about it!”

The rambling trails off into sobbing. Tom strokes her shoulder and lets her ride that out.

“Did he really say that he’s happy about going away?”

She nods.

“He keeps talking about it, that it’s a great chance to start over and live free of Hawkmoth and his father and be the person he’s always wanted to be. That’s like grandma was talking, that she gets to be a different person in different places. And I try to leave it alone but it’s so hard to pretend like I’m happy for him, but I have to! It’s like he said to Chloé, it’s selfish to cling to people who don’t want to stay. He’s got so much else happening, he shouldn’t have to worry about me too! He says for me to pick a new Cat Noir but he doesn’t understand that he’s special, that he’s got to be him!”

More tears run, and Marinette struggles to speak for a minute before she continues.

“The man who gave us our miraculous, he chose us together. Tikki says so, that Ladybug and Cat Noir always are different and they’re always chosen as a pair. I might as well quit being Ladybug, but I can’t do that, but I can’t pick someone else, because Ladybugs aren’t suppose to pick their own Cat Noirs but there’s no-one else left to do it. And even if I did, it’d never be the same. No-one else was there to believe in me when I didn’t myself. No-one else knows what it’s like to be all alone like this. He’s the only one who ever knew Master Fu and he’s the only one left to miss him. He’s the only one who can ever understand for real. I just don’t know what to do! I can’t be Ladybug without him.”

“But Marinette -“ Tom starts, “does he know that?”

She shrugs under his arm.

“I thought he did. I thought he understood. But either he didn’t, or he doesn’t think I meant it, or he just doesn’t care. And I, I can’t make him continue being something he doesn’t want to!”

“Do you know for sure that he doesn’t want to? Don’t you remember that time he was over for brunch - and the way he spoke about Ladybug - “

“He doesn’t feel that way any longer. He quit it years ago. And even if he did it wouldn’t matter, it’s not what’s important. I’m used to him not loving me, that’s how it’s always been. I can live with that, if only he’s here. He doesn’t have to love me, if he’ll only stay around! I’m so bad at it, I got all upset when he wanted to go stay with Chloé and I yelled at him when he wanted to tell Kagami about Cat Noir, but I’d be better! I’d stop being stupid and jealous! Even if he no longer cares about Ladybug now that he knows it’s me and now he’s mad at me about Kagami, too!”

“Marinette, of course Adrien cares about you! You’ve been his friend for years!”

She sniffles and wipes her eyes again.

“Marinette’s just another classmate. Ladybug was special to him before he knew it’s just me.”

“I don’t believe that. Adrien talks a lot about you, do you know that? There’s no way he thinks you’re anything less than miraculous!”

She stops to wipe here eyes once more.

“Even if he does, he still has to leave.”

“But not forever. I know that two years are a long time, at your age. But they will pass, and I’m sure Adrien will come back to us. After all, this is where all his friends are.”

Marinette is silent for a while, but there are no more tears falling.

“You’re right. Nino and Alya and Kitty Section and his fencing teammates and Nathan from the gym club even Chloé.”

“And Ladybug.”

She smiles.

“If Grandpa could come back after twenty years, then I guess I can hope for Adrien, too.”

And Tom keeps his silence and strokes her back. He tries to talk, he tries to say it, but he can’t make himself kill that hopeful little curl to his grieving daughter’s lips. Adrien Agreste is a very different breed of person than Roland Dupain, and there is something about letting go the things you can’t change but at least making the effort for the things you can.

“You should tell him the things you’ve told me.”

“Papa, I’ve been trying to tell him since I was thirteen and I never could.”

“Not that, then. Maybe that can come later. But the things about Cat Noir. If he doesn’t know, or doesn’t understand, then you should make sure he does. His aunt and his cousin are important, I’m sure, but sometimes there are other things that are more important than even family. And you and him, you’ve saved the world together. I’m sure that’s more important to him than you can imagine. With everything he’s lost, it’s extra important that he knows that he’s so important to someone precious to him.”

She is silent for a long while, and then she breaks into a smile.

“You know one time, Alya was pushing me into confessing my feelings to him, but I didn’t get around to because there was an akuma battle. And there he was, telling me how amazing I was and all - except that was Cat Noir! And when I asked him how he could just say those big things so easily, he told me that when something is important, that’s when it’s important to say it!”

She finally uncurls her arms and lets her legs sink into a crossed position. “I guess it’s time I took his advice.”

