#(they were clearing out old dog stuff and i took the tag instead of throwing it out)

[geraskier]

.

[navalcriminalimagines]

Taken & Found - 1

Request 1: Hey there! I'd really like to see a comforting Gibbs after the reader was kidnapped?

Request 2: Could ya do something with the reader being kidnapped and tortured in captivity for a long time and after she was rescued and came back Gibbs tries to get her to talk about what happened to her so he can figure out how to help/comfort her?

Request 3: May I request something with Gibbs and scared reader? Maybe they’re like trapped somewhere or she’s going under for a surgery? You can decide reader’s fate!

This is a two-part fic. This part is basically full angst, focused on Gibbs and the comforting, healing focus on Reader will come in the second part. I wanted to separate both.

Pairing: Gibbs x Reader

TW: angst, kidnapping, mention of suicide, depression, slight alcoholism

Words count: 3k

Tags: @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @madamsnape921 @specialagentastra @ncisfan @zetasaturno99

She was supposed to be thirty-five years old today.

And it was one of those very rare days Gibbs didn’t want to get out of bed.

He spent the night working on his boat in the basement, thinking about what his life would be if anything had happened. But he would never know, would he? No matter how bad he wished Shannon and Kelly weren’t dead, how bad he wished you were here with him… all of this happened. And he found himself alone in his basement.

Well, not entirely alone. He had a bottle of bourbon to keep him company, and Fraser, an old black labrador. Your old black lab. Your furry baby, as you used to say.

You rescued it when it was just a puppy, a couple of years before you joined NCIS. So, Gibbs has always known you with this loving thing. At some point, you would even take him to the office and Fraser’s favorite spot was under Gibbs’s desk.

Gibbs never wanted to get attached to the dog. Fraser wasn’t his, it was yours and he respected that. But somehow, you both made your way to his heart.

But only Fraser was still here.

Taking a sip of bourbon directly out of the bottle, his eyes landed on your pet, curled up in the armchair Gibbs put here years ago after you made a remark. “You know, you should put something down here. An armchair or something for people who visit.” You said, while caressing the wood with your fingertips. God did he wish he was the boat at this very moment.

“People who visit never stick around.” He answered, sternly.

“I stick around,” you grinned.

Indeed, you did stick around. A lot. Probably too much.

Would’ve saved him the heartbreak if you didn’t.

A week later, an armchair was down his basement.

With the bottle still in his hand, Gibbs sat next to Fraser and started to toy the blankie. Well, technically, it was not a blankie. It was a tee-shirt. One of yours. The one you left at his house, two years ago.

The top, representing one of your favorite bands, was destroyed now. Fraser chewed it, curled against it nonstop for two years, it was now just some cotton with dog’s hair on it. It didn’t have your smell anymore, it had Fraser’s, but Gibbs never had the strength to take it away from the dog to wash it.

He never had the strength to do much after you disappeared.

When it was clear to the team that you had been taken, kidnapped, abducted or whatever, Gibbs searched for you for weeks, probably mouths. He still does, to be honest, just not 24/7 anymore.

The first weeks, he asked - or actually, ordered - Abby to take care of Fraser. Gibbs was spending all of his time away, looking for you, he couldn’t take care of someone - well, a living thing. The lab tech happily obliged, but Fraser’s health quickly deteriorated. The dog wasn’t eating, or drinking. All he did was lay on the floor, waiting for his mum to come back.

“What, Abby? I don’t—“ not a welcoming way to answer the phone but she didn’t hold it against him.

“I know you’re busy, Gibbs, but I’m taking Fraser to the vet. He’s not okay at all.”

Abby heard her boss taking a deep breath. “Which vet? I’ll be here as soon as I can.”

The dog was clearly letting himself die. Without you, he didn’t see the point of living and Gibbs understood that. If he told anyone what he did after he got Fraser from the vet, they would think he was crazy. Maybe he was, but he didn’t care at this point. He didn’t care about anything, anymore.

Fraser was depressed and there was nothing the vet could do about it. So, they let Gibbs take him home.

And he took him home. His real home; your apartment. Fraser immediately lay on your bed and cried. “You’re reading my mind, Fra.” Gibbs muttered to himself, while preparing a bowl for the pet.

Gibbs had been in your room a few times, but he never paid attention to your stuff. All his attention was on you and your body when it happened. But as he was sitting on the floor, his back against your bed, he allowed himself to take a look around. It was very much you. Minimalist with your touch. He saw your guitar, your messy wardrobe, candles and some Polaroid pictures of people you love. Gibbs never paid attention to those pictures until this moment and one grabbed his attention.

A picture of him. You could see him from afar, aiming to throw a ball. He remembered that night but he never knew you took a picture.

Ziva had invited him to throw a few balls on a baseball field. It was a nice summer night and they had just saved many people from getting blown up. It was also the first night you kissed him. In his basement, you teased him like you always did and ended up with your lips on his. He wasn’t ready for it at that moment, and when he realised what had happened, you were already gone.

Gibbs held the picture in his hand and before sitting back exactly where he was, he went to the kitchen, grabbed what he had prepared and came back.

Fraser was still laying on your bed, his face on your pillow. Gibbs carried him in his arms, the labrador didn’t even fight back or anything. He put him in front of the bowl and Gibbs sat across. “You wanna die, Fra, huh?” The dog looked at him with horrifying sadness in his eyes. “You and me both, buddy. So let’s do this.”

Gibbs put the picture next to the bowl and grabbed his gun and the bottle of whiskey. “I know you know that salmon. Eat it, choke, and when you take your last breath, I’ll pull the trigger.” He said, pressing the gun against his temple.

Fraser is deadly allergic to salmon. When he was a few months old, you fed him some and the reaction was almost instantaneous. Luckily, you took him to the vet right on time for them to save him. “Salmon is banned from the house.” you said on the ride home.

The dog didn’t move one bit. With his face still resting on the floor, he kept looking at the man. Gibbs swore he saw tears in the damn dog’s eyes. “So? Whatcha waiting for? Eat it. It’s good salmon, trust me.” He said, drinking the brown liquor.

If Fraser could talk, he would’ve told him; ‘I may let myself die, but you’re damn crazy.’ Which would’ve been fair.

Gibbs was going crazy. It was the last straw. The last punch in the guts he could take. He had reached his limit.

He was finally letting himself love again and get loved in return. And someone took that away from him. All over again.

He got it, the universe hates him for some reasons. Why would he keep pushing it then?

Gibbs stayed up all night, drinking and waiting for Fraser to eat the fish and die. So he could pull the trigger and end this once and for all.

But Fra never did. Instead, around 5am, the dog went to grab something from the bathroom and put it on Gibbs’ lap. It was one of his hoodies. A hoodie you stole from him. Gibbs buried his nose in it and he could smell you. For the first time in many years, he let himself cry. He cried like a fucking baby, under the watch of your fucking dog.

At some point, he felt that Fraser was trying to nudge his nose in the hoodie too. “We’ll find her, Fra. We have to.”

If Gibbs had killed himself, along with Fraser, it would’ve meant you were gone forever. Because eventually, people would’ve stopped looking for you. They would’ve stopped thinking about you and just pretended you’re dead.

But Gibbs knew you weren’t dead. He knew it deep inside him. Because if you were dead, Fraser would’ve eaten the salmon and he would’ve pulled the trigger.

Laying in his bed, Gibbs turned on his side and found himself face to face with Fraser. The dog was sleeping and snoring. That’s what he does most of his time. Fra was still depressed, but he didn’t let himself die anymore. He eats and drinks the bare minimum. He doesn’t play anymore though. He used to be a happy, playful and loving dog. Now he’s just laying around, waiting for you to come back.

Just like Gibbs.

They both lost weight. Gibbs didn’t even bother to look at himself in the mirror anymore. He hadn’t been to the hairdresser in a while. His hair was longer than it has never been, and his beard was prominent now. You would probably freak out if you saw him like this. You would order him to shave and get his marine haircut back. You would feed him - and Fraser - until they are full. He just wished you were here.

He reached for Fraser’s head and pet him for a moment. “The boat is done and I can’t even offer it to her.” He sadly whispered. It’s been his plan a long time before you were gone. Building a boat after and for you. Now it was your thirty-fifth birthday, the boat was fucking done but he coudn’t teach you how to operate it like he promised.

For the next two weeks, Gibbs would stay in the basement, and stare at the finished product. There was nothing left to do on it, so he just sat behind the wheel, files on his lap and bourdon in one hand. His use of alcohol has never been higher than it is now. You’d scold him if you knew.

Maybe he’s self-destructing, hoping you’d show up and make everything right again. It was stupid, since you didn’t leave on your own. You were taken. Someone took you, and god knows what they were doing to you. This awoke a rage he never knew he had. He’d kill that - or those - person with his bare hands if he ever has a chance.

A month after your birthday, Gibbs was basically falling asleep in his boat, relatively drunk. Fraser was on his lap - he doesn’t realise he’s not a puppy anymore - when the dog shot his head up. “Easy, that’s just Fornell.” Gibbs mumbled, recognizing his friend’s footsteps.

“My two favorite depressed boys.” Tobias greeted them. He gently patted Fraser’s head and looked at his friend. “I need you to sober up, Gibbs. We need to talk about something important.”

“Just say whatever you have to say. I’m not that drunk.”

“Yeah, right.” Tobias grabbed the bottle from Gibbs’s hand and checked how empty it was. But Tobias knew only one thing would make him react, so he went straight to the point. “It’s about Y/N, Gibbs. Get your ass—“

Before the FBI agent could finish his sentence, Gibbs had practically thrown Fraser away. The poor dog looked at him with hurt in his eyes. It was only then that Gibbs saw the file his friend was holding against his chest. He didn’t think twice and tore it out of his grip. Tobias let him.

There wasn’t much in the file, just a picture.

A picture of you.

You looked different, thinner, your hair was shorter and in a completely different color. You looked like a homeless woman.

Gibbs’s jaw dropped. His head was spinning so fast, he needed to sit again. He touched the picture with his fingertips so softly, hoping it was like touching you. A lot of things were going through his mind at this moment, he actually drew a blank. “It was taken two days ago. In Wyoming.”

Gibbs didn’t need more.

Tobias had everything planned before he showed up at Gibbs’s place. One of the FBI private planes was waiting for them, in order to take them off to Wyoming. He had asked Emily if she could dogsit Fraser for a few days, and he even called Vance to let him know he was taking Gibbs with him.

In the plane, he told Gibbs how he came across this picture and all of the info he had, which wasn’t much to be honest. As far as they knew, you were in one city of Wyoming two days ago. Maybe you were gone by now.

But all Gibbs could focus on was that picture. He didn’t take his eyes off it since he opened the file. This was you. You were alive. Whatever happened, whatever the reasons you found yourself here, you were fucking alive.

Tobias looked at his friend. He’ll spend the rest of his life pretending he didn’t see the tear rolling down his cheek. “How you feeling?” He tentatively asked.

