#(i do like a few types of beer but the success rate has been too low to generally bother trying beer.

[onyxbird]

On the flip side, this means that you can enjoy a delicious Apfelschorle* in the German Biergarten and no one ever has to know that you completely side-stepped the beer part of the experience!

*Mix of apple juice and sparkling water

very unfair that photos of beer make it look like very tasty apple juice

[writefightandflightclub]

Trial by Fire (Part 1/3) Santiago “Pope” Garcia x GN reader

Summary: You’re finally introducing your new boyfriend to The Boys. It must be intimidating for your guy because, hello? Not only are they literally lethal, as well as infeasibly handsome, but they’re hella protective of you to boot. They want the best for you so, naturally, they make your guy run the gauntlet the whole evening. Santiago, though? Well. Given that he is secretly in love with you? Let’s just say he doesn’t handle the situation very well at all.

Genre / tropes: angst, friends to lovers, love confession.

Author’s note: I wasn’t planning on writing this (in fact I’m writing the opposite, where “Santi has a new girlfriend and you don’t take it well” as a series, loosely based around the 7 deadly sins); but, in the meatime, I wrote this to get back into the swing of things after a lil break. It’s just a quick one, but there will be a second and final part, if you want it! Let me know!

Word count: somehow, 4.4k.

Warnings: language, angst, best friends arguing, Santi being an asshole.

Rating: T

The boys aren’t being as awful as you had anticipated, at least. For the most part, they’re actually being pretty friendly, and although they’ve transitioned into grilling Dean about every aspect of his life, they are at least listening intently and smiling at his answers. All except for one fucker, of course; and, naturally, surprising no-one, the fucker misbehaving is one (1) Santiago “Pope” Garcia. 

The group - the boys, yourself, and Dean- are huddled comfortably around the blazing warmth of the fire pit in Frankie’s yard. The dancing, oranged flames cut through the dark and cold of the crisp night, as you sit upwind of the smoke on scattered, mis-matched camp chairs.

Whilst the others are evidently enjoying the evening -faces painted with smiles, body language open and leaning-in to chat to Dean- that fucker Santi is leaning back in his chair, his jaw twitching in seeming aggravation, his arms folded, and his intense eyes needling your beau. In this dim light, with the firelight licking over the sharp planes of his face, he looks every bit like a trained killer about to leap out of the shadows and garotte someone. Well… a very petulant trained killer. His call sign should have been Mr. Grumpy Pants, you think idly.

What’s up with him this time?! you wonder.

He gets these moods sometimes. And, when it strikes him, he can be a little bit hostile - despite the fact he’s a puppy underneath it all. You had hoped that for once, maybe he would suck it up, and yet, your hopes had been in vain, it seems.

Every time Dean speaks, or touches you, or even laughs at another of the guys’ stories, Santi’s expression sinks further and further through layers of distaste; and, by this point, he’s eyeing Dean as though he’s a war criminal the squad have been sent to take-out. You half expect him to leap up and take down Frankie any second for fraternizing with “the enemy”, if you’re honest.

Truth be told, you’ve had just about enough of this. Your friend had better buck his ideas up, sharpish, or he’d be reminded very swiftly that you were Delta Force too.  

For now, trying to ignore the bastard, you look back at Dean, and the sight of him in animated conversation with your buddies causes at least some of your aggravation to fall away. Things have been going well between you and Dean, even if you do say so yourself. Originally from Michigan, he now worked as a lecturer at a nearby music school. He was also a banjo musician in a bluegrass / synth power-pop mash-up of a band, which (sort of) explained his retro-inspired mop of brown hair and his thick dark moustache - majestic enough to rival Frankie’s. True, he wasn’t your usual type, but he was honest, and sweet and kind... Plus, he’d never killed anyone with his bare hands, which was rather refreshing too, if you were honest.

Safe to say, so far, things were working out. So well, in fact, that you’d recently met his parents for the first time while they were in town. So well, in fact, that -after keeping him purposefully away from the boys for as long as you feasibly could- you’d now brought him to meet your family. That’s what this squad was to you, after all. Your family.

Remembering sporadic moments from the past few months together, you smile gently as you listen to Dean talk. You watch him seamlessly integrate some tailored conversation starters you’d fed him ahead of time, and you gently squeeze his thigh in an act of reassurance and appreciation. He is feeling the pressure, you can tell, although he is handling it well. To be fair, you think, who wouldn’t feel the pressure? You’d been nervous enough to meet his parents, but this? A bunch of Delta Force guys and an MMA champion? This squad was lethal; literally -you’ve lost track of your combined kill count, though Will probably hasn’t, you are sure.

Aside from that though, most of all, they are your family. You need them to like Dean and vice versa, and you know that isn’t necessarily a given. You are a tight-knit group, with little hope of outsiders grasping the full extent of your decade’s old in-jokes, or the intense camaraderie instilled by facing a hail of bullets together. Plus, as the baby of the group, they were protective as all hell of you.

It came from a good place, you knew: they wanted what was best for you. But, there was a reason you’d delayed this meeting... It’s not as though they were threatening or anything. They didn’t do the whole “if you hurt our buddy, I’ll kill you” thing, for example (at least, not while you were present – you couldn’t vouch for what happened when you were out of earshot).  However, after introducing a succession of boyfriends to them over the years, the squad had developed a well-rehearsed system for sizing-up your new squeeze. In the past, not all of your squeezes had made it through the gauntlet. It was a trial by fire, to be sure, and you were pleased that Dean has not yet been burned.

Of course, whilst the boys’ approval didn’t mean everything to you, you couldn’t deny it was important; perhaps especially this time, with this guy. And, out of all of the group, Santi’s approval meant the most to you. Always had. Probably because Santi meant the most to you, full stop. You simply couldn’t imagine having someone in your life that didn’t get on with your best friend. And, so, you are not overly thrilled at the reception Santi is giving Dean right now. The reception he had been giving him all evening, in fact. And the more you dwell on it, the more an anger bubbles forth from you. Even though you try to push it down, and focus on Dean, that fucker in the corner of your eye sends you.

“What’s wrong with you tonight, Garcia?” you blurt out, a little louder than intended, causing the amiable chat and giggles to stall, all eyes turning to you - then, in turn, following the direction of your fiery gaze over to Santi, who shifts uncomfortably in his seat.

Now, he leans forward. Looks back at you with a rare venom in his eyes. With a smug curl of his mouth, he dips to pick up his beer from the floor and takes a swig - buying himself some time. Trying to brush you off. Still, your gaze does not relent as he rests his elbows on his thighs, bridging his fingers together in the space between, thumbs sticking in the air.

Now, he engages, and he looks directly at Dean, his eyes sweeping dismissively over the entirety of his form. Now, he speaks, his voice filled with far more bitterness than the situation merits. “Nothing at all. I’m fucking peachy. So, Dean. You play the motherfuckin’ banjo?” he offers, and yet, it sounds far more like an accusation than a question.

What the fuck is up with him?

Wilting a little beneath Santi’s stare, as the ex-operative squints his eyes in his direction, Dean casts a helpless, sideward glance at you from his place in the circle, and yet, you are so stupefied by anger that you can do little to help.

“I think what my dear friend means to say -” Frankie dips in valiantly, smacking Santi pointedly on the thigh, likely hoping to smack some sense into him too “- is why don’t you tell us more about your music, Dean?”

Frankie’s eyes and smile are soft when he looks at you, surreptitiously exchanging a pointed look -what’s up with that pendejo?- and you are grateful that at least some of the evident tension is diffused when he picks up the slack in the conversation.

Santi and his mood swings be damned, and, feeling bolstered, Dean continues on.  

“Actually, it’s going pretty frickin’ well with the band. It’s a side-gig to my lecturing job, but we’re planning a tour during summer vacation. The States -east coast- and Western Europe for now. Maybe headlining a couple of small festivals, if that pans out, who knows.” Dean relates, humbly.

“That’s great, man,” Will chips in, helping Frankie get things back on track. “We’ll have to come down to a gig soon, hear you play.”

“Actually, we have something to tell you about the tour, don’t we, babe?” Dean says bashfully, and he looks at you expectantly, waiting for you to pick-up the thread. You’d talked about it before coming today, and it had seemed like a great idea at the time, but suddenly, now that the announcement is imminent, your mouth is dry - as if filled with cotton. Still, you force a smile, and you’re not sure why, but you look anywhere else but at Santi as your lips form the words. “Yeah – kinda big news, fellas. I’m going to join Dean on the Europe leg of the tour. I’ll be leaving you losers behind for a few months.”

Dean’s face cracks into a smile and he reaches for your hand, looking made-up at the prospect. Still, while you will yourself to be fully present in the moment, you find yourself focussed on looking anywhere but at Santi, sure that his stare must be boring into the side of your head. You hadn’t told him yet. Unfortunately, at Santi is where just about everyone else ends up looking, as the fucker abruptly pushes his camp chair back and stands, storming indoors before anyone can hope to fathom it.

You exchange glances with Frankie, Will, and Benny, with Benny thankfully stepping-in this time to distract Dean from the obvious, and asking him which stops you two will be making, and which sights you plan to see.

“Look, man, don’t mind that tool. Got any sightseeing plans?”

What is Santi’s problem? Why can’t he give Dean a chance? Yes, you’ve made some mistakes in the past- been hurt, and Santi had helped you pick up the pieces -every time- but you had a good feeling about Dean. A really good feeling. Can’t he see that too?

Frankie throws a concerned glance back towards the house and motions as if to stand, but you beat him to it, wanting to get to the bottom of this. “I’ll go,” you insist, motioning for Frankie to stay put, and with a quick promise to Dean that you’ll be back soon (and a silent plea to your boys to take care of him in your absence), you do just that, walk-jogging across the grass.

When you step inside to the kitchen, you find Santi stood, hunched over the counter, his palms clasping the surface tight enough that his knuckles pale, and his head hung low, his shoulders rising and falling as he takes in exaggerated breaths.

“Well?” you ask pointedly, with zero tolerance for his bullshit. “What’s going on with you? Wanna explain why you’re being an ass to my boyfriend?” you challenge to the back of him, and he instantly whips around at the sound of your voice. 

“I’m being an ass?” he asks indignantly, his eyebrows shooting towards the top of his head. 

“Yes. In a nutshell. Yes,” you hiss, any other interpretation feeling impossible. You fold your arms and purse your lips, making it plainly evident that you are waiting for some explanation. And, oh boy, it had better be good.

Instead of explaining though, Santi simply huffs out breath, gesturing angrily out of the window. “That guy, really? That’s the guy you’re gonna go all in for? Go to fucking Europe for?”

That guy, you mouth silently, completely stupefied for a moment. You’re not sure exactly what your so-called friend is insinuating, but you are clear that you don’t like it one bit.

“What is your fucking problem?” you ask, punctuating your words with motions of your hands, as if you are trying to strangle the air in-between you in lieu of his neck. “Dean’s a catch. He’s hot, he’s sweet, he’s a nice guy. He’s there for me. He takes care of me.”

“Like I don’t take care of you?!” Santi exclaims, his voice rising and abrasive; and then, immediately after the words tumble forth from his lips, he steps back imperceptibly, as if startled by his own outburst, his hand rasping over the stubble on his chin.

“What in the...? This isn’t about you, you ass!” you bite back, face scrunching up in confusion. Your fingers come to your temples as you grow increasingly lost-off and perplexed, and seemingly, your riposte only makes Santi double down on whatever the hell he is complaining about.

“Who’s the one who’s always been there for you, hmm? Who picks up the pieces every time you make yet another dumb shitty choice with another shitty guy?” he rambles, gesturing his hand towards you dismissively.

You step back from him this time, just a little, tears spiking instantaneously in your eyes at such an unnecessarily cruel blow. He’s right, in a sense: you had always relied on Santi to heal you, not to hurt you - and yet here he was dealing these painful, incoherent blows out of nowhere.

“Shit, Garcia. If it’s that much trouble to be there for me don’t bother next time,” you snap, your voice breaking as the swell of anger and hurt and adrenalin sends tears spilling over your cheeks. “Don’t worry though, I don’t think I’ll need you again. In fact, I have a feeling this guy might stick. So, maybe? Maybe you should think about the fact that the only shitty guy around here is you.” 

“You really think he’s good enough for you, hmm? He’s really who you want to end up with?”

You listen, aghast, as his tirade keeps coming. However, as Santi’s voice breaks with emotion part-way through his second question, you can’t explain it, but you feel an intolerable sadness in the pit of you. Even though you’re not sure what’s causing all this, what you’re barrelling toward, you want to thrust this sadness away from you. Push him away from you.  You want to push away the knot in your stomach for fear that if you tug at that thread, you might arrive at an answer to his question.

Exasperated, overwhelmed, you roughly paw tears from your cheeks, not knowing where all of these feelings are coming from, in either direction. “Fuck, I... I don’t understand what this is. I don’t get it!” you say, waving your hands, palms-up, through the air. “Is this some macho bullshit? Have I pissed you off somehow?”

At that, the wave of Santi’s anger crests and breaks; as you wonder if you annoyed him. Then, as suddenly as his anger came it is waning, his eyes pooling with rare tears now. With a huff of breath he tears off his damn cap, tossing it aside to run a hand through his grizzled hair. 

“No. No,” he backtracks a little, palms up in surrender. “You haven’t... I.... I just...” He pinches his lips in-between his teeth and looks up at the ceiling as his words trail off, perhaps trying to steady his voice before continuing. Or, perhaps he has nothing else to say to you. Perhaps he’s said enough.

You examine him. Still pissed as all hell, but worried now too, and ultimately, your love for your best friend slightly edging-out the anger. It’s rare that anything affects him like this, and you can’t help the sudden rush of concern.

Cresting too, you exhale a tightly held breath into the now silent, taut space between you, and your body sags - just a little. You chew over your words a moment, but when your voice comes back the volume is lower, your tone softer - and, although it cannot be considered friendly, by any stretch, it’s the best you can do right now.

“You know what,” you offer, generously, wrapping your arms around your own middle, stroking your forearms with your own fingertips. “I’m giving you a pass. You don’t even want to give Dean a chance? Then just leave, Santi. Just go. I’ll give the guys some bullshit excuse that doesn’t leave you looking like a total ass, because I’m not a dick to my friends. So just go, okay?” You pump your eyebrow at him indignantly and await a response, your manner stiff and unyielding.

Santi closes his eyes and knits his brow together, something like regret finally passing over his face and he shuffles guiltily from foot-to-foot.

You puff out air through your teeth and shake your head, as you observe this Delta Force hero; the bravest man you know in many ways, but still too cowardly to tell it like it is. To admit that he’s in the wrong. You are afraid to say that even as his gaze comes back to you, misty-eyed, you have little sympathy for his plight. You are sure it is of his own doing. You are almost as sure that he won’t open-up.

“You know,” you begin, breaking from your position and gathering up a fresh cooler of beers from the fridge, turned away from him as you speak. “I brought Dean to meet my family. Do you understand that? I didn’t have parents and siblings for him to meet. I have you guys. You’re my family.”

Still nothing. Nothing but silence greets you. Nothing but a pained expression on his face, his brows drown together and the artificial light of the kitchen highlighting the harsh planes of his face as you look over your shoulder at him, waiting for some reaction. Some admission of guilt. None comes. He simply slots his hands into his jean pockets, looking sheepish.

“So,” you continue, greeted with a brick wall, “fuck knows why you don’t want me to be happy, but I am. I’m happy with him. Thanks a ton for shitting all over that.”

You don’t even bother to look towards him this time, instead placing the last of the clinking, condensation-adorned bottles into the carrier, resigned to head back out without him, and without any apology.

“I’m sorry,” he finally says, and your head whips towards him in surprise.

He looks it - sorry. He looks apologetic. Deeply so. He looks sorry for this, for every way he’s ever slighted you, for every time he’s hurt you, even in ways and moments you never knew about. He looks sorry down to the pit of him, and it catches you off-guard when you see it freely offered there in his eyes.

Even so, this is a stubborn man. There’s an apology, but there’s no explanation. Nothing to explain his behaviour. So, even though it seems genuine, it also doesn’t seem like enough.

It doesn’t appease you, and yet, all you can bring yourself to do is sigh deeply.

You know Santi better than anyone, but there’s always been a part of him that has seemed out of reach, even to you. You’re not sure -never have been- whether to be scared or excited by those unknown parts of him. Not sure whether the impasse hints at buried secrets too dark and deep to bear, or whether it hints of a possibility of something more. Something deeper or something better you could have together, if only he would let you in. You don’t know, and you never have, but all you are sure of is that you have constantly teetered on the edge of that abyss, too much left unknown to know all of him, however much you may have wished to. He’s entitled to his secrets, of course, but you hate how they hurt him. 

With a little sympathy now, you examine his watery eyes, and when your voice comes back this time, it is softer and slower than you intended. More tired than you expected.

“You know, Dean wants to be with me. And he tells me so.” You casually dip down to pick-up the cooler handle, eyes still fixed on your best friend. “He might not be Delta Force… he might be a banjo player from Michigan… but even he’s brave enough for that.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Santi says, bristling all over again, his hand rasping angrily over his stubbled jaw, and yet, you decline him an explanation. Instead, keeping your own secrets now, holding back, you head towards the door, beers in hand.

Still, you turn back to him. You might be angry, but you still care for him -more than you could say. 

“If you figure out what’s up with you, let me know, and I’ll be there for you. Whatever you’ve got going on, you know that, right? But this? This isn’t okay, Garcia. You might think that I make dumb choices -you ass, by the way- but I’ve watched you hit self-destruct so many times instead of dealing with your feelings. Maybe you should look at your own life, huh, instead of shitting all over me for trying to be happy? Shit, at least I fucking try.”

His eyes shift from side to side in the room, the muscles in his jaw twitching, chin jutting forward, and his thumbs locked in his belt loops. He can’t quite bring himself to meet your gaze; at least not until you are disappearing through the threshold; until it’s almost too late. Why can’t he ever manage anything unless it’s too late?

“Wait!” he pleads, but you cut him off, before he can speak. Even though, truth be told, you’re not sure he would muster anything to say at all, even if you gave him a chance. He’s so used to holding back.

“No,” you say firmly. “Forget it, I’m done. I still love you- you’re my best friend. But, fuck, just go home, and get out of my sight, Santiago. I’m so pissed with you right now.”

And so, you turn away, and when his words finally do come, they are spoken to the back of your head. They are spoken without you ever seeing his lips move, and you wonder if he ever said them at all, or if this might be some cruel trick of the night. Some witching hour spell. That is, until you turn towards him and you see the words painted clearly on his face too.

“Fuck it. I’m in love with you.”

I’m in love with you.

Why can’t he ever manage anything unless it’s too late?

You’re not sure what reaction he was expecting, but you almost choke on the sudden lump in your throat. You feel a taste of bile rising-up into your mouth. An intense, resurgent anger fills you, which near makes the room spin, and makes your hands and your legs tremble.

Even if a hidden, unconscious part of you has been waiting, hoping for these words all these years, when they finally come all you can feel is... royally pissed off.

“Oh. No. No. No,” you repeat, words gradually increasing in volume, looking at Santi as if he has mortally wounded you, rather than offered that confession. “You do not get to do this to me.”

You see a hard swallow bob down his throat, a near-instant regret on his face, and your heart pounds in your chest as you reel with the implications of his words.

The coward. The fucking asshole. He waited until now? All the times things had gone to shit, and he waited until you were happy?

“All the times...” you accuse, your tone as bitter as the taste in your mouth, the metallic tang of blood as you feel a rushing in your ears. “All the fucking times. All the chances, Santi, and you do this now?” you continue, your finger sawing through the air, wagging accusations at him, even as your voice wavers, as your hands notceably tremble. “No. Fuck you, Garcia. Fuck you.”

You want to cry, or scream, but you are too angry. So angry, that it eclipses anything else which might come to light. So angry that you almost come full circle again, beginning to stabilise out at eerily calm.

Santi looks down at the floor, and exhales air, chuckling disbelievingly to himself, then lightly nodding his head, lips pressed tightly together. His feet shift agitatedly below him as he brings his endlessly familiar eyes back up to meet yours. This time when he looks at you, it hurts. You remember bullet wounds, and you swear that was nothing compared to this.

“That’s it? That’s all you’ve got to say to me, hmm? Fuck you, Garcia?”

“What the fuck were you expecting?” you say, launching your words before you realise the implications of them. Yes, you know fine well that your boyfriend is sitting outside, likely wondering where you have got to. But, if you had the wherewithall to have thought about it, you would know exactly what Santi was expecting, despite all of that. You would know that a part of him must be expecting, hoping, that when he told you, you might reciprocate. That you might love him back.

And, would that be so outside of the realms of possibility? Would it be so hard to imagine that the deep, magnetic, and unshakeable friendship you shared could be something else? Something more? That you could tip over the edge you had long been teetering on? Maybe it could, or maybe it could have, but right now, you can’t see past the flashbang he has just dropped over your life, and it is clouding your vision.

You were happy. You are happy. Fuck him for doing this now.

Why would you fall into the unknown for him, if you never knew whether he would catch you? If you never knew whether ruin or safety awaited you if you let yourself tip? He always held back.

What the fuck were you expecting?

Your words linger in the space between you, and in lieu of any other lifeline, realisation dawns on Santi’s face. Realisation that, although he jumped, you are not intending to catch him either. But how could you catch him, with your arms already full?

And, so, he slowly nods his head once again, his eyes beading with glassy tears and his hand grazing over his chin in a self-soothing gesture. Wordlessly, he sets his jaw and he abruptly replaces his baseball cap on his head, padding a few steps forward to stand opposite you, sucking all of the breath from your lungs. This time, when he looks at you, you see all of your past, but you still can’t see beyond that. The abyss still scares you too much.

Like this, facing each other down, eye-to-eye, the silence in the room grows sharp as a knife, refined to a point. So, when Santi abruptly turns to leave in a sharp, determined trajectory, without so much as looking at you, it is as if he has dragged the blade across your skin in an equally swift motion. As if he has left you open and bleeding-out, having delivered a mortal wound with the act of his exit. You’ve felt like this on the battelfield before, and in life, yet he was always there for you. Always there to patch you. To pick up the pieces.

Instead of screaming open-mouthed for help, this time, you simply watch him go, and now you are the wordless one, mustering nothing but a gasped inhale of breath before your vision blurs with tears - as you watch his hazy form disappear along the hall and out of your sight.

“Santi,” you call pathetically, your voice small and weak and teary, barely making it past your throat, and he doesn’t hear you. He doesn’t hear you but even if he had, you’re not sure anymore if he would have stopped.

When Santi slams the front door behind him, you shudder with it in its frame, your hand coming to your chest as if to hold your heart inside your opened-up ribs, and you close your eyes against the jarring sound, tears spilling down your cheeks, your face screwing-up into a shined, contorted grimace.

Entirely lost, now alone, you bizarrely wish for the room to be filled with anger again, instead of the intolerable sadness - which all too suddenly takes hold of you as your emotions crest and break. It is all you can do to stumble forward a few paces and hunch over the countertop, finding yourself in the exact position you had discovered Santi in. You stand, bracing yourself with your arms, fingers clutching the edge of the worktop, and your head slumped forward, tears freely spilling out of you as your chest heaves.

You wonder whether he’d held himself in this same position because he had felt an intolerable sadness too. An intolerable sadness at seeing you happy.

Suddenly you could understand it.

That fucker. Santiago “Pope” Garcia.

I’m in love with you.

I’m in love with you.

The words echo in your mind, but this time, if you’re honest, you’re not wholly sure if they’re his, or yours.

PART TWO IS HERE

[tlatollotl]

Finding the tomb of an ancient king full of golden artifacts, weapons and elaborate clothing seems like any archaeologist’s fantasy. But searching for them, Gino Caspari can tell you, is incredibly tedious.

Dr. Caspari, a research archaeologist with the Swiss National Science Foundation, studies the ancient Scythians, a nomadic culture whose horse-riding warriors terrorized the plains of Asia 3,000 years ago. The tombs of Scythian royalty contained much of the fabulous wealth they had looted from their neighbors. From the moment the bodies were interred, these tombs were popular targets for robbers; Dr. Caspari estimates that more than 90 percent of them have been destroyed.

He suspects that thousands of tombs are spread across the Eurasian steppes, which extend for millions of square miles. He had spent hours mapping burials using Google Earth images of territory in what is now Russia, Mongolia and Western China’s Xinjiang province. “It’s essentially a stupid task,” Dr. Caspari said. “And that’s not what a well-educated scholar should be doing.”

As it turned out, a neighbor of Dr. Caspari’s in the International House, in the Morningside Heights neighborhood of Manhattan, had a solution. The neighbor, Pablo Crespo, at the time a graduate student in economics at City University of New York who was working with artificial intelligence to estimate volatility in commodity prices, told Dr. Caspari that what he needed was a convolutional neural network to search his satellite images for him. The two bonded over a shared academic philosophy, of making their work openly available for the benefit of the greater scholarly community, and a love of heavy metal music. Over beers in the International House bar, they began a collaboration that put them at the forefront of a new type of archaeological analysis.

A convolutional neural network, or C.N.N., is a type of artificial intelligence that is designed to analyze information that can be processed as a grid; it is especially well suited to analyzing photographs and other images. The network sees an image as a grid of pixels. The C.N.N. that Dr. Crespo designed starts by giving each pixel a rating based on how red it is, then another for green and for blue. After rating each pixel according to a variety of additional parameters, the network begins to analyze small groups of pixels, then successively larger ones, looking for matches or near-matches to the data it has been trained to spot.

Working in their spare time, the two researchers ran 1,212 satellite images through the network for months, asking it to look for circular stone tombs and to overlook other circular, tomblike things such as piles of construction debris and irrigation ponds.

At first they worked with images that spanned roughly 2,000 square miles. They used three-quarters of the imagery to train the network to understand what a Scythian tomb looks like, correcting the system when it missed a known tomb or highlighted a nonexistent one. They used the rest of the imagery to test the system. The network correctly identified known tombs 98 percent of the time.

Creating the network was simple, Dr. Crespo said. He wrote it in less than a month using the programming language Python and at no cost, not including the price of the beers. Dr. Caspari hopes that their creation will give archaeologists a way to find new tombs and to identify important sites so that they can be protected from looters.

Other convolutional neural networks are beginning to automate a variety of repetitive tasks that are usually foisted on to graduate students. And they are opening new windows on to the past. Some of the jobs that these networks are inheriting include classifying pottery fragments, locating shipwrecks in sonar images and finding human bones that are for sale, illegally, on the internet.

“Netflix is using this kind of technique to show you recommendations,” Dr. Crespo, now a senior data scientist for Etsy, said. “Why shouldn’t we use it for something like saving human history?”

Gabriele Gattiglia and Francesca Anichini, both archaeologists at the University of Pisa in Italy, excavate Roman Empire-era sites, which entails analyzing thousands of broken bits of pottery. In Roman culture nearly every type of container, including cooking vessels and the amphoras used for shipping goods around the Mediterranean, was made of clay, so pottery analysis is essential for understanding Roman life.

The task involves comparing pottery sherds to pictures in printed catalogs. Dr. Gattiglia and Dr. Anichini estimate that only 20 percent of their time is spent excavating sites; the rest is spent analyzing pottery, a job for which they are not paid. “We started dreaming about some magic tool to recognize pottery on an excavation,” Dr. Gattiglia said.

That dream became the ArchAIDE project, a digital tool that will allow archaeologists to photograph a piece of pottery in the field and have it identified by convolutional neural networks. The project, which received financing from the European Union’s Horizon 2020 research and innovation program, now involves researchers from across Europe, as well as a team of computer scientists from Tel Aviv University in Israel who designed the C.N.N.s.

The project involved digitizing many of the paper catalogs and using them to train a neural network to recognize different types of pottery vessels. A second network was trained to recognize the profiles of pottery sherds. So far, ArchAIDE can identify only a few specific pottery types, but as more researchers add their collections to the database the number of types is expected to grow.

“I dream of a catalog of all types of ceramics,” Dr. Anichini said. “I don’t know if it is possible to complete in this lifetime.”