Some fear Tom hadn’t even realised he had comes lose at that, and he feels himself relax into smiling at her in return.

“Make sure you do. And while we wait for him, let’s go downstairs and eat something nice.”

“I’m still full from the party!”

“You’re never too full for hot chocolate!”

Sabine is on a skype call with her uncle, and Tom figures Marinette doesn’t need any more fussing tonight. He guides her out the door and down to the bakery, and she chops the chocolate while he heats the milk. There’s still something tender about her, every movement careful as if ever touch could smart, but she’s relaxed and she’s smiling, and when they’re dipping stale brioche into their shared bowl in the bakery only lit from the open door to the back kitchen, it finally feels like he has is daughter back.

“Say,” Tom finally tries, “feel free to stop me if I’m going into superhero secrets here, but the man who gave you your miraculous, and who’s not around any longer - what kind of person was he?”

Marinette’s smile is all fondness and melancholy, and when she starts talking, he realises that he’s been wrong. Marinette has lost people, but she could never tell him before now. “His name was Wang Fu. He was from Tibet, and he guarded the miraculous for a hundred and seventy years. He was very kind - and a bit of a goofball, sometimes. He loved movies and disco music, and he really cared about Adrien and me. But he lost all his memories, a few years back. Now he lives with his old sweetheart and paints. I met up with him, once! He gave me one of his paintings - it’s in my room! He was - “ she stops, and stares out in front of her, eyes set on something far beyond the doors of the bakery. “He was the Guardian of the miraculous. He was the one who kept all of them, and picked whoever got to have one. He made himself forget his entire life to protect me and Adrien’s identities. A hundred and eighty years, wiped away to protect us. And after he was gone, that was when I - “

“You don’t have to tell me anything dangerous.”

“But it’s not,” she whispers, before her voice firms, “it’s not. I know that you can keep a secret. And Nooroo and Duusuu are safe with me. Adrien knows and Alya knows and Alix is gonna know sooner or later. And I don’t wanna lie any more. Hey, Papa, don’t ever breathe a word of this to anyone, “ and she giggles, brief and borderline hysterical, “Tikki, speak now or forever hold your peace - “

And a red figure materialises through the fabric of Marinette’s sweater, stares at Tom for a moment, and then it smiles. “I think it’s fine now, Marinette.”

“Now, I am the Guardian of the miraculous,” Marinette announces into the empty bakery, smiling and bold and triumphant, eyes red-rimmed and black-stained and voice still frail from tears, “and I have been since I was fourteen, and I intend to keep that job for the rest of my life.”

“Well,” Tom says at length, “I can’t say I know a lot about superheroing, but that sounds like a bit of a bigger order than just saving Paris daily.”

“Tell me about it,” Marinette groans and slumps against him, “the first few months were horrible. I was so sad about Master Fu and I had no idea what I was doing. And Hawkmoth knew that I was the new guardian so he just went after us worse than ever.”

“But you’re my amazing daughter, and you did it and you won.”

“That’s right, Marinette!” the ladybug creature contributes.

She sighs. “Right now, I almost wish I hadn’t. That I’d rather continue fighting Hawkmoth every day with Cat Noir at my side, rather than having him quit and move away. Maybe that’s what I should say to him - I’m sure he’d agree that everything was better before we knew that that was his dad.”

“But that couldn’t have lasted, could it? Sooner or later, one of you would have to win, and Adrien would have to know either way. At least this way, we know that everyone is safe, and the attacks are ending. And isn’t it at least good to finally know each other?”

“I guess. I just never imagined that knowing Cat Noir’s real identity would mean I’d lose him, too,” she dips her last piece of brioche into the bowl, and hands it to the red creature floating by her side. “It’s funny. Earlier tonight I was so upset about the things I couldn’t tell him, but now I’m almost looking forward to it,” she confesses with a tiny smile.

“Baring your heart to someone is always scary,” Tom says, tearing another bun in two and handing her half of it, “just remember, whatever comes out of it, I’ll always be here. But with Adrien, I don’t think you need to worry. He loves you. Ladybug-you and Marinette-you.”

“I know that,” she says silently, “and I feel stupid. He hasn’t changed. He’s always been honest with me and told me his feelings, even when they hurt and even when he knew it’d upset me. I know he’d want me to be honest with him, too. Ugh!” she throws her head back with a groan. “Tikki, why do I always make a mess out of things with him?”