“I—I don’t know. It’s a lot.”

“She’s alive. We know it. We’ll find her.”

“I’ve always known she was alive.”

No doubt he did.

It was hard for Tobias to tame Gibbs after they landed. The agent was already barking orders at everybody and anybody, he was ready to organize a fucking manhunt to find you. But the first place they went was where the picture was taken. Gibbs spent hours in the area, while Tobias went to see the local cops. When he tried to check on Gibbs, the man never answered.

In the picture, you were looking at the surveillance camera. You knew you were being watched. You did it on purpose, Gibbs was sure of it. You must have left a clue somewhere around.

You looked scared, someone must have been following you. But he knew from what Tobias said; there wasn’t much more on the video. You were briefly seen and then disappeared, again. “Talk to me, Y/N.” Gibbs thought to himself while looking around.

It was only around noon that it hit him. He finally saw it.

Right there on the graffiti wall.

“Born to lose, live to win.”

Your handwriting. This sentence. Your tattoo.

You must have written this to let him know he should look at this wall. So he did. He studied those graffitis for a long moment, until he saw what he needed to see.

Numbers. GPS coordinates.

He called McGee, not paying attention to the missed calls he had. He gave him the coordinates and Tim gave him an address.

Was that it? The nightmare was finally over? He would go to this address, find you and take you home. Finally.

Fucking finally.

He felt dizzy while running to the address. It wasn’t that far away, and there was no way he’d wait for Fornell or a cab. So, he jogged to this fucking house. When he was standing in front of it, his heart was beating so fast, he thought it would stop.

But he couldn’t die now. He would die after he found you but not now.

He didn’t care about procedures or anything. He grabbed his gun, and let himself in the house by knocking out the door. A man was sitting there, on the couch.

The house was pure filth. The man seemed to be a bit younger than him, and he looked like a psychopath. Which he is, considering he took you.

The man was standing in his living room, his hands up as Gibbs pointed the gun at him. In a flash, Gibbs was standing right in front of the man, the gun pressed against his throat. The man looked scared, he didn’t even try to fight. “What the hell, man? Who are you? What do—“

“Shut your mouth. Where is she?” Gibbs asked, suppressing the urge to beat the man to death right now. That would come later. He needed to find you first.

“Who? There’s no—“

Gibbs’s knee hit him right in his crotch and that bastard fell on the floor. “You’re living the final hour of your life, you better tell me where the hell is Y/N, before I watch life leaving your fucking eyes.”

“I—I—“

Seeing his hesitation, Gibbs punched him. “Where?!” He yelled, but the man stayed silent. “Fine.”

Gibbs grabbed the guy by his collar to put him back up. He was physically impressive, but the adrenaline running through Gibbs’s veins gave him incredible strength. He threw him on the first chair he saw and immediately cuffed him to it. He punched him once more, harder this time.

His nose and lips were bloody, but of course it wasn’t enough. Gibbs fought a lot in his life. To defend himself or to arrest someone, but never, had he been filled with that much rage and anger. He didn’t think twice before his boot hit the man directly in his face, knocking him unconscious. He stared as the man fell on the floor along with the chair he was cuffed to.

He needed to find you. Right now.

No need to be a federal agent to know a psychopath would hold you captive somewhere private.

So he immediately looked for a basement, which he quickly found and he saw the door.

A reinforced door with quite a few locks. Keys. He needed keys that he found in the man’s pocket. Although he was still laying on the floor, fighting to regain consciousness, Gibbs kicked him again, in the stomach this time. He wasn’t holding back his strength one bit. He will kill him anyway.

As he was unlocking the door, his hands were shaking like they never did before. His heart was still pounding in his chest. He still felt dizzy.

He was sure his heart actually stopped when he spotted you on the one-person bed. You were holding your knees against your chest. It was dark, but it was you. You were there, a few feet in front of him. He didn’t even know what to do.

But you did.

When you realised who was standing in front of you, you weakly jumped off the bed and rushed into his arms.

The only thing that kept you alive all this time; knowing that he would find you.

You felt even smaller than you already were. With your arms wrapped around his waist, your face buried in his chest, Gibbs felt you crying.

He slowly wrapped his arms around you, afraid it wasn’t real. Afraid he may hurt you. Afraid you would disappear again. “You found me.” he heard you whispering.

That he did.

[talesmaniac89]

Choices - The Beginning

Pairing: Dean x Reader OR Sam x Reader

Summary: Choices is an interactive Supernatural choose your own adventure story where your choices determine the outcome.  You go on a hunt with the two Winchester brothers, one of whom you love. You decide who your Winchester is and what happens along the way. Each part is a fully independently written section and no parts are copies of others, so the story can be read a full 8 different ways with 15 parts in total and 8 endings!

Total word count: 45k+ words (over 15 parts)

Triggers: Dark, torture, reader death, angst, loss, pain, blood, serious injuries, heartbreak, implied possible major character death, fear of abandonment, loneliness, hostage situation, gore (series levels blood, torture and fatal injuries)

Triggers depend on your choices, so if you are easily upset by any of the above please proceed with caution.

[Your Story Starts Here] - You’ll be asked to make your first choice at the bottom of this chapter.

Y/N = Your Name

---

“(Y/N)! Get a move on!” 

Dean’s deep voice echoed down the hallway just as you shouldered your duffle bag with a roll of your eyes. It hadn't even been 10 minutes since the call for help had come in. If it wasn’t for the fact that you’d been busy cleaning your guns when the call came, you would’ve already been out there in the library with them, ready to go. It wasn’t as if you’d been standing around fussing over which ratty t-shirt to pack for an hour.

“On my way!” You shouted back, grimacing as the heightened volume easily erased the annoyance you’d wanted to subtly lace each word with. Throwing another quick look around your room in the Men of Letters bunker you sighed at the mess. 

T-shirts and jeans were everywhere, as you’d pulled out everything to quickly stuff a few items in your overnight bag just in case the hunt took longer than planned. Not to mention the cleaning supplies you’d left abandoned on the floor from where you’d been sitting cross-legged polishing your favourite revolver.

It would all have to wait till you got back. Even though you knew you’d regret it once you made it back, bruised and stiff from the fight and the subsequent ride back in the Impala. Having to clean your room before you could fall into your bed feeling sorry for your aching bones was never fun. 

Yet, sticking to a decision you knew you’d come to regret; you got a move on before Dean could call out for you again. Swiping up your phone, you hurried out into the hallway and nearly ran straight into Sam as he came barrelling out of his own room. 

“Dean?” He asked, his hazel eyes meeting yours with a raised eyebrow a clear sign that your annoyance at being rushed was showing on your features. Though it didn’t matter, since the youngest Winchester clearly shared your irritation as he threw you a glance, underscored by an eye roll that put yours to shame.

“Yeah… Dean,” You said with a sigh as you lifted the straps of the duffle bag off of your shoulder. Attempting to bring some blood flow back into your arm from the heavy load of guns, knives, holy water and other goodies. As well as the clothes thrown in for good measure. 

“Let’s not keep our oh so righteous leader waiting then. C’mon (Y/N),” Sam smirked, teasing a small smile out of you as well. Before quickly reaching down and effortlessly snatching your duffle bag from your hands and hurrying down the hallway. If it wasn’t for your relief of having the bag off of your shoulders you would have stopped him. Reminded him that you could easily kick his ass if you went one on one. 

But, you knew that there were no hidden meanings in Sam’s gesture. He was just trying to be helpful.

You’d realised quite quickly after getting to know him that one of the things the youngest Winchester feared more than anything else was being abandoned; seen as useless or a burden and left standing in the dust. The shadows of his childhood fears were still clinging to him, little tendrils that he’d never managed to shake. Old fears from a youth spent in constant worry that his father would just drop him off somewhere and drive off without ever coming back. That, coupled with the many lost friends, lovers and hunters that had left him, willingly or unwillingly, made him try twice as hard at being of use to those he loved, every step of the way. From small kind gestures, like carrying your bag, to willingly offering himself up as a sacrifice to the big baddies of the world, in hopes of rescuing Dean, Cas, and now you.

Rolling your shoulders to shake off the rest of the strain from the bag, you pocketed your phone before hurrying after Sam down the hallway. No point in being grumpy when there were bad guys to gank. And neither of the two men in your life deserved your grumbled dissatisfaction. Both the bag and Dean’s insistence of getting on the road as fast as possible were just their own little ways of showing they cared. 

Sam was just trying to be helpful and Dean was always worried about losing another civilian by being just a second too late. And you loved them both for it. After all, one was your best friend in the whole world, while the other already secretly had your heart. Though you’d never found the courage to tell him you slipped it into his hands when he wasn’t looking. 

“(Y/N)!” Dean’s voice echoed down the hallway, pulling you out of your thoughts and back into your grumbled exasperation aimed at the oldest hunter. Ok… So maybe you’d allow yourself to be a tiny big grumpy until there were baddies in front of you to take it out on.

“I said I’m on my way!” You called back in a huff. Casting a quick glance at your closed bedroom door before quickly running to join the boys. Hopefully the bruises yet to come from the hunt wouldn’t make you regret your decision to leave the mess behind.

---

“So where are we headed, exactly?” You asked after about an hour’s drive and a quick case briefing from Dean. Leaning between the seats from the backseat of the Impala in a way that had Sam throwing worried glances your way for your lax seat-belt etiquette. 

“There’s a farmhouse, just 40 clicks away now, shouldn’t take long,” Dean’s voice had taken on that steely hardness it got whenever things got serious. And though the case was nothing out of the ordinary for the Winchesters and you, there had already been two reported deaths.

Which also meant that Dean had already added their names and faces to his list of sins to carry. People he could have saved if he could have somehow seen into the future. The oldest Winchester always etched the names of every lost soul into his big heart, burying them there among the many ‘should haves’ and ‘what ifs’ that weighed his broad shoulders down. He was a good leader, and a great hunter, but sometimes he cared a little too deeply. Leaving him hurt no matter how well a hunt went.

“... And put on your seatbelt (Y/N),” 

“Yeah, yeah,” 

… And sometimes he treated you like a little kid. The thought teased a wry sigh out of you. Quickly reaching out, you turned up the volume of the Led Zeppelin song that was playing, a small act of rebellion, before leaning back in your seat. Smiling innocently as Dean’s green eyes met yours in the rear-view mirror, his attempt at exasperation softened by the way his eyes crinkled in a smile. 

No matter how hard as steel the hunter tried to act, he always had a soft spot for Sam and you. To Dean, his feelings were cracks in his armour. They were the blind spots his father had told him about when teaching him to ‘always watch his back’. Yet, the man was more deserving of a family, of love, than anyone else you knew. And so, Sammy and you watched his back instead. Where he watched yours. Both of you determined for the older hunter to see you as strengths, not weaknesses.

Soldiers, shoulder by shoulder.