Saving time is one of the biggest advantages of using convolutional neural networks. In marine archaeology, ship time is expensive, and divers cannot spend too much time underwater without risking serious pressure-related injuries. Chris Clark, an engineer at Harvey Mudd College in Claremont, Calif., is addressing both problems by using an underwater robot to make sonar scans of the seafloor, then using a convolutional neural network to search the images for shipwrecks and other sites. In recent years he has been working with Timmy Gambin, an archaeologist at the University of Malta, to search the floor of the Mediterranean Sea around the island of Malta.

Their system got off to a rough start: On one of its first voyages, they ran their robot into a shipwreck and had to send a diver down to retrieve it. Things improved from there. In 2017, the network identified what turned out to be the wreck of a World War II-era dive bomber off the coast of Malta. Dr. Clark and Dr. Gambin are now working on another site that was identified by the network, but did not want to discuss the details until the research has gone through peer-review.

Shawn Graham, a professor of digital humanities at Carleton University in Ottawa, uses a convolutional neural network called Inception 3.0, designed by Google, to search the internet for images related to the buying and selling of human bones. The United States and many other countries have laws requiring that human bones held in museum collections be returned to their descendants. But there are also bones being held by people who have skirted these laws. Dr. Graham said he had even seen online videos of people digging up graves to feed this market.

“These folks who are being bought and sold never consented to this,” Dr. Graham said. “This does continued violence to the communities from which these ancestors have been removed. As archaeologists, we should be trying to stop this.”

He made some alterations to Inception 3.0 so that it could recognize photographs of human bones. The system had already been trained to recognize objects in millions of photographs, but none of those objects were bones; he has since trained his version on more than 80,000 images of human bones. He is now working with a group called Countering Crime Online, which is using neural networks to track down images related to the illegal ivory trade and sex trafficking.

Dr. Crespo and Dr. Caspari said that the social sciences and humanities could benefit by incorporating the tools of information technology into their work. Their convolutional neural network was easy to use and freely available for anyone to modify to suit their own research needs. In the end, they said, scientific advances come down to two things.

“Innovation really happens at the intersections of established fields,” Dr. Caspari said. Dr. Crespo added: “Have a beer with your neighbor every once in a while.”

[andawaywego]

🥺 bartender Jamie hitting on customer Dani and random guy hitting on Dani but failing

this got away from me, but as requested! i hope you like it. 

..

“I haven’t seen you around here before.”

Dani winces at the words, at the gravelly touch the man’s voice has. Like metal scraping against concrete. It makes her shiver. “That’s a good one,” she tells him and he looks pleased with himself for exactly two more seconds before she adds, “Definitely never heard it before.”

He blinks, but then pushes on, undeterred by her response. “Let me buy you a drink.”

Not a question. Dani resists the urge to roll her eyes.

“Thanks,” she says, “but I’ve got one.” She shakes the straw of her daiquiri for emphasis.

“The next one then,” he offers.

He’s got a stupid, handsome face. Dani wonders how easily he’s been able to slide through life with a face like that—how many girls he’s been able to talk into his bed with those dimples. She’s not drunk—even if she desperately wants to be—but she kind of wants to ask him what his success rate with this kind of thing normally is.

The plan had been to just get in, get a drink, and get out. Another round of disappointing and humiliating job interviews has left her with a dull pounding in the back of her head, and she’d only wanted to add a nice numbness to it before going back to her room at the hostel to lick her wounds.

But then her new acquaintance had come over less than a minute after the pretty bartender gave Dani her drink and now he won’t leave.

Apparently, the man takes her silence as agreement and he looks over at the bartender and lifts his hand—almost like he’s talking to a dog or something, which—

More points added to his general douchery.

“Can I get one more for—” He trails off, throwing a look back at Dani.

“Priscilla,” she says, rattling off the first fake name that comes to mind.

Fortunately, he buys it.

“For Priscilla,” he finishes.

The woman at the bar—whose name tag reads JAMIE—quirks an eyebrow at him, then glances at Dani. She’s a slight thing; curly brown hair and pale skin. Pink lips that Dani sort of wants to tug at with her teeth.

But that’s the alcohol talking.

When she first sat down, Jamie had given her a once-over. Not quite like she was sizing Dani up, but more like she was...appreciating the view. It was...interesting, to say the least, and she’d been planning on striking up a conversation before they were interrupted.

“Priscilla, yeah?” Jamie asks, and she gives Dani an amused look.

Dani’s stomach twists a little in excitement. “That’s my name,” she says.

“Pretty. You sure you’d like another?” Her eyes dart over to the man and Dani has the distinct impression that she’s being asked something else entirely.

Whether or not she’s actually interested in this guy.

She shrugs. “Only if he’s paying.”

Jamie almost looks impressed at this. “Coming right up, then.”

As she flits around the bar, making Dani’s drink and slapping another beer in front of her companion, the man turns his interest back to Dani.

“What brings you to London, Priscilla?” he asks, voice oozing arrogance. He must think he’s already won her over.

Dani thinks for a moment. “I’m in a band,” she decides. “We’re doing a tour.”

The man flicks his eyebrows up in surprise. “Is that so?”

“Yep.”

She pops the ‘p’ a little too loud and takes a long pull from her drink, nearly giving herself a brain freeze.

“What kind of music do you play?”

“Polka.”

“Polka?”

“That’s what I said.”

He frowns. “Anything of yours I might know?”

Dani’s busy trying to come up with the most ridiculous thing yet when another voice chimes in.

“You’ve never heard of The Polka Dots?”

It’s Jamie, frowning like the man’s ignorance is an affront to God.

The man looks between the two of them in surprise. “The...The Polka Dots?” he asks.

Dani smiles. “That’s us,” she says.

Jamie nods. She finishes the final touches of Dani’s drink and sets it in front of her. “Her and about three beefy types.” She mimes some kind of “tough guy” attitude and Dani has to bite her lip to keep from laughing.

“All of whom I’m dating,” she adds.

It’s kind of surprising that the man hasn’t just high-tailed it out of the bar yet. The game they’re playing isn’t subtle, and Dani would like to think that—were she in the same unfortunate position he is—she would know when to take a hint.

“Is that so?” he asks, and it takes Dani a moment to realize the reason why he hasn’t left:

He actually believes her.

Which is just—

Wow.

“They’re actually supposed to be meeting me here soon,” she says, fingers crossed a little on her lap.

And, there it is. That’s the ticket.

In an awkward rush, the man tosses a few bills on the bar top and says something along the lines of, “There’s a...meeting I forgot I had,” before rushing out of the bar. Dani watches him go and then turns to Jamie triumphantly.

“I can’t believe he bought that,” she says.

Jamie whistles through her teeth. “Well, it takes all sorts.” She throws a smile at Dani and then starts cleaning up after the guy.

Dani watches her in silence, tracing the lines of her face with her eyes. “Thanks,” she says once Jamie is near enough again. “For your help.”

“Don’t mention it.” She waves Dani’s appreciation off. “Can’t say it wasn’t fun to watch him scurry out of here with his tail between his legs like that.”

Some of her hair has fallen into her face, a few brown curls bobbing in front of her eyes as she moves. Dani has the sudden urge to reach out and touch it, curl it around her finger as she leans in to—

There’s a buzz in her veins that’s making her chest feel less tight by the moment, and, later, she’ll blame what she says next on that feeling.

“Hey, are you…” Her broken sentence catches Jamie’s attention and then Dani feels trapped beneath the heat of her gaze. She flounders for a moment, but then manages to say, “Would you wanna get a drink sometime?”

She doesn’t realize how that sounds until Jamie is making a face.

“Not here,” she clarifies hurriedly. “Somewhere else.” Still no response, so she keeps going. “Not even a drink, if you don’t want. We could get...dinner...or something.”

In the quiet that follows, she sort of feels like an idiot, but then she notices that Jamie’s eyes are looking her up and down again. Checking her out, maybe. Dani flushes and forces herself to maintain eye contact.

“Priscilla,” Jamie says in this shocked tone and Dani laughs. “Are you asking me out?”

“Dani,” she corrects, thrusting out a hand for Jamie to shake. “And, yes.”

Her hand is really soft, her grip loose and easy as she squeezes Dani’s fingers before pulling away. “You flirt,” she admonishes, her tone nothing but flattered amusement.

“Is that a yes?”

Two men sitting at the far end of the bar call for her, and Jamie acknowledges them, holding up a finger for them to wait a moment. She turns back to Dani.

“I get off at six,” she says, and then she leans down close enough that Dani can see the flecks of light brown in her irises. Her hands tremble at the proximity and Jamie must know the effect she’s having because she looks all-too-pleased with herself. “Maybe we can have that drink at my flat.”

Jesus.

Dani blinks a few times, rapidly. “Do you often ask girls back to your apartment before the first date?” she asks, a little amazed at her luck.

Pulling back a little, Jamie shrugs. “Only the girls that are going to fall in love with me.”

“Are you always this confident?” Her heart sort of feels like it’s going to burst. It’s strange that the exact quality that annoyed her so much in the man from before is the exact thing that’s no making her feel like a teenager all over again.

Jamie laughs, a sound just as stunning as the rest of her. “Never,” she admits and Dani knows she’s telling the truth.

Just as she’s about to saunter off to help other customers, Dani reaches out and wraps her fingers loosely around Jamie’s wrist, holding her still. “Six o’clock?” she asks and Jamie grins.

“Looking forward to it,” she says and the wink she gives Dani is almost enough to have her falling already.

..

[diochain]

north america | jjk concept

Related minicomic and microscopic OC profile. Also please note I only started thinking about this a few hours ago so this is a very rough draft.

What is known as “jujutsu” in Japan is called “witchcraft,” “witchery” or “magic” in North America, depending on what region you’re in. Practitioners are called “witches” regardless of gender.

CURSED ENERGY

In the North American supernatural, there are two types of energy: mana and manus. The distinction between the two is that mana is energy from non-human entities while manus is energy from humans.

There is very little difference between the two of them, in all reality, but over time there has been the misconception that using one’s own manus will shorten your life. So, to use manus, as they do in Japan, is generally frowned and looked down upon, and considered an amateur move. As a result, those who can perform witchcraft are adept at muffling and suppressing their own manus, thinking that if they don’t, their life force will drain.

CURSED SPIRITS

OVERVIEW AND GRADES/RANKS

What Japan calls “cursed spirits,” much of the West calls “ghouls” or “ghosts.” The way they function is the same as those in Japan, because they are the same thing. Curses/Ghouls simply look different from region to region of Earth as a result of what the local culture considers horrific or disgusting. In the West, ghouls are categorized from D-rank to S-rank, in similar order and categorization to the grades in Japan. S-rank, on paper, is the equivalent to special grade.  When in reference to witches, ranks/grades are usually shortened to:

DR (pronounced “deer,” usually assumed to be scaredy-cats, wimps and complete rookies)

CR (pronounced “seer,” usually assumed to be self-absorbed, cocky and self-centered)

BR (pronounced “beer,” a lot of people in this rank get joked about)

AR (pronounced “air.” Younger generations of witches call them “Aangs” in reference to fictional character Aang, whose power is wind/air control)

SR (pronounced “sir”)

The North American approach to ghouls is generally on the questionable side. Rather than killing them straight away as they do in the East, or at least as they do most of the time, North America captures and contains any that are A or B-rank for experimental and research purposes.

The standards in North America of promotion between ranks is a little more confused and wishy-washy, depending more on popularity and reputation than strength itself. Thus, unless the witch or ghoul is S-rank, all labels from the North American higher-ups should be taken with a grain of salt. If a witch is labelled S-rank, it means they have either reached their full potential and are stronger than almost anyone else, or that they have not but their full potential will be too impressive not to give them the highest rank.

The known witches given S-rank in North America are:

Christopher Hennessy (Salem Collective)

John Lee-Trang (Salem Collective)

Josh Woods (Salem Collective)

George Oslan (Unaffiliated)

Andrew Boardman (Washington Witchcraft)

CONSUMPTION

As both a rite of passage and potential means to a power boost, consumption of high-rank ghouls and deceased witches by those with certain amounts of manus isn’t uncommon by any means. As North America largely doesn’t have the same history surrounding ghouls as Japan, which has Ryomen Sukuna and his respective legendary rival and killer Takefurukuma no mikoto, there isn’t the same kind of “hey, eating this will make a legendary monster from over a millennia ago possess me” going on. There are arguably more cursed objects (for once called the same thing in the West) from the indigenous peoples of North America, who have been there for much, much longer, resulting in power being held in those objects, but still, none of them possess the same kind of incarnating ability as Sukuna’s fingers.

This lesser threat of possession or death has encouraged those wishing to be marked as witches to consume them without any fear (in order to be officially recognized as a witch you have to eat the remains of a ghoul or deceased witch). The more well-known and feared the source of the object, the more powerful you’re likely to become, though the chances of you gaining power shrink as the power increases.

The person who has consumed the most remains is John Lee-Trang, one of the top witches of North America, who has eaten 7 SR ghouls and all the remains of 3 witches from the 18th century. Because he has proven himself to have a high success rate in gaining powers from consuming these remains, John is scheduled to consume the few accessible bones of Bridget Bishop, the first accused of witchcraft and executed for it during the Salem witch trials.

ORGANIZATION(S)

SALEM CAPTURE, CONTAINMENT AND ERADICATION COLLECTIVE

The main organized group of witches in North America is the America-founded group Salem Capture, Containment and Eradication Collective (SCCEC), colloquially called “Salem Collective,” and sometimes “Salem C,” or even just “Sal.” It also expanded into Canada after the American Civil War. It has branches in each region of the United States:

Northeastern Branch

SCCEC HQ: Salem, MA

Southern Branch

SCCEC HQ: Baltimore, MD

Midwestern Branch

SCCEC HQ: Chicago, MI

Western Branch

SCCEC HQ: Oakland, CA

Every state has 1-2 schools for upcoming witches. The four exceptions are California, Texas, Florida and New York, which all have 3. These four states are considered the best places aside from Massachusetts to study witchcraft. The top 3 schools are New York Salem Academy (Manhattan, NY), Salem Mother Academy (Salem, MA) and Houston Salem Academy (Houston, TX). Their informal/code names are the Dorcas School, the Bishop School and Corey Academy respectively.

Within the Salem Collective is the Pentagram, the name given to the five strongest witches in the organization. The top five as of the start of the Jujutsu Kaisen manga are:

Christopher Hennessy (26, Northeastern Branch)

John Lee-Trang (20, Northeastern Branch)

Rachel McKenzie (31, Midwestern Branch)

David Chen (40, Western Branch)

Josh Woods (23, Southern Branch)

They are the most recognized faces and names in the world of witchcraft and are known globally, especially Christopher.

WASHINGTON WITCHCRAFT

A smaller-time, much more recent organization founded in Washington state. There isn’t much information on it yet as it was formed only in late 2017. What is known is that it was founded by John’s former mentor, Andrew Boardman. The goal of Washington Witchcraft is to only eradicate, rather than contain, any ghouls or dark witches (the equivalent of the Japanese curse users).

INTERNATIONAL RELATIONS

The Salem Collective seems to have an elitist complex, that those with supernatural abilities from America are the strongest in the world, despite being weaker than select jujutsu users from Japan (coughSatoruGojocough). Because the nation they see as their biggest “threat” despite there being absolutely nothing to gain out of seeing a fellow abnormality-eliminating society as a threat is Japan, anyone who is not of Japanese descent using similar techniques in America is usually flamed for it.

The only known non-Japanese witch in the Salem Collective to have overcome this is John Lee-Trang, who was fascinated with how the East, namely Japan, used their manus and not a single bit of mana. The use of manus was also something the Salem Collective frowned upon, only deepening their distaste for the Japanese supernatural ability practitioners, though there has always been an undeniable respect and appreciation for each other.

Relations between West and East improved drastically after John’s huge boost in power upon returning from Tokyo Jujutsu Tech, and student exchange opportunities have become more accessible. As a result of his exposure, the representative of the Salem Collective in the East is usually John. A notable recent student studying under the Salem Collective in New York Salem Academy is Hajiro Zenin (another OC whose profile I will hopefully have soon).

[dragons-bones]

FFXIV: A Synthesis of Aether

#FebHyurary Day 17: Food + Day 18: Music

A/N: So I had too many ideas for yesterday, but knew for today touching on Synnove’s aether synesthesia would work well, and then I said, “DT YOU FOOL YOU CAN COMBINE BOTH DAYS FOR HER AETHER SYNESTHESIA.” And lo: a fic! Mostly dialogue, I haven’t done a dialogue heavy ficlet in a loooong time so I feel a bit rusty, but this was a fun exercise!

RATING: T WORD COUNT: 1455 WARNINGS: None!

---

[Installing SCAEVAN SYSTEMICS operating software.]

[Installation successful, running update cycle.]

[Updates complete. Archive Node Unit 453 now online. Please specify primary user.]

“Synnove Greywolfe.”

[USER: SYNNOVE now registered. How may I assist you today?]

“Please stand by for audio recording.”

[Standing by.]

The node’s lights dimmed from bright grass green to soft seafoam as it partially powered down, its northern and southern hemispheres slowly rotating in opposite directions.

Synnove lowered her hand and glanced over at Rereha. “All right, you can babble now,” the Highlander said.

Rere took her hands off her mouth to tug at her braided pigtails and beamed at her. “Whatcha doing?” she said, in the sing-song tone of someone feeling exceptionally nosy, rocking back on her heels.

Synnove rolled her eyes and set her hands on her hips. “Y’shtola’s working on a compilation of aetheric synesthesic perceptions as a downtime project,” she said. “She asked me if I was willing to contribute, to which I obviously said ‘yes.’ But because I’m not often able to spend much time in Revenant’s Toll that doesn’t devolve into Warrior of Light or Ironworks business—”

“—audio recordings you can send or give her are more convenient.”

“Careful, Rere, or other people will begin realizing you’re smarter than you pretend to be.”

The lalafell gasped. “Madam, you wound me!”

She received a satisfied smirk in reply as Synnove added, “And what better way to create an audio recording than with my new archive node?”

Rere pulled herself up onto Synnove’s desk, sitting on the edge and kicking her feet back and forth as she leaned back to rest on her hands. “Did you liberate it from the Ironworks?”

“I purchased this fair and square, I have a bill of sale from Jessie herself.”

“Nero’s OS?”

“The fact you know that term is vaguely frightening, but the man does have an unparalleled understanding of Allagan technology and if you tell him I said that, I will hang you by your toes from the edge of the Steps of Faith.”

Rere mimed locking her lips.

“Hand me that stack of paper, please.” Synnove pointed to Rere’s right. The lalafell snagged it and dutifully handed it over.

The arcanist shuffled through them, humming tunelessly as she did, before she came across the correct page. “All right,” she said, mostly to herself. “Start with Y’shtola’s list of baseline sensations today and go from there.” Louder now: “Begin recording.”

[Audio recording now live.]

Synnove automatically straightened her spine and rolled down her shoulders in the same way she did before she began a lecture for the fourth-year arcanist students. In a clear, strong voice: “Synnove Greywolfe recording for Y’shtola Rhul on the 18th day of the Second Umbral Moon, 11 Year of the Seventh Astral Era, on the subject of synesthetic perceptions of aether. I personally perceive aether, in addition to visual manifestations, as both taste and sound. Occasionally, one sensation will dominate the other, and certain sounds and tastes aren’t exclusive to one elemental type.

“For this recording, I’ll describe the overall generalities I associate with different elemental aether; variance is high depending on factors such as location or origin, in terms of ambient or crystallized aether, or in the case of spells, if they are being performed correctly or are altered in some capacity.”

“How to spot the catastrophic boom just before the boom becomes catastrophic and it’s too late to do anything about it.”

Synnove sighed. Rere giggled.

“Y’sthola, remind me to recalculate the angle needed to ensure Rere lands in Silvertear if thrown from the highest tower in the Toll.”

“Hey!”

“You’d be fine, Hydaelyn likes you best.”

Rere pouted, lower lip pushed out to the point of exaggeration, which meant she wasn’t actually offended.

“To get back on topic: fire. Fire aether most frequently tastes like hot spices, such as peppers; coffee; red meat, such as buffalo; bitter chocolate; cherries; wine. Sound tends to be uniformly brass instruments such as horns and trumpets; very occasionally it can sound like metal striking metal.

“Earth aether is auditorily simple and gustatorily complex. The sound of earth is always rhythmic and steady, if not outright drumming; the sensation of it echoing follows fairly often, too. Taste runs a huge gamut: savory or sweet seasonings, such as cumin or cinnamon; white meat, such as pork; most vegetables, particularly green or starchy vegetables; certain fruits such as apples and figs; bread; cheeses; stews; whiskeys.”

“I’d call most of those foods ‘homey.’”

Synnove frowned thoughtfully. “That’s a fair assessment,” she said after a moment. “Earth aether tends to ‘taste�� comforting.”

“Does that mean Tyr is the ultimate comfort food?”

“Does that mean you want to go flying out of my office window into the harbor?”

“I’m going to shut up now!”

“See how long that lasts,” Synnove said under her breath while her sister smiled beatifically. “Where was I… Ah, wind.”

The Highlander frowned. “Wind aether is another oddity, taste-wise. Mint tends to present quite frequently, along with sweet chocolate, white grapes, vanilla, white wine, arak, olives, and scallions. Thankfully when it seems to be a combination of flavors, it’s complimentary…” She shook her head. “Sound is similar to flutes, chimes, whistles. Bit stereotypical, honestly.

“Lightning…” Synnove paused, frowning again. “Sound tends to be similar to specific string instruments such as violas and cellos; deeper sounds. Low notes on a piano or harpsichord, sometimes simple humming or vibrations. Taste does not tend to be strong, but most frequently has manifested as berries and/or stonefruits. Alcohols such as gin, palm wine, ouzo, and brandy.”

“That is not the element I’d consider boozy,” Rere said idly. She had lain back on the desk and was staring up at the huge arched ceiling of the tower office, twiddling her thumbs.

Synnove shrugged without further comment, already looking at the next item on the list Krile had transcribed on Y’shtola’s behalf. “Water is what one would think would be boozy but I have legitimately never tasted ‘boozy’ water aether before. Tropical fruits dominate; in terms of savory, as horrifically stereotypical as it is, seafood. But almost never in a way that makes sense, I once found a water cluster in a bluefin tuna’s belly that tasted like Coerthan oyster confit.”

“I remember that, you made the weirdest face.”

“I still can’t find the words to describe just how fucked up that taste versus visual dichotomy was. In any event, water aether also sounds like string instruments, mostly harps, dulcimers, and brighter pianos. Also, a very specific drum… Rere, what’s that staccato-sounding drum the Flames have been using in their parades of late?”

The lalafell picked her head up. “Snare drum?”

“That’s the one. Timpanis on occasion, too. And finally…ice. Sound leans towards woodwind instruments like the clarinet and piccolo, as well as bells. Any bell. Taste…hmm. Slaw, fruits that freezes well, fruit juices, Thavnairian sweet tea—”

“That is not tea, that is an abomination.”

“—some melons, cucumbers, white rum, wintergreen.”

“I still can’t believe you’ve never come across ice aether that tastes like the Bismarck’s root beer float.”

“They introduced it to the menu last year.”

“So?”

Synnove sighed that heavy, gusting sigh everyone who spent longer than thirty minutes with Rereha learned. “Y’shtola, I see a note here about Primordial Light and Dark, but I’ll do that in the next recording along with variations and discrepancies, as first, I need to beat my sister over the head with a grimoire—”

Rereha hopped down from the desk and ran for the office door, shouting BYE Y’SHTOLA I LOVE YOU BEST over her shoulder as she did.

“—and second, I’m hungry and now is a good time to break for lunch. Recording end.”

[End of recording. Is there anything else on which I may provide assistance?]

“No, that will be all for now—ah! Before I forget. Please create new nodal designation of own choice.”

[Clarification requested.]

“Pick a name for yourself.”

[…]

[Accessing imperial Allagan databases for repository of birth certificates. Scanning records.]

[Archive Node Unit 453 rename complete. Archive Node Unit 453 is now Kleio.]

Synnove smiled, pleased. “It’s nice to meet you, Kleio.”

[…Thank you. Database scans are currently inconclusive as relates to instruments in modern usage versus those of Allag. What samples are available to provide edification?]

The Highlander cocked her head, staring at the silver-and-green node for a few long moments, before another smile, this one slow and delighted, crossed her features. “I have a few orchestrion rolls that include solos and chamber music that you could listen to while I have lunch, and I can provide lists of which instruments are used in each piece.”

[That would be satisfactory.]

“Perfect! Let’s get you set up…”

[to44y]

39 Role-Play Fantasies Every Gay Couple Should Try

By Alexander Cheves

39 Role-Play Fantasies Every Gay Couple Should Try

I snuck into the bedroom on all fours. I was tired. It had been a long day. My boyfriend at the time was sleeping on the bed. I started sniffing his neck until a sleepy grin formed on his face. When I knew he was awake, I licked him — a long, sloppy, wet lick up his cheek — then ran to the living room. 

I heard him behind me. “Where are you going, puppy?” I was being bad. I was on all fours, shaking my ass on the sofa in his direction. He pulled out his dick and said, “Here boy.” 

This is role play. Specifically, this is “puppy play” — a form of role play I love the most. Role play can be spontaneous or pre-planned, and as elaborate as you make it. At its simplest, role play happens when two adults consensually engage in an eroticized pretend game, a shared sex fantasy. And it is not limited to two adults — group role play offers some of the hottest sex experiences imaginable.  

Everything in the world can inspire role play. You could do sofa role play and have someone sit on you. The most iconic gay role play scenarios have been done and redone endlessly by gay porn companies because they work — “Daddy and Son” will never get old — but that does not mean you can’t try them out for yourself. Try these 39 role play scenarios for the adventurous gay couple. Use your imagination! 

A Word of Warning From Writer Alexander Cheves

My name is Alexander Cheves, and I am known by friends in the kink and leather community as Beastly. I am a sex-positive writer and blogger. The views in this slideshow do not reflect those of The Advocate and are based solely off of my own experiences. Like everything I write, the intent of this piece is to break down the stigmas surrounding the sex lives of gay men.

Those who are sensitive to frank discussions about sex are invited to click elsewhere, but consider this: If you are outraged by content that address sex openly and honestly, I invite you to examine this outrage and ask yourself whether it should instead be directed at those who oppress us by policing our sexuality.

For all others, enjoy the slideshow. And feel free to leave your own suggestions of sex and dating topics in the comments.

Hungry for more? Follow me on Twitter @BadAlexCheves and visit my blog, The Beastly Ex-Boyfriend. 

1. Construction Workers

As I write this, the house next door is being renovated. If you listened to them, you would think a gay porno was being shot outside my window. Lots of laughing and group camaraderie with one poor guy (the sub) making pained, grunting noises. He’s being paddled with what sounds like a wooden paddle wrapped in sandpaper. Just when I think the mean top is about to ease up, the sound of an electric drill starts, and the guys start laughing again. They’re playing old school country music and I imagine there’s lots of spitting. One of them literally says, “It’s a bitch.” 

Construction worker role play is a great group role play to get into if you can conjure up some buddies and orange vests — and you can even redo your kitchen in the process.

2. Sports Teammates

There seems to be more “locker room” gay porn than any other sub-genre. You know the scenario: a young freshman walks in the locker room among the beefy seniors on his football team, who have a nasty initiation ritual planned for him after practice. 

Accouterments of this play involve sports gear (a fetish all on its own), knee-high socks, gym shorts, copious amounts of sweat, and that wonderful camaraderie that forms when the group’s submissive guy gets bent over a bench press. 

3. Frat Boys

The gay porn site Fraternity X has capitalized on the fantasy of frat boy hazing. All their videos have the same basic narrative: a group of horny college guys are sitting around in a trash-strewn commons area drinking beer and watching TV when one bro starts running his mouth. Before long, his hands are tied and his mouth stuffed with someone’s underwear while everyone takes turns fucking him in a swivel chair. “Come on bro, it’s not gay if it’s with your brothers.” 

4. Brothers

When my ex-boyfriends and I visited new cities where no one knew us, we would sometimes say we were brothers. It was funny sometimes, a lark — other times, it was really sexy. At the local gay watering hole, we would tell the guys interested in us that we were related and see how many of them believed it. I’m not sure many did — especially when we got a little drunk and started making out on the dance floor — but they wanted to. Many guys have a brother fantasy. This is an easy one to role play in the bedroom, and there are endless imagined scenarios available to you: Big brother is visiting home from college and has to share your bedroom for a night. You two are close and like to wrestle, and one day the wrestling goes a little too far when one of you gets excited.