“He is very important to you, and you’re a person who always does their best! I think maybe with this, there is no best way to do things.”

“And maybe,” Tom suggests, “could it be that you’ve had to get to know him all over? You knew him as Adrien and you knew him as Cat Noir, but it seems to me like you were friends with them in very different ways. And on top of that, he’s had to cope with a lot of very difficult things ever since you found out that.”

Marinette only acknowledges his words with a hum, but takes a while to reply.

“I just didn’t know what to say to him. What we could even talk about. How do you even start talking about something like this? And now it’s too late.”

“It’s never too late, Marinette!” the ladybug creatures pipes in. Tom nods.

“You’ve got phones, right? And he won’t forget you, his superhero partner!”

“I don’t feel as if I’ve been much of a partner lately.”

“Adrien won’t hold that against you! He cares so much about you, and I’m sure he’ll be happy to hear what you’ve got to tell him!” the ladybug says and cuddles Marinette’s cheek. Marinette smiles and cuddles it back, and then she looks to Tom as he strokes her hair.

She closes her eyes, and sighs, and a peace has settled in her body that has been missing ever since the night Gabriel Agreste was unmasked.

“He’s perfect, isn’t he?”

“I don’t know – I still haven’t gotten him out of the habit of checking the dough every five minutes during bulk ferment.”

“Papa!”

By the time Adrien comes back, it is late, but Tom doesn’t ask him what the hold-up was. Locked inside his room for sixteen years, he can only imagine that there’s been one final round of goodbyes - to friends or to the city, or to the little black cat who will stay behind, that is all Adrien’s to do and not Tom’s business to question.

Marinette has probably forgotten that mascara is still smeared under her eyes in a testament to her sorrow. When Adrien enters, there’s no tension left in her as she turns around and as their eyes meet. Tom knows that this isn’t Marinette and the fifty magazine cut-outs of Adrien Agreste on her bedroom walls. This is Ladybug and Cat Noir, and Adrien, it seems, knows that too.

“Welcome home,” says Marinette and doesn’t eat her last piece of brioche, handing it to the ladybug instead, “would you - do you - can you come upstairs? There’s something I wanna talk about.”

***

The ring is gone from Adrien’s hand the next morning, leaving behind a circle like a pale scar around his finger. All of Adrien is pale and worn, weighted under grief like the first few days of his stay. His smiles don’t reach his eyes as they have a last breakfast together, but something has clearly shifted between him and Marinette, now; a piece of something poking out queer and getting caught for every motion made has slotted back into place. Even if they don’t touch or speak about anything of consequence, the air between them is that of - Tom might’ve said an old married couple, except the correct answer is of course a pair of superheroes who has been saving the city together since collège.

Conversation is light and inconsequential, but the clock on the wall is inevitably ticking down to nine thirty, thereabouts. Adrien flinches as the knock sounds on the door, but manages another smile as Amélie Graham de Vanilly strides into their home.

“Are you ready?” she trills, and Adrien nods.

“I’ll just go get my bag”. His motions are exhausted as he climbs the stairs to where he’s lived these last weeks, and Marinette’s hands are fisted in her lap as Amélie Graham de Vanilly praises Sabine’s decor and remarks on the luck of knowing the boy is at least properly fed.

“It’s been so kind of you to take him in. Of course I’d rather keep an eye on him myself, but since this is what he wanted…” she trails off with a shake of her head and a fond smile.

“Oh, but it’s been good to have him here,” Sabine says, “with everything that’s happened, it’s reassuring to know that he’s at as happy as he can at a time like this.”

Adrien’s aunt takes on an uncharacteristic softness at those words. “This is difficult, it’s true. I’ll confess, I don’t know how to piece this back together. But he’s family, and that is something I’ll never abandon.”

Amélie Graham de Vanilly is born to a different world with different values than Tom Dupain, but those words burn in recognition, at the memory of three nights ago, the sound of his father’s front door in his great aunt’s house shuddering the air as it slams behind him and he walks away. At Gabriel Agreste, who loved the same woman who Amélie Graham de Vanilly did, and who now has left Adrien struggling to keep afloat in a world where the only one who can claim him is this woman.

If nothing else – for everything else he might doubt in her: she chose Adrien, when she could have decided not to.

Tom reaches out and takes her hand, shaking it firmly.

“I am grateful that we got to keep Adrien around, for the little while it lasted. And I hope he’ll find peace, with his family.”