And, though Dean would constantly complain... You knew he was secretly happy the two of you stuck around; silently terrified of the loneliness he always tried to force onto himself by pushing others away. No matter how loudly his father’s words echoed in his mind and tried to tell him he was leaving himself vulnerable.

Letting Black Dog be your soundtrack, you watched the two most important people in your world from the backseat of the Impala. The Winchester brothers; both carrying scars from the family business they’d fallen into after their mother’s death. Each fearing abandonment and hurt in their own bruised and broken way. Both forced to give up any dream of apple pie to make the world a better place. Children turned soldiers turned martyrs, shaped into a sacrifice by a world that turned a blind eye to their suffering. Which was why you had promised yourself that you would try your damndest to give them a home, and that you would never run away from your life with them. 

Even if a certain hunter sometimes made that a hard promise to keep, as every friendly jab broke your heart at the clearly unrequited love you harboured. 

You sighed internally as you cast a careful glance in the direction of the man you’d come to love as more than just a hunting buddy or a friend, more than anything really, over the last year and a half of hunting with him. He’d probably be heartbroken to know he was hurting you, which was why you could never tell him how you felt. How your heart and body reacted, as if by reflex, whenever he was around.

Anything he did, from the smallest smile to the feel of his eyes on you, set your body on fire. In a manner not so different to what Robert Plant was promising he’d do to you as Black Dog blared over the Impala’s speaker system. And fuck if you didn’t want to echo the great artist himself and ask the man in front of you to do some not so innocent things to you whenever your eyes strayed to lips that you’d rather have on you than rambling on as they currently were about the case.

“Right… So, to make sure we’re ready…” 

---

Make your choice below to move the story along:

The man you love is speaking - who is he?

[Dean Winchester] or [Sam Winchester]

---

Tags:

Dean Winchester Stories: @ria132love​ @woodworthti666​ @defenderrosetyler​  @akshi8278​

Forever Tags: @deanwanddamons​ @winchest09​ @hobby27​  @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce​ @sea040561​ 

Choices Tags: @deanwinchesterswitch​  @maddiepants​ @adoptdontshoppets​ @foxyjwls007​ @mandalou29​ @tiki-tay​ @inked-poet​ @leatherwhiskeycoffeeplaid​ @rhysmybaby​ @heyyy-hey-babyyy​ @mellilla-rose​ @queenoftheunderdark​ @imaginationisgrowth​​ @almostelegantfire​ @alwaysdreamingforthebest​​ @mydelusionalworld-7​​ @fatalcrossbow​​ @backseat-of-deans-67chevy​​ @wearesuchstuff1​​ @amotleyworld​​ @impala-20​​ @sandlee44​​ @ksgeekgirl​​ @cheesewaster​​ @aeo10fan​​ @mrswhozeewhatsis​​ @idabbleincrazy​​  @writingthingsisdifficult​​ @ellewritesfix05​​ @justanotherwinchester​​ @starks-hero​​ @storiesfromtheimpala​​ @iluvsumbucky​​ @ellen-reincarnated1967​​ @katehuntington​​​  

Tags didn’t work for the following names: @lottieellz101  @lovedrarrypizzasleep   @katherineisagubler  @m2ello   @guesswhosback129  @deepsleepnat    I’ve sent you a message to notify you instead!   @ireallyhaveaproblem unfortunately I can’t send you a message either.

---

[copias-thrall]

Cause I'm Young and I'm Here and So Beautiful

A look into the rise and fall of Mary Goore's flash-in-the-pan modeling career.

~12.5K Mary Goore/Reader *drug/alcohol use; mentions of past child abuse; brief homelessness; plot no porn; POV shift*

This fic was inspired by and is very loosely based on Aurelio Voltaire's early days in NYC in the 90s, though I have set it in Boston in the early aughts. 😊

Many thanks to the artists who did commissions for this! 🥰

One Way Streets

Mary stepped off the regional rail and gripped his backpack. He had $72.57 in cash rolled into his socks and a give-em-hell attitude.

When he’d packed his bag the night before, he wasn’t even sure if he’d go through with it, but he couldn’t stand being home anymore. Some of his friends had told him he was crazy.

"Three more months, dude. You got this. Just finish high school, then bounce."

But they didn’t have to live with his dad and the step-monster. Every day was a new indignity. Having them bitch about his music and his style was one thing—that he could have dealt with—but everything else had just kind of…escalated.

Now that the kiddies were older, they’d turned into gremlins. They’d somehow sensed that Mary wasn’t their beloved older brother—he was some sort of half other. They’d stopped questioning why "mom was so mean" to him and had accepted that she was because there was something wrong with Mary. They realized they could be little shits and blame everything on him.

And dad just didn’t care. He’d throw up his hands and say, "I have to live with her"—as if Mary wasn’t in the same boat.

Dad hadn’t stopped her when—in a rage—she’d smashed every single vinyl album Mary had owned because the twins ruined her nice tablecloth. He’d shrugged when she cut all Mary's guitar strings so he couldn’t play "the devil’s music." He’d held Mary back when she took a match and burned all his secret stuff that Mary kept under his bed—action figures, books, guitar mags, journals—in the backyard because he got detention for smoking. He hadn’t said a word when the police showed up after she came at Mary with scissors because he’d dyed his hair black and he’d pushed her away before she could scalp him.

Mary thought for sure he was going to get carted off to jail as she screamed about him terrorizing the family and being afraid he was going to kill her sons in their sleep, but the officers had just looked at her bored and told her being a teenager wasn’t a crime.

So, no: Mary couldn’t wait 3 more months.

He’d scraped together what money he had left from his secret shifts working as a busboy under the table at a local dive downtown, packed his backpack with the essentials, and walked the 5 miles to the train station instead of going to school.

Eighteen was 10 weeks away. He could fudge it for a few months, especially since he could already get away without using his fake ID to get into shows most of the time.

So, to the big city it was.

He shifted his weight and tried to pretend that he belonged here in Boston, but actually facing the busy streets was a lot different from looking at a bird’s-eye view map. He had a printout in his pocket, but he didn’t want to look like a doe-eyed tourist. So he set off down the seemingly labyrinthine streets in the direction he could have sworn was the correct one.

It wasn't.

When he came out a side alley into Faneuil Hall, he almost wondered if he'd gone through a fairy portal, since he was clear on the other side of town. Begrudgingly, he checked his creased map, and set out once more.

And ended up spit out by the State building.

Finding the hostel turned into a fraught adventure, and he got turned around several times more. When he tried to ask for directions, most people pushed past him while one lady shoved $5 at him. He used the cash to buy a hotdog, and it was the vendor who ultimately gave him directions in his thick, Southie accent.

Of course, making it to the hostel ended up being just part one. The rates were almost double what it stated online ("Sorry, honey—that site hasn’t been upgraded since the 90s."), and two nights were practically all his savings. Mary had thought he’d at least have a couple of days to find a job, not 36hrs.

He left the hostel, wondering for the first time if maybe he shouldn’t go back home…but he decided it was a nice day out. Surely there was some place he could hunker down. Just for the night.

What he hadn’t anticipated was the cops at every fucking turn telling him to move along. And any place out of line-of-sight seemed to already be inhabited.

He finally found a place behind some rocks in the Seaport where he didn’t think he’d be murdered in his sleep, curled around his backpack, and drifted off into a fitful sleep.

Mary woke up damp from the dew and the morning sun streaming into his eyes. The birds were creating an awful racket, but Mary guessed it was as good an alarm clock as any.

He ran his fingers through his bird's nest of hair, and he made his way back to the South Station. The men’s room may have smelled like a sewage treatment plant, but at least it was free. He had expected it to be mostly empty at the crack of dawn, but it was full of commuters making that last run to the head before they had to take the train 2hrs out of the city for work.

And it was a sight: a bunch of suits with their fancy lattes washing their hands, and Mary in the corner trying to surreptitiously wipe down with paper towels under his Misfits t-shirt and his shredded jeans. At school, he’d have probably gotten into several altercations by now—no one would have let him just turn into Mary Goore without a fight—but this was Boston, and no one gave him more than a cursory glance.

Just another college kid.

It emboldened Mary to go full-out in the kind of way he had only done when going out to the punk shows downtown at night: kohl all the way around his eyes, and some on his cheekbones; mascara because his lashes are long and thick, and he knows it (his dad had said it made him look hard, and Mary had sneered that maybe that was what he’d been going for. But maybe it had been because he’d liked the way it had made his green eyes pop.); a smear of the step-monster’s fanciest matte lipstick on his full lips; and airplane glue in his hair to give it that lift.

He made a kissy face at himself in the mirror, and headed back out.

It was a nice Spring day—almost boiling in the direct sun—and it tempted Mary to wear only his battle vest, but even he kind of figured applying to jobs half dressed was a mistake.

He walked all over the city, trying not to get lost, looking for any kind of work—dishwasher, busboy, barback—but all he had to show for it was blistered feet and a raging appetite. The only good part of the day was that he noted any restaurant or bakery that looked like it might toss perfectly good food at the end of the day.

He and his friends had become experts at dumpster diving in his podunk town, and he felt confident that he had a good feel for a jackpot. Mary staked out a bakery and was rewarded with a find of "old" bagels. He shoved as many as he could into the nooks and crannies of his backpack before slinking off to the Commons to inhale at least two of them.

Cold, stale dough never tasted so good.

He watched the tourists and the professionals walk by in ones and in groups while he ran his bare feet through the grass. Some laughed with each other as they sauntered down the path while others seemed singularly intent on their ultimate destination. A pack of dogs ran and played with each other as their owners looked on fondly, and nearby the baseball diamond hosted a casual game.

Mary counted his lucky stars that his first week in Boston was April at its kindest—always mild during the day, even when it turned cloudy, and a few times even downright warm. The nights turned chilly, though, and it had Mary in more layers than an onion. If the birds or damp didn't wake him, his butt cramps from being curled in a tight ball all night did.

He spent those days walking around the city proper looking for work. He wasn't adventurous enough to make the leap across the bridges to Cambridge just yet, but his travels gave him a good sense on how the different sections of Boston connected—and showed him potential places to crash at night. He didn't even mind living off day-old garbage food and drinking from bubblers (he'd bought a water for the express purpose of reusing the bottle), but the barren wasteland that seemed to be the job market was beginning to weigh on him.

At home, he could always find a shit job if he was willing to put up with shit hours and ridiculous requests. Here, though, Mary was just one of many desperate people willing to do desperate work.

And he didn’t look particularly trustworthy or reliable.

@dipendancesld

Hashtag WTF

I’m scrolling through Insta on the T, and I’m way down the rabbit hole of hashtags. New content was at a minimum this morning (how can I follow accounts in triple digits and only see the same 4 posts?!), so I’d started with some art tags and ended up where I usually end up—trolling social media for blurry pictures of my boy.

His band has been a local staple for years—or at least that’s what he told me on our first date. I had just moved from New York after a nasty breakup, ready to start fresh, and I’d seen him at a coffee shop hanging posters for his next show in his leather jacket, asymmetrical Metallica crop top, and stomping boots.