5. Strangers

Anonymous public hookups are rapidly becoming a thing of the past. Our mediated, digitalized hookup culture has all but replaced discreet staring contests in the gym and public cruising in parks and bathrooms. Many formerly cruisey places are more heavily watched now, and your success rate is inevitably lower. 

Also, some guys have some discomfort with completely anonymous sex. The risk of sexually transmitted infections is a factor — although, to be sure, someone who says they love you poses the same risk unless they’ve been rigorously tested. 

One solution to all these is to do anonymous role play with someone you know. If you want to play in public, plan to meet up somewhere that you are fairly certain will offer some privacy. If your fantasy is to anonymously pick up a stranger and take him back home, this is easier: just plan to meet somewhere (the gym, a bookstore) and watch him from across the room. Pretend you don’t know each other, and when the time is right, make that classic, subtle head nod — “Let’s get out of here.” 

6. Coach and Player

Another common gay porn scenario: the gruff, frustrated football coach tells his star quarterback to stay after practice for some additional training. For obvious reasons, this scenario works great for group role play as well. Who says the coach only has one MVP? 

7. Pup and Handler

Like many scenes in the world of kink, puppy play at its simplest is a form of role play. It falls under a broader category of role play types called “pet play.” In pet play, humans act stereotypically like different animals before and during sex. 

Like all forms of role play, puppy play is as simple or complex as you make it. Some pups — myself included — love the pup headspace and extend it past the bedroom into daily life. We do this by wearing collars, barking at/sniffing guys on the dance floor, and sitting/kneeling whenever our handlers/boyfriends say, “Sit.” 

There is an inherent power dynamic in puppy play, and many pups would say there is a Dominant/submissive relationship. Pups are automatically submissive to handlers. A good pup loves getting scratches, treats (sexual or otherwise), and led around on a leash by a handler. And while this is certainly not always the case, handlers are typically tops and pups bottoms (alpha pups being a common exception — see number 11). 

Puppy play is implicitly, if not explicitly, a sex role play, but some pups and handlers have removed the sex aspect of it and turned puppy play into a practice more akin to yoga — a de-stressing activity that frees them from the daily rigor of life. While I’m certainly not one such pup, I think that reveals something important about role play itself. There can be a therapeutic aspect to adult pretend games, if only because they remove you from your daily headspace and allow you to be imaginative. We know the positive effects that playing has on children, but few cultures have spaces for adults to do the same. 

8. Kitty and Cat Owner

This is like puppy play, but the submissive guy acts like a cat. This features of this role play are endless: rubber or latex cat suits, tail plugs, and felt mice dangling on a string. 

9. Pony and Rider

Pony play follows the same basic form as the other pet play types. Human ponies love neighing, wearing bits in their mouths (ones designed specifically for human pony play, as actual metal bits will break teeth), and being taken for a ride. The rubber, latex, and leather gear for pony play gets pretty elaborate and very costly, but I know some guys who have an almost quasi-religious dedication to pony play and are willing to fork over the cash. If Equus and all the endless bestiality porn on the internet reveals anything, it’s that horses inspire something very carnal and sexual in us humans. 

10. Pig and Farmer

In modern gay lexicon, a “pig” is a guy who loves bareback sex and male bodily fluids (cum, piss, spit, and sometimes scat), so it should come as no surprise that pig play has evolved as a form of pet play that typically involves all these things. Say “oink” when the farmer comes around with his fisting gloves — you’re in for a wild night. 

11. Beta Pup and Alpha Pup

There is nothing more fun than pupping out with another pup, which means barking, roughhousing, wrestling, licking, and rolling around on the bed with another guy that shares the pup headspace. If you’re a beta pup (submissive), you hope to pup out with an alpha — one that gets dominant when you start sniffing his groin. 

12. Slave and Master

The range of power dynamics in the world of kink can be explained by placing them on a spectrum. On one end, you have puppy play — a mild role play with a relaxed Dom/sub dynamic (some guys say there is not a Dom/sub dynamic at all). On the opposite end, you have Master/slave. Although extreme, Master/slave is still a role play — one that typically involves hardcore BDSM, leather, rubber, extreme bondage and restraint, temporary imprisonment, and long-term domestic service (washing, cleaning, yard labor, etc.), all in service of the Dom/Master. 

13. Doctor and Patient

You’ve undoubtedly seen these scenarios in porn. The restrained male patient needs an anal exam from the rugged doctor, who is conspicuously naked beneath his white coat and stethoscope. Doctor and patient role play is enhanced by a plethora of sex toys and kink supplies that fall under the “medical fetish” umbrella — speculums, metal douching nozzles, anal probes, white latex gloves, etc. 

14. Soldier and Drill Sergeant

This is a clear Dom/sub role play where the sergeant barks orders and the sub — I mean, the soldier — obeys. When sergeant tells you to drop down and lick his boots, you better drop down and lick his boots, private. Atten-shun! 

15. Ransom Victim and Kidnapper

Ransom/kidnap scenes typically involve a lot of bondage and duct tape. The full parameters of the play should be discussed before starting. Some guys might think the idea of being kidnapped and tied up is hot, but after three hours in a closet with duct tape over your mouth, you might feel differently. In the pre-play negotiation talks, you should set clear limits and boundaries. This role play is one that can be taken to extreme lengths — some guys love getting abducted from a public place and thrown in the back of a car — so you should only play with someone you know and trust (not a stranger or someone you met online). 

16. Daddy and Son

Many tops like being called “daddy” in the throes of sex, but daddy/son role play scenarios go a bit further. There is a lot of written and video daddy/son porn online, so explore the internet for ideas, because the scenarios are endless: Daddy sneaks into his son’s room at night while mommy is sleeping. Son comes home from college one day and catches his dad in the shower and decides to join. Son sneaks into his dad’s room one night to see his dad jerking off. Son forgets to clean his room and daddy decides it’s time for a spanking. Daddy and son are washing daddy’s car and they both get soaked and have to strip off their wet clothes. The fantasies are unlimited! 

17. Merman and Fisherman

Don’t lie, you’ve fantasized about walking down the beach and coming across a poor mer-boy washed ashore who needs help getting back out to sea. He will do whatever it takes. You might need to carry him. But first…. 

Aretwork courtesy of Fred Lammers. See more of his work here.

18. Baby and Parent

Baby role play commonly overlaps with diaper fetish and sometimes scat (feces) fetish. An adult baby will crawl around, cry, and eventually need someone to change his diaper.

19. Intern and CEO

For all its wincing misrepresentation of BDSM relationships, Fifty Shades of Grey touched upon a longstanding role play with a clear Dom/sub dynamic — low-level intern and executive CEO. Business tycoon and office boy. “Cancel my 3:30 meeting and crawl under my desk, boy.” 

20. Porn Star and Director

This one works great if you and your boyfriend like to film yourselves having sex. Strip for the camera as he directs you. He may eventually decide that this shoot really needs a second man, at which point he’ll begrudgingly have to step in as an actor/director. This role play obviously lends itself to groups, especially if you like to watch and direct others and be in control. 

21. Santa and Naughty Child

Christmas role play! When Santa finds out how bad you’ve been this year, he’ll have something more than coal to fill your stocking with. While a santa hat and some black leather boots should get you started, a hefty amount of playfulness and creativity is all you need to get on the naughty list this year. 

22. Cousins

This is like “brothers” role play, but considerably easier to accomplish if you do not, in fact, look anything like your boyfriend. Some guys are wigged out by immediate-family incest scenarios, but cousins? No problem. It’s perfectly acceptable to disappear off to the basement or woods during family reunions for some quality time, right?

23. Batman and Robin

The dynamic duo has been the source of superhero role play for much of the caped crusader’s long career. Their whole setup is kind of obvious, and pretty gay in itself: a wealthy older bachelor takes in a poor young house boy just to fight crime (in spandex and black rubber) every night? Please. 

See more of Philip Bonneau’s great photography here.

 

24. Batman and Superman

This power couple has inspired a plethora of gay fantasies (who’s the top? who’s the bottom?) and if you’re into cosplay, this role play is an easy one to get into. Unsurprisingly, a gay porn parody of the recent Batman vs. Superman: Dawn of Justice movie just hit shelves.

25. Uncle and Nephew

There’s a lot of gay porn modeled after the proverbial “gay uncle” that comes by the house and messes around with his in-the-closet teenage nephew. As you can see, anyone into incest fantasies has unlimited role play options to choose from.

26. Married Couple

This is only role play if you are not, in fact, married. Everything under the sun — including the sun — can be fetishized and inspire eroticism, especially a married couple (as opposed to boyfriends or simply two gay men who play together). This milder role play involves acting like a married couple before or after sex. If you’re non-monogamous, go out and introduce each other as your husbands the next time you’re in a new city, and interested guys will flock to you. Many guys, myself included, love being the third (or forth, or fifth) for a married couple.

27. Pirate and Cabin Boy

All hands on deck! This more imaginative role play goes great with costumes and props. What submissive guy has never fantasized about being the lowly cabin boy on a ship full of rough and restless pirates? The group scenarios are very sexy, and the role play necessitates a lot of rope and a gag — opt for a torn strip of cotton cloth instead of a ball gag. 

28. Teacher and Student

The handsome, bespectacled professor needs you to stay after class. You’ve been misbehaving and it’s time for a lesson in manners. If you want to paddle your student’s bum over a wooden desk, do not use an actual yardstick, because they break easily. Invest in a good wooden or rubber paddle designed for the job. 

29. Firefighter and Rescue Victim

You do not need to light your house on fire to enjoy this role play. It will simply require some creativity, and perhaps a firefighter’s costume, which you should be able to find at your nearest costume store.

30. Policeman and Criminal

“Officer, please don’t give me a speeding ticket. I’ll do anything.” 

“Anything?” 

This old-school role play scenario is not complete without a good set of handcuffs and a black police baton — or, even better, a baton dildo. Thanks to Tom of Finland’s Kake Comics, homoerotic group police scenarios will always be part of the gay canon. 

31. Warden and Inmate

There is a lot of “prison” and “psych ward” porn on the Internet that typically involves groups, handcuffs, straight jackets, cages, and intense BDSM and ass torture (one particularly intense enema porn scene comes to mind). These should give you some inspiration when it’s time to teach your unruly prisoner a lesson. 

32. Hitchhiker and Motorcyclist

This is another Tom of Finland inspiration — one that old-guard leather enthusiasts will be familiar with. Grab a pair of daisy dukes and stick your thumb out on the side of the road — your leather-clad biker boy will surely come along and take you for a ride. 

33. Priest and Sinner

The darkly kinky undertones of penitence and adulation, glory through suffering, and asking for forgiveness on one’s knees has created an massive fetish sub-genre in which religious iconography is integrated beautifully into sex play. This darker role play can get very raunchy with a priest’s robe, a rosary, robe, anal beads, a good leather flogger, a gag, and an unbridled imagination — crown of thorns not required. 

34. Rape Fantasy

Many forms of role play involve overpowering someone or being overpowered, but as soon as you add the word “rape” to any label, it pushes the descriptor into uncomfortable territory, and in the case of “rape fantasy,” intentionally so. “Rape” is a socially and politically charged word that automatically evokes something ugly and violent — as it should. While the kinky community has always embraced pushing the sexual envelope, we draw the line at consent. We stand by three tenets: play must be Safe, Sane, and Consensual.  

That last tenet, “Consensual,” is one that does the most work combating the still-heavy stigma and misunderstandings that people seem to have for kink — namely that it is a culturally condoned form of abuse and rape. While this misconception is not true, at least for not the international majority of kinky men and women, it is simply a fact that many people fantasize about non-consent scenarios. Talking about them and addressing them goes into murky territory. If you engage in “rape fantasy” role play, it must be role play — that is, it must be consensual, a carried-out fantasy, a sexual pretend game. While you and your boyfriend can pretend that your play is non-consensual, and use bondage gear and other kink supplies to enhance that idea, you should also use safe words and establish and respect limits to make sure that what your are doing is safe and healthy.

35. Interrogator and Prisoner

Interrogation typically involves some degree of bondage and BDSM. We’ve all seen hot interrogation scenes in action movies, where the hero is tied in some kind of predicament while the bad guy and his thugs question him. He always escapes at the last minute, but while he’s tied to the chair, guys into interrogation scenes are intensely aroused. This role play may seem more like a performance than a sex play, it can also get pretty intense. Some questions can strike a painful and emotional chord in someone, especially if they are hooded and blindfolded. You should discuss beforehand emotional limits as well as physical ones: What “no-tread” topics can the top/interrogator not ask?

36. Home Invasion

You’ve see it in porn: the handsome thief in a black ski mask breaks in and sees the muscular home owner sleeping in bed (with an all-too-obvious erection beneath the sheets) and decides to take what he wants. Sometimes this scenario gets flipped on its head — the home owner knows Jiu-Jitsu or something and handcuffs the thief to the bed: “You’re going to pay for this, punk.”

While it certainly nudges closer to “rape fantasy,” some guys into home invasion are not aroused by the sex aspect of it. Some guys get off on being held up or mugged, and their fantasy may simply involve someone entering their home and stealing their money. 

37. Airport Security

If you’ve ever had a fantasy of traveling to Berlin and being stopped by the German airport personnel, strip searched by seven muscular men in uniform in a sterile backroom, and rectally examined on a cold chrome table, you might be into role play scenarios involving airport security. 

38. Fantasy Characters

The idea of being fucked by a minotaur is in the upper echelon of my hottest fantasies (their pantheon includes getting fucked by an faun, getting fucked by Rocco Steele, and being stranded on a desert island with all the guys from high school and seeing who makes me his bitch first). Fantasy and its counterparts — anime, comics, video games, mythology — are playgrounds of hot role play. Carried out, they might seem pretty elaborate and require some dedication, and probably some makeup and prosthetics, but what better weekend pastime could you have? Imagine the refusal texts: “Sorry guys, Danny and I can’t come downtown tonight, he wants to role play as a satyr so I’m dressing up as an orc and fucking the shit out of him.” 

Orcs, by the way, are so hot. 

39. Daddy-Home-Early and Yard Boy

This is one of the oldest in the book. Bill comes home from work, loosens his power tie, drops his briefcase by the door, and sees the new yard boy his wife just hired through the kitchen window — young, shirtless, and bent over transplanting sod. Bill gets stirrings he never felt before, and before long he’s stroking his enormous penis in the window when the young man turns and sees him. The two have an uncomfortable five-second staring contest, then Bill calls him in — perhaps for a glass of lemonade — and the young man struts and sweats across the yard and closes the screen door behind him. 

And that, gentlemen, is how gay porn was made.

[halfwaythereroyal]

Leave Us Here (Javier Peña x F!Reader)

GIF credit: @petercapaldi

Pairing: Javier Peña x F!Reader 

Rating: Explicit. Smut. Unprotected sex (PSA: no love without the glove). Oral F! Receiving. Fingering. Lots of pining. Kind of angsty. 

Word Count: 3,600 words.

A/N: Thank you to everyone who liked my first fic. After I saw the responses about “And You Are?” I started writing this in the middle of the night and did not stop until 4 AM. Please enjoy, and let me know what you think!

👑 All my writing will be posted to my side writing blog from now on! 👑

Masterlist

_____________________________________________

If you asked me how a friendly goodbye ended up with my body entangled with Javier Peña’s on this scenic, rainy night, I couldn’t tell you.

Well. I could try.

It had been months and months on end, working at the Colombian embassy as a CIA agent. I had become somewhat of Peña’s and Murphy’s liaison whenever they needed CIA intel. All good and well with me since it gave me an excuse to talk to Javier.

Oh, Javier.

At first, I didn’t think much of him. He acted like a fucking dick whenever he worked with CIA, so my first impression was marred with rumors and stories I had heard of him from our coworkers. How he was impatient, obsessed, disrespectful, and a womanizer. Having to be his liaison and neighbor confirmed all these qualities.

As time went on though, he and I became closer. Small talk turned into friendly banter. Fleeting interactions turned into intentional time spent together. Sooner rather than later, his annoying qualities became ones I admired. He wasn’t impatient. He was insistent. He wasn’t obsessed. He was dedicated. He wasn’t disrespectful. He treated you the way you treated him. He was willing to do what’s right even though it broke the rules. He wasn’t…well actually…yes, he’s a womanizer.

Getting to know Javi these past few months, I understood why he is the way he is. For a man who didn’t keep relationships for long, he craved them. I saw how much he loves his family. There were many times I sat in his passenger seat, eating street food, while listening to his many stories of his family back home. The way he lovingly talked about his family had me hooked on every word, every expression, every gesture he made. He contributed his inability to keep an intimate connection with a significant other to the dangers of his job. He couldn’t afford to endanger anyone else especially with his line of work. Escobar was ruthless and despicable, and there was no line he wouldn’t cross to save his own ass.

As time went on, Javier became the highlight of my day. I looked for him in the winding halls of the embassy. I listened for his door to open and close when he came home from a late night yet again. I found my heart beating a little faster and a little louder every time I caught a glimpse of him. I found myself replaying every interaction we have ever had, every word, every smile, and every touch. I talked about him to my friends and family more than I would like to admit. I was fucked. I had fallen for Javier Peña.

Peña being linked to working with Los Pepes did not come as a surprise. Javi had already hinted to me that he was willing to do whatever it takes to take down Escobar and his associates. Him being sent home, however, came as a much bigger surprise. It stung to think of not having him here. He had worked so hard, sacrificed so much, only to be sent home and not be able to see the fruit of his work. I couldn’t even bear to see him pack up his desk to leave. Instead, I actively avoided any type of interaction at the embassy for his last few days, knowing it would hurt too much to say goodbye.

The night before he was scheduled to fly out of Colombia, there was a loud knocking at my door. It had been raining all day in Bogotá, so I was curled up on my couch with my oversized sweats and wine in hand. I wasn’t expecting anyone. With all the violence that had been happening, a CIA agent can never be too careful. My body immediately went on alert. I gently placed my wine glass on the coffee table, grabbed my gun, and crept toward the door. There was another set of knocks, louder than the first.

“Y/N? It’s Peña!” I stood on my toes and looked through the peep hole. Damn it, Peña. Didn’t he notice I was actively avoiding him? I unlocked and opened the door to reveal his handsome face. He was wearing a blue button-up shirt, and jeans that always fit him too well. I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t noticed. Or stared.

“What are you doing here, Peña?” I asked nonchalantly. Can’t be too eager, now can I? In reality, a warm and tingling feeling had bubbled up in my chest. I turned around and walked back to the living room. I could smell his cologne. I could feel his gaze burning holes at the back of my head. Javi took this as his invitation to come inside. He shut the door behind him and laid a pack of beer on my kitchen table.

“I haven’t seen you at work lately” he said. I sat on the couch to face him, brought my legs up, and tucked my feet under me. I looked at him basked in the yellow glow of my kitchen light. His chiseled features emphasized by the shadows cast on his face. He stood next to my table with his hand still on the drinks. He had his face scrunched, so that he had those lines in between his brows. I’m pretty sure it was permanently set that way. No amount of jokes I made could make those lines from his face disappear.

“I was busy.” Actively avoiding him. I took my wine glass from the table and took a sip. I put my free arm to hang on the back of my couch. “What brings you here?”

He took a beer out of the case he brought and opened it. “I wanted to spend some time together. For old time’s sake. One last time before I have to go.” I nodded and gestured to the spot on the other end of the couch. He sat down, took a sip of his beer, and leaned back. He pinched his nose bridge and blew out a long breath that felt like he was holding it in for a while. The lines in between his brows relaxed, but they remained visible and faintly scrunched. I really do think they have been etched into his skin. Whenever he got exasperated like this, I could almost swear his lips get a bit poutier. I gripped the back of my couch to stop myself from curling into his side. This man who has risked everything was sitting on your couch, looking for comfort. I wanted nothing more than to close the space in between us and feel his body relax into mine. I wanted to share in his worries and successes. To be there at his side. The smell of his cologne was almost overwhelming, willing me to draw closer. All these longing thoughts were easily halted by one plain fact flashing at the forefront of my mind.

He was leaving.

There was nothing that could be done about that. Javi was going to be leaving the next day, and I was staying here. Before my thoughts could continue spiraling into a pool of pining and pity, he spoke.

“I wanted to say thank you,” he looked at me with those brown eyes. Eyes that I often found myself lost in when he would talk to me. Eyes that are emblazoned into my mind at night as I play and replay our conversation from the day. “Thank you for everything.”

“You made it easy, Peña. I’m really sorry you don’t get to stay.” He fell quiet and looked off into the distance. He took another sip of his beer, leaned forward, and placed it on the coffee table. He put his elbows on his knees, and put his face in his hands. Almost instinctively, I set my glass down, moved closer, and put my hand on his back. I felt his back tense at my touch, and I immediately took my hand off. “Sorry I…”

“No, it’s okay.” He leaned back again on the couch. We were a lot closer than I thought. If I leaned my head forward, I would be touching him. My senses were heightened more than ever. The feel of his thigh against my knees. The heat of his body radiating to mine. The smell of his cologne, cigarettes, and beer all mixed into one to form an intoxicating cocktail that took every ounce of my self-control not to lean into. He was looking into my eyes as if searching for something. He was furrowing his brows, and my eyes were momentarily drawn to the pout of his lips. I saw his Adam’s apple bob up and down. I could feel him leaning closer and closer to me. So much so that I could feel every breath he took on my face. My mind and body were going haywire. Overanalyzing yet ready to abandon all thought and reason at the same time

He brought his hand up to the side of my cheek where it trailed a path to my hair. I felt him playing with my hair as we leaned even closer. His other hand took ahold of mine and brought it to his cheek. Time halted. My mind, analyzing every move he made, fell silent. The silence that engulfed in that moment was tense, intimate, and almost suffocating. He leaned forward, and I tilted my head forward, leaning my forehead against his. “What are we doing?” I whispered. I refused to look into his eyes, afraid of looking into them and seeing the realization of how stupid this moment could be for us.

“If you tell me to stop,” he brought his finger to my chin and tilted my head forward, meeting my eyes with his, “I will. You can tell me to walk out of this door right now, and I will.” I pondered his words, letting the silence hang in the air even longer. I stared into his eyes and found longing. It was as if something had clicked. My mind and body felt at peace. It felt…right. I brought my other hand up to fully caress his face and pulled him in to close the little space in between us. I felt the faintest touch of his lips on mine. “Javi,” I whispered, “Stay with me."

I felt him press his lips against mine. It was gentle. Bordering on timid. Not what I had expected at all from Javier Peña. He pulled away after a few seconds and touched his nose to mine. I couldn’t take it anymore. I moved one of my hands to tangle my fingers in the hair on the back of his head. I pulled him to me and all but smashed my lips on his. I must have taken Javi by surprise, because it took him a few seconds to respond. I felt him scrunch my hair in his fist. Our breaths got heavier and heavier as our lips moved with each other in a desperate dance to connect. He broke off from my lips to leave small kisses trailing from my mouth to my jaw to my neck. I felt his hands grip my waist, urging me to move up and allow him room. I obliged. He laid me down on the couch and settled his knee in between my legs. His kisses left a path of burning skin. Javier Peña was too much to take in.My mind and senses were muddled with the heat of his kiss. His hands on my body. The feeling of his arousal grinding on me as he kissed my neck. I tried to respond as best I can, acting purely on instinct. My hand stayed tangled in his hair while my other hand felt his arm. I often dreamed of him holding me in the very arms that encircled me now. I often fantasized what it would feel like for him to wrap his arms around me from behind, press his body against mine, and hold me.

He moved to the bottom of my sweater and pushed it upwards, asking if he could take it off. I raised myself up slightly, and he took it off and threw it on the floor. He brought his lips back to mine and snared me into another passionate kiss. My hands flew to the buttons of his shirt, attempting to undo them and failing in my haste. I groaned, both in arousal and frustration. I even tried to rip his shirt open in frustration before I felt his hands on top on mine. Javier laughed. He actually laughed. I opened my eyes and found the space in between his  brows to be free of those worry lines that often adorned his face. They were gone! I giggled as the tips of my fingers touched the faint lines that often made their residence there.

“Your worry lines are gone!” I smiled.

Javier held my wrist in his hand. His heavy gaze falling on my eyes. A soft smile remained on my face as he leaned his face into my hand and left soft kisses on the inside of my palm. My other hand was feeling the muscles and veins of his forearm. This, whatever this is, felt special. The world can wait tonight. Javier Peña was all that mattered to you right now.

He unbuttoned his shirt and threw it on the floor to join my sweater. In the meantime, I had taken off my sweatpants and started to unzip his jeans. He hastily got up and less than gracefully discarded his jeans, afraid to ruin the intimacy we had built. He joined me again in a heated kiss, and I felt his hands on my breasts, squeezing and groping.

“You have no idea…how much I have wanted you…liked you…never right time,” Javier muttered against my skin in between kisses. I moaned at his skilled touch. Javi took this as an opportunity to dip his tongue in to my mouth and wrestle with mine. He moved to kiss the tops of my breasts with an open mouth. I felt one of his hands slide towards my back. I arched my back, and he swiftly undid my bra and took it off to add to the growing pile of clothes. He placed hot, wet kisses to my nipples as his hand wandered down to my underwear. He slowly circled my clit, my underwear acting as a barrier, and yet not doing anything to downplay how Javi’s touch has affected me.

“Javi…oh my god, Javi. Mmmm…please. Please, I need you.”

“Tell me,” he whispered into my ear as he continued to rub circles that made me grow wetter and wetter for him. “Fuck I can feel you’re already so wet. Tell me what you want, querida. Tell me.”

“I need to feel you Javi. Please,” I moved my hand down to feel his arousal above his underwear. “I need…I need…ahhhhh.” Javi’s fingers had dipped into my underwear and slid his fingers up and down my pussy, spreading my arousal. He squeezed and played and circled my clit.

“You feel that, Y/N. You feel how wet you are? Tell me.” He whispered again.

“I want you in me, Javi. Please please please” I pleaded. He kissed the area beneath my ear, moving down to my neck, my chest, breasts, my stomach, until right above where I needed him most. I propped myself up and leaned against my elbows to fully look into his eyes. His eyes that could melt you even from afar.  He held my gaze as he slowly took off my underwear. He made his way back up my legs again by kissing the inside of my knee, my thigh, and then he paused. He looked at me and furrowed his brows in question. I bit my lip and nodded my head. He wasted no time in licking up from my pussy to my clit. He latched on to my clit while he inserted a finger into me.

“Holy shit, Y/N,” Javier whispered. “God, you’re so fucking tight.” My head fell back in pleasure. His touch felt electric, and my body felt like electricity was running through my very veins. My hand flew to grip his thick hair. A lifeline to keep me grounded in the blinding pleasure Javi was giving me. He added another finger and picked up the pace. The salacious sounds of Javi and me moaning as he fingered and licked my pussy at the most delicious pace filled the apartment. I felt my body tensing, my legs shaking, and my grip on Javi’s hair got tighter. He groaned, sending vibrations into my pussy. I balled my hand into a fist and slammed it on the side of the couch. “Oh my god, Javi please. I’m so…fucking…ahhh I’m so fucking close.” I was on the edge of sobbing, desperately seeking to come.

“Come on my face, querida. Let go and come for me.” Javi said in that damned husky voice of his. His fingers went in and out of me faster as he sucked on my clit. I squeezed my eyes shut as my back arched, his hands keeping a firm grip on my hips. I moaned out loud as my body spasmed in ecstasy. Javi groaned and prolonged my orgasm for as long as he could, licking my pussy as I calmed down from my high. I was still catching my breath when Javi had taken his underwear off then crawled up to kiss me. His body covered mine, and I couldn’t shake the feeling of being safe with him. He ground his hard arousal into me. I could taste myself on his tongue. This man was intoxicating, exhilarating, and dangerous at the same time. I couldn’t think of anything else outside of Javi and me. Right here. Right now.

“Fuck you’re so wet and tight. Are you ready for me, querida?” he muttered while continuing to grind into me.

“Javi, please. I want you. I need you inside me.” I reached down in between us and stroked him. He shut his eyes, threw his head back, and moaned. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he tried to keep it together. He put his hand over my hand that was currently on his cock.