An understanding is reached, there, as Adrien’s aunt clasps her other hand around his and meets his eyes, square on.

“Then, M. Dupain, I can only tell you that I want nothing more than the same. I lost my sister before her time. Doing the things she would is the only thing I’ve left, now.”

Adrien leaves Marinette’s room with little more than he’d had when he first came to them, in the black hoodie that’s become his uniform, the bag hauled over one shoulder. Sabine hugs him, and his hands tighten momentarily at the back of her qipao before he lets go. His shoulders hitch, once, when Tom pulls him in, and there is a surprising strength in Adrien’s arms around his back.

“Good luck in England. And don’t forget that you’ll always be welcome here, if you’re back in Paris.”

“I’ll remember,” says Adrien, voice thick, “and thank you, for letting me stay here and for teaching me cooking.”

He turns to Marinette last, an abyss of things unsaid resting in the way he carries himself, in the shift in his face, in the way they’re neither of them speaking for the longest eight seconds in Tom’s life.

“Only you could have done it,” Adrien finally declares, “he was right to choose you. And I’ll never regret that he chose me to be by your side. For everything, I’ll never regret that. I know that you’ll do fine, and if - ” this is where his voice breaks, but he swallows whatever emotion that nearly surfaces and maintains his composure, only a small quiver visible in him. “If you’ll ever need me again, for whatever reason, I’ll come. Just call, and I’ll be there.”

“Adrien,” Marinette says, and her hands are restless, “I never told you. You should know that – Adrien, I - “

The door slams open and there stands his father, panting as if he’s been running up the stairs, wearing an un-ironed shirt, a pair of sandals and the striped pajama shorts he always wore around the house, like the absolute caricature that he is.

“Oh, good!” he exclaims, setting eyes on the family by the stairs, “you’re still here. Look, I didn’t get around to saying it yesterday, but this is nonsense!”

His attention is set on Adrien, but Adrien replies as little as anyone else at the non-sequitur of a greeting. It is Amélie Graham de Vanilly who breaks that silence.

“I’m sorry?” she says, peering around Adrien’s shoulder.

Tom’s father snorts. “That boy, he came by yesterday talking some nonsense about moving to England. England! What Frenchmen ever had any business going there in times of peace! My wife told me about their bread, it’s a disgrace! He can’t finish his training there!”

“Adrien, what training?” his aunt asks, and Adrien looks back, confused and timid.

“I was staying with M. Dupain for a bit, because Marinette’s cousin was visiting. He taught me baking.”

“Exactly! I can’t do that if he’s out of town, can I? This is work you have to do with your hands, not something you learn by sitting in some poncy classroom listening to others tell you about it. So I was thinking, if all this is because you haven’t got someone to stay with, then you might as well take the guest room.”

“Dad, he can’t just move in with you,” Tom tries. His father disregards his protest with a brusque hand-wave.

“Well, you are clearly not capable of following up the responsibilities you take on! Didn’t I tell you? Don’t take on an apprentice if you can’t finish the job, I said! And look at this, you put him up on your sofa and now he has to leave the country!”

“He wasn’t my - “

“But Adrien’s not going to be a baker,” his aunt says, confused.

Tom’s father stares at her, not comprehending.

“If he’s not going to be a baker, then why is doing an apprenticeship? Of course he’s going to be baker!”

“I’m sure he’s never mentioned it to me - “

“Well, I guess you should listen more then. He’s already practising shaping and scoring, it’s a waste to quit now.”

“I don’t think anyone in our family has ever had that kind of job…”

“Then it’s clearly about time! This is a proud craft, and you should be honoured that the Dupain family is taking him and sharing our ways”

“M. Dupain, do you really mean that?”

The back-and-forthends at Adrien’s timid interruption, and both sides of it stop to look at him, and both of them have eerily similar expressions of wonder.

“Of course I do,” Tom’s father says. And then he smiles. “I told you, didn’t I? With all that’s happened, you need work and you’re a quick learner. You shouldn’t give it up now.”

Adrien closes his eyes tight for a moment, pulls a deep breath, and then he turns to look at his aunt.

“Aunt Amélie, I really do like to bake and I really want to learn to be better at it.”

“But Adrien, you’ll be all alone,” she protests, but he shakes his head.