Fresh had never looked so good.

Then, a few months back, an online publication had featured his band in the year’s 50 best bands "you’ve never heard of," and now the band's starting to gain traction.

He’s starting to gain traction.

Finding the new online content of him first has become a game the two of us play. We had to stop counting images posted from the popular fan accounts because Mary's now acquaintances with most of them, and I said it was hardly fair to snipe me that way. Mary had pouted—but it was to cover up his grin. So now we troll for the pictures of his latest gig or at his favorite haunts from either his  casual fans or one of his new ones. I even have a whole range of hashtag typos saved if I really want to triumph, since Mary just doesn't have the attention span.

I usually win, though, by virtue of not keeping Rockstar Hours—and because Mary doesn’t have a smartphone. Mary delights in spending the wee hours while I'm sleeping finding new content, and I'll often wake to one he's pulled up on my laptop and a "suck it" sticky note stuck to my monitor.

(But I’m reigning supreme.)

There’s a thirst tag I sometimes comb through (for reasons), and today I’m desperate for that morning serotonin to keep me from dozing off, which is why I stumble across a particularly convincing cosplayer in some…risqué poses and outfits.

The dude is really good, and I have to admit he really does have Mary’s mannerisms down pat. He’s younger and a little skinnier than Mary is now, but his facial expressions are on point. I zoom in to see the contouring technique because he's using one of those filters to make it look old…and that’s when I sense something off. I can’t quite place my finger on it, but usually there’s an uncanny valley to his serious cosplayers, and this dude looks so real. He’s even 100% accurate with the mole placement, which is something I never see.

My heart does a flip-flop.

Is that…actually Mary?

Foundling

Mary's sixth night in the city, it rained. It was more of a brief Spring shower, but it was still enough to soak him and his backpack through. He shivered through the early morning hours until the sun came up, then he made his way to the Commons to lay his belongings—and himself—out into the sun to dry.

By midday, he had a slight sunburn across his nose, but most of his things were dryish—though the food was a soggy lost cause. He cut his losses and decided to buy a sausage from the hotdog vendor, even if that meant he was down to $52.37 in his sock bank.

It was the most amazing thing he'd ever eaten in his entire life (sometimes he still dreams of it), and he gobbled it down as he sat in the grass and watched the show of people pass by.

He could take today off from his job search.

Just another Groundhog Day of rejections.

A gaggle of kids about his age walked past, and he lit up when he saw them: studs and bright hair and cuffs and combat boots. They ran and shrieked and shoved at each other, and Mary had never felt such longing to be a part of something.

Not that nebulous feeling of "my world is out there somewhere," but "my world is right there if I can just get to it."

And he realized maybe he could.

These were his people.

Mary hopped off the bench and approached the boisterous group.

"Uh, hey…guys."

The pack stopped and looked him over, confused but not hostile.

"Oh hey, man" said a girl with green fins and a studded, leather jacket.

"Hey."

I have nowhere to go. Can I go with you?

"Sorry, I forgot your name."

"Oh, you don’t—"

A guy in a tight striped shirt, snake bites, and blue hair interrupted him.

"Shit, were you in my intro into film class last year?"

Mary was a high school dropout.

"Nah, dude. I’m new and shit."

…But he wasn’t stupid.

A curvy white goth with bleached blonde hair and a cream princess dress smiled at him.

"Aww, that’s rough, honey. If you think about it, they really ought to give transfers on-campus housing. It sucks to be so new and away from the action."

Mary nodded. "Yeah. Sucks."

"Well, we’re going to The Pit, wanna come?"

"If you guys don’t mind…"

"Fuck, the more the merrier!"

Mary smiled as they assimilated him into the group. He found out the goth’s name was Vanessa ("But call me Vanity."), green fins was Alexa ("Or Alex. I’m trying it out."), striped shirt was Billy, and the two other punks were Mandi (Manic Panic red) and Aaron (band tee, spiked collar).

No one laughed at him when he introduced himself as Mary or asked him why he had a girl’s name.

They took him onto the T at Charles MGH, and Mary marveled at the setting sun over the Charles River before the train ducked underground to barrel in Cambridge. At Harvard, they ushered him off the train and directly into The Pit, and Mary almost cried when he saw the pit rats there playing hacky sack, strumming guitars, and smoking cloves. Mary watched as his group high-fived, bumped chests, and hugged nearly everyone there before introducing him as if they’d known him for years.

He was shit at hacky sack, but he accepted a round on the guitar and shared a clove with a white girl who had a rat's nest of hair.

"Fuck their beauty stands," she said when she caught Mary staring.

Mary smiled and pointed to his own mess of hair. "Fuck ‘em," he repeated.

She cackled and handed him a brown bag with what he expected to be whiskey, but tasted like turpentine.

She laughed harder at his face as he coughed, and she pounded him on the back.

"Moonshine, dude. Lenny makes it in his bathtub."

"Which one is Lenny," Mary asked as he wiped off his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Oh, he’s not here. He goes to MIT. We have a strict trade agreement—booze for pot. I’m Katie."

Head fuzzy, Mary had made out with her until Aaron tugged on his arm.

"Shit dude, we gotta go before the T closes. You live close to here?"

"Uh…"

"Aww, I think he got into Lenny’s moonshine," said Vanity. "If he’s a transfer, I bet he’s at some shithole in Allston. You in Allston, honey?"

Mary just nodded.

"All right then," said Alex, taking charge. "We’ll put him up tonight. There’s no way he’s gonna make it back to Allston by himself, and I’ll be fucked if I’m trekking out there without a BU party to crash."

Mary wobbled slightly as Alex took his arm in his and led him to the T.

"Ok, we gotta go now or we’ll all be hoofing it."

They took Mary back to their dorm by the Hatch Shell and signed him in as a guest.

"Is this ok?" Mary asked warily—he didn't want to get kicked out in the middle of the night.

Mandi patted him on the back.

"We do it all time. No one really gives a shit. Vegan Mick dropped out 2 semesters ago and they don’t even check for his ID."

That night, Mary slept in the common room on a lumpy couch that was half as long as he was.

It was heaven.

The next morning seemed like the end, and Mary slumped as Vanity to sign him out. For one brief day he'd been a part of something, and now it was back to Mary, party of one. But Vanity took one look at his face and asked if he wanted to get breakfast at the dining hall.

Of course, he wanted to…but he thought of the dwindling cash in sock bank and hesitated. Vanity, bless her, misread his trepidation.

"It's on me, sweetie. I know most transfers don’t opt in. Too expensive when it’s not bundled. No worries, I got a ton of points I don’t use."

Alex and Aaron were already half done with their food when Vanity and he joined them, and they looked on in amusement as Mary ate half the breakfast buffet.

When the subject of classes came up, he shrugged off questions.

"None this morning."

Alex narrowed her eyes at him.

"What year did you say you were?"

"Sophomore."

"Not a freshman?"

Mary shook his head. "I’m not a freshman."

She seemed about to ask another question, so Mary quickly changed the subject.

"I thought I’d spend the day applying for jobs. You guys know of any place that’s hiring?"

"No work study?"

"No."

"What kind of work you looking for?"

"Shit, anything. I’ll sweep the fucking floors."

They bandied about ideas, places for Mary to try, but no one had any leads. Too soon, some unknown gong had them scurrying to get to class.

Mary suddenly panicked.

"Hey, do you guys mind if I spend the night again? I mean…"

"Yeah, sure," said Vanity. "Aaron?"

"Yeah, man. Meet me after class and I'll swipe you in."

It apparently was a time-honored tradition, passed down from upperclassmen to underclassmen, on gaming the guest system. Most kids used it to essentially move their significant others into their dorm rooms, but a handful every year used it to give haven to others who had questionable housing situations.

So, just like that, Mary had a place to rest his bones.

@dilfpassing

A Deeper Look

I’m so intent on scrolling through the comments on the grainy pics—which I'm sure now are actual scans—that I completely miss my stop, and I have to put my phone away so I can wheeze lightly jog my way to where I work as a receptionist at an alternative hair salon.

It’s really important that I start a good hour before we open so I can return any calls left on our voicemail first thing in case I can fit anyone in today. Which means I have to shelve my find for now, much to my irritation.

Mornings are super-busy because apparently there are some people in the world that like getting up with the sun and want everything done by noon. (June Cleaver’s salon lets me get away with a lot—like coming to work in denim short-shorts and ripped tights, free hair colors, and a snarky attitude—but late start times aren’t one of them.) I honestly don’t have room in my brain to obsess about the pictures because I’m too busy answering calls, making coffee, settling accounts, and giving the new customer spiel for the 57th time to a walk-in.

It’s just after midday, when Penny, the shampoo girl, collects my cash for the salon-wide sandwich run, and I finally have a moment to breathe. And obsess.

I take out my phone again, and I have to retrace my steps because of course the app has refreshed, which is why Sonia has the time to look over my shoulder.

"Missing dream boy’s dick so much you gotta spend your lunch hour ogling pics of him on the internet?"

I zoom in on the one of maybe!Mary in his underwear.

"Who does that look like to you?"

Sonia makes a guh sound in her throat and backs away.

"I don’t need to see your intimates!"

"That’s the thing! It’s not mine!"

"Your boy’s nudes get leaked??"

I wave my arms around.

"I don’t freakin’ know! They may not even be him. Fucking. C’mere and help me out!"

Sonia warily creeps back over, and so does Ryan, since all the yelling has attracted him.

The three of us peer over the phone as I scroll through the images again.

By the time Penny comes back with lunch, we’ve gone back and forth on who’s in the images—Mary or a fake—and I haven’t been able to do any actual research. The afternoon rush starts, and I have to table the whole thing again, having made no progress at all.

It isn’t until near-closing, when most of the other stylists have gone home—and it’s only June who does the post-work crowd—that I can really dig into the matter.

A deep dive and a couple of defunct, decade-old forums later, I find that what I took as an aspirational hashtag was actually the name of a zine called "Heroes."

There’s like, zero online trail about it—except for a few other grainy scans of other pages of articles, poetry, concert pictures, and art—but it seemed to be an early aughts missive for local underground culture and color.

It still doesn’t explain why Mary’s in there in various states of undress and poses.

Or why Mary has never said a word about it to me.

Stripped Bare

Mary settled into a sort of routine. He spent most days looking for a job—any job—with his backpack full of food from their dining hall. Most nights he rotated couches on different floors so the RAs didn’t notice that he basically lived there.

He made friends with Vegan Mick for about 5 seconds until Mary had eaten an entire Rotisserie chicken from 7-11 in front of him. Mick had launched into a whole spiel, and Mary had pointed out that Mick's jacket and Docs were made of leather. He’d only meant it as a joke—a callout in answer to a callout, like he'd do with his friends back home—but Vegan Mick had turned purple, then iced Mary out every time he saw him after that.

Oops.