“It’s about you tonight,” Javier said. “Let me.”

He positioned his dick for the tip to barely be entering my pussy. The sensation made me whine, needing more. He braced his weight on his elbows, and tucked his face into my neck. My hands went to his hair and his back. My legs wrapped around his hips, hugging him to me, afraid to let go. He slowly, ever so slowly, pushed himself inside of me. The sweet feeling of being stretched and filled clouded my mind. When he had pushed himself all the way to the hilt, he stopped. He looked into my eyes and whispered.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes.”

He built up the pace. He switched from slow and sensual. Passionate and rough. He constantly kept me on edge, guessing how he could possibly add even more to my pleasure. Whenever I felt close to coming, he would slow down the pace, making me groan in frustration and him laugh at my reaction. Whenever he wanted to keep building up the tension of my pending orgasm, he would either change positions or snap his hips into me in a rougher, faster pace. We were lost in a haze of kissing and touching and moaning and groaning. Javier Peña had an undeniable hold on me. I was on top with him fucking me from below in a blissfully quick pace when my body tensed up and shook as I came. I practically screamed, overcome with all the pleasure Javi had been giving me. Not once did he ever break his focus on my pleasure throughout the night. I was still in the midst of my orgasm when Javi wrapped his arm around me and crushed me to his chest. His fingers tangled themselves into my hair. He ground his hips into mine. His thrusts losing its rhythm.

“Where do you want me to come?” Javi asked, breathing hard, trying to hold on to some sense of sanity.

“In me. I’m on the pill. Come in me, Javi.” I kissed his neck as his grip on me tightened, keeping me to his chest. I felt him coming into me. Hot spurts filling me as he buried himself to the hilt, grinding against my pussy while gripping my ass. His delicious moans right in my ear. His hot breath fanned over my hair. When he finished, I felt him kiss my shoulder and my neck. He caressed my face with both his hands. He planted a passionate kiss on my lips.

“Where does this leave us?” I couldn’t help but ask. I just spent a mind-blowing night with the man I wanted for so long. This was the stuff of dreams and fantasy. He was the stuff of dreams and fantasy. And he was leaving.

He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and kissed my lips. I knew it. We had no choice. We had to leave us here. Wrapped up in the intimacy of our irrefutable connection. Knowing our attraction for each other would have to wait for the world. For now, however, the world can wait.

He looked into my eyes. “Leave us here.”

_______________________________________

Masterlist

[something-tofightfor]

He’s Not Here -Part 22

Pairing: Billy Russo x Reader

Word Count: 9070

Rating: M (language, violence, blood... you know the drill)

Parts 1-21 + the interludes and NSFW alphabet can be found on my Masterlist (link in bio)

Summary: In the aftermath of the Anvil launch party, you have no more reason to speak to Billy... but is this the end? How can you go back to life without him, even though you know he’s only a few miles away? And what happens as more time passes?

Author’s Note: We’re winding down. I initially thought that there would be one more part after this + an epilogue, but the epilogue turned into a 12,000 word MESS so I’m splitting it into two more chapters + the epilogue. 

(banner by @the-blind-assassin-12​) 

You’d been wrong to think that the Anvil party would be the last that you’d hear from Billy, and even though it shouldn’t have surprised you, it did. When you returned to the office Monday morning, there was a large floral arrangement waiting at the reception desk with your name on it, a card attached. What is he doing? You carried the vase to your office and closed the door, not wanting to open the card in front of anyone else, but at your first glance at the tiny rectangle, you realized that it didn’t matter. The arrangement had been addressed to you, but the card was made out to your entire work group, and it wasn’t signed from Billy - it was signed from Anvil. He didn’t even sign it himself. Fighting the urge to throw the card away, you instead propped it up against the vase, took a picture and logged into your company email account, sending a quick message to Billy, image attached. 

 Mr. Russo - 

So glad that we were able to help make Anvil’s launch party a success. Thank you for the flowers, we appreciate you thinking of us. Thought you’d want to see what we received on your behalf. 

 You read it over, cringing at the impersonal nature of the few lines. That’s what it has to be, though. No more… no more anything. Before you hit send, you remembered one final thing, adding it before your signature. 

 We’ll be going over the guest list today in order to mark off the attendees, and the ‘thank you’ cards will be sent before the end of the week. I’ll confirm when this is done. 

 You hit send without another thought, tucking the card into your top drawer before you stood, carrying the flowers into the lobby again and setting them on the table in the entryway. “Who are those from?” Erin stepped into the office, a coffee in one hand. “They’re gorgeous.” 

 “They’re from Bi- from Anvil.” You swallowed. “To thank us for the event. I thought that they should be out here where everyone can see them.” She leaned in, lowering her face to smell the blooms. “It’s really nice.” 

 “You know,” Erin remarked as she straightened up, turning her head to look at you. “These might be from Anvil, but…” She grinned. “They’re your favorite flowers.” Stunned, you looked back down, noticing for the first time that  she was right, the arrangement featured a few different types of flowers, but the majority of them were your favorites. I didn’t even…the color, too. Erin walked away, toward her office and you stared at the vase for a few seconds longer, trying to process what you were seeing. Why would he? He wouldn’t. It’s coincidence, that’s it. 

 Heading back into your office, you sat back at your desk, opening your email again to begin work for a new client, and saw a response from Billy using the Anvil account. 

 No need to confirm. I trust you to get them sent. Thanks again. It was almost perfect, from beginning to end. 

 Lieutenant William Russo, CEO, ANVIL 

 Despite the formality of the email, you knew that Billy had chosen his words deliberately again, and even though you tried to keep from feeling anything, you read the last line over and over, heart pounding. Beginning to end. Does he mean… his office and the hallway? I… You forced yourself to close the email, moving it to the folder you’d created as a record of all of your dealings with the contract. Enough. It isn’t happening. It’s over. That kiss was… You stared at your inbox silently, replaying the last kiss with Billy - the look that had been in his eyes, the way he’d touched you, apologizing for the way he’d left your apartment. Almost perfect? It doesn’t matter. Nothing changed. Scrubbing your hands over your face you tilted your head back, staring at the ceiling. “Get your shit together. It’s just a breakup.” 

 But it wasn’t, and you knew that no amount of convincing would make you believe otherwise. 

--- 

 The weeks passed, and while you didn’t hear from Billy again personally, you did hear from Curtis occasionally. The man stopped by your office every now and then on his way to and from the church where he held a veteran’s support group, providing updates on Frank when he had them, giving you small pieces of information about Billy every so often - even when you didn’t ask. The days lengthened and spring turned into summer - a hot one, causing brownouts throughout the city - but you kept busy. It seemed that your work with Anvil had put you on the radar of some important people, and your workload nearly doubled, requiring you to hire a new planner so that you didn’t have to turn anything down. Staying busy was nice, the extra money in your bank account was nice, and even getting to mingle with the New York upper class was nice, but you were lonely. 

 You knew that getting over Billy would take time, but you didn’t expect to feel as empty as you did when you thought of him, and it wasn’t until late July, when you showed up to another event with your new hire Marissa that you realized just how empty you were. He’s here. You saw him from across the room, dressed in a suit that the Billy you knew wouldn’t have been able to afford, and immediately froze. Luckily, he hadn’t seen you, and you took a few moments to watch him, noting that his face had thinned out slightly and his beard was trimmed with precision. His hair was back to how it had been before he’d shaved it off prior to his deployment, and you felt yourself smile as you watched him. He’s so confident. Even though the event wasn’t as upper crust as some of the ones you’d planned in the past, you were slightly surprised that he’d gotten an invite to it, since it had nothing to do with security. He’s good, I shouldn’t be shocked. 

 You’d just decided to walk over and say hello, proving that again, you could interact with him without making things awkward, when you watched as a redhead walked up to him, stopping at his side. You froze mid-step, eyes widening, and saw him move an arm, winding it around her body, his hand pressed against her back. No. He still hadn’t seen you, and so as she tilted her head up to look at him, her smile growing even though he didn’t look down at her, you turned on your heel and walked away, fighting back tears. I guess it really didn’t matter. --- 

In August, there was a pounding on your door one evening, after you got home from work. You’d already changed, and were relaxing on your couch, Netflix playing in the background. Who the hell? You opened the door, surprised to see Curtis standing at your doorstep, his hand still raised like he was going to knock again. “Curt? Is -” He shook his head, pushing past you and into your apartment, which wasn’t like him at all. “Curtis, what’s -” 

 “Frank’s awake.” You gasped, following the man deeper into your apartment and stepping into your kitchen to grab two beers, popping the caps off of the bottles. “He’s... thanks.” Curtis took a bottle from you, settling down onto the couch and you sat across from him in your armchair, leaning forward. “I went to see Billy first, to tell him, and then I came to you because Frank’s… he’s got no one else.” You had tried not to think of Billy, not wanting your most recent memory of him to be with his arm around another woman,  but let your mind wander to him then, choosing to remind yourself of the way he’d been with you at the church, his hand holding yours tightly, eyes full of emotion. 

 “Is he… does he know? Wh-” Curtis laughed, but the sound wasn’t humorous, and your heart immediately dropped. 

 “Yeah, he knows.” Curtis took a long drink of beer, meeting your eyes. “I only know that he’s awake because he came to see me.” What? 

 “He’s out of the -”

 “Not supposed to be.” Curtis ran his free hand over the top of his head, shaking it back and forth. “He ah, he woke up, I guess, a few days ago, and when he remembered? He went nuts. Broke himself out of the…” Curtis shook his head. “He’s weak, but Frank’s never... He’s never let that stop him before, he... “ Curtis met your eyes. “He’s gonna go after ‘em, after ‘em all, and he doesn’t care what happens to him.” You leaned back, your hand over your mouth. After them? Does that mean… “He needs a couple days, just to get his bearings, and then… I don’t blame him, you know? If that was my family? I’d be…” Curtis trailed off. “He came to me because he trusts me, and I’m tellin’ you because I didn’t want you to…” Curtis looked down. “I don’t know what happened between you and Billy. It’s none of my business, but he’s different now. I see him once a month when he drops off a donation check for my group, but he… he won’t talk to me anymore.” Curtis swallowed the last of his beer. “He can’t help Frank, not publicly, and I don’t even think Frank would think to go to him, I don’t even think he knows Billy’s still in town, but… shit.” Curtis stood. “Don’t be surprised if Frank Castle shows up at your door’s all I’m sayin’.” 

 “Thanks, Curtis, I…” You stood too, reaching out to touch his arm. “You didn’t have to tell me, so I …”

 “I knew Billy wouldn’t.” Curtis smiled sadly. “And seein’ someone you think is a ghost? That shit’s never fun.” He left soon after that, leaving his bottle on the counter and squeezing your shoulder before he stepped back into the hallway. Frank’s… he’s… You wanted to call Billy, wanted to talk to him, wanted to know what to do next, but couldn’t, the image of the redhead flashing before your eyes along with the way his hand had looked against the black material that was stretched over her back. He used to… You refused to be that woman - the one that didn’t get the hint, the one that wouldn’t let things go, and so you didn’t call Billy, instead looking around every corner for Frank’s face, keeping your ears trained to the hallway of your apartment building for his heavy footsteps. But Frank didn’t show up at your door - and then, one morning, you saw him on the front cover of just about every newspaper in New York City … and they were calling him The Punisher. 

 --- 

 You kept your distance but monitored the case as his team of lawyers built it. You didn’t recognize the two men that appeared on camera with Frank, talking about his trial and what they hoped to accomplish, but Curtis told you all about them, and about the woman that was also working on the case with them, a young blonde named Karen Page. Curtis smiled as he talked about them, and you could hear in his voice that he believed they’d get Frank off, or at the very least, be able to reduce whatever sentence he was given if he was found guilty. “Billy offered to pay his legal fees, but ... “ Curtis shook his head, and though you winced, you had no other reaction to the use of Billy’s name. Good for me. “Frank said no, said he didn’t need a handout.” That’s not what it is, he’d do anything for Frank, anything to help, and… 

 But you knew that like Billy, Frank was a proud man, and even though Billy’s intentions were good, he’d never accept the help. Stubborn, those two. You smiled at the thought, and as Curtis left you alone in your apartment again, you thought about reaching out to Billy, seeing how he was taking the media accusing Frank of being a murderer… but again, stopped yourself. If he wanted to talk to me, he’d reach out. The trial continued, and you followed the reports - Frank’s old war buddies and superiors - including Schoonover - testifying on his behalf. Will Billy? Will he… they were together, he can vouch for how much he… You waited and watched, but Billy never took the stand, his name was never associated with Frank’s publicly.

 It was a shock to you when the trial ended with Frank being sent to prison, and though you cried on your couch for a long time after you heard the news, you knew that there was nothing you could do. That poor man. Loses his family, gets shot, has to relive it when he wakes up, goes through a trial... You couldn’t imagine Frank - a decorated and competent Marine - wasting away behind bars, living with the pain and guilt of what he’d lost for the rest of his life, and yet when you heard that he’d escaped, you were in disbelief. It wasn’t that you didn’t think that Frank was capable of breaking out of prison, but you didn’t know what he’d do next. 

 You hadn’t had to wait long, and when, in November - only a few days before his birthday - the papers reported that Frank had been killed in an explosion down on the docks, along with a bunch of other men, you felt relief. I shouldn’t feel this way. But you did - relief mixed with a numb feeling at the thought that Frank was no longer suffering, that he wasn’t chasing after ghosts or missing his family. You got drunk by yourself on your couch that night, drinking for Frank and Maria and the kids, for all of the other people that had died, and for Billy, who you knew would be taking it hard. He’d lost Frank over and over, and you knew that Frank’s confirmed death wasn’t just Billy losing a friend - he’d lost a brother, too. Hope you’re OK, Billy. 

 --- 

 It was strange to you to think about the holidays, but you didn’t want to let yourself wallow in the thought that you’d be spending them alone, so you’d set up your tree, spending a few hours stringing lights and ornaments on it, the actions reminding you of the year before - when you’d decorated, knowing Billy was thousands of miles away in the desert, and the year prior, when he’d been there to help you, hanging a few of the ornaments with his long fingers, holding the tree in place while you tightened the screws into the trunk. And he’s only a few miles away now. Even the thought sounded bitter in your head, and you shook it from side to side, trying to let it go. People get broken up with every day. You’re not special. You’re not… he had someone else with him a few months later, get over him. But you couldn’t help yourself - attaching a thin chain through the hole of Billy’s dog tag and hanging it front and center, thumb rubbing over the bottom of it, the embossed NO PREFERENCE taking on an entirely different meaning to you. 

 Thanksgiving passed - you spent it with Erin and Jack, and actually enjoyed yourself - and then you started the final push into Christmas, four events in the span of a week and a half before things slowed down, giving you a chance to catch your breath and finish up your shopping - gifts for cousins out of state, coworkers and friends … but nothing big, nothing flashy, nothing like the previous two years. You hung up the cards you’d received, placed the wrapped packages beneath your tree and remembered, trying not to think about the fact that if you were alone, it meant that Billy was, too. He doesn’t spend holidays with women, doesn’t… It was a small comfort, because you didn’t think that he’d been lying to you about it, at least not then. But you don’t know him now, you don’t … it’s been six months. 

 You kept yourself busy for Christmas, going to the movies on both Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, stopping in for takeout on your way home from the theater, but on New Year’s Eve, you couldn’t help yourself, taking  a cab the short distance from your apartment to Billy’s, bundled up because this year, it was snowing. This is it. Say goodbye to him. He doesn’t get to come into the new year with you. It was a nice thought - in theory - and while part of you hoped that Billy would be sitting on the top of the building in his chair, or at least standing in the shelter of the doorway, the top of the building was deserted, the snow falling around you in thick flakes. He’s not… You felt your eyes fill with tears as you stepped away from the door and toward the wall where you’d first stood with him and then had stood by yourself, again taking your place, gloved hands resting on the brickwork. It was quiet, the only sound the wind that was blowing around you, and even though you’d gotten there a little after 11 and it was much colder than it had been the two previous years, you vowed to stay until midnight - for Billy and for yourself. I hope wherever you are, Billy, you’re… You didn’t know how to finish the thought. Happy? It had likely been one of the worst years of his life, so you doubted he was happy. Not alone? You thought that he likely would be, but if he wasn’t up on the rooftop - something he’d said was tradition for him whenever he was home - you didn’t know where he could be...or who he would have been with. Curtis? You hoped that’s where he was, but didn’t know if Curtis even knew that it was Billy’s birthday. You shivered, leaning against the wall and pulling your scarf tighter around your cheeks and chin, looking out over the city. You could make out the lights through the snow; it seemed like the flakes were decreasing in intensity, and when you checked your watch, you were surprised to see that it was only a few minutes to midnight. 

 Setting an alarm, you stuck your phone back into your pocket. Ten minutes. Ten minutes to say goodbye. And you did - lowering your head and thinking about all of the moments that had led you to that night - seeing Billy from across the room, looking out of place and bored next to Emily, the way the two of you had spoken easily at The Crown that first night, the way he’d kissed you before you left him on the sidewalk, steadfast in your hesitation to go home with him. You remembered rescuing him from the bad date, remembered taking him home when he’d been drunk, sleeping next to him for the first time and waking up to his scent and the feel of Billy’s weight on the mattress next to your body. You remembered the date at the zoo, remembered going home with him and knowing that something had changed. It didn’t, though, not that day. 

 You knew that you’d been just another girl at that point, even though you’d been his friend too, but you remembered the months leading up to his first deployment after meeting you, the way you’d finally bared some of your emotions to him on the morning he’d left, the way he’d called and written to you while he was gone. You felt your knees give out and you sunk to them, the snow soaking through your jeans quickly as you remembered him surprising you at the bar, nearly dragging you to his place, the way you’d had to ground him and keep him in the present - the way he’d sounded scared to ask you if you wanted him. All of them - all of the memories overwhelmed you, but you couldn’t stop, the tears rolling down your cheeks as your body shook, hands pressed flat against the brick wall in front of you for support. Memories of Billy taking care of you while you were sick and talking about Carla, posting the picture of you to his Instagram, visiting him in the hospital after he’d been shot,  telling you about his birthday and then telling you that he loved you, the way you’d worked on opening Anvil throughout almost the entire time you’d been together, the way he’d made you feel in the days leading up to his last deployment. 

 You remembered how empty you’d felt after he walked out of the apartment, how relieved you’d been when you heard from him, the way he’d promised you things - all of the things you’d wanted to hear, telling you that it would be OK, that he’d be there for you when you needed him - just like you’d be for him. You remembered how he’d changed as he got closer to his return date; his gaunt face, the bruises, the vague answers… the way he’d scared you half to death when he called you, bloody and broken - and then showed up in your apartment again less than a week later, the changes in him forgotten as he held you again, telling you that he loved you, that he’d found a way to open Anvil, that you were about to have everything you’d ever wanted, things becoming more real when he’d shown you the facility and held you close to him for long hours against the surface of his desk. 

 But you also remembered the look in Billy’s eyes as he’d ended things with you, the way he’d clung to you in the hospital and then again at the funeral. You calmed yourself down slightly as you remembered the Anvil party, the way he’d been honest and open with you, questioning you - and then kissing you goodbye for the last time, apology and anguish and finality in the action. This is how it has to be. You opened your eyes, not even feeling the cold anymore and straightened up, eyes fixed on the wall in front of you. I won’t stop loving you, Billy, but this is how it has to be. I can’t do this to myself anymore. I won’t. You took a long, deep breath and blinked, pulling a glove off to wipe at the skin beneath your eyes. “I love you, Billy Russo. And you might not be here, but… you’re not alone on your birthday. I can still give you that.” The words were ripped away from you by the wind, and you closed your eyes, standing slowly. “Happy birthday, Billy.” Falling silent, you stared out over the city, snow still falling, and a moment later, your phone’s alarm went off, followed by the booming of fireworks across the city, the colors cutting through the clouds and the snow. 

 You stayed where you were for a few minutes after the celebration ended, slipping your hand back into your glove before you turned around, ready to head back down the stairs and catch a ride home when you froze in your tracks. Stopping only a few feet behind you, a second set of footprints was visible in the freshly fallen snow. You stepped forward, again dropping to your knees. Billy? He was? It could have been anyone - and knowing that someone had been so close to you should have scared you, but it didn’t, especially when your eyes landed on a single empty beer can stuck into the snow next to the prints. I didn’t even hear him, how did he… But it was Billy, and you knew that he was quiet when he needed to be. Why didn’t he say anything? You stood again, covering your face with your hands, and thought. I said goodbye to him tonight, I need to… he didn’t want to talk to me, he would have… 

 But you’d made up your mind and as you hurried back down the stairs, heart thudding in your chest. Taking the elevator to his floor, you exited it, knowing that you looked like hell, and not caring as you hurried toward his door, knocking quietly. There was no answer at first, and you knocked again, breathing hard. The door opened and you felt your breath catch as you saw a man’s face peeking out from behind the door. “Where’s… where’s Billy?” The man blinked, shaking his head. 

 “Who?” You furrowed your brow. “You’ve got the wrong apartment, lady.” 

 “My friend lives here, Billy? Billy Russo? He -”

 “It’s after midnight, lady. I moved in here in September, you’ve got the wrong place.” He rolled his eyes. “Your friend musta moved without tellin’ you.” Without another word he shut the door, and you heard the lock click as he turned it back into place. Billy’s… he moved? But then… You backed away from the door slowly, turning back to the elevator. Guess this really was goodbye. 

--- 

 Billy no longer living in his old building meant that aside from knowing his phone number, email, and the address for Anvil, you had no way to contact him. You had no reason to email him for work, wouldn’t show up at the warehouse unannounced and knew that calling him would do no good, so finally - with reluctance, you pushed him as far into the corner of your mind as possible. You still thought of him occasionally, but it was good memories, and the first time you’d seen an Anvil ad splashed on a billboard in the subway, you’d actually smiled, pulling your phone out and taking a picture. Billy’s face wasn’t on that one - but there were others  that you saw too, ones that were used on the company’s social media accounts that featured him prominently. You saved some of those, adding links to your portfolio so that other potential clients could see what you were capable of - and what you were proud of. 

 Billy made public appearances, too, and was on the guest list for a few of the events your company worked on, mostly for politicians, but you knew that most of their contracts were overseas, so hearing about him working jobs in the United States was rare - but you knew that it happened. As the one year anniversary of the launch party came and went - marking the last time you’d seen Billy in person - you finally felt something that wasn’t loneliness when you thought of Billy. You’d stopped waiting for his call, stopped hoping that you’d hear from him, stopped wondering if you were going to see him somewhere … and while it felt disloyal, it didn’t feel like anything you could change, and so you stuck to it. You still loved him, sure, and were reminded of that love each time you opened your storage locker and saw the box of his things that you’d scrawled “B. Russo” on in black permanent marker before tucking it away, but it had been months since you’d pulled it out and looked through it, months since you’d cried over the man that had once told you he wanted a future with you. 

 It’s just clothes. Clothes and books and… “It’s all bullshit, right Billy?” His words to you echoed in your ears, but you still didn’t think he’d been correct in saying that - though the clothes that were in the box certainly didn’t fit in with the image you knew that he preferred for himself as CEO. The pictures of the two of you and Billy’s dog tag were still in your apartment, where you felt they belonged, but as summer turned to fall again - the second one without Billy in your life, you looked at them less and less. It wasn’t that you cared any less about Billy, or didn’t want to remember what it had been like with him in your life, but the more you thought about it, the more you just didn’t see the point in trying to hold on. 

 There was no hope - he would have contacted you if there had been. There was no chance he was going to waltz back into your life in any capacity, especially not after being out of touch for almost 16 months, and while you still felt a pang when you remembered the feeling of his lips against your skin in the hallway of Anvil, or thought about the way he smelled, or heard his voice in your head in the moments you did think about him, you didn’t let yourself dwell on things. You knew that it was just a matter of time before you broke down, but you almost looked forward to it, because you’d feel something again - and aside from the happiness you felt when it came to work, your emotions had been in short supply post Billy Russo. 

 In November, your office was evacuated after a series of bombs went off in nearby buildings, sending ash and smoke throughout the rooms you occupied, and you rushed home, wanting nothing more than to lock yourself in your apartment and watch the news. You were scared - that wasn’t up for debate - and you spent the next day glued to your TV and the radio, listening as Karen Page went toe to toe with the suspected bomber on a radio show, only answering your phone when Erin called in a panic. “Hey, so I just got a call from some senator that said he got our name from... “ She paused. “From William Russo.” You felt your heart rate quicken, but Erin continued to speak before you could answer. “He wants to throw a fundraiser at the Roosevelt the day after tomorrow, and wants us to -”

 “Erin, we can’t. We don’t have the time, we’re not equipped to…” Why is Billy involved with this… why would he recommend… “We’re not even in office until they get it cleaned up, and we don’t… you’ll have to tell him no, I’m…” You swallowed, picturing Billy’s long fingers handing your card over to someone else, your name leaving his lips. No, don’t do that, don’t… “I wish we could do it, Erin, but…” You trailed off as the image on the TV screen changed, and your jaw dropped. What the fuck… “Erin, turn on the news, I…” You reached over, pushing the volume button up. “Frank Castle is…” 

 Holy shit. You hung up, leaning forward and staring at the TV, watching as a short dashcam video showed a man that appeared to be Frank Castle sliding over the hood of a car. Frank’s alive? Thoughts jumbled, you spent the rest of the day in a haze, alternating between watching the news and searching for more information online. But as darkness fell that night, you swore out loud again as you thought of Billy. What does… Does Billy know… did he… did Frank… why… Thoughts completely scattered, you paced your living room for an hour, thinking. Frank being alive changed a lot of things, and while you were almost positive that he hadn’t had anything to do with the bombings, you didn’t know what kind of state of mind he’d be in, especally if the other rumors you’d read about were at all true. 

 You slept - fitfully - and when you woke up the next day, it was more of the same, watching the news, trying to get work done from home, and wanting desperately - for the first time in months - to call Billy, if only to hear his voice. You can’t do that. You knew it, but it still wasn’t easy to stick to it, and when, the following day, the news of another bombing - this time at the Roosevelt Hotel - made the news, you collapsed onto your couch, TV remote clutched in your hands. We would have been there. We would have… Eyes wide, you leaned back, covering your face. This is fucked. You slept that night with Billy’s dog tag in one hand, fingers closed around it tightly, and dreamed of his eyes, of his voice in your ear telling you everything would be OK. 

 Late the next afternoon, there was a knock on your door, and even though you didn’t want to see anyone, you moved to answer it. It only took you a few seconds to make it from your kitchen to the door, but the knocking continued. With a frown, you checked the peephole, seeing an unfamiliar woman standing in front of your door. Who the hell? You cracked it, making sure the chain was still attached, and peeked through the opening. “Can I help you?” The woman said your name, her dark eyes locked on yours and you nodded, confused. “Yes?”

 “My name is Dinah Madani, I’m the acting Special Agent in Charge with New York’s Homeland Security department… may I come in?” She held up a badge and offered you a tight smile. “I just have a few questions.” 

 “About Frank?” You spoke without thinking and swore to yourself, trying to keep your face neutral. “I haven’t seen him since before his last deployment, so -” The woman laughed, but it was a bitter sound. 

 “No. Not about Frank. About Billy Russo.” The numb feeling returned as soon as the woman said his name, but you heard in her voice that this wasn’t just a job for her. What did you do, Billy? “May I come in?” You stepped back, closing the door without saying anything, and removed the chain, reopening it to see the petite woman’s full body. “Thank you.” 

 “Can I get you something to drink?” You turned away from her, stepping toward the kitchen. “I have -”

 “Water would be great.” You heard Dinah’s voice from behind you, and after grabbing two bottles from your refrigerator, you returned to your living room, seeing the woman standing in front of your bookshelves, where a picture of you and Billy was still displayed. “When was this taken?” You knew what picture it was - could have given her the exact date, but chose not to. That’s my memory. “It was…” You stepped closer to her, holding the bottle out to her. She took it and then you reached past her, picking the frame up and looking down at it. “Before he deployed the last time, so… January...the year before last?” You shrugged, setting it back down on the shelf. “It was a long time ago.” 