“I won’t. I’ve realised that - there are so many people who want me to stay. Chloé Bourgeois and my friend Nino and Nathan from the gym club, and I play in a band, and they threw me a party and everything, and friends from school, and from my fencing team, and -“ his eyes cut to Tom’s family, “and other people, too. And M. Dupain came all over here because he wants me to stay and teach me to bake. It’s not that I don’t love you and Félix - I do, you know that! But Paris is really important to me. And there are many other important people here, too. And - there’s something I have to do, that I can only do here.”

Amélie Graham de Vanilly’s eyes are resting on Marinette, however, for a long moment before she turns back to Adrien.

“I’m not sure that it’s the decision I would have made,” she says, looking more serious than Tom had thought that she could be, “and I’m sure your mother wouldn’t want you to be out there without anyone to look after you. But she also wouldn’t want you to be unhappy. If you think you’ll be happier staying in Paris and becoming a baker, then I think that’s something you should be allowed to choose for yourself.”

“Oh,” says Adrien, “right. In that case.”

He says nothing more, until Marinette suddenly seizes his right hand with both of hers and yanks him towards the stairs.

“In that case, there’s something you need to get back, right now,” she says breathlessly. Not smiling, eyes wild and chest heaving with emotion, “you need him back, you have to have it - “

And within seconds the two have disappeared into Marinette’s room and the trapdoor has slammed behind them, but through it carries the sound of some deranged teenage joy that is about everything and nothing of what it must look like.

Adrien’s aunt smiles. “Ah, young love.”

“What?” says Tom’s father.

#nathan from gym club #gorgeous nathan from the gym club

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foolgobi65 · 3 years

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lol i didnt want to hijack @oldshrewsburyian 's excellent posts about jodhaa/akbar in a campus AU so im just making a post of my own

basically i straight up despise business dept snakes so while i do think she's correct that jalal would be a good match for that dept i think i'd either put him in the econ or pol sci departments, maybe even international relations? pol sci and IR especially appeal to me as extremely problematic academic spaces where its possible for professors to flit between the academy and the private/public sphere with relative ease. i think of jalal as some rising star in these departments, maybe even developmental economics where he can feel like he's doing good work but when you look deeper these solutions he's advocating are bandaids at best or predatory schemes to force privatization in exchange for debt-relief. (i also think that the pol sci dept at my school is the rotting abscess of our humanities/social science community to theres that too.) the other thing he could be involved in is security either national or global which is also a dicey field lol. i pull more from the movie where he's less ruthless and more naive i think, so i see him as just born into a "political" family, maybe even something where his parents were very important but had to leave so he's still brought up in exile. he doesnt really go "back" but instead devotes himself to being an academic focused on the region trying to figure out how to "pull people out of poverty" via global investment or w/e. he's charming, good looking, charismatic, so he's on a lot of boards and does global talks despite being relatively early career in comparison to peers -- not to mention his family privilege that could give him some name recognition!

maybe they're both new hires, though jalal has a guaranteed tenure path while jodhaa is on a precarious 3 year contract after which she can apply for a permanent job that she may or may not get (the ridiculous and exploitative structure at my university rip.) jodhaa can be either a specialist in premodern devotional literature (a professor i love works on braj basha and punjabi so im kind of pulling from her lol) or she can be one of those super cool interdisciplinary scholars whose home is in the rlg dept. either way she'd obviously be teaching broader survey courses as well as her upper level seminars. they meet at one of those ridiculous mixers for new hires and jodhaa who has a much more radical analytic than jalal expects to hate him on sight but realizes that he's charming. stupid and probably dangerous bc of it, but charming nontheless. jalal is just smitten on sight which is hilarious bc everyone is expecting him to marry a similarly powerful, intelligent, worldly woman and instead he's head over heels with this grumpy academic who works with texts and rails against the neoliberal academy on twitter where her profile pic is her brother's cat. (my professor is way too nice to be grumpy but she's a textualist who is radical on twitter its great and i love her sm lol)

jodhaa and jalal can be kind of cross appointed to south asian studies as well and maybe in their second year on staff they have to jointly teach the intro course for that? idk how plausible that is, but i could see jalal thinking it's a great opportunity to meet and inspire new students so he asks for it, and jodhaa as a prof that's gotten rave reviews from her year of teaching is volunteered to do it with him. there's friction ofc but slowly they learn more about each other, their backgrounds and where they're coming from. there's a blowout at the very end of the summer (which they mostly pass together, each working on their manuscripts and convincing the other to take breaks from working at the local cafe in order to walk to the local park) and jodhaa begins her application process for a tenure track position bc her 3 years are up. they basically don't talk for a hot minute and throughout this time jalal does A LOT of reading until, over time, he comes to his revelations about how ridiculous and bootlicking his discipline is and finally sheds the shackles of the Man and starts cyberbullying people on twitter. its great!