The brief friendship had lasted long enough, however, for Mick to give Mary some tips and tricks of being homeless.

Homeless.

That had been a tough pill to swallow. Until Vegan Mick had put Mary’s situation like that, Mary had just thought of himself between places.

But it was true: he didn’t live anywhere. He skated by on the kindness of his new friends, and he didn’t know how much longer he could keep up the ruse of "transfer student who didn’t like his shithole apartment and was too busy job searching to concentrate on classes."

He still spent a few nights a week finding an out-of-the-way place outside to hunker down in or huddling in with Katie and a few of the other gutter punks under their boxes in the corners of the T stations. He knew they would have been more than happy to make room, anyway, but Mary always emptied his backpack of all the pilfered dining hall food for distribution amongst them.

It honestly wasn't so terrible now that he had friends and a warm place to go on cold or rainy nights, but.

He needed an actual place to live. To afford an actual place to live, he needed a job. To get a job, he needed a place to live.

It seemed like a catch-22, and he began to despair that he’d never get ahead…until Mandi offered him a leg up.

Mary was sitting on the grass in the Commons in the shade, thinking that with summer coming up, maybe he could fudge it until the gang came back in September. There was always Katie and The Pit, and Mary was sure he could chip in somehow.

Mandi sat down next to him.

"I thought that mess of hair was you, Mare."

"Hey, Mandi. What’s kicks?"

"You still looking for a job?"

Mary put his head in his hands and sighed.

"Don’t remind me."

"You over 18?"

Just last week. But Mary hadn’t said, since they thought he was a Sophomore.

"Yeah."

"Wanna be at least 21?"

Mary grinned at her.

"That’s what my fake ID says."

She laughed, a tinkling thing.

"You got anything against strip clubs?"

Mary furrowed his brows at her.

"Uh…what’s the right answer here?"

She shoved him playfully.

"Do you want a job?"

"Yeah?"

"Then say no."

"No. No problems with strip clubs." He squinted at her. "Are they looking for male strippers?"

She laughed again.

"Definitely not." She canted her head at Mary. "I mean, you're very pretty, Mare. I could probably put you on as one of the girls…even with these triple As," she flicked playfully at his nipple, which had him grunting and batting at her, "but I was thinking more behind the scenes."

Mary held up his arm and made a weak muscle.

"I don’t think I’d be much of a bouncer, Mands."

"You said you’d wash dishes, sweep floors and shit, right?"

"Yeah?"

"Well, the club I work at—"

"The club at you what now?"

Mandi gave him a strange look.

"Yeah. The strip club I work at."

Mary’s eyes bugged out.

"As a…waitress?"

"As a stripper, Mary. Duh." At his dumbfounded look she shook her head. "It’s kind of extra credit, as a dance major. I’m going to turn it into my thesis. Plus, I make hella bank."

She swept her arm across the park that made up her college "campus."

"How else do you think I can afford this rock-and-roll lifestyle? Not all of us are here on scholarship or mom and dad’s dime."

She tilted her head at him.

"I thought you’d get it."

When Mary didn't respond, she touched his shoulder.

"Mare. I know you don't go here."

"W-what…? I…"

He looked at her, wide-eyed as the blood drained from his face.

"Hey, it's ok. I'm not gonna tell anybody. Not if you don't want me to."

Mary looked down. "Thanks." He rubbed the back of his neck. "You know that means I've got no address."

Mandi bumped his shoulder and waved his words away.

"A lot of the girls dance. Paddy is used to dorm rooms as addresses. You can use mine."

Mary looked at her, hoping he could convey every ounce of gratitude he was feeling.

She grinned and punched him in the shoulder.

"So, you up for it? Sweeping floors and bussing tables?" She leveled a look at him. "Cleaning up puke?"

Anything.

"Fuck, I’m desperate, Mands. I’ll hold their hair back if it means a paycheck."

"That’s the spirit!"

***

Mary was sure Patrick was part of the mob—or at least in cahoots. The guy had taken one look at Mary’s ID and had said, "But how old are you really?" and Mary had said, "Nineteen."

Patrick had thrown up his hands. "Well, you ain’t gonna be serving alcohol anyway, kid. Your job is to do whatever I tell you. Some asshole breaks a bottle, you clean up the glass so the girls don’t hurt themselves. Some idiot ralphs all over the toilet seat, you scrub the shit out of that fucker. A bachelor party leaves a table a hot mess, you better be out there clearing off the table for the next one, got it?"

Mary had nodded.

"You show up at 5 to help the girls set up the bar. You stay til whenever it takes to close down—but you only get paid 'til 2am—and you get an hour to eat, unpaid. You don’t bother the girls, and," Patrick had leaned in, "you don’t steal from me."

Mary had gulped and nodded emphatically.

Patrick had jabbed a finger at him. "That includes the booze. If I get fucked because some snot-nosed, underage kid is drinking with my good friends Jim and Johnnie, I’m gonna be very put out."

"Got it, sir."

"Don’t call me sir. I’m Paddy to my friends, so you can call me Patrick."

"Yes, Patrick."

Patrick had looked him over.

"You get paid as an independent contractor just like the girls, so you gotta deal with your own taxes, you got that? I’ll start you at $10 an hour."

Mary’s eyes had gone wide. Back home he was lucky to get 5.

"Ten…?"

Patrick had tilted his head again.

"No, you’re right, 12. Do a good job, and I’ll think about raising it to 15."

Mary had to physically stop his jaw from dropping.

"You do weeknights for now so if you fuck up it’s not that much of a problem. If you don’t fuck up and the girls don’t hate you, you can get weekends. Deal?"

Mary had sat up straighter. "Deal." He’d held his hand out, but Patrick had just looked at it until Mary pulled it back into his side.

"Ariel vouched for you, so I’m giving you a shot. Don’t make her regret it."

Mary had shaken his head as Patrick had handed him some forms to fill out.

"Come back at 4 tomorrow with these and we’ll get you started. Now, get out, I got shit to do."

Mary had taken the forms and skedaddled.

Mandi was outside waiting for him, all smiles.

"Did you get it?"

"Yeah, but fuck—your boss is scary."

"Nah, he’s a teddy bear."

***

The job was awful.

The puke was an almost nightly occurrence, and by the end of the first week, little cuts covered Mary’s hands from the broken glass. The customers were loud, rowdy, and acted as if their mother was going to clean up after them.

Mary swore he would never get the beer smell out. It now lived in his soul.

One dude punched Mary and broke his nose for no reason Mary could tell before the bouncers dragged the guy away. The girls gave him some tampons to stop the bleeding, and Mary finished his shift.

Patrick paid Mary in cash at the end of every week with a "It’s your job to report that, not mine," and at the end of the month, Patrick bumped Mary up to $15/hr. He worked 5 days a week because, according to Patrick, "The Lord gave us a day of rest, and you get one day off per week."

Mary never reported a single cent to the IRS.

The girls loved him, and joked that Patrick had gotten them a pet. They showed him winged eyeliner and smokey eyes and how to contour. They guffawed when they watched him try out their shoes like a newborn deer. On slow nights, they tried to show him pole techniques.

He saw the gang less and less because by the time they were getting out of class, he was going into work, and when he was done work, they were crawling into bed. Fortunately, the desk sitters seemed to forget that he wasn’t an on-campus "student" and didn’t even bother signing him in anymore. There were a few sticklers, but Mary found that—while back home he was less than scum—here, he attracted all the right kinds of attention…and a smirk with the right compliment went a long way.

By the time their school year ended, Mary had saved up $1,000 (and he needed to transfer his money out of sock bank and into the ripped lining of his jacket).

Even though they didn't know just how much they'd saved him, Mary showed up on the last day as thanks to help them all move their stuff into family cars or rented trucks. They hugged him goodbye and said to ring them next semester.

Mandi bopped him on the nose and told him to keep his nose clean.

Mary took a sublet in Allston with 2 BU kids and a Berkley grad student. The "room" was a closed-in porch with a sleeping bag left by the last resident—but it was $400 a month until September, utilities included.

At first, Mary didn't know why the gang was so snobby about Allston, but the summer seemed to be one continual party. It didn't matter what day Mary got up, there were always broken beer bottles and stale beer on their front stoop, and the apartment had a designated watering can for washing away the vomit that dripped down from the top porches to their own.

But he took it in stride, and when he wasn’t at the strip club or sleeping, he was partying with the BU kids, or letting the Berkley grad show him better string fingering techniques.

Mary still tried to get out to The Pit with what groceries he could spare, but Katie had moved on with some of the others to do a protest tour with an activist street band that had come through town, and without her or the gang, it made Mary feel lonely.

By the end of the summer, Mary had saved up enough money for first, last, and security. He even had some left over to buy more than ramen and some new clothes. To Mary, it felt like a million dollars. He rented a garden-level apartment in the cheap part of Jamaica Plain for September 1st and spent that entire day with the BU dudes driving around in their rented truck for Allston Christmas’s best furniture finds.

Mary ended up with a mattress that he hoped on a wish and a prayer didn’t have bedbugs, a mismatched set of dishes, plastic drawers that were slightly warped, and a broken futon frame he swore he would fix. Throw in a few sets of slightly used string lights, and Mary’s cave felt downright homey.

When the gang got back, he simply told them he’d dropped out.

"Yeah, I just don’t think college is for me. Music’s my real passion, you know?"

Alex had groaned.

"I knew that Berkley kid was gonna be a bad influence on you."

Mary shrugged.

"My grades were shit anyway. But I’m still around, you know. The strip club’s only a block from campus."

"Because we saw you so much then," deadpanned Billy.

"Hey! Stop piling on Mary," said Vanity. "He’s following his path."

Mary shot her a wide smile.

"Thanks, Vanity."

Patrick finally gave him a little more leeway with his days off, and Mary started taking Saturday night to join the gang in Harvard Square for the shadow cast of Rocky Horror. One of Aaron’s classmates, Amber, was in it, and they all wanted to support her.

Mary felt that something again. That thing that told that this was his place and his people. This eclectic group who got up in front of strangers every week in their underwear for free enthralled Mary.

He and Amber bonded immediately, and Mary began going even without the gang. The cast welcomed him in as an honorary groupie, and Mary's friendship with the gang waned. There was still Mandi to cavort with at the strip club, but now when Mary wasn't there, he was at any one of the Rocky crew's apartments getting high and playing dress up.

"You’ve got such a Look, Mare," sighed Amber. "I’d kill for your cheekbones."

"I’d kill for your tits."

She slapped him playfully. "Don’t be gross."

"No, I’m serious. Someone once put it in my head that I'd be a hot chick."

The girls had giggled and proceeded to dress him up in bras and corsets with cutlets. They added a wig, and the glo-up surprised even Mary.

Still buzzed, they went out for girl’s night and hit up all the bars in Fenway and flirted their way to free shots from the dude bros before batting their falsies at bouncers to let them into the clubs ahead of the line and without the cover.