 “If it was such a long time ago, why do you still have it out?” She turned to face you, her eyes narrowed. ‘Are you and Russo -”

 “No.” You lowered yourself onto your chair and gestured toward the couch, taking a long drink of water. “No, Billy and I aren’t anything anymore.” You watched her face for a reaction but there wasn’t one. “He and I split up last spring, pretty close to when he got back home from…” You closed your eyes. Don’t lie to her, but don’t tell her anything, either. “My company - we plan events - did the party for Anvil’s grand opening, but that was the last time I saw him in person, and that was a year and a half ago.” 

 “Were you two together long?” Dinah leaned closer to you, lips pressed together lightly. “You and Russo, how’d you meet? Did you -”

 “With all due respect, Agent Madani, I have no problem answering your questions about my past relationship with Billy, but I’m curious as to why you’re asking.” You frowned, tilting your head to the side. “I haven’t seen or talked to him in more than a year, and I don’t know what you think I can help you with now.” You shook your head. “He’s got his company and I’ve got mine, and he’s referred clients to us, I know that for a fact because they’ve told me, but it’s been -”

 “You knew Frank Castle, too?” She cut you off, setting her shoulders. “Did you know he was alive?” What? 

 “I saw him on the news the other day, if that’s what you mean, but I… I thought he died last year, when that boat exploded, and…” You shook your head. “Billy and I broke up, and then Frank’s family, and…” You heard the tremor in your voice, fighting to keep it under control. “Actually, I’d rather not talk to you about how Billy and I met or go into details about how long we were together, but it was a serious relationship.”

 “To you, at least.” She scoffed. “I know Billy Russo, and I know that…” No you don’t. She turned her head, looking toward your balcony. “He’s a good liar.” You sucked in a breath, unable to stop yourself, and Dinah smiled, the look in her eyes cold. “You know it’s true.” In that moment, you knew that her visit was personal, that something had happened between her and Billy, and from her interest in your relationship with him, you could guess what that something had been. “And you haven’t seen him?”

 “Billy?” She nodded. “No, I already told you that, I haven’t seen him since Anvil’s launch party, except on TV and on those billboards.” Your words were guarded, and you stared at Madani, eyes moving over her. “Did he do s-”

 “He’s done a lot of things.” She stood, setting her unopened bottle of water down onto your table. “And he’s about to pay for them.” What? What does that mean? “You’re lucky that he left you when he did, otherwise…” She paused, smiling at you. “Otherwise he would have gotten you involved in all of this.” All of this? What? “I wonder how many lies he told you.” She scoffed, shaking her head, brown curls bouncing with the motion. “Everything he says is a lie, did you know that?” 

 “Agent Madani.” You took a drink of your water, pausing before you swallowed, never taking your eyes off of her. Don’t give her what she wants. “When Billy and I were together, I never had any reason to believe that he was lying to me - about anything.” Except what he was doing over in Afghanistan. “I knew what his reputation was, I knew what he was like, and I…” You glanced down and then looked back at her. “It didn’t matter to me. And it still doesn’t. It wasn’t a bad breakup, it wasn’t a fight, it wasn’t… we’re just not together anymore, and that’s it.” You stood, noting the frustrated look on her face. What, did she think we were going to bond over things ending with him? “I know nothing about whatever he’s got going on now.” Deciding to be honest with her, you took a deep breath. “I loved him, and I thought that… I thought a lot of things, I guess. But we broke up, Agent Madani, and that’s all I can tell you. I have nothing bad to say about him, so if there’s nothing else, I’ll ask you to leave. I can’t help you.” And even if I could, I wouldn’t. 

 “I’ll leave you my card.” She looked you up and down before reaching into her back pocket for her wallet, holding out the thin, white placard to you. “If you think of anything, or if he calls you or comes here, let me know.” She smiled at you, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “We both know a thing or two about what it feels like to be -”

 “Have a good day, Agent Madani.” It was your turn to cut her off, stepping to your door and pulling it open. “The elevator on the right is slow, so if that one comes first, you might want to wait for the other one.” She chuckled, wrinkling her nose as she walked past you and to the door. 

 “He’s not a good guy.” She turned to look at you after taking a few steps into the hallway. “You don’t need to protect him.” You bit your lip, shaking your head. You’re wrong. 

 “There’s nothing to protect.” She stared at you for a few seconds and then turned and walked away, her heels clicking against the floor. Shutting the door, you turned the lock and then pressed your back against it, closing your eyes. What are you doing, Billy? What’s going on?  You moved through your apartment for the rest of the night, restless and wondering why Billy would have jumped into bed with someone like Madani, and ended up dragging out your tree and Christmas decorations, staying up until early morning decorating before you fell into bed and passed out, the thin piece of metal held in your hand again. 

 You met with Erin at your office the next afternoon, surveying the damage and the cleanup, and it was decided that you’d be able to return at the end of the week at the latest. Some time off will be nice. You’d still be planning the events that you were working on, but you had nothing scheduled until the beginning of December, and could work just as well from home as you could in office. You were kidding yourself, though, when you said that you were going to get work done, because all you could think about was Frank and Billy, about Madani, wondering what exactly was going on. I’ll never know, I won’t… they don’t… You got another night of fitful sleep, spending the day napping and trying to focus on work, but when there was another knock on your door, you welcomed the distraction, even though you had no idea who it was. Sighing, you pulled the door open without checking first, the chain only allowing you a few inches of visibility. “Yeah?”

 “Can I come in?” Your hand froze on the knob and you raised your eyes to look into the hallway, your breath catching. Billy. “I-” You shut the door all the way and undid the chain, opening it fully. It’s been too long, he… He was carrying a box, his arms wrapped around it and without saying anything else, he stepped into your apartment, moving over to your kitchen table and setting it down, shaking his arms out and letting the duffel bag he had over his shoulder fall to the floor with a dull thunk. You watched him flinch, your eyes moving over his figure without shame. I’ve missed you so much. He seemed taller and leaner than you remembered, his hair messy and slightly overgrown, beard thick. He looks so tired. “I know I shouldn’t be here.” He turned to face you, looking you up and down. “But I had to…” He closed his eyes. “I needed…”

 “It’s been…” You stopped, hearing how strained your voice sounded. “How…” You could feel your heart pounding in your chest as the two of you stared at each other, Billy’s eyes wide but focused, and you fought to stay in place, to not run the few feet to him. Why are you here? “Billy.” You finally said his name and the single word drove him into action, Billy taking a few steps toward you but stopping before he actually touched you, his arms hanging by his sides. Up close, you could see that he was, in fact exhausted, but the look in his eyes didn’t match the rest of him; you saw regret, an agony that you’d never seen before from him. “Are you... ?” He smiled at you, lowering his head, but didn’t answer for long moments, giving you a chance to make the first move. Fuck it. 

 You reached forward with both hands, one of them automatically going to his cheek and the fingers of the other hand pushing through his hair and urging it back into place. It was as soft as ever, but instead of looking up at you, Billy kept looking down, his hands not moving. You were both quiet, the hand in his hair moving slowly through it as a thousand thoughts ran through your mind, questions that you wanted answered. He’s here, but it doesn’t mean he’s staying. “I missed… missed you touchin’ me.” He finally looked up, meeting your eyes. “I wanted to…” He stopped again, turning his head to kiss the palm of your hand, and you sucked in a breath at the feel of his lips against your skin. “Goddammit.” He swore quietly but didn’t move. 

 “Do you want to sit, Billy? We don’t need to -”

 “If I sit, I won’t want to get up, and I need to… I got somewhere to be.” He drew his lower lip into his mouth, eyes shining. “Somewhere important to be, an’ my word… it still...” He took another step forward and you didn’t back away, your hand dropping to his shoulder and the other one curved around the back of his head. “I got so much I want to tell you.” So tell me. Tell me, Billy. “But I can’t, there’s no time. There’s no more goddamn time, and I…” He reached up, fingertips hovering over your cheek and you nodded once, never looking away from his eyes. With your permission, he touched you, his right arm wrapping around your waist and the left pulling your head toward his, urging your bodies to meet. 

 He held you tightly and you clung to him, trying to make up for seventeen months of no contact in the span of a few seconds, but he didn’t pull away when you expected him to, instead tightening his hold on you. “Billy, what -”

 “I couldn’t come until I knew it was safe…” He spoke the words without moving away from you, his chin moving against your shoulder. “You don’t… you were… I couldn’t risk it, I needed to know…” You didn’t understand, but didn’t interrupt him either, trying to commit every second of him to memory. “None of it was…” He straightened up, saying your name. “Look at me.” You did as he asked, your hands moving to his arms, sliding down and over the material of the black quarter zip he wore. “None of it mattered. None of it was… none of it was what I wanted, do you understand me? None of it.” You didn’t, not fully, but you nodded. “I did a lot of bad shit, but you weren’t - they weren’t ever supposed to be a part of it, and then they were, and I had to…” He shook his head. “It’ll all make sense soon enough, I promise, but you gotta know that I had to do it for you. There was never any other choice for me, not even…” Billy was talking quickly, as if the words pained him to say them, but he was staring into your eyes, the look in them serious. “They’re all dead now, none of ‘em can get to - that’s why I came here.”

 “Who? Dead? I don’t -”

 “Schoonover. Wolf. Morty Bennett. Rawlins.” Billy said the last name as if the word was poison and you gasped at the word, grip on him tightening. “All of ‘em, and it’s just me. Just me an’ Frankie left, and…” What? “And that’s...that’s it.” You stared up at Billy, waiting, but he didn’t say anything else. 

 “I missed you, Russo.” It was the only thing you could think to say, and it was the truth. “I didn’t want to admit it, wouldn’t call or come to find you, but I... “ He watched you silently. “I went to your building last New Year’s, Billy, for your birthday, and I, I said goodbye to you, because I didn’t…”

 “You were wearin’ your blue coat and that gray scarf.” He smiled at you, his fingers sliding along your hips, thumbs extended upwards on your sides. “I saw you, I watched you - watched you kneelin’ on the ground and crying.” You felt the tears fill your eyes as you nodded at him. “I heard you tell me you loved me, tell me happy birthday.” 

 “Why didn’t you -”

 “I wanted to. I should have.” Billy wet his lips. “But I couldn’t. It wasn’t… I shouldn’t have even gone there, after movin’, but I couldn’t help it. I knew you’d be there, knew you’d… you’ll understand, soon.” Billy’s grip on you tightened. “I’ve lied about a lot of things, you know?” Confused, you nodded. “But the biggest lie? The one I regret havin’ to tell the most? It’s you.” 

 “What?” He blinked down at you, waiting, and you watched as he collected his thoughts. 

 “When I said I never loved you? We both knew - both know that was a lie.” He sniffed, never looking away from you. “I loved you too much. And they figured it out, and they…” He cut himself off as he heard the beeping of his watch. “Fuck. God-fucking-dammit.” You heard the anger in his voice. “I have to…” Billy took a deep breath, shaking his head. “All I ever wanted was to give you… an’ now all I have to give you is the truth, even though it’s…” His eyes flicked over to the table. “I gotta go. I gotta go and…” But he didn’t move away from you, and you moved first again, your arms going around his neck so that you could hug him tightly, Billy’s hands sliding beneath your shirt and against your back, his touch filling you with warmth. 

 “Billy, whatever’s going on, you can, we can, just…” You knew what you wanted to say to him, but couldn’t get the words out, not wanting to pull away from his chest to look at him, even though that’s all you wanted. “I know, I know, Billy, you…” He said your name again, looking down at you with a sad smile on his face. 

 “You gotta let me go, alright? That’s what I need now, because…” He leaned in, breath warm on your cheek. “I need to know you’re gonna be -” Gonna be what, Billy? His watch beeped again, and Billy froze. “You gotta let me go.” You kissed him first, rising onto your toes to press your lips against his, and it was everything you’d hoped it would be. The kiss at Anvil had been quick and hard, but this one was different. It started with a gentle touch to his lips, his short nails scratching over your lower back as he touched you, but it quickly intensified, you tilting your head to the side and parting your lips when you felt his tongue moving against them, his slow sigh causing his body to relax under your grip. I can’t let you go, Billy. I won’t. 

 You didn’t know how long you stood there with him, wrapped up in his arms in your living room, but every second was worth it - the taste of him on your tongue, the feel of him beneath your fingers, the way that he was kissing you as if there hadn’t been any time since the last one. You still knew each other well physically, the kiss growing more intimate by the second, and when Billy finally pulled away, he was breathing hard, hair hanging over his eye again. “You’re leaving.” It wasn’t a question, and he nodded as an answer, still staring at you. “That was… goodbye?” He nodded again. “How many times are you gonna -”

 “This is it. The last time. I promise.” Billy leaned in again, taking your lower lip between his teeth and biting down. “You didn’t deserve what I did to you, but I had to do it for you. No matter what they say about me, you need to know that.” Who’s going to say anything, Billy? I don’t understand. “I gotta go. I can’t…” He stepped back, bringing one hand up to run his knuckles against your cheek, one side of his jaw twitching. “I …” He turned away from you, walking back to the table and bending over to pick up the bag, slinging the strap back over his shoulder. You were stuck in place, staring at him as he moved. Say something, don’t let him go, don’t let him walk out. He stepped closer to the door and then paused again, turning to look at you over his shoulder. 

 You took the few steps necessary to reach him, hands clenched into fists in frustration. Billy said your name, the expression in his eyes softer than you’d ever seen it. “Yeah?” 

 “What were… what were you gonna say to me if you called me? Or if you came to my place? Or if I’d said somethin’ to you on the roof?” 

 “That I loved you. That I missed you, that whatever was going on -”

 “Do you still?” You answered him with no hesitation. 

 “Yes. Yes, Billy, I still love you.” He lowered his head, but you saw that he was smiling - and it looked genuine. “I always will.” He looked back up at you, and you were startled at the expression on his face, the pain you felt at seeing it flooring you. “Billy…” He said your name one more time and then he was gone, the door slamming behind him. You stood in place for a few seconds and then moved, reopening the door and looking for him, though you knew that he’d already be long gone - like he was never really there in the first place. 

 But as you closed the door gently, a smear of red on your left hand caught your attention, and you brought it closer to your face, catching a whiff of copper. Blood? He was bleeding? You glanced down, seeing that there was more blood on your shirt, likely where his arm had wrapped around you. Oh, Billy. What did you get yourself into? Turning away from the door, your eyes landed on the box that he’d left on your table, causing you to take a deep breath. What the fuck is in that box? Stepping over to it on your way to the sink, you placed your clean hand on top of it, thinking. No. I won’t open it yet. He came back to me… maybe he’ll… I’ll give him a chance to do it again. 

 But Billy didn’t come back that night - even though you sat awake on your couch, staring at the door for hours, long after you’d washed his blood from your skin and changed into a clean shirt. 

---

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[shannygoatgruff]

Grown & SeXY - Chapter 1

Header made by the talented @flowers-in-your-hayr

For @youbloodymadgenius for your 400 Followers Writing Challenge.  Congrats on your success!

Genre:  Romance/Comedy

Pairing:  Modern Ivar x Mature OC

Warning: Language/mild angst/Sexual content

Rating: M

Summary: A relationship between Generations X & Y will help this XX & XY learn a lot about themselves, each other, and love.  Cougar/cub relationships aren’t always just about a midlife crisis and arm candy.

A/N:  I got the concept for this story from a conversation I was having with @youbloodymadgenius.  I hope I do it justice.  This story is for you!

Chapter 1 

Oh, hey girl, hey!

Chile, do I have some tea to spill!  

This tea is piping hot, lemon-honey, tea with a hint of peppermint; that’s how good it is.  I have been keeping this in for so long, I’m surprised a bitch hasn’t bit her tongue off trying to keep quiet.  But, I have to talk to somebody about this, and I trust you, girl. We’ve been good girlfriends for a long time now. I know you’re not going to say anything to anybody, right?  I didn’t think so. I knew you were cool.

Okay, so before we begin I need to lay some ground rules. I don’t want to get into this and all of sudden you start feeling some type of way or something, or there be some sort of misunderstanding that we could have settled right here in the beginning.  You know how some people get all uppity and shit. 

First, I’m not a writer - I’m a storyteller and there’s a big fucking difference. Writers, write; they use language as an art form, and shit like grammar and diction is important to them and they usually use them pretty accurately.  Storytellers, like me?  We don’t give a fuck. We paint pictures by speaking the language of the people, so that the bitches in the back can understand what the fuck is going on.  

So, if you don’t want to know about how a bad-ass cougar found herself hooked up with a fucking snack-tastic cub from someone who doesn’t give a fuck all about ending a sentence with a preposition, then, honey, feel free to read something else. If my language is a bit too common or colorful for you, then mayhaps, I could recommend some really well-written Shakespearean Sonnets or the like, by some other real writers.  But if you just want to dish and hear some good shit, then bitch, do I have some gossip to tell you!

Okay, next, the story I’m about to tell you is true. This shit is real and it happened to me my friend.  So, to protect my good girlfriend, I’m going to change the names of the mofos involved. If that means the names of these folks sound made up, it’s because bitch, they are! It’s not like where we live is all that big. You might actually know some of these people and the last thing I want is for you to go run-and-tell-that I said some shit, about so-and-so, when I really didn’t, because I said something else about some bitch that I made up.  

Um, what else?  Oh yeah, everything I’m going to tell you is the gospel, according to me. Even if I wasn’t there, I have been working, like fucking Luther out here in these streets, to piecing this shit together and this is the only version that makes sense.  So if you disagree, fine...fight me.  But you better not ask them; that’s all I know.  We’ve already established the good girlfriend code of conduct. Right?  

Now, if any of this shit starts to sound familiar to you just nod your head and play along.  If you happen to see these people in real-life, just keep going about your business, like you don’t know anything.  Don’t give them a side-eye, or raise the obligatory eyebrow when you see them.  Definitely don’t be like that bitch Shelly that time I told her that stuff about Erik and Angie.  Do you know that bitch put everybody on blast and was like, “I knew he looked the type to eat booty,” all loud and shit in the Target.  

You can’t be telling the church’s business to the entire Target like that!  You are supposed to see them in the store, nod, and keep it fucking moving.  What I’m telling you ain’t nobody’s business and they definitely don’t need to know that you know all the shit that went down with them. You know what?  Matter of fact, I’m going to send you a non-disclosure contract in your email.  Just sign it and send it back. I don’t want zero problems, big fella.

Okay, now that we got the formalities out of the way, and everybody knows how the fuck to act, what’s next?  Why am I giving you the gossip?  I’m doing this shit to save your life, bitch because I care.  See, this is a story about being grown and sexy.  Yes, bitch!  Say it again!  GROWN & SEXY!!!  And we all will be grown and sexy, one day.

I know, you probably think grown & sexy means all about getting the “D”. Well, it is…but not really.  Don’t get me wrong, we’re going to get to that. There will be plenty of pipe laid.  How the hell can you be grown & sexy without some feel good? But, it’s about a movement - a way of life.  It’s a phase you go through when you get to a point where you are living your best life and just don’t give a fuck anymore.  

Listen Linda, this story here, isn’t just about sex, it’s about timing.  See, look at all the young bitches, rolling their eyes. They just want to hit it and quit it. I can’t with them.  I’m not even addressing them and their foolishness.  In fact, all the young bitches, y’all can feel free to exit - stage left, please.  

The rest of us, that are past all that thotting and trotting, we know that the universe has a fucked up sense of humor and it only gives us these short ass life spans, filled with teeny-tiny windows of opportunity to cram all of this amazing shit into. Then, on one side, we have one cosmic force presenting something fantastic, while another on the other side, there is another force that throws mad shade.  Of course, we pay attention to the shady shit and usually miss out on that brief moment of something that could have made us really fucking happy.  Don’t worry, I’m not about to start talking about astrology, or reading crystals.  Besides my horoscope, I don’t know what any the fuck any of that means.   

What it means to what the fuck I’m talking about is, this could be considered a cautionary tale about missed opportunities, or being so wrapped up in your own bullshit that you can’t see a good thing when it was right in front of you.  It’s definitely about family, growing up, acceptance and happiness; about finding and loving yourself and then being able to show that love to someone else.  

Of course, you can’t have all that good shit without the bad. So, let’s see…I’ll throw in some insecurities, doubt, utter stupidity, realizing that just because something looks and feels good, doesn’t mean it’s right.  Hell, my story this story, may even be about having to break your own heart to save someone else’s. Ah, we’ll see if I can actually get to that part. It’s not I got all damn day, you know?

So…where do I begin?  

Oh, okay.  You know that club, Bottom’s Up, on the corner of Fourth and Lexington?  The one with that has the pool tables on the upper level and that cute little Karaoke room?  Well that’s where all this shit started… 

There were a lot of people at Bottom’s Up for a Wednesday night. 

Ivar already had an attitude because he was late.  He knew that showing up even a few minutes late for the weekly pool game with his siblings meant that he wouldn’t get to pick his opponent and if he got stuck playing against Bjorn one more time, he was going to quit showing up to these fucking games all together. 

He hated playing Bjorn.  No matter what he tried, he could never beat his oldest brother. Most of the time, he never even got a chance to get his cue on the table when he played against him.  If he had any other sibling as his opponent, he stood a fair chance of winning, but he was sure that Bjorn cheated.  It was enough to piss him off just thinking about it.

Ivar glanced at the small landing where the pool tables were and saw the five varying shades of blonde hair just as the top of the stairs.  Damn, they were all already there.  They had probably already picked games, meaning he was going to have another shitty night at shooting pool. There went his chance of getting back the money Sigurd took off of him last week.  He needed that money, too.  He was running low on gas and his brakes started making a loud squeaking sound this morning.  Now, if he could just play against Ubbe...he knew for sure he could double their bet and make all of his money back, and then some.  

Deciding to get a drink before he met his family upstairs, he made his way to the bar, and signaled for the bartender.  While he waited he carefully tried to remove his jacket without bumping into anyone.  Where the fuck did all these people come from?  They had been coming to this lounge for a few months and on Wednesdays there were never more than 25 people in there.  It wasn’t like it was wall-to-wall people in there now, but it was definitely enough to make him feel annoyed.  

Plus, all those extra people were making it hot in there. Maybe he shouldn’t have worn a long sleeve t-shirt, after all.  But with all the rain and cold nights, lately, he wasn’t quite sure how to dress.  The shirt, a thin pale blue cotton, was a deep V-neck, showing the top of his muscular pecs and just a hint of his shoulder tat that trailed over to the center of his chest, was tucked lazily into the front of his distressed, blue jeans and left hanging out of the back.  A pair of brown Timberland shoes completed his outfit, giving him that ‘I’m not trying too hard to look like I’m trying to look good’, look.  Believe me, he wore it well.  

“What can I get you?”  The bartender asked walking over to where Ivar stood, pouring beers from the tap for other patrons further down the bar.

“Can I get a Jame…,” As soon as he started talking he heard a feminine voice coming from his left. He stopped mid-sentence and looked to see where the voice was coming from, “Oh, I’m sorry,” he said smiling at the shorter woman next to him.  When she turned her head toward him and offered him a smile, his posture changed. “I didn’t see you.  Please, go ahead.”

She raised her brows and continued smiling at him, “Thanks.”  Man, he was a cutie, but she was sent to the bar for drinks, not dicks.  Turning back to face the bartender, she restarted her order, “Um, I need a Johnny Walker Blue, a Malibu and Pineapple, and a Captain & Diet.”  She turned back to him and bowed, a sign for him to continue with his order.

“I’ll just take a Jameson,” Ivar told the bartender.  When he turned back to the woman, he noticed she had turned away from him and was looking at her phone.  As casually as he could, he leaned his head to the side to get a look at her full body.  She couldn’t have been more than 5’3”, even with the heel on those boots. She had a great complexion, the chartreuse wrap shirt with bell sleeves brought the olive tones out in her caramel skin and softened her chocolate eyes.  And of course, Ivar wondered how in the hell did a woman with an ass and hips that size and a waist that small, found jeans that fit.  He found himself raising his brow at the thought.   

This was awkward.  He wanted to say something to her, but she didn’t seem to notice that he was even standing there.  He couldn’t remember a time in recent history when a woman didn’t notice him, or when he had to start a conversation. What exactly was he supposed to say, anyway?  If he wasn’t drunk or being pursued, he wasn’t quite sure how this was supposed to go.  

Just why wasn’t she trying to talk to him, anyway?  He looked good tonight, he just got his hair cut and this was a new shirt. The silver herringbone necklace and the pale blue of his shirt, made his eyes look more of a steel blue, which he thought was the most attractive on him.  He smelled good - he had taken some cologne out of his father’s bathroom and claimed it as his own.  It smelled good on his dad, so he knew it smelled good on him.  What the hell was this lady’s problem?

“I’m sorry, but I think I know you from somewhere.”  The woman spoke, pulling Ivar out of his head for a moment.  When he turned to face her, she was facing him with her hand on her hip and her brows were knitted together, as she tried to think. “Oh my God, that sounded like a line, didn’t it? I swear, it’s not. You just look so familiar.”

Ivar chuckled.  For a minute there he thought he was losing his touch.  “No, it doesn’t sound like a line at all.”  He easily rested his arm on the bar, as he turned to face her, shortening the distance them. “I’m sure I would remember meeting someone as beautiful as you before.” 

Her eyes widened uncomfortably, as she tried to take a half step back before she bumped into the stool next to her.  She turned to see what she had bumped into before turning back to him.  He was cute and all, but that’s not why she started talking to him.  What was with guys these days? “Aww, thanks. That’s really sweet, but…”

“I’m sure, not half as sweet as you are,” Ivar licked his bottom lip, and his long lashes blinked over his beautiful blue eyes, momentarily catching her off guard.  

“Oh, honey,” she dared to reach out and touch him.  Damn, he had a nice arm. She could feel the large expanse of his bicep flex under her hand as her fingers drummed against it, “I’m sure I have shoes older than you.” 

Ivar shrugged.  What did that have to do with anything?  “You’re only as old as you feel…”

“Hey,” Another masculine voice came from behind them, followed by a swift smack to the back of Ivar’s head, “you buying for everyone?” Ivar rolled his eyes before he turned around to face his brother. Narrowing his eyes at the older, taller man, he cursed the fact that they were related. 

“Oh. My. God!”  The woman next to Ivar said shifting her weight to one hip with a huge smile on her face. If Ivar thought she was pretty before, she was absolutely beautiful when she gave a genuine smile. “Bjorn Ragnarsson?” 

“Soli?”  Bjorn made this weird groaning sound as he bent down and picked the small woman up from the floor, wrapping her in a bear hug.  “Oh my, God!  I haven’t seen you in forever.  How have you been?”

Who the hell was this woman and how the hell did she know his brother? Ivar stood back watching the scene unfold and tried to stop his lip from curling. “I’m good!  We just moved back a little over a year ago.  How are you, BJ?  How’s your family?”

“We’re good.  My parents are still in the neighborhood.”  Bjorn tried his best not to smile at the look on Ivar’s face, “Everybody else is doing fine.  And I see you’ve found Baby Ivey here?”’ 

“Nooooooo!” she shrieked, cheeks turning red, “This is Baby Ivey?” She held her hand down by her knee to the height she remembered him as a toddler, then looking up at the sexy man that towered over her now, “Little Ivar Ragnarsson…well fuck me.  That’s why you look so familiar.”  This time she patted his thigh in what she hoped was in a platonic fashion. “I know you don’t remember me, but I was really good friends with your sister.”  She chuckled when he shook his head, “I think you went to school with my son, too. Miguel Larson.” 

Miguel Larson?  Who the hell was Miguel Larson?  The only Larson he knew from high school was this annoying, skinny kid who was into anime… “Wait, Mani Larson?”  No fucking way.  Did she just nod?  She was Mani Larson’s mom?  Mani Larson was only like two years younger than him.  What was happening here?  There was no way in hell that this woman had a kid his age.  

“Yeah, bro.  Me, Soli & Gyda all went to high school together.  She even turned me down when I asked her to my senior prom.” Bjorn placed his hand over his heart and pouted his lip as if he was hurt.  

Shaking her head, Soli reached over and squeezed Bjorn’s chest as he flexed under his shirt for her.  She opened her mouth in shock and appreciation, “Oh, my God.  I know right?  How drunk was I? What the fuck was wrong with me?”