i agree that jalal has a cat which for a while is probably his greatest appeal to jodhaa who for a hot minute thinks that he's everything wrong with academia lmao. maham anga could be the crotchety head of the south asian studies dept (powerful but not necessarily either of their direct boss bc their primary appointments are with other depts.) jalal's dad is a politician who died in exile, his mom an international philanthropist/socialite? jodhaa comes from a middle class bookish family in india, her cousin-brother sujamal is either a lawyer or a trade union activist (or both) which is how she comes by her politics. sujamal is an honorable passionate person and i didnt want them to be royalty and i didnt want him to be part of the army so this is my next best solution lol. i really dont know how the plot really comes into play, but i do love academia aus lmao!

#jodhaa akbar

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albarivas · 3 years

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ana de armas, cis female, she/her — whenever i see alba rivas meandering down agnes street la escalera by pablo alborán starts to play inside my head. maybe it is the vibe they give off. bullet journals, colorful dresses, hairstyles with bandanas ; you know ? artistic impressions is what keeps them interested in agnes. i heard they are a thirty-three year old teacher at bright future. they look like the kind of person who would make you do a vision board.

hi again, it’s ella again. okay so i had cameron (the lily james) but tbh she’s a new muse and right now i don’t have the brain to develop a muse from scratch but i still want to write and that’s why i decided to bring alba, one of my oldest muses. i’m so happy to give her a new home and i can’t wait for her to meet all of your characters.

basics

NAME: alba carolina rivas borges

NICKNAME: al, albie

GENDER: cis female

PLACE OF BIRTH: boca raton, florida

DATE OF BIRTH: april 19, 1988

AGE: thirty-thirty

SEXUAL ORIENTATION: bisexual

OCCUPATION: teacher at bright future

background

tw: illness, cheating

CHILDHOOD

her story starts between cuba and spain. her mother, carolina, fled from cuba and her father immigrated from spain with no friends or family and only with a few dollars. the two newcomers were matched by fate and just a year later they welcomed their daughter, alba.

two years later, a son completed the rivas family. they didn’t have much and often had to deal with homesickness and many times they considered moving to spain, but eventually they decided to stay.

it was a big change for both julián and carolina. he used to work as a lawyer back in spain and carolina had almost graduated from med school. now in the united states they both had to start from zero.

her mother traveled an hour from boca raton to palm spring every day where she worked cleaning those luxurious houses. her father got his credentials to become a spanish teacher and taught in the local high school.

alba always knew she didn’t have much. she grew up going with her mom to those huge houses and from a young age she understood what wealth could buy. however, alba never envied those who had a lot more than her. in fact, her childhood best friend was the girl that lived in the house her mother cleaned. the two were inseparable.

ADOLESCENCE AND COLLEGE YEARS

alba excelled as a student. education was something her parents always deemed as important and so she made it her goal to make them proud.

she earned a spot in a prestigious public high school. as a teenager, she was the model child. always listening to her parents, rarely giving them problems. she had an active social life, she went on a couple of dates and she was part of several groups.

these qualities eventually earned her a place at nyu. moving to new york was something she’d never considered. she liked florida, and her family were there but her parents convinced her that this would be a great opportunity and that she could comeback.

becoming a teacher was her ambition. she admired her father for doing it and she knew from a young age that she wanted to teach children.

to make ends meet, she got a job as a waitress and she really didn’t have a social life as she worked and studied full time. there was no time for friendship and even less time for dating.

it was during one day at work that she met someone that changed her life. she met another student while she was working who asked her out but she refused, however, he came back and did the same thing every night until one day she finally accepted.

one date turned into two and then three until soon people couldn’t see one without the other. most people thought they wouldn’t last, their personalities and values were too different. he came from a wealthy family, the typical spoiled kid that was set to inherit his parents’ fortune someday, the one that always featured on page six with a different woman every night. meanwhile, alba came from a working-class family, daughter of immigrants who always had to work to get what she had in life. despite the skepticism, they proved everyone wrong.

at twenty-two, alba graduated with a degree in early childhood education and began working as a teacher.