The cutlets eventually became a nuisance—and soon they were all flapping them about above their heads as they danced—but Mary had loved the feel of the lace and satin corsets against his skin.

When they’d all collapsed in a pile at the end of the night, Mary wondered if they’d tell him where to get some lingerie for himself.

***

By August, Mary was ready to quit the strip club.

He was tired of cut fingers (they were making it hard to play the guitar he’d bought), the drunks, and the sick everywhere. Now that he had a little cushion, he thought maybe he could at least find something with better hours.

Mandi had graduated and was well into a summer internship at Disney in hopes they’d bring her on as a dancer.

Alex had also graduated and moved out to LA to make it as a film editor.

Vanity and Aaron had started dating after finals, and they had moved in together in Cambridgeport for their last year.

Billy had stopped going to classes before dropping out altogether. No one seemed to know what happened, and when they called his home, his mother just said he was unavailable.

There didn’t seem to be much reason to stick around the Grid anymore, and it was a bitch of a commute back to his place if he wasn’t going to hang out with the Rocky crew. He landed a job at a record store that was walking distance to his apartment.

Patrick seemed surprisingly sad to see him go, saying, "Ah, the good ones smart up," and gave him a $500 bonus for not "fucking up."

Tim, one of the older Rocky people, turned out to not live too far from him, and when Mary started hanging out there, so did the party.

Now that Mary was no longer shackled by the strip club’s hours, his world opened a few more degrees. He spent his nights dressing up while he watched the cast rehearse. (When he showed them a move or two he learned from the women at the club, they tried to get him to do a guest star as Frank. But Mary had shaken his head and said that wasn’t the kind of performing he wanted to do.)

When they weren't rehearsing, they dragged Mary to TT The Bear’s, The Middle East, and The Milky Way Lounge for underground shows. They took him to fetish night at ManRay after a trip to Hubba Hubba for pleather and lingerie, and Mary made a lot of new friends.

Sometimes, Mary would show up to work straight off a night out in his club clothes, eyeliner smudged and lipstick smeared. It should have got him fired, but his boss just shrugged.

"I used to keep rockstar hours too."

Mary still wore all his old vestiges—his battle vest and his ripped jeans—it was just that now he sometimes added a corset and heels.

Wherever Katie was now, he hoped she knew he was still fucking their beauty standards.

ry.omen Insta

Answer Me This

I practically vibrate the entire way back to our place. I'm still trying to wring information out of the internet like it's too-wet clothes, but the only thing I accomplish is making myself motion sick on the bus, so I put my phone back in my pocket and breath through my nose.

When I get home, Mary is sprawled across the couch in his pjs with various limbs hanging over sides and edges as he watches some extreme sport show on my laptop.

I wonder if he just got up, but I see the start of dinner on the stove, so I decide not to snark at him.

"Hey," he says without looking up.

I am, however, gonna need some answers on "Heroes."

I gently close the laptop, and he meets my eyes.

"What?"

I climb onto the couch, and Mary’s limbs recede like vines to make room for me as I scroll through my phone to my photo app where I’ve saved screenshots.

"Lucy," I say in a terrible accent, "you have some ‘splaining to do!"

Mary squints at me and takes my phone, his expression morphing into one of surprise.

"Shit, babe. Where’d ya find these??"

"So they are you!"

He chuckles.

"Christ…I haven't thought about these in fucking years."

"Mind telling me what the fuck?" I ask, my hands on my hips.

I'm only half joking.

Mary grimaces at me.

"Ah."

"I'm gonna need more than that, mister."

He rubs the back of his neck.

"Fuck, you know those were hard times for me."

I know about his family, the homelessness. I know he tried out a lot until he found a life that fit. He'd given me the overviews with occasional anecdotes filled with names I never remembered.

But none of them included naughty pictures.

I worm my way under his arm.

"Yeah, I know, Mare."

His hand strokes down my arm.

"I mean, shit. I was kinda an asshole, you know?"

I wrap an arm around his chest.

"You're still kind of an asshole, Goore."

"Thanks."

"No problem."

When he doesn't say more, I poke him hard in the side.

"I’m literally dying here."

He laughs a little.

"Fine. But you gotta remember you asked."

Model Behavior

One day, Mary was walking down the street on his way to drinks with the new friends he'd made the weekend before. It was a good day. He wasn’t hungover as fuck, his makeup was only smudged artfully, and he was pretty sure he was going to get laid.

A guy in a leather jacket and tight jeans maybe a few years older than Mary stopped him on the street.

"Hey, man! I love your style."

Mary batted his eyelashes at him. "Thanks, dude."

"You ever think of dark modeling?"

Mary squinted his eyes at him.

"Dark what now?"

"You know—modeling but like," he gestured up and down Mary’s form, "for dark beauties. Show the world beauty isn’t cookie cutter."

"For like what? A website or some shit?"

The guy dug into his pocket, pulled out a card case, and handed one to Mary.

Heroes Greg Karson, Photographer/Web Design Butera School of Art

Actually, Mary had heard of this. It was a zine about the local happenings around town—concerts, art shows, parties, etc. There was a stack of them next to "Rrriot!" in the record shop. He’d flipped through one occasionally, mostly interested in the band reviews.

"We’re really on the lookout for anyone with the right look. You know, wear stuff you already own."

"So like a street fashion spread?"

"Well, we might do a little more with it, but—you know how it is. Most of the budget goes toward printing costs."

Mary perked up.

"Would I be paid?"

Greg laughed.

"Peanuts, my dude. But yeah. Even if it’s a T token. You interested, then?"

"Hell yeah!"

"Mind if I take a few test shots."

Mary smirked at Greg.

"How do you want me?"

"Just natural."

Putting his hands in his pockets, Mary arched his back and gave Greg his best snotty hipster face.

Greg dug out a digital camera from his carrying case and took a dozen or so pictures of Mary from different angles while telling him to turn this way or that.

Afterwards, the two of them huddled over the camera and scrolled through the shots.

"Aw yeah, this one. I love the attitude. The guys are gonna love it. You have a number where we can reach you?"

Mary gave him the number of the record shop. (His apartment had a phone, but he’d never gotten around to wanting to pay for service.)

Later, he and Amber looked up the Angelfire website on the back of the card. It was one page that contained the mission statement, bios of the creators, and locations to pick up the zine.

"Omigod—you’re gonna become a famous model, Mare!"

"Yeah, right. You know most of it ends up in the trash, right?"

But when Ben called, Mary said he was game. He directed Mary to a co-op in a converted warehouse in Dorchester, and Mary brought his favorite clothes in a borrowed duffle.

A girl in cat pajamas opened the door and pointed at a set of metal stairs with her cereal spoon.

On the second floor, Mary found Greg setting up a makeshift studio. A girl with multiple piercings and yarn dreads leaned against the wall in her black babydoll dress.

Mary sidled up to her.

"You here to model, too?"

She gave him an unimpressed once-over.

"I’m the art director, asshole."

Mary flushed hard as she turned to Greg.

"Couldn’t find one with brains?"

She turned back to Mary.

"I don’t know if you thought this would be a good way to meet chicks or what, dude. But I’m letting you know right now that I’m here on my day off to make sure this adheres to our aesthetic, so if you're not serious, fuck off."

Mary rubbed the back of his neck.

"Shit, sorry. I was expecting a dude named Ben."

She waved her hand in the air as if dispelling Ben.

"The Bens are morons. Good idea, terrible execution. I’m here to make sure we remain true to the idea of 'Heroes,' so don’t fuck up my shoot." She gave him a once over. "Christ. You have any experience?"

Greg turned from where he was testing the white balance.

"Angelique, stop harassing the talent. We get it, you have a degree from RISD."

Angelique snorted.

"As if I don't hear you going on and on about being a professional photographer. 'Hey, lemme shoot your portfolio, baby.' Whatever. As if we're not your only professional credit."

"Hey—you wanted a photographer for peanuts? You got me. You wanted models for peanuts? You got him."

Mary gave her his full snaggle-toothed grin.

"I take T tokens."

Angelique sighed, then pasted on a smile.

"Hi! So happy you’re here!" Her smile drooped. "You got your wardrobe in there?"

"Yeah."

Mary handed her the duffle, and she handed him release forms.

"Here: sign these"

She pawed through his offerings.

"Not bad, not bad." She pulled out a corset and his heeled boots. "We'll keep you in your jeans and have you wear your jacket over your corset. Cool?"

Cool.

The shoot was as professional as a shoot in a warehouse in what Mary was taking to usually be a living room could be. Angelique directed Greg with what she wanted. Greg called out positions and expressions for Mary to pose in.

It was surprisingly hard work, and by the end of a solid hour, his smirking lip was getting tired. Angelique and Greg scrolled through the shots, murmuring to themselves and nodding.

Mary waited—greeting at the other inhabitants as they squeezed by on their way either up or down—until Angelique approached him.

"That’ll do. You mind if we post on our website?"

Mary preened.

"Yeah, that’s kosher."

She handed him a pen and pocket notebook.

"Write down a quick bio."

He scribbled down a quick elevator pitch

Into general skulking and metal \m/

and handed the notebook back to her.

"Great, thanks."

She handed him a $20 bill, her eyes skimming him up and down.

"Next time we should show off those hip bones. Just jeans, I think."

Mary perked up. "Next time?"

"We’ll call you."

***

"Omigod, omigod!"

Amber perched on the record store counter, flipping through "Heroes," as Jon peered over her shoulder.

"Mary…look at you!"

Mary tried to swallow his smug smile.

Failed.

"Yeah. I’m hot shit, ain’t I?"

She bopped him on the nose with the newsprint.

"Don’t be vain."

He showed her his toothy smile.

"I like to think of it as confidence."

"So did Icarus."

Mary snorted and went back to putting prices on the new CDs.

"The camera loves you," said Jon, who was always quiet and reserved as you please…until he put on Frank’s corset and heels.

Mary had tried flirting with him, but Jon always ducked his head and played it off.

"Thanks, man," said Mary, giving him a softer smile.

"So??"

"So what, Amber?"

"Are you gonna do it again?"

Mary shrugged.

"I mean, if they call me, sure."

But he was kind of hoping they would.

When the next issue came out weeks later, Mary stared at the cybergoth on the pages and felt himself deflate. Listlessly, he thumbed through the delicate print, barely skimming the section devoted to the World/Inferno Friendship Society’s set he’d been at the week before.

He set it down with a sigh before he picked up his guitar and plucked out a tune he was trying to coax into a riff.

By the time a Ben called again, Mary had given up the modeling thing as a one-off.

"Hey, dude—thought maybe you guys forgot about me," Mary said in a teasing tone.

The Ben on the other end chuckled.

"It’s like herding cats to get shit out. Nah, dude—we definitely want you to be one of our regulars. You in for next Saturday?"

He was.

***

Over the course of a year, "Heroes" had Mary come out multiple times for shoots. Mainly, Mary wore his own clothes and did his own makeup, but occasionally, Angelique wanted something specific.