Could Bjorn’s grin get any bigger?  He was enjoying this.  He could read Ivar’s body language from upstairs when he saw him at the bar.  He just knew from the way he was standing down there, that instead of being upstairs with the family, his brother was trying to push up on some girl at the bar. That’s the only reason that he came downstairs to fuck with him.  But, not only did Bjorn get to run into an old friend, he also got to cock-block his little brother. The gods were smiling on him today. “Soli and Gyda were cheerleaders when I was on the football team.”

“How is Gyda?” Soli asked, turning to the bar to push her drinks closer to her and slide the bartender her credit card.  She missed the little eye exchange between the brothers in the process.

Bjorn turned around to scan the raised platforms where the pool tables were, “She’s here, actually.  We come here for our weekly pool game.  She would die to see you.”

“Okay.  Let me take this stuff over to my girls, and I’ll come up and find you guys in a few.”  Hugging him one more time and squeezing his arms for good measure, Soli shook her head in disbelief, “I can’t believe I ran into you, BJ.  It’s so good to see you.”  She turned around to face Ivar who was standing there watching his brother and what he had hoped was going to be his conquest for the evening chatting it up like two girlfriends, “It was nice to see you again, too, Ivar.”  She wasn’t sure if she should be embarrassed for him, or humiliated for herself, at the moment. 

“Yeah, you too, Mrs. Larson.”  Mrs. Larson…what the fuck?  He just wanted to leave out the bar and come back in to start the night over.

She held up a finger to him to stop him from calling her that hideous name, “I haven’t been Mrs. Larson in a very long time.  I’m just Marisol,”  She tilted her head in such a way that her hair covered part of her face hiding her blush. “But you can call me, Sonni, or Soli.  Whatever,” she shrugged, and tucked her top lip between teeth at the sight of his smile.    

Why were they making these young boys so goddamn cute these days? If they didn’t stop, or if she didn’t get laid soon, she was going have to call the people on herself.  She had known this boy when he was an infant.  

That meant he was around her son’s age, and Mani was what 21-22? So Ivar was born right around the time she graduated from high school?  That was illegal somewhere, right?  Yeah, he was of age. But, whose age?  Mani’s? Oh that was just nasty.  

What the hell did she have in common with a boy that young? Hot, sweaty, animal sex… but other than that?  She was so past that stage in her life.  

No, what she was going to do was go back to her table and enjoy her happy hour, and just before she left for the night, she would go up and see Gyda. She would be staying far the fuck away from this little snack, right there.  She was not going to allow herself to think about whether or not he was old enough to have chest hair, yet, or what that clean-shaven face felt like rubbing against her thighs. 

Ivar could have sworn he swore he saw Soli blush, as she collected her drinks and made her way back to her corner of the lounge.  What in the hell just happened?  Fucking Bjorn, “You dick,” Ivar grabbed his drink and followed behind his brother up the stairs, “What the fuck was that?  She turned me down for the prom…”

Bjorn laughed his way up toward the three tables he and his siblings commandeered.  “You big mad, bro?”  He grabbed his little brother by the shoulders and squeezed lovingly.  Parading Ivar in front of his siblings, he patted his cheek like a child, “I did you a favor.  She would break your heart, balls, and everything else. That, my friend, is not for you.” He turned Ivar to face the direction of Soli’s table, of which they had a clear view. “Guys, Lil’ Man here, thinks he can handle Marisol Peña,”  Bjorn pointed in the direction of the petite, curvy brunette, dancing at the table, sipping on a cocktail through a straw.

“Sonni? My Marisol?” Gyda asked, turning to look at Ivar, “Ivey, Sonni’s my age.”

Bjorn nodded, “Exactly. That, is a grown-ass woman.  You, are still a young Thunder Cat.”

“You sure about that?”  Were they all fucking crazy?  Did they know about him? There was a reason he earned the moniker Ivar “The Boneless” in college: when his third leg came out, that shit was 100% pure muscle! If he was given the chance, he would fuck that forty-something-year-old woman back into her twenties. “Just because you ain’t never had no game, don’t mean that I don’t.”

“Bitch, please,” Bjorn said picking up his beer taking a big swallow. “You ain’t had pussy, since it had you.”

Ivar could feel himself getting irritated. It was Bjorn’s fault that he was sitting up there being heckled by them instead of at the bar still talking to Soli.  Plus, he hated when he was the butt of their jokes and they were all laughing at him. Even Hvitserk was smiling around his hot wings, and he could tell Ubbe was trying to keep a straight face. The only one who wasn’t laughing was Gyda, but she was too busy shooting Bjorn a look that pleaded with him to stop teasing him.    

“Beege…you married every bitch you fucked.  That ain’t game, brah.  That’s being a whipped, bitch.”  Ivar raised his glass to his brother before slamming the entire drink down his throat. “Now are we gonna play or what?”  Grabbing a pool cue off the wall rack, and rolled his eyes. “I’m calling game…Ubbe? You feel like getting your ass beat?” 

For the rest of the night, he tried to act disinterested in what was going on at the table below them, but the truth was every so often, he found himself glancing down to the floor to see if she was still down there or if she was finally on her way up to where they were sitting.  There were quite a few times where they caught each other’s eye, peeking over the railing to see if what the other one was doing.  Each time it happened, they would both smile and turn away.

Ivar didn’t know what it was about her that had him so interested. Maybe it was because no one thought that he could, or maybe it was just because she was beautiful.  Whatever it was, she was a challenge, and he liked it.  This wasn’t going to be the last time Ivar talked to Soli.  He was going to make sure of that.

Alright, so there you have it.  That’s how we they met.  I know, it was just enough to wet your whistle, but I’m just going to let you chew on that tasty little tidbit for a minute. You know I gotta leave you wanting to come back for more, honey...

But seriously, though, I gotta run.  But, we’re going to talk again soon. I gotta tell you about what happened when Marisol told her son that she ran into Ivar. Chiiiillllleeee....  

Master List

Chapter 2

Tags: @youbloodymadgenius @idea-garden @kol--mikaelson @mooniemouse @didiintheblog @waiting4inspiration @tempt-ress @where-beauty-goes-to-die @crazyaboutmotleycrue @oddsnendsfanfics @geekandbooknerd @ivarthebloodyking @honestsycrets   @xbellaxcarolinax  @zuxiezendler @inforapound​  

[ellstersmash]

Three: Sixteen

Fandom: Dragon Age

Pairing: Solas x f!Lavellan (Modern!AU)

Rating: overall E for Explicit | this chapter T for Teen

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Athi moves the rearview mirror a fraction of an inch. Returns it to its original position, then back. Tough to tell if her discomfort is due to a misjudged angle or the fact that it’s been more than a year since she’s driven anything other than her bike. Not as if she could have let him drive, though. Not in his current state.

“Take this to Saelac,” Solas murmurs. 

He has his eyes shut, but his thumb is still softly stroking hers the way it has been since she pulled onto the freeway. She expected him to pass out right away, but then this city’s policy on roadwork seems to be: Not if we can help it. Every street is scarred with what must be two decades’ worth of springtime patches, and if he couldn’t sleep through a little bit of air turbulence, he sure won’t manage it here.

“How was your week?” he asks, words quiet and slurring together. Enunciation is hard work.

So she tells him about the bar. About the missing, well, everything, and the cleaning list, and Tali’s prediction that Seggrit will be getting more involved with the day-to-day operations, and how for all that she gripes about it, his absence is what makes her job mostly tolerable. Solas nods where more or less appropriate, sometimes smiling sleepily at her tale from the passenger seat.

She tells him about the houseplant she bought. Remembers she forgot to water it today. Yesterday, too. Fuck.

And she tells him about Sera. About their argument and Dagna moving in, and how odd that will be. How sudden it all is, and maybe destined to be a disaster but worth a try, right? She gets the sudden urge to retreat. Three steps at least away from this talk of people moving in together, of possible futures that they’re far too brand new to traverse, even in conversation, even unrelated to either of them entirely. And maybe he feels it too, because he perks up only to fixate on the rally. Asks her when and where and what's it for and who's in charge and whether or not they got a permit and has the audacity to frown when she admits she won’t be there.

"How unfortunate," he says.

Athi groans."Not you, too."

"Excuse me?"

"Sera already gave me shit about it, so if that's your angle I don't want to hear it."

"I did not intend to ‘give you shit,’ no. I was hoping to invite myself along."

"Really?"

"Yes, it is a worthy cause. I had no idea Sera was such an advocate for social reform."

“Then you don’t know her very well.”

“Clearly I have misjudged her.”

“Why are you interested?”

“Why would I not be?”

She tries not to twist that into an accusation. "You just don't strike me as that kind of guy."

"The kind who cares, or the kind who takes action?"

Eyes on the road, it’s impossible to tell if he’s as offended as he sounds. She shrugs. "Both? Seems like you'd rather dig up the past than fix the future."

“Perhaps you have misjudged me, for I do not see the two as mutually exclusive. Take this next exit, then left at the light.”

The change in subject is a welcome one, but she needs her hand to downshift. Squeezes his before she lets go. Not an apology, not for that, but a no hard feelings. His house is only a few blocks away from here, but that’s as much as she remembers because the streets in this section are laid out in a grid and the corners are basically identical.

“Third one down, take a right.”

The yellow house with the overgrown garden jogs her memory. The plants are sad and brittle and dying now and the last time she passed it was early spring, so the perennials had not yet bloomed and the rest was only partially planted. But it must be a sight to behold in the throes of summer. The colorful pinwheels and kitschy glass butterflies sticking up from the withering stalks imply a love of whimsy, and there’s a small white bench surrounded by unlit lanterns under a nearby tree. She hopes she gets to sit there one day. Hopes the neighbors are friendly.

He has her park in his driveway, nose to the garage and she wonders if he’s filled it with more piles and boxes of dusty books or if he just doesn’t want to bother with the door.

Solas points out the house key for her, then grabs his luggage. Once she realizes the lock is upside-down and gets it open, she flicks the front hall lights on and it’s jarring. The house has that hush which places sometimes get after a prolonged vacancy—an absence of sound to soak up and spit out, and the jingle of his keys in her hand and the scrape of his suitcase on the doorframe are too loud. Like it forgot it was ever lived in. 

But nothing else has changed. Not the clutter in the office. Not the cobweb high in the corner. Not even the slight skew of the painting hanging in the living room. Maybe if they’d made these plans before he had left, he’d have tidied up . . . or maybe not. She doesn’t know him well enough to guess.

“If you do not mind, I have been looking forward to a shower all day,” he says and leans his bag against the wall. Starts down the hall toward the kitchen, then stops so abruptly she nearly runs into him.

“I haven’t kissed you yet,” he says, half epiphany, half confession.

Athi threads her arms around him, pleased to discover the tension between them is gone. “I’m very aware.”

His gaze rests on her lips and he blinks slow, as if the effort to open them again is monumental. When he lowers his face to kiss her it is terribly gentle and maybe it’s not on purpose. Maybe it’s just because he’s tired, but it makes her melt. 

Without a reason not to, her hands wander. Slide over the row of tiny gray buttons on his shirt, push the boundaries of his collar. They graze along his throat and through the short dark hair on his scalp, barely there but for the way it catches on her fingerprints. She presses closer before they part, her dazed and him borderline delirious.

“Ok, go shower,” she urges him. “And don’t doze off in there. I’ll have to make fun of you.”

“After that? It is unlikely I’ll be able to sleep at all.” But his dopey grin belies the truth. “Though if you are concerned for my well-being, you are more than welcome to join me.”

Gods, she never sees it coming. He slides straight from stumbling and sleep-deprived to smooth insinuation like it’s his default setting and she wants to say yes. But she knows better. 

“See, that sounds sexy right up until you’re trying to get to sleep with my hair dripping cold water all over the both of us. Besides, I have some snooping to do.” Teasing, of course. She doesn’t care where he keeps his linens or what lies hidden under his socks.

“By all means, peek anywhere you like. Except the attic, which is strictly off-limits.”

Her eyes light up. “Why, what’s in the attic?”

But he only laughs and heads up the stairs. Pauses halfway up and calls down, “Do you need anything?”

Right on cue.

“I’m good,” she assures him. “Go.”

A sharp squeak is followed by the rush of water through old pipes as she skims the shit on his refrigerator. A coupon for an oil change and receipt from an art supply store. Nothing interesting in the least. His magnets are a confused but equally unenlightening collection of local restaurants’ takeout info and unused metal clips.

A few books sit on the island. Sundered: The Scientific Renaissance of Post-Veil Thedas; The Fade: Fact or Fiction?; and An Exhaustive Documentation of Suspected Elvhen Artifacts Destroyed in the Divine Age. She lifts the cover of the top one, flips pages until she comes to a black business card serving as a makeshift bookmark, scans a few lines:

After their own dark period, the Qunari appear to have focused their collective efforts toward adjusting to these new laws of nature. Extensive, detailed records show rapid technological advancement through experimentation and invention, much of which laid the foundation for generations’ worth of progress. Indeed, many modern conveniences can be traced back to their early successes.

Not exactly light reading. Though pretty typical for him, she suspects. What unsettles her is not the books or the boring refrigerator door. It’s the fact that in all of these rooms—the entryway, the study, the kitchen, the living room—all these living spaces, there are no pictures. Not of anyone. His home is steeped in history, but not his own. She's good at being alone, but at least when she inevitably uproots she takes the memories with her. He has nothing. No drawer full of snapshots to match hers, like some sort of trail to prove his existence.

Maybe they’re just very different people. Maybe he doesn’t feel the need to prove anything. Maybe he isn’t the type to take pictures. Or to keep them. Maybe his memories are painful. Maybe they were lost in some tragic accident that hasn’t come up in conversation yet.

Or maybe she’s reading into stuff she shouldn’t be. Again.

At the top of the stairs are two doors and two doorways. Bathroom’s straight ahead, shower still running. Next to that is a closed door, presumably the attic. The leftmost room is closed as well, but unlocked; there's nothing inside but a few file cabinets. The door to the right hangs open, revealing another bedroom. It is small and tidy with minimal furniture: a dresser and a full-length mirror, and a large bed flush with the corner, the thick crimson comforter slightly rumpled near the pillows on one side as if slept in, then hastily remade. A singular nightstand bears a simple swing-arm lamp.

She hunts through his dresser until she finds his T-shirts. Picks a white one with a logo on it from the middle, between freshly-washed and never-been-used. Not beloved—in case he cares—but not the crisp got-it-for-free-and-couldn’t-throw-it-out kind either. Sheds her clothes that smell like beer and citrus and bitters, all but her underwear and leaves them folded neatly on top of the dresser. Then she pulls on his shirt and knocks on the bathroom door frame.

“It’s open,” he yells, and she rolls her eyes. “Extra toothbrushes are in the lower right drawer, and the toothpaste is behind the mirror.”

“Uh huh,” she answers, but is beginning to regret turning down his offer. The shower curtain is nothing but a clear liner and with no door to keep it in, the steam does blessedly little to conceal his form. There’s still time; for more than a moment she contemplates stripping back down and slipping in, but then he shuts off the water and stretches a dripping arm out for his towel so she goes for the toothbrush instead.

By the time he emerges with that same towel wrapped around his hips, she’s finished and gives his reflection an appreciative glance.

He returns it and tugs on her sleeve. “The Lothering Museum of History will be thrilled to have your endorsement.”

“Why am I not surprised that you don’t have a real shower curtain?”

“This curtain is perfectly sufficient.”

“Hey.” Athi raises her hands and follows him into the bedroom. “Not complaining.”

She also doesn’t complain about the precious seconds between him losing the towel and gaining a pair of pajama pants. He’s fit. Cut, not bulky. Studying old stuff and reading books and attending conferences can’t possibly be a direct line to muscle definition and she wonders what he does to work out. If they could do it together. He doesn’t strike her as a runner, but he might enjoy climbing.

Solas interrupts her plans with a brief kiss, trades the overhead light for the bedside one. Four in the morning is hardly late by her standards, but she can tell as his head hits the pillow that he feels it. He tucks her hair behind her ear and smiles, sleepy and sideways.

“Thank you for coming over.”

Athi turns her head and kisses his fingers and whispers, “Thank you for getting naked.”

She’ll be the funny one forever if it means his nose will always crinkle like that.

“I am sorry that I am not—”

“No.” She presses a thumb to his lips to cut short his apology. “That’s not what I’m here for. Really enjoyed the view, though.”

His face is shadowed by the same light shining in her eyes, but the expression he wears is warm. He hits the switch and the room goes dark. She scoots in closer. Tangles their legs. Wriggles until she’s comfortable. It doesn’t take long, like a sign, or a nod from the universe.

We just fit.

Solas is asleep before she’s even ready to try. There are freckles scattered across his shoulders, constellations to trace while she waits. Tries to match his languid breathing. Thinks about where his pictures went. Almost there, then hits the last and loudest stop on her train of thought’s meandering track, and she’s jolted awake.

The bookmark. The business card. The cleaning and packing up. The answer has been stuffed into the back pocket of her least-favorite jeans for weeks.

Seggrit is selling the fucking bar.

--

She wakes up alone. Sprawled out in sheets that smell like him but without the him they belong to. Adjusting, she stares into the middle distance and listens to a faraway set of sounds—the fridge opens, then shuts, the clink of dishes and creak of the floor.

Seggrit is selling the bar. She has no idea what to do with that news except to tell Tali, have her check the books to confirm. They’ve been behind by at least a month for as long as Athi’s worked there, usually more, and if he’s really going to get rid of the place he’ll have had to catch up.

She rolls out of bed, digs her toes into the carpet. It could be nine or noon or later for all she knows. The sun here is strange, and there’s no clock in this room to tell her so she goes searching for one downstairs.

A mosaic-faced antique by the sliding door claims it’s noon.

“Good morning,” Solas says from the kitchen.

She mumbles something resembling words. Seven more steps and she hugs him from behind and they fit so well and his heart is beating fast and he stops whisking eggs to stand there with her all quiet and it’s not morning anymore and he should have stayed in bed and she needs to text Tali and—

“I want coffee,” she whines. Doesn’t mean to whine, but there it is. What if he doesn’t have any? What if he’s one of those people that doesn’t keep coffee in their house?

She might cry.

“There is a bag in the cupboard at the end there, next to the mugs. I was going to make it for you, but—”

“Say no more.”

Gods, she’s glad he didn’t. No one makes it strong enough, and he’s too cute to disappoint so she would have had to drink it anyway. Pretend that pisswater was fine.

Cupboard on the end, right where he said. She slides it off the shelf and can’t help but flutter as she examines the packaging. It’s the same as the ones she bought—or tried to buy then he bought for her—at the coffee shop last year. Or maybe he just asked for “something strong” at the shop and this happened to be what they gave him, but regardless, he thought of her and that feels good all on its own. Her butterflies settle as she opens the bag, breathes in deep. Pours a generous pile into a fresh filter and fills the reservoir with water.

“Roast date on this is yesterday. Did you really leave me sleeping alone in your house?” she teases and pushes the button to start the brew cycle. “What if I had woken up and you were gone?”

“I did consider that possibility, but weighed against the certainty of the alternative, it seemed the wisest course of action.” He arches an eyebrow. “Was I wrong?”

“No.” Athi revisits the cupboard to shuffle through his assortment of mismatched mugs. “And thank you.”

“My pleasure.”

She selects one of the mugs, a pleasantly rounded stoneware dip-painted in orange and teal and gray. Her unofficial favorite. There is a newspaper, folded twice, laying on the counter between a plate covered in foil and two clean ones. Solas is reading rather than cooking. Maybe he’s fine with rubbery eggs, but she’s not so she leaves her mug to watch the coffee brew, plucks the spatula from his hand, takes over.

“Seggrit’s selling the bar,” she blurts out as she gently stirs, then scoops a heaping golden spoonful onto each plate. “I think.”

To his credit, Solas looks up from the article he’s so engrossed in. “Really?”

She nods.

“How do we feel about that?”

She shrugs.

“Perhaps you should buy it,” he says and moves his plate and his paper to the island. Yanks open the silverware drawer and hands her a fork. “You wanted to put your name on something, right?”

She snorts. “Didn’t mean literally.”

They eat breakfast right there in the kitchen. Hip to hip, or as close as she can get. Sausage from under the foil and rich maple syrup and toast and almost-perfect scrambled eggs and coffee he bought and didn’t make just for her.

Not a bad morning, truth be told.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Solas asks out of nowhere.

“Hmm?”

He is watching her intently and it occurs to her that she’s been grinning at empty space this whole time.

“Oh,” she says, “it’s nothing,” but her face won’t cooperate and Solas doesn’t buy it.

“It must be quite a pleasant piece of nothing to warrant such a smile. Are you sure it’s not something?” His voice drops low and he leans closer. “Perhaps even something you want to share with me?”

“They say 'bits' here, by the way. ‘Two bits for your thoughts.’ Just so you know.”

“Fascinating.” He doesn’t even pretend to sound sincere.

Oh, she wants to be brave. She makes him work a little harder for it. Keeps it locked up tight until he says please, then she scrunches her nose up where the honesty tickles, and spills even though it’s scary.

“I just . . . it’s nice waking up with you, and”—damn her burning cheeks—“I could get used to it. That’s all.”

Meeting his eyes afterward is a rush. Risk and reward all wrapped up in one because he is beaming right back at her.

“Funny. I was thinking the exact same thing.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes.”

Fuck it. Athi polishes off her coffee. Slides her plate away and faces him fully. Fills her chest with air and bravado. “So what do you want?”

He looks at her quizzically.

“Yeah, context. Before we kissed—at my place, like for real—you asked what I wanted. I said I wanted you, which, I mean, I’ve wanted you since . . . ” She wants to say since the beginning but that’s so fucking cheesy. “Gods, since the coffee shop, I think. But when I asked what I meant to you, you deflected.”

Solas pauses. His gaze drifts, then snaps back. “You are right. I apologize.”

“Also not an answer.”

A full minute, or maybe an hour, passes as he percolates. She can almost see him directing his thoughts this way and that, organizing a response that shouldn’t be this complicated while her own mind skitters from one unsavory possibility to the next. 

“Should’ve sent my questions in ahead of time,” she jokes.

A brief, self-deprecating chuckle as he folds his fingers around hers. “In all fairness, your answer to the same question was efficient, but also vague. Is it so wrong of me to consider my own more carefully?”

“Got me there.”

“I was not trying to win. This conversation is an important one, and I feel it must be approached with both candor and subtlety.”

Candor and subtlety? Athi sighs. New tactic. “Listen, did you avoid the question on purpose?” 

She takes a steady breath—

“No.”

—and lets it out. “Well then, to be honest, I was kind of hoping we could make out at some point today so . . . how about we put the heavy conversation on hold, just for now, and I return the favor and make this easy for you?”

Solas’ smile is indulgent, if a bit weary. “That would be fine.”

“Good. Ok.” She leans her chin on one hand. “Do you want to be with me?”

“Yes, very much.”

“Like, not just sleeping over and having breakfast, even though we’re obviously really good at that. The whole deal.”

He smirks. “Yes.”

“Only me?”

“Yes.”

Athi claps her hands together. “Good! Excellent response time,” she says, satisfied. Stacks their dishes while she speaks. “Anything else to add?”

“That’s it? That is all you want to know?” A mixture of relief and disappointment is plain on his face.

“Ha! Cute. No, see, I want to hear that elaborate answer of yours, I do. I want to know absolutely every single thought you’ve had about me since day one. Also why you stopped coming to the bar”—she starts counting off on her fingers—“and how long you’ve felt this way, what you and Bull get up to at your secret little club meetings, about a zillion other things . . . But as I said,” and she shrugs, “I have plans.”

“I stopped coming to the bar because I already felt this way. Not”—he gestures between them—“exactly this way, of course, but the first stirrings of it. I had been alone a long time, and it frightened me. Next question.”

“Hold on. Same question. You’ve liked me that long?”

“Yes, though I find it hard to believe that you, of all people, did not notice. If anything, I have been too demonstrative of my feelings this past year. Given the circumstances, that is.”

“Too demonstra— Seriously?” Athi is at a loss. Frozen mid-bewildered-flailing, mouth agape like he’s just grown another pair of eyes right in front of her. “Maybe I, of all people, didn’t notice because we spent all that time together and you never said shit, and then—and then!— you invited me over to ask for dating advice which kind of cancelled out any prior feelings you may have demonstrated. I mean, what the fuck?”

“Ah, that’s right.” Solas sighs heavily. “I suppose we may as well sort this out now.”

“Yeah,” she hisses. “Let’s.” She props one elbow on the counter, rests her chin on her fist. Waits for an explanation.

“Athi,” and he scratches his jaw. “I do not know exactly how you remember that conversation going, but the subject of my inquiry—the woman I mentioned meeting—was you.”

Three beats to process, then: “What!?”

He winces—fair, it was piercing—and he half-hides his face in his hands before continuing. “I was attempting to casually express my interest and it did not occur to me that you’d misunderstood my meaning until recently. At the time, I assumed that you were simply not as interested as I had allowed myself to believe and therefore left before the situation became uncomfortable.”

“Well, I did do that.”

“Then, while I was away, I became convinced that a misunderstanding was possible if not probable, so I resolved to try again once I returned.”

“Oh no . . . ” she trails off and grimaces, and Solas just nods.

Such a mess, and for no fucking reason. They stand there in a dazed silence for a while, looking at anything but each other. Finally, Athi peeks over and Solas has his head hanging low like a puppy shamed for eating from the garbage. It’s so sad and so stupid and she can’t keep from laughing. First a little, then a lot, then he’s laughing right along with her.

“So you’re telling me,” she wheezes out between giggles. “We could have been banging for no less than six months already?”

“I’m afraid so.”

She’s swept away by another wave of laughter. When it finally subsides, she’s left with aching cheeks and tears in her eyes.

“Come on,” she says and grabs his hand, squeezes it tight, pulls him toward the stairs.

“What? Where are we going?”

“To make up for lost time.”

[walkerismychoice]

Stripped Bare - Chapter 13 (Bryce X MC AU)

Book: Open Heart

Pairing: Bryce X MC (Charlie Hawkins)

Summary: Charlie decides to skip one of the group events before attending the beach party, and she prepares Bryce to meet some important guests

Rating: Mature/18+  It starts heading towards NSFW, but not quite there yet

Word Count: 2666

Charlie's alarm goes off at yet another ungodly hour for "vacation." She's so ready to take Katelyn's itinerary and tell her where to shove it. Bryce is still sound asleep, and the poor guy needs it. She hesitates to wake him, but then his eyes open up, and she doesn't have to.

"Good morning." Charlie smiles warmly.

Bryce rubs the sleep out of his eyes "Is it? I feel like death. I typically don't drink that much and never get that drunk. I apologize for whatever I may have said or done."

"So you don't remember?" Charlie inquires.

"Not much," Bryce admits. "I recall trying to keep up with Bob while you were torturing me with talk about the other strippers. And then I think you helped me back here. I promised you a strip show, but the last thing I remember is not so gracefully landing on the floor."

"Then I’m guessing you don’t remember calling yourself pretty?" Charlie asks, testing him to see if he’ll remember the rest.

Bryce chuckles. “Nope, but that doesn’t surprise me too much. That’s something I would say sober.”

Maybe he really doesn’t remember, but that might be for the best. "I know. You are so modest. You should really work on your self esteem,” She teases and they both laugh.

"Ugh," Bryce rolls over to his side and stretches. "I really don't want to get out of bed."

That's saying something coming from Bryce who is usually up before the the crack of dawn to workout. She looks him over again and gets an idea. "Then let's not get out of bed."

"Huh?" Bryce asks, clearly confused. "What about golf?"

Charlie shrugs. "Golf is just another one of those boring, rich people sports, right? The only thing fun about it is driving around in a golf cart and drinking beer."

"And I’m in no shape to be getting near alcohol this morning. But are you sure? What about Katelyn?"

"Psshhh, what's she going to do, kick me out of the bridal party? I could only hope."

Bryce laughs. "You have a point. Well in that case, let’s go back to sleep. Come here.” He holds his arms out wide.