ADULTHOOD

her relationship with this guy (i dont have a name for him lmao) was better than ever and after dating for three years, he proposed and alba said yes as she was convinced she’d found her other half.

however, not everything was perfect. his family didn’t like her and things only got worse after they got engaged. the couple married only a year later. they left new york and moved to florida where they bought one of those houses alba always had dreamed to have and the best part is that they were neighbors with her childhood best friend.

but all good things must come to an end, and soon her fairytale turned into a nightmare. the relationship with her in-laws was awful which eventually caused tension in their marriage. they began to fight more often and he started to spend more time at his office than at home. however, she was determined to make their marriage work, a love like theirs couldn’t end like this, she wouldn’t allow it.

tw cheating: one day, alba returned to their home early and what she saw was heartbreaking. there he was, in bed with none other but her childhood best friend. heartbroken, alba refused to accept any of his excuses and immediately filed for divorce, to the joy of her in-laws. end of tw.

after her divorce, alba moved to california where she started a year course at stanford. she planned to stay there but that when she received news from home.

tw illness: her father was very sick, and her parents had decided to move to islebury, rhode island. without anything holding her back, she packed up her stuff and moved here as well so she could help her mother with her dad. end of tw.

she’s been living here for three years now and works as a teacher at bright future.

personality

She has the ability to see the good in almost anyone or anything and tends to sympathize with even the most unfriendly person. She often hides the extreme depth of feelings from her, even from herself, until circumstances elicit a passionate response.

She has a deep sense of idealism that comes from a strong personal sense of right and wrong. She sees the world as a place full of possibilities and potentials and is governed by her intuition. She is quite reserved and is not easily manipulated.

She is a good listener and considerate, they try to care for and understand others in a deep way. She can be very calm and intuitive with the people around her, being able to search for hidden meanings in the actions and words of others.

Of course, all of life is not rosy and Alba is not exempt from suffering the same disappointments and frustrations that are common to others. She tends to be a perfectionist and often strives for personal ideals that can be exhausting or very difficult to obtain.

headcanons

she’s a bookworm. her favorite book is the persuasion by jane austen

she speaks fluent spanish

alba has a beautiful white persian cat named nube

she loves wearing bandanas in her hair

claims she’s allergic to strawberries, she’s not. she just hates them and that’s easier than explaining why

connections

Younger brother: I’m gonna make a wanted connection because I love this dynamic. He is two years younger than her and she adores him. She tries to stay in touch with him and in general, they are close.

Ex-best friend: they met as children and grew up together, they knew everything about the other. alba’s mother worked as a housekeeper and she used to go with her sometimes, that’s how they met. this person came from a different background, she lived in one of those expensive houses alba could only dream to own. their friendship was so strong that they even applied to the same university (although her friend was not accepted). alba considered this person as the sister she never had, but then she did the worst thing in the world, she slept with alba’s husband. they haven’t spoken since she found out.

Ex-husband: They divorced two years ago, after alba found out he had been cheating on her with her best friend. they met while she was a student at NYU and were together for three years before getting engaged and married. he comes from a wealthy family, the typical perfect american family. their relationship was never approved by his parents. she hasn’t spoken to him since the divorce.

Best Friendish: Okay, so this is a tricky one because her actual best friend turned into Judas and slept with her husband, but maybe this person is the closest she has to a best friend. she trusts this person and since her divorce, this is the only person that she has been able to speak without limitations.

Bad influence: Alba has never been one to go to many parties or even to drink, but this person is the only one that can convince her to have a good time.

Co-workers/Parents: She works as a teacher at bright future, maybe your character works there or their kids go/went there.

Neighbor: self-explanatory

Unlikely friendship: The two have different personalities, but somehow, both have managed to get along and form a weird friendship.

Hook ups: She’s not really the relationship kind bc she’s always busy but once in a while she hooks up with people ghdghdhgd (open to everyone)

Flirtationship: they act like friends, but cannot help to throw flirty looks or comments at each other.

Unrequited: It could go either way, I’m fine to plot it out. I’m an angst hoe sooo

Bad tinder date: after her divorce, her friends tried to set her up with someone but it didn’t go well. There was nothing wrong about her date, but she wasn’t ready and in the end it was a very uncomfortable situation for them.

One night stand: she was drunk, he/she was drunk too. They didn’t plan it but happened and now whenever they see each other in town it’s a bit awkward.

#agnesfm.intro

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