"How comfortable are you with boudoir shots?"

"With what?"

"Like a pinup, but more…saucy than sexy."

I'd pose nude if you paid me enough.

(Sure, he was a noodle boy, but he knew he had the goods.)

"Yeah, I’m cool with that."

Angelique brightened at him.

"Great!"

She picked up a set of complicated leather garters and thrust them at him.

"Put these on."

Mary had only ever worn lace garters—mostly out to clubs, but occasionally under his ripped jeans for an extra pop—but he found he liked these even more, liked the way they emphasized his thighs.

"Hey—where’d you get these…?"

(He was already thinking of what he could pair them with for goth night.)

"Local leatherworker. He mostly does pieces for Renn Fairs, but he'll also do custom. I can give you his info."

She led Mary into what was clearly someone's bedroom.

"Don't fuck anything up, or Joye will never let us use this again."

Mary shot her his best shark smile.

"Hey, I only mess up the sheets if someone asks."

Angelique gave him a flat look and called for Greg.

(But when he draped himself over the bed and told Greg to "Paint me like one of your French girls," Mary could have sworn she almost smiled.)

On one memorable occasion, she brought in a guy whose rope bondage demo she watched at a sex convention.

"Put on some of that lingerie and we'll truss you up. You ok with that, Goore?"

Mary ran his fingers over the coils and gave her a wolfish smile.

"You know I'm game for anything."

She gave him a vulpine smile of her own then, and she looked down at him from the height of her platformed boots.

"Good. I thought you should be submissive for once."

Mary had no witty rejoinder for that.

He listened with interest as the guy carefully explained what he was going to do, complete with pictures, and he relaxed easily into the process. (They put bunny ears on him, and it would be much, much later that he got that particular joke. Well played, Angelique.)

The ropes hadn’t let him do much posing, but Mary had kind of liked the constriction, and his thoughts were already on asking Amber to help him create a more versatile version for fetish night.

He’d left that day with a new kink…and the guy’s number.

"Why not just do one big shoot?" he asked another time. "Get it all done in one big bang!"

Angelique held up his garments to eyeball over him.

"Honey, we never even know if there's gonna be a next issue. The Bens spend most of the time arguing. My god you should hear them—Ben bankrolls the whole thing, so he says he should get final say on shit, and Benji wants total artistic control because it was his idea, because 'he's the graphic designer', and because it's his Kinko's employee discount they use."

She gave Mary a curled-lip smile as she tossed a few items at him.

"In the end it's this bitch you're looking at who gets shit done."

Mary began to change (they were long past modesty).

"How'd you get involved?"

"Went to school with Benji."

"Ben too?"

"Neg. The Bens are childhood friends. Ben works some cushy start-up job, so Benji lets him bankroll them both. Rent, utilities—everything. I love Benji to death, but he's a giant mooch."

"Shit, that must be nice."

Angelique shrugged. She stood back to appraise Mary's look.

"It's fucking lame. But it least it gets us fucking paid."

Mary didn't say I'd do this for free. Instead, he struck a pose and said, "I'm just happy for the exposure."

Angelique rolled her eyes and went to fetch Greg.

***

That year and a half would become a nonstop party with Mary as one of the VIPs; he wouldn't say no to anything—be it casual sex, club appearances, or whatever drug the current pretty thing was offering him in the bathroom.

But recognition started slow.

At first, it was customers who would leaf through the zine and recognize Mary.

Then, it was the occasional scenester who’d stop him on the street in JP as he walked about, and Mary would pose for grainy cell phone pics.

Soon, he was being approached at shows and clubs. The first time it happened, Mary was high off his new infamy and ready to please. A woman in a black bandage bra and pleated skirt with bondage straps approached him, and Mary was already thinking of what he could do with those.

"You look like that guy in ‘Heroes’!" she'd shouted to him over the music.

Mary had flashed her a crooked smile and leaned in.

"Maybe I am the guy in ‘Heroes’."

She'd given him an exaggerated once over before sidling closer with hooded eyes.

"I dunno…you're wearing way more clothes."

Mary had pulled his mesh top down by the collar in a tease as he'd curled over her.

"Take me somewhere more private and I’ll let you do a comparison."

She'd compared him all night.

And that was before he and the other "Heroes" models formed their own posse.

The Bens had thrown a BBQ and had invited everyone they'd ever met. There were people packed into their little 2 bedroom in Brighton, spilling down the back stairs, and equally packed into the little square of shared backyard. Ben had taken the 12-pack of 'Gansett beers Mary had brought, then introduced him to the other dark models.

"Now you're all here!" said Ben. He slung his arm around Mary. "Guys, this is Mary. Mary this is Mayhem, Lesley, Lola, and Bryan."

Mayhem was a rivethead, and Mary took to him instantly, but he was wary of the others. Lesley was the cybergoth who'd been in the first issue after him, and Mary still felt a bit salty at them, even though Mary knew by now the Bens rotated the models. Lola, the romantic goth, reminded him enough of Vanity that he felt guilty for losing touch with her and had him projecting a little. Bryan was a metalhead, so: competition.

Mary had thought they'd get along like cats and water, but weed, booze, and "Never Have I Ever" went a long way to creating a shared bond.

And there it was again. That pull. The magnetic force telling him that he'd found the place he was supposed to be. They quickly coalesced into their own pack, calling themselves the "Deathbutantes" (because they always killed it when they debuted for the night).

It had been rare for Mary to miss Friday and Saturday night shenanigans with the Rocky crew, but now, every night was Friday night. There was always a show or a concert or club that one of them knew about—and if they couldn't get lucky with the local color, they'd just go home with each other.

Mayhem taught Mary what Lola jokingly called the "grab a bat" dance, and the two of them cut quite the picture on the dance floors.

Lesley took to Lola, and the two of them could always be counted on for scintillating conversation in dark corners when Mary's limbst needed a break from flailing about.

The clubs weren't really Bryan's scene—take him to a sticky hole in the wall with concrete floors and a stage close enough to feel the sweat from the bands, and he was in heaven—but he liked to come along to hang. He'd drink PBRs, rub Lola's feet when she invariably abandoned her heels for the evening, and argue with Mary about the purity of death metal.

Mayhem and Lola weren't really into live music of the screaming kind, so—while Lesley, Bryan, and Mary bounced off each other in the mosh pits—they'd save a "home" base at one the bartops.

Amber noticed Mary's diminishing presence and stopped by the record shop to call him out.

"So you're not dead! Could've fooled me."

Mary was organizing the albums into order, and he grunted at her.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. I'm a cad. I'll make it up to you."

"You missed game night."

"Sorry. Jethro Tull played some tiny venue in nowhere Mass, and Bryan was salivating. I mean, Jethro Tull. Can you blame me?"

He looked at her, arms out wide in supplication. But she just blinked at him.

"You have no idea who Jethro Tull is, do you?"

"Sorry, dude. But christ, Mare. You should have invited me. I'd've gone. Maybe I would have even liked them. Now you'll never know."

"I could just lend you an album."

"Nope! The moment passed. Too late!"

Mary riffled through the stock and shoved a Jethro Tull CD into her hands.

She tapped it against her thigh.

"So, when do I get to hang?"

"I can get us into 80s night free."

"No, I mean, with your cooler friends. Your 'murder models', or whatever."

"You wanna hang out with the Deathbutantes?"

Amber scrunched her nose.

"That's so fucking pretentious."

Mary kind of liked it.

"Dunno if they're really your scene."

"Oh? And what's my scene?"

"Musical theater on crack."

She mock gasped at him, "Called out!" before smacking him with the CD. "Whatever. You love musical theater on crack."

Mary draped his arm around her shoulders.

"Yeah, I do. But I don't live it, you know? You guys have your niche—and fuck…I love to visit—but it's not mine."

Amber looked up at him, her expression serious.

"So the Dumbutantes are your niche?"

Mary shrugged and went back to shelving.

The Rocky crew had been good to him. They'd taken him under their wing, no questions asked, and helped him realize things about himself. Tim had taken him to the ER when Mary had come down with a serious case of the flu. Matty had taught him the basics of sewing. Gretchen had held him after a bad trip. Omar and he had had many drunken heart-to-hearts about their shitty home lives.

And Amber was his best friend. She'd been his #1 cheerleader for years and had never been afraid to call him out on his shit.

So yeah, he loved the Rocky crew…but they laughed at anyone who took anything too seriously. Mary would show up to game nights in his latest creation—with everyone else in pjs or jeans & hoodies—and they'd tease him about trying to impress the wrong people. He'd try to talk about the newest guitar god he'd been mainlining, and they'd make snoring noises at him.

How could he explain the kinship he felt with the Deathbutantes? That they were as serious about music as he was, that they just…got why he felt the need to dress the way he did to express the way he felt inside on his outside.

Instead, he said, "I'm just trying shit out, Ambs." He quirked his eyebrow at her. "I gotta do something while you guys do your real-person jobs."

(Amber had recently started as a junior marketing assistant at the American Repertory Theater. "Purely mercenary," she'd said. "Maybe it'll give me a leg up during auditions.")

She made a disgruntled scoffing noise in the back of her throat.

"Fuck, don't remind me. I actually gotta go to bed a reasonable hour now."

"Don't worry." Mary winked at her. "I'll keep ya honest."

"That sounds a lot like my head in a toilet, Mare."

"I'll hold your hair back."

She gave him a good-natured shove, and he pretended to cower.

If she wanted to cross pollinate, who was Mary to stand in her way? So, he invited her out the next time the Deathbutantes went to a show, and it went exactly like he thought it would.

They disliked her, and she was equally unimpressed. They thought she was too loud and frenetic, and she thought they had no sense of humor.

"I fucking told you," Mary had snorted as they sat on the curb sharing a clove.

"Shut the fuck up, Mare."

But she'd put her head on his shoulder.

"They make you happy, though. So I guess I approve. Just as long as I don't have to play nice."

Mary still hung out with the Rocky crew—there were still game nights and drug-fueled sex parties and theater games—but the Deathbutantes introduced him to the underground scene. They always seemed to have insider knowledge about the best up-in-coming bands and the secret shows. Theme nights at the goth clubs were always a must, and they rarely missed one. Sometimes, Angelique would crash, and they'd take the commuter rail to Providence to party at Club Hell before collapsing in a sweaty, smeary pile at a friend of a friend's hole in the wall.

As a bit player in the Rocky crew, Mary had been another made-up face in the crowd. As a certified member of the Deathbutantes, Mary became the face.

They all did.

The owners loved them because they bought round after round at the bar, and if word got out that the Deathbutantes were there, their admirers came to spend money as well. The employees loved them because they were fun and talked to them as equals. The clientele loved them because they were pretty young things.

Sometimes, though, Mary wasn't in the mood to party or get laid, so he talked to the DJs instead. He'd buy them rounds and stay past closing to help them pack up while they talked about the history of punk and 80s new wave and nu metal. There was one in particular, Dave, that Mary even considered a friend.