For once, Charlie doesn’t think, she doesn’t hesitate, she just nestles into his arms and rests her head on his chest, and there’s no other place she’d rather be.

~~~

When Charlie wakes again, she’s not sure how much time has passed, but the sun is much higher in the sky. She tilts her head up to peer at Bryce who is already bright-eyed.

“How long have you been awake?”

“Awhile.” Bryce sweeps a strand of hair off of her face. 

“Sorry for holding you hostage. You could have woken me.”

Bryce shrugs. “There are worse places to be.”

The soft way he looks at her, Charlie can’t help herself. She’s falling so fast. “Are you feeling any better?”

“Mostly, but I do have a bit of headache...and I’m starving.” Bryce clutches his stomach for effect.

Charlie springs up. “Why don’t I order us some room service? But first..." She retrieves some Advil and a glass of water from the other room. "...take these."

"Yes doctor." Bryce smirks and takes the pills from her. "I kind of like it when you boss me around."

Charlie shakes her head. "I'm just taking care of you like you did for me."

Bryce smiles earnestly this time. "I like that too."

He's giving her that look again that makes her melt. The one that makes her want to fall into his arms forever and run away scared at the same time. "I think there's a room service menu on the counter, I'll go get it."

It’s close to lunchtime but they are still serving breakfast, so Charlie orders an assortment of waffles, pancakes and other breakfast foods while Bryce hops in the shower. Charlie makes some coffee and the food arrives just as Bryce emerges from the bathroom in his bathrobe.

“What’s the occasion?” Charlie motions towards Bryce and his robe. “Aren’t your pecs suffocating in there?”

“I told you it’s okay to admit you want to see me naked.”

“That’s not- It’s just-” Dammit. She thought she was finally over being flustered by him but apparently not. “You just haven’t worn that yet.”

“I wasn’t kidding when I said we could sit on the balcony in our matching robes drinking coffee. And you already have yours on,” Bryce points out.

Charlie looks down as she had almost forgotten she threw her robe over her pajamas to answer the door for room service. “You are such a dork...but the weather is beautiful today. Help me bring the food out.”

There’s way too much food, but that seems to be no issue for Bryce who scarfs down three quarters of it.

“How do you eat like that and still look like you do?” Charlie marvels at Bryce.

“Why do you think I work out all the time? I like food too much to restrict what I eat.”  Bryce pats his stomach with a look of contentment on his face. 

Charlie glances at the time her phone. “I don’t think you’re going to have time now to get in a workout today.”

“That’s okay, I don’t think one day off will kill me. But you never know, maybe I’ll get in a workout with you tonight.” Bryce quirks his eyebrows in a manner that suggests he’s not talking about hitting up the gym.

Charlie doesn’t know how to respond to that without embarrassing herself, so she doesn’t and changes the subject completely. “So...my parents are flying in this afternoon. I should probably prepare you for that.”

Bryce waves her off. “I’m not too worried. Parents love me.”

“You haven’t met my parents. They have a very narrow view of what success is and what’s good enough for their daughter.”

“An internal medicine physician with a surgeon...I think that would fit most people’s definition of an extremely successful couple.”

“You’d think.” Charlie sighs. Even if Bryce really was a surgeon, it still wouldn’t be enough. “When you’re a CEO of a top Fortune 500 company making $30 million a year, $200,000 a year seems like pocket change. Sorry, I don’t normally like to throw the numbers out there like that.”

“It’s fine,” Bryce assures here. "It’s all public knowledge anyway. I did my research. So do you agree with your parents?”

“I mean...” Charlie tries to concisely formulate her thoughts into words. “I was obviously determined to become a doctor and make it on my own because it’s my passion, but growing up around all that wealth...There is a part of me that bought into it. Andrew was the type of guy I was supposed to marry - born and raised in country clubs and prep school, hedge fund manager on pace to eclipse my father’s salary. But I’m finally realizing he never treated me like I deserved. He saw me for who he wanted me to be, and not who I really am.”

Bryce reaches across the table and places his hand on hers. “I know I haven’t known you long, but I can see who you are, and you are pretty damn amazing, Charlie. Not because you have money, or because you are going to be a doctor, but because you are smart, funny, and you have a great heart...just to name a few things”

Charlie looks down shyly, not used to such praise. “That’s sweet of you to say, but like you said, you haven’t known me that long.”

“Look at me, Charlie.” Despite her desire to do anything but, she meets his gaze. “All those things are true, I can tell. And you deserve to hear it more.” Bryce rubs soothing circles with his thumb over her skin, and she somehow feels both comforted and flushed at the same time.

“Thank you.” Charlie finally breaks the charged silence between them. “What about your parents and your upbringing? I feel like I hardly know anything about you.”

“That’s because you aren’t meeting my parents tonight.” Bryce dodges the question, and she recalls the way he shut down when they were getting to know each other on the plane.

“Maybe I just want to get to know you better too,” she tries, hoping that’s enough to get him to open up more.

Bryce gives a halfhearted smile. ”I know your parents might not have been perfect, but they were there. They’ve had hopes and dreams for you, even if they don’t match what you want for yourself. That’s a whole hell of a lot more than I can say for mine. I really don’t want to get into everything right now, but I’ll just say that once I left home for college, I never looked back.”

There’s a lot to unpack, and so many questions, but Charlie will take this explanation for now. Bryce seems so happy and self-assured, she’d never have guessed he’d had a hard time in life. He mentioned college, but with his career now, maybe things didn’t turn out as planned or there’s more that he’s not saying, but she’s not going to push him yet.

“Well you don’t seem to need me to tell you this, but despite whatever you’ve been through, you’ve turned out pretty amazing yourself.”

“Yeah, I get that a lot.” Bryce chuckles and Charlie can’t help but laugh herself. “...But in all seriousness, it means a lot more coming from you, so thank you.”

They are sharing this incredible moment and she feels compelled to jump in his lap and kiss him senseless, but she’s still afraid to initiate just yet, and something seems to be holding him back too. It must be getting late anyway. Charlie checks the time on her phone again, and sure enough, they need to get ready to go unless they are going to miss another event. “We probably should head to the beach party soon.”

Bryce sighs. “I suppose I can’t less you miss out on any more because of me.”

“Hey, it was just as much me as you, and I’m sure we had a much better time here than we would have there. But I don’t think I’ll ever hear the end of it if we miss this too. At least this should be fun.”

“I can’t believe we’ve been in a tropical paradise for four days, and we are just now getting to the beach.” Bryce stands up from his chair and holds out his hand to help Charlie up. “Let’s do this.”

~~~

Charlie and Bryce make their way to the private, roped-off area of the beach. There’s a DJ playing upbeat music, a food tent, and a full bar set-up just for Katelyn and Landry’s guests.

“Excessive as usual, but I’m not complaining.” Bryce admits as he pops a jerk shrimp crostini in his mouth.

Charlie surveys the area and finds Katelyn standing by the bar. “I should probably make my presence known so she can mark me present on her mental attendance sheet.”

“Charlie...,” Katelyn drawls as she looks her over in the judgmental way she always does. “It’s so nice of you to finally join us. Was someone too hungover to participate this morning?”

“Actually, yes.” Bryce jumps in. “That someone was me. Charlie was really conflicted about not making it, but I was in rough shape. I’m feeling much better now though, thank you.”

Katelyn scoffs, likely frustrated she can’t blame it on Charlie. “Well, we have a lot of guests coming in at various times today. We’ll be hanging around here until it’s time to get ready for the group dinner this evening, so mingle with the other guests and whatnot. Remember the dinner starts promptly at 7, so be there by 6 for cocktails.”

Charlie forces a smile. “Will do.” She turns towards the water and Bryce follows. They find a nice open spot and spread their towels on the sand. 

Bryce immediately pulls the bottle of sunscreen out the beach bag. “I assume you’ll need help with this again.”

“Sure.” Charlie lifts off her swimsuit cover-up without worry or hesitation, revealing her army green triangle push-up top with matching bikini bottoms. This time she’s excited for Bryce’s reaction, and he does not disappoint.

His mouth agape as his eyes roam over her body, he moves around behind Charlie and leans in close as he rubs the lotion over he shoulders. “You are so sexy, Charlie. It’s not fair that we don’t get to be alone until later tonight.”

Despite the heat from the sun reflecting of the sandy beach, goosebumps form across her skin. She doesn't know how to respond to that, but she doubts Bryce would expect her to, so she let's him complete the job in silence. He rubs his hands thoroughly all down her back, Charlie closing her eyes and relishing the contrasting feel of his smooth fingertips and calloused palms on her body.

When it comes time for her to return the favor, she's much less timid than just two days before. She applies firm pressure with her fingertips, working out the bit of tension in his shoulders and takes the time to commit his contours to memory. She smirks as her fingers creep outward on his lower back, and she can't resist squeezing the ticklish flesh on his sides.

Bryce yelps and twists away from her, and the devilish look on his face tells her she's in trouble. "That's it. You asked for it." Before she can make sense of what's happening, Bryce scoops her up and throws her over his shoulder, jogging towards the water.

"Hey! Put me down!" She demands, attempting to sound authoritative yet giggling at the same time. She tries to slither out of his grasp, but she knows her resistance is futile.

"Oh, don't worry. I fully intend on putting you down...just not yet." Bryce slows his pace, clearly enjoying prolonging Charlie's impending doom. He wades out until he's almost chest deep and then he gingerly tosses her into the waves as if she weighs nothing.

Charlie sinks under the surface and then shoots back up with a vengeance. "You're going down, Lahela!" She lunges at Bryce with all her might, wrapping her arms around his neck and legs around his waist, shifting her weight to try pull him off balance. As luck would have it, a brutal wave comes at that very moment, knocking him off his feet, and he takes her down with him.

Bryce shakes the water from his hair as they resurface, both of them clinging to one another with no intention of letting go. He sweeps her curls off out of her eyes, moving his hand to cup her cheek. His intense gaze never falters, and it draws her in like she has no will of her own. Bryce delicately traces his thumb over her lips, making his intention known.

There's no interruptions this time, no excuse to back down, and Charlie doesn't want to fight it anymore. In an instant she crushes her mouth to his, Bryce returning the kiss with with equal fervor. Lips part, tongues collide, and hands explore. Charlie gently tugs the hair at the nape of Bryce's neck, moaning as his hands glide over her ass, up her sides, and to her breasts.

"Hey, Charlie! Bryce!" A familiar voice calls from the shore, and Charlie pushes away embarrassed, suddenly remembering there are other people around. She turns toward Kyra, who shakes her head and laughs. "If you two can take a break from sucking face for a few minutes, your presence is requested at the volleyball court.

"Umm, okay, be there in a minute," Charlie replies sheepishly before turning back to Bryce. "Well...uh, at least we put on a convincing show."

"Yep, I am totally convinced." Bryce pulls her in for one last kiss, smiling against her lips before they part and rejoin the group on land.

[lockdownuk]

Lockdown Diary Part 4

A personal account during the lockdown in the UK due to the Covid-19 outbreak.

23/03/2020 8:30pm Boris Johnson, UK Prime Minister, gives a live address to the nation to, effectively, put the country on lockdown to stem the spread of the deadly coronavirus strain, Covid-19.

Many of us have been self-isolating for days but this latest development within the UK in reaction to the pandemic feels very serious and very scary. I decided to keep a simple diary and where better but online.

Day91: I can’t post photos to the sister photo diary and it’s fucking me off. Using this as a place holder- last successful pic was 21/06/2020.

Day 92: Still awaiting Tumblr re: day 91′s entry. Meanwhile looking at other blog/diary sites. Very warm today, like it was throughout May. Boris announced a further relaxation in lockdown measures which includes reducing the 2m distancing instruction which paves the way for pubs, restaurants and other places to open on 4th  . It looks like the Ship will open 6th July, George on the 4th. I await to see the measures put in place before deciding whther it’s a goer.

Day93: Typing on day 94 - I received an email from Deryn from RCI HR concerning placement online module attendance, thanking me for my participation. I was somewhat confused. Was this a mistake or was I erroneously not icluded in the initial communications? I fired off an email to HR and WhatsApp’d Jim. He replied that I should take it up with HR.

I am worried by this. Furlough ends this week and I know not what the fuck is going on.

Day 94: Had a few beers last night, ‘cos I was feeling deflated over work. Finished Homecoming S2, which was very good, and cancelled Amazon Prime before the free trial ends tomorrow. Got up @midday but haven’t done jack shit today as my right ankle is playing up - it was twinging last night - apart from press ups. No word back from RCI but there was a notification that the email from Deryn was attempted to be recalled. Had a spat in Co-Op wth two lads who were ignoring the one way system and social-distancing. It makes my blood boil and I had to say something which ended up making my blood boil even more…especially as one of them asked me to ‘crack on’. It’s a pretty cool response actually, since I had them bang to rights but, at the time, I thought I was going to bust a blood vessel. I walked away having told him to not speak to me like that again and that he was a fucking arsehole! Didn’t make me feel any better though. Fog’s chatting later so I’m going to have a few beers right now (just gone 8pm) - I feel like throwing caution to the wind for some reason (probably work more than anything else).

Day 95: Typing on Day 96. I had a lot of beers with Fog the night before last and felt like shit all day yesterday. Still managed to drag myself up to Foggy’s and have socially distanced beers in his garden with Noel and Lord Irish of Michael.

Day 96: Feeling like shit. Third day of no walking ‘cos my ankle is a little sore although I did walk back from Foggy’s last night.

Day 97: Two walks and my usual stair climb today. Felt good to get back to routine. Plus, no booze yesterday, even tho’ it was a Saturday, feel better for it. I heard from Sue Cockings from HR on Friday, btw, still furloughed until further notice.

Day 98: I discovered, yesterday, that today is actually day 99 of lockdown since it actually begun on the Sunday evening that Boris Johnson announced the measures being in place - I mistakenly thought it began on the Monday. Tumblr still haven’t got back to me regarding reviewing why this blog is deemed ‘sensitive’ and I can’t add any more pics. While I am typing, Northampton are beating Exeter 0-2 at Wembley in the L2 play-off final. It’s funny that their fans can’t be there to see it. Football, in general, on its return after lockdown, without fans in attendance, is shit - like watching women’s football - too many empty seats.

Day 100: I have decided to number the days correctly (See prev’ entry). It’s a good time as I had to export , delete and recreate this blog on Tumblr since they have been non-forthcoming in my request for info as to why they deemed it ‘sensitive’. So, this is a restart, altrough seemless to the reader. On top of all that, I am writing this on Day 101! After restarting the blog diary I forgot to add the day’s entry! Bumped into Roger on my second walk, at the top of Basset Ford Place. We chatted for an hour or so. It was really good to see him and talk. We’ve made a promise to interact more...it seems both he and I allow ourselves to get down in the dumps (easy in self-isolation) and, as such, we shall try to reach out as and when. He suggested a walk together every now and then.

Day 101: I heard back from a charitable services company that Barry Haddon (who, coincidentally, I spoke with today) told me about (Auriga)and answered their email questions. BNarry rates them and told me they got him some decent results like he no longer has to pay Council Tax. I tweeted Chris Hawkes on Radio 6 this morning...he was asking for examples of sames names (’cos he had Dave Gorman on) so I told him about The Redlion and the ad the ‘other’ Tim put in the ET. He read it out! I created a photo album of 101 pics I’ve taken in lockdown and put it on FB including the Oundle Chatter group. The comments were great. My right eyesight is worrying, I cannot make out close up detail i.e. reading is blurred. I am going to start doing 10 press ups after each exercise i.e. three times a day. I decided that during my second walk so today I’ve done 20. Lastly, I have new neighbours I do believe. Hmmm.

Day 102: Emailed dad and Rita to have a rant about what dad thought of the Leicester lockdown and to share a link to my 101 photo album. Had a long Messenger chat with Rog.

Day 103: Typing this on day 104. Dad called when I was out ona  walk so we skyped when I got back. He looks really well! Advided me on how to cutt some branches that are hanging low (I asked him in the email yesterday). I then borrowed a saw, secateurs and green bin from Karen. I walked a long way today. My second walk was 9km.I then had loads of beers! The Co-Op car park seems to be the venue for youngsters to hang out. I was gone 2am before they finished partying. I (re)watched Steve Jobs. Wow....just wow. What a film and what a man!

Day 104: It was gone 1:30pm when I got up feeling the worse for wear. A chilli, chorizo and cheese omelette really sorted me out but no beer tonight. How my Saturday frame of mind has changed from just a few years ago. Elliot and Camilla dropped off a jar of japaenos (that Mil had WhatsApp’d me about) and, among other things, we chatted about a photo Tracie Garrett circulated featuring Ell, me her and a few others who met up to have a drink at The Haycock for Ron Gambling. In it was Cath and someone called Ross (who I don’t remember) who have both passed since the pic (July ‘99). I feel strangely saddened by it all. The pic itself is such a reminder of days past - it conjours up shit loads of different feelings.

Day 105: A few beers again last night so another late one (5ish) but up before noon. Finished watching a series called Condor. Pretty good - bit of a messy ending that is the norm with telly nowadays in that it is a little bit of a cliffhanger.

Day 106: The Ship reopened today. I left a nice message on the Virtual Pub group page wishing them the best plus said thanks to Rach. I think it will be the end of the laugh we’ve had on the virtual site now. I expect to go through a bit of a miserabel time with people now venturing out down the pubs.We were once all united in lockdown - that will no longer be the case. Met Rog for a walk - did over 7km oncluding through Barnwell Picnic Park - I don’t remember it being that pretty. defo going to go there again. Got an email from RCI asking for all furlough workers to join a Zoom meeting tomorrow with Paul (MD) and Deryn (HR). Ominous! Went shopping in Asda and Farm Foods. £100 with NO BOOZE!

Day 107: The zoom call today didn’t tell me much other than we are being furloughed still, until further notice. It was susggested that we have a zoom meeting every 2 weeks and that RCI recognise we’ve be left out in the cold somewhat. I appreciate that very much.There were 30 of us on the call plus Paul and Deryn were in the office since they had to make peopel redundant today. Mark was in the office earlier to take receivership of the IT kits from those that left.

Day 108: I am well on the way to doing 1,000,000 steps in theree months (July, August & September) but at what cost. I’ve done well over 11,000 steps each day in July (actually, a lot of days in June as well) apart from one (8k) and I am feeling it. My right leg/ankle is sore! Day 109: I had another mention by Chris Hawkins on Radio 6. He asked for Brian May moments - apparently when he met Brian May he was so starstruck that all he could say was ‘thank you for the music’. I tweeted my story of telling Felicity Kendall to have a good life. Today, both my walks have resulted in me getting fucking soaked. Hanna S2 is on Amazon Prime. Time for yet another free trial (number 4 or 5).

Day 110: I have walked 144,448 steps in 10 days, well on the way to a million steps in three months. The Heist of the Century - an Argentinian film based on true events - watched it last night (well, over two nights, actually). A real life Ocean’s Eleven (but with 6). Brilliant film, brilliat story. I had issues signing up to another Amazon Prime free trial last night so I set up another gmail a/c just now and I think I’m in. I used Danny’s Gmail (which I created over 15 years ago!) and it didn’t like it - I think I must have used it before. I reckon I have probably had loads more free trials than I care to remember. Anyway, off to watch me some Hanna!

Day 111: Very tired as I type. Bed at around 5am, up at 13:30, normal exercises, cleaning kitchen cupbaords and I’m done in. It’s 10:30pm now, just cracked open a beer and about to watch a new Netflix film “The Old Guard”. I would continue with Hanna but Amazon Prime keeps fucking erroring. I will try to go to bed before it gets light (which seems to be my w/e norm nowadays!

Day 112: I have got into the habit of eating dinner far too late. It’s 10:30pm as I type and I am just about to have something eat. I’m not sure why I feel it’s wrong to eat so late but I do, I shall be trying to address it. Late night again last night (gone 4:30am) so today was a lazy day. Only on ewalk but it was 10km and I get up the above 11,000 steps needed for the 1m challenge. My stair climb, at around 9pm, fucking killed.

Day 113: Boring Monday.

Finished watching The Old Guard on Netflix. A Highlander-esque affair with Charlize Theron kicking ass like she did in Atomic Blonde. It was OK. Haven’t manage to lick the late night eating. It’s 10:05pm and tea’s still cooking.

Day 114: I have been looking at planning persmissions on the ENDC site for questions posed on the Oundle Chatter group on FB. There’s going to be two sites with 130 new houses on each and it’s causing concern. And so it should - the planning docs are very revealing. Objections are dismissed in such an off-hand way. It’s really quite insulting. I was awfully down today, during my first walk. I mean, really despondant (too difficult to describe here), which is a lower version of the norm - it’s been a good couple of weeks since anyone’s even asked how I am! A week since that post on my main blog. But, I powered through and am back to the usual depth! I ate at @9:30 pm tonight. Told ya!

Day 115: I am typing this on Day 116 - I ended up hainga  couple of beers last night and forgot to post. I had the most ridiculous toing and froing on FB and Messenger with Rachel (Harris) - it was piss funny. She is the first person in days, actually weeks, who has asked how I am! I watched ep3 of Hanna S2. Absolutely superb. She kills Marissa! Did not see that fucker coming...mind blown! Day 116: I have finally finished the thorough clean of the kitchen. Fucking drama. I am typing at just gone 10pm, about to eat (curry I made yesterday). It’s been a strange day, timings wise, last night’s drinking meant I wasn’t up until just gone noon which obviously didn’t help. I had a call from DSM group - I applied for an IT tech role, they want to see me tomorrow (Friday) for an interview (in Sibson). Interesting! (Although the contact, Helen, hasn’t sent the promised email!)

Day 117: Despite not getting a confirmation email, I attended the interview at DSM. It went OK (I was there for 90 mins). I went booze shopping in Tesco’s afterwards. Spoke to dad today also - he and Rita are well, as usual! I am feeling really knackered and achy today. I do hope it’s not anything to worry about.

Day 118: Up at 1pm. 9.79 km walk. Cooking meatballs, drinking beer, listening to The Blaze about to watch Deepwater Horizon. All good today!

Day 119: Similar to yesterday, up late, bloody long walk, watching Saving Private Ryan (which I started last night).

Day 120: Typing on day 121. Received an email from someone that works at the BBC for Shaun Keaveny’s show - they want me to do small claims court on August 5th. I’m becoming obsessed with getting my steps in - my second walk was extended to round Barnwell Country Park - over 17.5k steps - not the most I’ve done in one day but, for example, most in one day last month (June) was 14.7k. More importantly, I am finding that I can walk further (and for longer) and not have a hypo; not a great deal further, but over an hour.

[thisheartofminex]

adrenaline rush : one

She makes it all of five steps before there’s a hand gently clasping around her right wrist. Instinct has Phe pulling away from the owner of the rather large hand, it fits around her wrist too easily. Her head turns so quickly she’s not sure that she didn’t whip them with her hair.

When she sees it’s Harry, her heart rate doesn’t go down but instead continues to pump at a mile a minute.

“Yes?” Phe asks, trying to sound like she wasn’t spooked by him at all. Hates giving off any other impression that she was cool, calm, and collected.

“What did you say your name was?”

“I didn’t.”

“Which historical region of Greece includes the capital, Athens?”

Phe’s not really paying attention to the pub quiz as much as she normally would have, considering she enjoyed it when her friends made comments about how bright she was (although they were said in a teasing matter it stroked her ego nevertheless). But tonight, she wasn’t feeling like her usual self. The Shamrock wasn’t a pub that she would choose to frequent in her spare time, especially because she knew that it was her brothers' friends and associates local. Phe was under no influence of the type of people that flocked to her brother like a child to a sweet shop, and it was made clear to her a long time ago that she was to keep those people at an arm's length.

So, to say she was a little on the edge tonight would be accurate. She’d only come because there was a promise of leaving right after the quiz but where they’d go after would depend on if they won or not. Before she left, they’d all go to Adam’s after whatever house party they’d been at and carry on with their night there. But Adam’s parents had sold their house and moved to Wales seven months ago and quite frankly nobody else’s place, or parent's, could even compare.

“G’wan Phe, you should know this one.”

Zayn gives her a nudge to her arm, softly encouraging her to participate. One glance at his face and she knows exactly what he’s thinking. He can see she’s not being her normal self and he knows that she didn’t want to come here. He’s the one who promised they’d shoot off after the quiz, with a promise of getting a McFlurry after.

“What’s the question?” She chirps at Natalie, moving to place her elbows on the table across from Adam’s. Her mother’s mantra of ‘elbows of the table’ echo’s through her head briefly but she ignores it, focusing on answering Natalie’s question as Adam rolls his eyes at her. It was typically the three of them that banded together and won quiz night, since if one of them missing and the success rate dropped significantly, no matter who else was there. The others like to tease them about it, but they laughed it off and drank the winning booze.

Taking a swig of her drink, she makes eye contact with Lauren, who gestures in the direction of the door leading upstairs. Phe knows exactly what she’s getting at and nods, making sure to leave her jacket on the chair next to Zayn, in hopes of nobody trying to steal her spot.

On their way back down from the toilet, they bump into a friend of Ronan’s, Kieran, who coincidentally happened to be leaving the toilets the same time as them and takes it upon himself to come sit with their circle of friends. He’s telling them about some sort of low-key boxing match that’s happening in town tonight, in a couple hours to be precise.

“Is Ronan here?” She asks, looking in the direction Kieran came from. He’s holding a fresh pint in his hand, with it almost spilling over the edge. Phe makes sure not to be in range of it as she starts walking back to the table.

“No, he’s already at the fight with Jimmy and Fat Boy. We’re gonna go meet up with them in ‘bout half hour though.”

“Meet who?” Zayn asks as the girls take their places from before and Kieran pulls a chair up for himself. He starts telling Zayn about the local match, telling him that it’s so and so’s cousin up against somebody else’s nephew. Adam starts to join in the conversation, all three of them discussing it amongst them whilst Phe, Natalie, and Lauren work on the last three quiz questions.

When the boys go outside for a smoke it’s announced that cheez is the winning team, with a total of twenty correct answers out of thirty. The group win a free bottle of wine and Lauren’s the one who goes to the bar to collect it with their sheet of answers. Natalie and Phe are discussing if it’d even worth sharing the prize or if one of them should take it home, since they did most of the work, as per usual.

It’s Kieran’s loud voice that startles them out of their conversation as he announces that they’re all going to see this boxing match. Phe just looks to Zayn to gauge his reaction but instead of dismissing it and reassuring her with one look, she’s moderately surprised when he comes to the defense of the man besides him.

“Why not? Pretty dead here, might as well.”

That’s unlike Zayn, Phe thinks. The Zayn she knows would go grab a six-piece chicken nugget meal from McDonald’s before going home and smoking a spliff in bed. Zayn didn’t do clubbing, although he had been quite a few times between the ages of eighteen and twenty-one, when Phe wasn’t even legally allowed to drink, let alone drive. Since then he’d got into a routine of going to work, coming home with the occasional pub visit here and there. On an especially exciting week, he’d join Phe and Natalie for lunch on a Tuesday. Maybe even see his other friends on the weekend.

Lauren comes back from the bar, carrying their prize in both hands proudly before she’s asked if she’d wish to go and see this fight. With her agreement, it seems settled that the five of them are now joining her brothers' friends in their abnormal Wednesday night. Typical of Ronan and his friends to be doing reckless things without much thought put behind it. Phe wasn’t one to shy away from most things but even she had to question that it was a little shady that some unofficial boxing match was taking place in the middle of the week.

Before she knows it, they’re being joined by two men she recognizes from her elder brothers' school friends and they’re being squished into a mini bus. With her and Lauren being the smallest, the candy floss pink head of hers ends up practically sitting in an Adam’s lap and Phe’s able to squish between them and Zayn.

They arrive at some shifty looking warehouse type after being in the van roughly twenty-five minutes, since the roads were rather clear. Phe has a rough idea of where she is but isn’t too sure, makes a point of finding Ronan and sticking to his side for the remainder of the night (unless he was with a girl – then she’d keep her distance enough, since last time she saw Ronan out with a girl he ended up snapping at her for being there, as if she were some stupid teenager). Hopefully they’d make it home early enough not to wake their parents.

It must have been getting on a bit when they turned up, since the place seemed to be harboring more people than she expected. Phe notices a very distinct vibe immediately, with the air smelling of cheap beer and sweaty bodies. Clearly the spectators had been here quite some time before they showed up, for the floor was sticky enough to indicate they had been. So, when Natalie says she’s getting a call from her boyfriend (he lived a good forty-five-minute drive on a good day), Phe says she’ll join her outside.

“Don’t be long you two, it’s ‘bout to be startin’ soon, yeah?” Kieran tells the pair enthusiastically, with a smile and a wink from Zayn as they promise so come find them in ten minutes give or take.

“Not want anything from the bar?” Nat asks her, to which Phe tells her that she’s not really feeling that shit booze vibe tonight. The girls laugh in agreement, standing to the left of the double doors outside. As her friend lifts the phone to her ear, Phe makes herself busy by pulling out a cig and lighting it up. She doesn’t want to eavesdrop on their conversation so stands with her back leant against the brick wall, not looking in Nat’s direction in hopes of giving her some privacy.

There’s a small group stood just a few feet away from the pair, consisting of three guys and two blonde girls. The girls seem to be pretty cozied up with the men they’re stood closest to, both leaning towards them as a source of heat presumably, by the way they're dressed. Phe can understand, it’d been almost twenty-five degree’s today, so a dress was an obvious choice. Although, everyone seems to forget that once the sun gets down it’s still eligible to reach at least fifteen degrees, so Phe made sure to bring her denim jacket. Since it had so many pockets, it’d also made bringing a bag to quiz night seem pointless.

The third man, unlike the other two, smartly chose to wear a long sleeve CK jumper. He’s stood with his side profile to her, holding a plastic cup full of beer in his right hand, which seems to have a couple of rings on. Phe tries her best not to stare too much in the group's direction, but she can’t help but people watch. They seem to be happy to joke between one another, although she can tell that the two girls are regretting their choice of no jacket. So are the guys, probably damning their t shirts.

Phe hears Natalie say something along the lines of ‘train station’ and she glances over at her friend, who’s stood facing the ugly brick wall that she’s leant against, taking drags of her cigarette lazily. Not five seconds after the phone conversation’s coming to an end.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m gonna spend the night at Aaron’s.” She tells her friend, “the train stations literally just ‘round the corner and he’s gonna pick me up from his station.”

Phe asks again if everything’s alright, to which Nat assures her that it is but she wasn’t really feeling like staying in this dungy warehouse too longer, would rather spend the night at her boyfriend’s. The next train is in ten minutes, so Phe offers to walk her to the station. Natalie’s lucky because the train station was a ten-minute walk down the road and she just makes it on time, giving her friend a hug goodbye and a promise of a text when she was safe.

When she makes it back, she spots Zayn stood outside, chatting with the group outside from a distance. Brown eyes spot her and shout a thanks in their direction before turning his attention towards her, reaching out to grab her arm gently.

“Where you run off to, huh? It’s startin!” He says, gorgeous face frowning softly, “Where’s Nat gone?”

Phe lets him know the situation, as he puts his arm around her shoulders and guides her towards where the rest of their group are sat inside. One glance back behind her and she makes eye contact with the dark-haired man in the jumper. She expects him to divert his eyes, ashamed for being caught staring, but if anything, he does the opposite. Has the nerve to drop his left eye into a wink as he takes a swig from his cup of what she presumes is cider.

Phe doesn’t falter once, just gives him a once over before looking inside, seeing the overhead lights have dimmed significantly. The small crowd, if you could even call it that since there were maximum of fifty people, had turned their attention towards the center where a boxing ring seemed to be conveniently placed.

Her stomach does a summer salt when she see’s this, and when she see’s the two men in the middle. Especially when she clocks on that they both seem to lack the proper fighting equipment for the sport, supporting bare knuckles.

Oh Ronan, she can’t help but think to herself when the first punch is thrown.

There weren’t much these days that she didn’t expect her brother to have some part in. She understood he liked to have his hand in somebody’s pie, whether it was good for him or not. Especially when it came to the drug kind.

But this? This was new, even for him. Glancing over at said elder brother, stood next to his new ‘friend’, she can only hope that this was only a mild fascination for the sport. There was only so much that their parents could handle, too, and she didn’t want them having to worry about him more than they already did.

Phe tries, she really does, but when the second match starts, she can feel her patience running thin. The girl attached to Ronan’s side was getting on her nerves, from the way she was shooting dirty looks in Phe and Lauren’s direction, to the way she kept batting her real mink eyelash extensions up at her brother. She’d sobered up a while ago, whilst they were in the cab over since she’d only had a couple of drinks at The Shamrock, so the house music overhead was only jumbling her thoughts up.

She makes sure to let Lauren know that she’s just going to the toilet, shooting a wink up at Zayn as he looks at her brush past him. She knows him like the back of her hand and could speak to one another with just a look. Natalie was also like that, she’d known her for almost as long as she knew Zayn, since he was originally her brothers' friend first.

In the toilets, it’s not so loud and allows Phe a moment to herself to think. She thinks about work tomorrow and how thankful she was that she had a later start. Even goes as far to check the time, 10:18, and calculate how much longer they’d be here and how many hours of sleep she’d be able to get.

Taking the time to wipe her hands dry, she throws the paper towels into the nearby bin before giving her auburn locks a quick smooth down. When she makes her way back to her friends and brother, it’s clear that it’s some sort of half time, probably to give the crowd time to go buy more drinks. Phe’s blue eyes land on the broad back stood talking to not only Zayn, but Ronan and his friends too. Lauren doesn’t seem to be particularly listening, from the way she’s stood, but the men seems to be very interested in what he’s saying.

“Phe-” Zayn starts as his hazel eyes lock with hers, Lauren perking up also, “stayin’ at mine tonight, yeah?” He puts his arm around her shoulders, guiding her to stand facing Lauren, not the strange man.

But she gets a glance up at him, and recognizes him from the guy outside in the CK jumper. Pink lips are parted as he seems to be saying something to Ronan, too quiet for her to hear even though she’s less than three feet away. Sure, the spectators around them had quieted down since there wasn’t currently two guys trying to kill each other in the ring, but they were making enough noise for her have to strain just to her the two people closest to her.

“Who’s that?” Instead of acknowledging Zayn’s question, or Lauren’s unsure look, she makes sure to not stare too hard and just does a small nod in the man's direction to indicate who’s she’s asking about.

“Harry, a mate of Ronan’s.” He whispers back, removing his arm from her small frame before repeating his previous question.

She just nods, sneaking a glance towards Harry again, only for his eyes to wander down to her. A small smirk appears on his lips as jade green eyes look her up and down, body turning ever so slightly in her direction. Phe thinks he’s about to say something but his attention is taken away by a familiar blond from before. Said blond whispers something in Harry’s ear, who just nods and utters a ‘see you later’ to the men stood around him, dares to throw a wink in Phe’s direction, then makes his way towards where she assumes the fighters are waiting.

For a moment she’s a little thrown off by the handsome stranger, from his brown curls seeming to be effortless styled off of his face, to the air of confidence that he gave off. Not to mention the wink? Some part of her is saying that they’ve met before, but they can’t have even as much as glanced at each other, otherwise she’d remember.

Phe could tell he was the type of man that you can’t forget about, wouldn’t let you forget about. From the peeks of tattoos at his collarbones she could tell that he was the type who could ruin a girl's life without a second thought.

It was almost as if that wink was some sort of promise.

***

After the last fight ended, everyone was quick to leave and continue their night somewhere else. Nobody seemed too keen on sticking around since the bar wasn’t open for much longer after the bell rang and the winner’s name was called out. So, since Lauren had to use the toilet, herself and Zayn chose to wait inside for her instead of risk being bulldozed over, whilst the rest made their way outside for a smoke.

They’d open the all two fire escape doors, which helped a little, but also not really. By the time Lauren comes out, pink hair visible from a mile away, it’s cleared out enough to Phe’s liking.

The three of them step outside, Phe wanting to say a goodnight to her brother before they all head off to Zayn’s for the night. Lauren’s folks are out of town this week, seeing some relative’s, so she’s crashing along with Phe. They’d most likely end up sharing Zayn’s bed together, with him either on the sofa or in bed with his roommate, Niall, depending on if he was home and what mood he was in. The Irishman had declined coming along tonight because he wasn’t feeling too ill and didn’t want to make himself any worse.

Lauren spotted Ronan first, pointing him out to Phe. He was stood with the girl from earlier, thinks her names Ava but doesn’t remember being formally introduced to her, who’s stood as if they were joined at the hip. Kieran’s talking to him, cigarette in hand matching her brother’s, whilst the girl just leans against him like a human post.

Phe manages to say goodbye and goodnight to her brother whilst ignoring his ‘friend’ completely. Even goes as far to say a bye to Kieran, before she’s making her way over to where Zayn and Lauren are stood waiting besides an uber that just pulled up.

She makes it all of five steps before there’s a hand gently clasping around her right wrist. Instinct has Phe pulling away from the owner of the rather large hand, it fits around her wrist too easily. Her head turns so quickly she’s not sure that she didn’t whip them with her hair.

When she sees it’s Harry, her heartrate doesn’t go down but instead continues to pump at a mile a minute.

“Yes?” Phe asks, trying to sound like she wasn’t spooked by him at all. Hates giving off any other impression that she was cool, calm, and collected.

“What did you say your name was?”

“I didn’t.” Very aware of his hand still holding her arm, she glances down at where they’re connected. Green eyes follow and let go, making sure to brush her fingers as they do. Phe expects him to backdown at her brashness but he just smiles.

“Your Thorns sister, ain’t you?” He doesn’t move, continues to stand in her circle of space without a care in the world. Even places his hands in the front pocket of his jeans, which are jet black and have holes in at the knees, like her own.

“Whatever gave it away.” She says dryly, dark brows raising slightly as she takes a glance in her brothers' direction.

Although he chose to keep his hair cropped short, you could still tell that he was a natural ginger, albeit a darker shade than her own. The freckles on his nose gave it away, too. Ronan had been the lucky one who was blessed with a light dusting of them paired with the ability to tan nicely. Whereas Phe had been cursed to be fair skinned forever, with the absence of any prominent freckles.

“I’m Harry.” He holds his hand out between them this time, letting Phe get a good look at the Rolex on his wrist. Her father always said that watches weren’t for telling the time, but simply just for show.

“Phe.”

“Phe.” He repeats, almost satisfyingly, like a child finally getting the answer they’d been dying to know. Since she’d barely placed her hand in his, she’d expected his hand not to engulf her hand so easily. A quick glance down at their still connected hands and Harry starts to let go, making sure his fingers brush the length of hers.

“You’re slipping through my fingers.”

At first, she doesn’t realise that he’s making a joke, albeit a rather poor one, and can just about manage a blink in his direction through her confusion. It’s only when he sends her another wink paired with a little wave of his fingers as he walks off does it click in her head.

With an eye roll and a sigh she makes her way over to her friends.

[siriuslystarbucks]

Deserve What You Get

Sirius/Lily, Sirius/Lily/James

Summary: Both Sirius and Lily want James, but they know that they’re not good enough for him. Some time together though... that’s not a bad idea. 

On AO3 or below 

It was a regular Saturday after the war ended, which meant that there was another party to celebrate everyone that was still alive and kicking. For Sirius, this meant sulking in a corner with a drink in his hand as he watched James flirt with yet another random arse person. (And okay, Fabian wasn't really random, but he didn't understand why James insisted on throwing himself at a different person every single week.) 

Lily came up next to him this time, a beer in her hand and a look on her face that said she wasn't having a good time either. 

"How's it going Lily?" Sirius asked. 

"Fine." 

"Yeah you always say that when you're drinking beer. Didn't you call it 'the weak grain piss of alcoholic beverages'?" 

Lily snorted, leaning her head back against the wall. "Yeah, and it tastes like shit." 

"Then why are you doing it?" 

"I don't think you're in a position to judge me for my brand of masochism." 

"What's that supposed to mean?" 

She gestured with her beer towards James and the way he was currently beaming at Fabian like he was the best person alive. What an arse-- although, yes, Fabian was pretty awesome, but still he wasn't exactly James's type now was he? 

Sirius glanced at her, wondering if he should deny it. Want was as clear in her face as it was in his own though, so he just shrugged. "I'm not good enough for him and I know it." He paused, then added, "You're not either." 

"I know. I had my chance back at Hogwarts and I didn't take it." 

"He was kinda an arse back then," Sirius said, in the interest of fairness. 

"Course he was, but you still loved him." 

"What can I say, as long as it's him, I don't care." Hell, Sirius hardly knew what attraction to another person felt like. Lily, for example, was bloody gorgeous, and he had some sort of interest in her, but bugger if he knew what to call it. 

Lily hummed. "So how long've you been pining?" 

"Longer than you," he said, and that's all the information he was going to give on the subject. 

"Well yeah," she said, but she didn't pry further. Either she knew that Sirius wasn't going to talk about it any more, or she didn't actually care to find out. She took a pull from her beer and pulled a face. 

Sirius snatched it from her hand, ignoring her protests. "If you're going to engage in self-destruction, why don't you pick something a little more fun, hm?" 

"Is that an offer?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. 

"Well it wasn't, but it could be if you were interested." 

"I vote we go back to your place and see if it's any fun." 

"Why not yours?" Sirius wasn't exactly thrilled to bring home a hook-up in the flat he and James shared; it just seemed wrong. Not that Lily was only a 'hook-up', but still, it felt weird. 

Lily wrinkled her nose. "Marlene and Dorcas are having a 'romantic date night', which basically means they'll be shagging on the couch. I don't know about you, but I don't want to have to walk past that." 

"Mine it is." 

*

Because Lily was a friend, she stayed the night afterwards. It didn't feel awkward or summat, but Sirius did sort of forget that James would be there in the morning. Unless James did end up going home with Fabian, but considering his poor success rate, it wasn't likely. Lily had kinda forgotten about that too. 

She was in the kitchen trying to start a pot of coffee for them. The grounds were easy to find, but the filters were acting like they had a vanishing spell on them. "Sirius," she called, "where do you keep the bloody coffee filters?" 

"Lily?" asked a voice that was very definitely not Sirius. 

She jumped, banging her head against the cupboard door. "Ow," she said, holding a hand to the spot as she winced. 

James was staring at her, looking absolutely dumbstruck. "What are you doing here?" 

"Er. Nothing?" she tried. 

That was the moment that Sirius showed up. "Hey Lily, I found your- er, morning James," he said, hiding her bra behind his back. She hadn't been able to find it earlier, but it's not like she was running out the door, so she hadn't bothered to look very hard before going to the kitchen. 

James was looking between the two of them, mouth open in shock. "Are you- what the- when the fuck did you start dating?" he said eventually, shouting the question at Sirius accusingly. 

"Erm." Sirius shifted his weight uneasily, and Lily piped up. 

"It's not really dating. It's er, more like we had sex last night and we don't know if it's going to happen again." 

"Do you want it to?" James asked, and it didn't seem like either answer would make him happy. 

Lily and Sirius shared a look because they hadn't thought this far ahead, and they sure as hell hadn't talked about it yet. 

"I dunno," Sirius said. "It's not like you're still hung up on her or that she's an ex. I- well James, I thought it'd be okay. Like, why would it matter to you, y'know?" 

There was a long moment, then James smiled at him sheepishly. "Right, sorry." He glanced at Lily, then back to Sirius. "Just surprised, yeah? It's not like you've ever brought someone home before. Sorry," he said again, this time directing it at Lily. "I'll just, er- get out of your hair then." He beat a quick retreat, leaving both of them frowning after him. 

"That was weird," Lily said. 

Sirius nodded in agreement. "Very. Though he did ask a good question. Are we doing this again?" 

"I mean," Lily shrugged, "I had a good time. Seemed like you did too." 

"I did. Oh, filters are above the fridge, I'll grab them." He moved boxes of cereal aside to open the cabinet, then snatched the little bundle. 

"Why do you keep them all the way back there?" 

"I normally only drink it when I'm trying to reach a deadline, and James doesn't drink it at all." 

"Why not?" 

"He says it tastes like dirt." 

"As opposed to the ever so wonderful tea he's so attached to?" 

"I dunno mate, it's just what he says." 

There was quiet as Lily started the coffee. 

"Do we wanna do this again?" Sirius asked. 

She glanced at him, and he shrugged. 

"We both said that we had fun, and it's not like the other shite is going anywhere. Might as well, you know?" 

"Yeah, sounds good. Are we saying every weekend or every other or...? What are we doing?" 

"You could just call me when you get horny." 

Lily snickered. "Yeah Sirius? You want to be my booty call?" 

"I've done worse," he said with a smirk. 

"Oh don't worry, I remember." 

*

He and Lily had been doing... whatever it is they were doing, for about a month now. After that first, weird morning, James had been fine. At least that's what Sirius thought until he got home early from a business lunch to find Remus and James talking. He didn't see them, rather he heard them talking from James's room, and he decided not to announce his presence loudly when he heard his name mentioned. 

Assuming that it was going to be an embarrassing story about him, he crept closer to eavesdrop-- though if he was found, he was going to claim that it didn't count as eavesdropping if it was happening in his home. 

"I thought it was a one time thing," James was saying miserably. "Or a two time thing? I dunno, but I never thought it would turn into an actual relationship." 

"What does it matter?" Remus asked gently. "You said you were over Sirius before we graduated." 

A jolt went through Sirius. Over him? Why would he be the one that James was over? Shouldn't they be talking about Lily? And what the hell did he mean graduation? That would mean that James had liked him at Hogwarts, when they'd been joined at the hip and never went anywhere without the other. 

James sighed. "I know, I just- I guess I wasn't as over him as I thought. Or Lily for that matter." Sirius couldn't see him, but he knew that James was running a hand through his hair. 

"Prongs, I know this isn't what you want to hear, but they're happy together. I never thought that I'd see Lily with someone she actually liked, and Sirius..." 

When the silence went on too long, James prompted, "What about Sirius?" 

"Well," Remus said uncomfortably, "I never thought he'd get over you." 

"What?" 

"James, Sirius has been in love with you for as long as we've all been friends." 

"Why didn't you say something!" 

"I'm not in charge of your love life, James," he said in a hard voice, and there was a barely audible 'sorry'. Remus's voice went back to normal. "Listen, I thought you had a crush and that you'd be over it in a couple months. I was wrong obviously, but I didn't want for Sirius to end up heartbroken. He's... he's finally moved on. Please. Don't tell him now and ruin everything." 

"But he-" 

"No, James. He's happy. You had your chance, and it's too late. For both him, and Lily. Just let them be together, and after a while, you'll get over it." 

There was a long pause, and James muttered, "Yeah, I guess. Thanks for talking some sense into me Moony." 

"Now there's the full time job I've been looking for," he joked. "You can always talk to me Prongs. Any time you want, I'm here for you." 

Sirius was having trouble breathing. He didn't remember making the decision to go see Lily, but one moment he was in his flat, and the next he was on her doorstep. 

She opened the door a little later, surprised to see him. "Sirius? What are you doing here?" 

"I erm." He licked his lips. "Think we made a few assumptions about James." 

Lily looked at him for a moment, then stepped aside to let him through. "Come in, I'll put the kettle on." 

*

"This isn't going to go well," Sirius murmured, unlocking the door so he and Lily could enter. 

"Would you stop saying that? Even if James turns us down, it'll be fine." 

"What am I turning you down for?" James asked guilelessly, looking up from his book. 

"Well I was hoping you'd hear us out before saying no," Lily said. 

"Okaaaay. What is it?" 

Lily looked to Sirius to start talking since that's what they had agreed to. "We er, I mean, Lily and I, we were wondering if you wanted to date us. Like, all three of us as a couple instead of just the two of us." 

James blinked once, twice. "You're serious?" 

They both nodded. 

"Oh. Erm, I guess-" he started to say, then stopped. "You're not taking the piss?" 

"I don't think that would be very funny," Lily said. 

"Okay. Erm. If you're sure...?" 

"We are," Sirius said. 

"Then er, yeah. That sounds good." 

*

A few weeks of dating and they had a big fight when James admitted that he thought this was a phase for them. A couple months after that got smoothed over, Lily moved in with them. 

The alarm went off and Sirius slammed a hand on the top to shut it up. 

Lily groaned, smushing her face against James's chest. 

"Aw, c'mon Lils, we have to get up," James said, scratching his fingers against her scalp. 

"You're too chipper," Sirius mumbled. 

Lily rolled over to hide against Sirius's chest since James was too awake. Her hair got wrapped around her face, and she bat it away impatiently. 

James got up, stretched his arms above him with a satisfied noise, then looked at his partners. His beautiful, loving partners, that didn't look like they planned on getting up any time soon despite promising him that they wouldn't be late to breakfast with Peter and Remus this time. He ambled towards the kitchen to start coffee, knowing that the scent would get Lily up, and once they were both out of bed, Sirius would follow. 

It would still take them a while to fully wake up, but it would take even longer for them to realise that James had set the alarm for earlier than usual just to be sure they would be on time. Whatever, they deserved it.

[scaryscarecrows]

Are You With Me?

AN: DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW MANY TIMES I TYPED ‘THE BOSS’ OUT OF HABIT. DO YOU. Anyways, title from the Vaux song.

Yeah. That was weird. Once upon a time, that was not a thing.-Antoine

* * *

The first time Antoine sees the Arkham Knight, he doesn’t know what, exactly, is going on.

It’s a sunny day in Santa Prisca. Half the island’s blocked off because of...he’s not actually sure. He just got here, like, last week. A little R&R, is what he said he was here for. What it actually is is a...he’s not sure yet. Bit of a break, sure, after that last job, but...he’s not sure what he’s here for.

But yeah. The first time he sees the Knight, he’s been here for four days and feeling like he’s being watched for two of them. He got lucky, just now; turned around on a crowded street and looked up, at a...the fuck is that?

It’s fast, whatever it is; by the time he registers that the blue thing is not supposed to be there, it’s cleared a gap between the rooftops and vanished.

Huh.

Antoine heads back into the crowd, towards the taco stand at the end of the street. The little old man that runs that thing makes the tacos of God. Maybe he is God.

The prickly feeling of being watched doesn’t fade, even when he cuts through a tchotchke shop and comes out of it just close enough to a family of five that he could be one of them.

It’s not like he doesn’t have enemies. And yeah, all right, that sounds really dramatic, but it’s true. At least one drug lord hates his guts for that job he took last year. Maybe not enough to send an assassin or whatever all the way here to get to him, but hey. You never know.

The prickly feeling vanishes when he reaches the taco stand, and he’s half-forgotten about it when he gets back to his hotel.

At least, until he’s standing outside his room, key in hand, with the gut feeling that something is wrong. There’s no noise on the other side of the door, but…

Eh. Fuck it.

He opens the door, intending to just roll in like he’s absolutely expecting a hitman, and…

Well.

Um.

He shuts the door, because Darth Vader’s reject brother-in-law is sitting on the other side of it.

Does he feel okay? He feels okay. He doesn’t think he’s got food poisoning, or any other kind of poisoning. Maybe he’s dehydrated.

Get a grip, man.

He opens the door again. Darth Vader’s reject brother-in-law is still there, but this time Antoine enters the room before closing the door behind him.

“Hi?”

Now that he’s a little closer, this thing doesn’t look...that much...like Darth Vader. Honestly, if Antoine had to make a comparison, he’d peg the...person...for some kinda Batman knock-off. S’the ears, you see. Antoine’s never seen the Bat, thank God, but he knows he’s a thing. Everybody knows he’s a thing.

Shit. This isn’t, like, Batman’s summer costume, is it?

“Can I help you?”

Blue Batman tips their head to the side like they’re studying him. No, this probably isn’t Batman. Batman has a chin. This thing’s got a whole helmet, dark, flickering blue like a computer screen or something, with glowing eyes. And, uh, all due respect to the Bat, but whoever this is looks scarier. Although, Antoine will admit, that could be the three guns, two knives, and pouches of who-knows-what they’ve got strapped to the, uh, armor. Or whatever.

“Antoine Drouot.”

One, gold star, someone got his name right. Two, he takes it back. This is Darth Vader’s reject BIL, what the hell is up with their voice?

“Depends on who’s asking,” he says carefully, stepping towards the mini-fridge. “I’m, uh, thirsty.” Should he share? Nana would say yes, but he doubts that helmet’s coming off. Nah, he decides. Screw this, uh, guy. (It sounds like it could be a guy…) He broke in here, he can get his own water bottle. “What do you want?”

The guy stands up and shit he’s built like a wall and Antoine’s now convinced he’s about to be thrown through the window. Okay, okay. That’s not actually armor, not everywhere; it’s got plating, yeah, across the chest and shoulders, but it looks like it’s similar to army fatigues, which means he can stab through it in a pinch. Well. Hopefully.

“I’m the Arkham Knight.”

“S’that supposed to mean something?”

The Knight chuckles. It sounds like the Devil.

“It will.” Well. That’s not ominous or anything. “You’re between jobs, I hear.”

Something tells him that quoting the average unemployment rate for any country is going to get him nowhere. Whoever this is, he knows what, exactly, Antoine’s career is.

“Taking some time off,” he says, cracking the seal and half-wishing he had a beer instead. “Why.”

“I’m assembling,” the Knight says, “an army.”

Army, he says, not crack team. So there’s Money involved. Money is good. But, like, invading a country is bad, and there’s no way he’s getting mixed up in the conflict on the other side of the island. That shit’s too ugly even for him, thanks.

“For what.”

The Knight leans against the flimsy dresser, gloved palms flat against the wood, and Antoine guesses he’s looking at him. The scary blue eyes...eye-lights...whatever...are certainly pointed in his direction.

“To kill the Batman.”

Normal people would either run screaming, leap out the window, or laugh. Antoine just takes in the ears and the guns and helmet and figures, he’s gonna go for it.

“Huh,” is what comes out of his mouth, and he tries to save himself by taking a chug of water. He nearly chokes, because of course he does. “Um. That’s, uh. That’s new for me.”

The Knight is suddenly across the room, leaning out to look at the street. What the hell? Is this guy a ninja or something?

“A sex trafficker’s staying in that room across the street,” he says, pointing at what Antoine figures is the room in question. He has no idea how this went from ‘kill Batman’ to ‘sex trafficker’, but hey, he can go with the flow. At least for a little while. “He’s out right now, but he’ll be back at eight o’ clock this evening.”

“Okay?”

“Consider him a job application.”

What. What? What’s happening? Maybe he does have food poisoning.

“I didn’t say I wanted the--”

“Eight o’ clock.”

And then the ninja-bastard’s just...not there at all. Seriously, Antoine blinked and he’d just freaking noped right on off somewhere. He checks the ceiling, just in case, but no, he’s gone. There’s an envelope, though, on the dresser with a wad of cash in it and a slip of paper with...details...on it.

What in the world just happened?

* * *

Okay. So to be fair, here, the police are crap and also busy, and Antoine is totally fine with popping a guy’s kneecap off for intel, but trafficking is bad and the guy’s literally right there and…

Yeah, okay, he’s not sure how successful the ‘kill Batman’ thing is gonna be, but he’s curious about it, a little.

So. At around six-thirty he lets himself into the nice, empty hotel room, rifles through the handful of personal belongings and does some checking to see if this guy really is what the, uh, Arkham Knight said, and wow. Buddy. Buddy. Why are you still alive, man? Why do you suck like this?

At eight o’ clock, the guy comes back.

At eight-fifteen, Antoine is hauling ass down the shoddy fire escape because there’s a HOARD OF ANGRY TRAFFICKERS. He’s not sure if he just killed their friend or their boss or what, just that they are mad and--

FWOOSH!

They are on fire.

What. What just happened.

“Move!”

No shit, man, what does it look like he’s doing-OH GOD.

Now that it’s nighttime, the Knight’s eyes are really, really glowy. And he’s prepping a Molotov cocktail, bottle in one hand and a lighter in the other. Where did he even come from?

Doesn’t matter; the bottle his hand lights up and he throws it. From a few streets over comes the sound of sirens.

Now, admittedly, the sedan across the street probably doesn’t belong to the Knight. But it’s blue, so it’s a reasonable assumption, and Antoine knows how to hot-wire it. And the Knight slides into the passenger seat like it really does belong to him, so. There’s that.

They’re across town when the Knight finally speaks.

“You’re hired.”

Um. He never said…

You know what? Fine. He’ll go with this, at least for a little while. He hasn’t had that kind of adrenaline rush in two years.

“Where to? Sir?”

The Knight pulls the seat back as far as it will go and reclines it.

“Circle the island, then drop this off at midtown.”

Oh, good, he can probably head back to the hotel and get his backpack, then. It’s the little things.

THE END