The two of them would sit in the club past closing, sharing a whiskey and talking about life while the bartenders closed down and cashed out. Occasionally, Dave's other friends would be around, and they'd all walk back to his place; he'd fool around spinning in his home studio, and they'd drink box wine as they danced and laughed before Mary would have to sit on the ground in an intoxicated exhaustion, good for only thumbing through Dave's vinyl collection.

Mary was just happy to talk shop with another music aficionado, but Angelique had pointed out that he should leverage his minor clout.

They'd been waiting for Greg to finish setting up, and Mary had been struggle city after a particularly hard night out. It was all he could manage to sit there quietly and hope some god would put him out of his misery.

"You need to get your shit together," Angelique had said out of nowhere.

Mary had cracked a puffy eye and had slowly (as to not bring the nothing in his stomach back up) turned his head to her.

"As if I haven't seen your melted ass on the floor wanting to die."

"Fuck, Mary. You've turned it into an art form."

He'd closed his eyes and given her the finger, but that hadn't stopped her.

"You wanna be a rockstar, boy? You can't just sit on your ass and hope the right person on the right night hears you. You're effervescent and charismatic—heads turn when you walk into a room and not just because of your skinny jeans—but you need more than air, Mary, which is all you are right now."

"Fuck you, Angela."

She'd clapped in front of his face, and she was lucky he didn't Exorcist bile all over her.

"You're a fucking pain in my ass, Goore. I'm doling out the good stuff, try not to bite my hand off, k?"

"All right, all right!"

"You wanna start that band? You wanna get play and amass fans? Well, make that demo you're always droning on about and give it to those DJs you're alway fanboying over. Fucking network, Goore."

At the time, Mary had been too hungover to care, but her advice would sink in…

Eventually.

For the time being, Mary was content. He loved the attention, and it made him feel invincible, made him feel like it was finally His Time. And he was going to make up for every slight, every unfair situation, and every beat down with sex, drugs, and rock-and-roll.

With his newfound nightlife, Mary's day job had become an afterthought. He started sleeping through opening shifts, but with the extra foot traffic Mary brought to the store, his boss seemed resigned to let Mary slide (after a stern talking to and a pay docking).

The shadow cast had started using him as a mascot of sorts, and he was happy to show up on Saturday nights and hype up the waiting line with a pseudo striptease. (Even if it was sometimes to kick off his evening with the Deathbutantes and not hang with the cast after.)

Mary started a band ("auditioning" any and all of the many admirers who said they’d be more than happy to join it), and after a few false starts and a couple of lineup changes, they began working on an EP. (At least, when Mary showed up to rehearsal, they did.)

A Boston Phoenix reporter got wind of the Deathbutantes and called around about doing a story on them. The Bens were excited about the exposure that meant for their zine, and Angelique and Greg were excited about what it could mean for their careers. Mary did a brief interview over the phone where he answered questions about his style and talked about his dream of making his band a household name.

Mary saw his name up in lights, and he was reaching for it, full speed ahead.

But then things turned.

The story fell through at the last minute with no further explanation or contact by the reporter.

His boss finally fired him after Mary showed up too high to function too many times—or not at all.

The shadow cast had a turnover, and suddenly he was old news—a cringey hanger-on.

A trip to the clinic and a round of antibiotics for an STI had him way more wary of who he hooked up with.

"Heroes" lost momentum when imitators popped up and Ben cut off the gravy train.

Angelique moved to NYC for "better opportunities," and the Bens took their brand of counterculture to Portland, OR.

Greg took down the website when he got offered a legit job as an apprentice at a food magazine, and that was that.

The physical zines were cheap things, most ending up papering the sidewalk after trash day or lining the bottom of cages. Without the online presence, did Mary's "modeling career" even exist?

Mary was a little sad to see the era go, but when he woke up in Maine on the hood of some girl's car and only a hazy recollection of how they'd gotten there, he was beginning to see Angelique's point. He needed to get his shit together if he was ever going to become a rockstar. And frankly, he kind of felt like he needed to spend an entire month eating carrots and hydrating.

The 24/7 party had always been an ephemeral thing; it had been sand passing through his hands in a finite amount as he'd tried to hold onto it

He put himself on detox, and waking up sober for the first time in months felt like a revelation. And as it turned out, playing the guitar without badly shaking hands was way, way easier.

He found another job in another music store, and his starter!band was bringing butts into the smaller venues, like Toad.

He still had his old Rocky friends and the Deathbutantes. The club and venue owners still let him in for free, and Dave was always happy to give his demos a spin. By anyone's else's measure, he was steal one of the scene's darlings.

But Mary was beginning to realize that he needed to stop seeing himself as that scared kid who’d arrived in Boston 4 years ago with only a backpack, $72.57 to his name, and void where his family should be.

He needed to stop finding people to please into loving him.

Instead, he needed to live for himself and let them love him for who he was—fuck ups and all.

@slimylayne

Epilogue

"Honestly, that’s probably the reason I even got a band together," he says. "I was still kind of shit at guitar, but people came to see ‘Model Mary’ perform in his underwear."

He shoots me a smirk.

"I’m sure there’re pictures out there of me looking more glam than metal. I kind of played up the whole pinup thing for a while."

"Fuck, I would kill, literally kill to see that."

He pulls me into his lap until I’m straddling him.

"I could open up my underwear drawer and show you right now."

"Goore, you temptress."

I lean down to kiss him, and his hands sneak under my shirt, but I pull away again.

"I kinda thought I knew all your torrid secrets by now. Shit, how come Dave's never needled you about it?"

After 2 years with him, I’m surprised I hadn't even heard a peep from his oldest friend.

Mary snorts.

"Dave would miss shit hanging off his nose. Great dude, amiable as fuck, but he's always had fucking tunnel vision for his music."

I smirk at him.

"Sounds like someone else I know."

Mary pulls a face at me, and I apply kisses to every line until he laughs and bats me away.

"But really, Mare—how come you never told me about your brief career in blue steel?"

He blows out a breath, his hands smoothing up my thighs.

"Fuck. Cuz maybe I was a little embarrassed at how off the rails I was then, ok? Didn't want you to know what I fuck up I was." He takes my hand and kisses my palm. "And even I know it's a shit move to pitch woo at someone by telling them about banging half of Boston."

I make a face at him, and he laughs.

"Yeah, that’s what I thought."

His hands rest on my waist.

"Christ, everything about that year's a bit fuzzy, and it was like 10 years ago. Sometimes it feels like it happened to someone else, honestly. And shit—most of those people aren’t even around anymore. College kids who moved on and 20-somethings that grew up and moved who knows where. I used to watch Amber have—what is it when it’s four people?—and now she lives in bumblefuck Pennsylvania with 3 kids. After she left, I just kinda drifted away from all that."

He shrugs, his eyes downcast.

"I’m sorry, Mare," I say as I smooth his eyebrows.

He shrugs again.

"I mean, we all kinda keep in touch. It's like the only reason I have Facebook."

"When was the last time you even signed into that?"

Mary grins at me.

"Lola's birthday."

"One of the models? What happened with them?"

Mary bites his lip and thinks.

"Mayhem found religion after an OD and kinda ghosted everyone. Lesley followed a girl to New Hampshire. Uh…Lola pursued a PhD for something sciencey involving renewable energy with sugar beets in Idaho, and Bryan moved back to Florida to care for his grandma, who raised him."

Mary leans his head back on the couch and rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands.

"I mean, shit. We were fucking babies back then. Head empty except for a good time and unlimited potential."

I run my fingers through his hair.

"You miss it?"

His eyes pop open to look at me.

"Fuck no. Not for a million dollars. Too many question marks." His eyes glint as he runs his hands down me. "I like what I got going on right here."

I wrap my arms around his shoulders and kiss his forehead. The fucking sap.

Mary picks up my phone and scrolls through the pictures again.

"Fuck. I used to be goddamn adorable, though. Half this shit wouldn’t even fit me anymore."

I squish his little potbelly, and he grunts at me indignantly.

"Do you still have any originals?" I ask.

He shakes his head, his eyes wistful and his smile sad.

"Nah. Got destroyed when my roof collapsed and leaked everywhere. Fuck, landlords are useless. Glad we fucking own now, babe."

He scrolls up, scrolls back down.

"Just these four?"

I nod.

"Yeah. They were the only ones I found—and I did a lot of searching."

"Christ, I think there were at least 10."

I smile ruefully at him. "It’s not gonna be long anyway before they make their way into the popular tags and shit starts coming out of the woodwork."

He tosses my phone onto the table.

"Whatever. Just shows that I’ve always been cool."

And then he’s kissing me again, his hand tangling in my hair.

"You know, I’m your family now, Mare. Just for you."

He brings my hand up and kisses it.

"Fuck, I know that. Why’dja think I put a ring on it?"

[slapshot-to-the-heart]

Breakable Heaven (pt. IV) - p.l. dubois

part I part II part III

Oh my gosh, I seriously can’t believe this little series has come to an end. I’m so so happy with how it’s turned out, and want to thank anyone who’s stuck with Laurel and Pierre-Luc throughout this month. It’s one of my favorite things I’ve ever done, and it’s yours to enjoy now. Please please let me know what you think of this part, what you think about the series - getting anon comments is amazing, my inbox is always open, and I LOVE reading tags. Reblog if you like what I’m putting out, it helps me know that!

Warning: Smut (It’s light, but it’s there, so no one under 18 please!)

Part IV (7.8k)

September 23 (thurs)

Laurel was running through the Toronto airport, her carry-on bag bouncing on the tile behind her as she frantically searched for her gate. Thank God Air Canada domestic flew from the international terminal; her layover was only an hour and ten minutes and even more time had been shaved off by a departure delay in Montréal. She had forgotten that flights from Toronto cleared U.S. Customs in Canada, and if she hadn’t been able to skip the line and slap her American passport on a kiosk reader she would have almost certainly missed her connection. 

No matter how many times Laurel had tried to insist on an economy ticket when she and Pierre were booking flights for her visits, he refused to cave. “They don’t include a checked bag in economy, but they do if you fly business,” he had said, shrugging, with a small smile on his face. “Baggage fees alone would make it pretty much a wash.” Laurel doubted that, and she doubted that she’d need a checked bag for a four-day trip, but her husband had made it clear that he wasn’t budging. 

So needless to say, she was more than a little bit out of breath as she finally arrived at Gate F66, which was conveniently almost as far away from her arrival gate as humanly possible while still being in the same terminal. She handed her boarding pass and passport to the gate agent, smiling apologetically as she hurried down the jetbridge. It was barely past noon, but there was nothing in the world Laurel wanted more than to sleep. Maintaining a full-time schedule at the hospital while also trying to organize a trip to Columbus that lasted more than two days meant she had to switch shifts. Normally, that wouldn’t be an issue; that week, however, the only open slot was the 12-hour overnight shift on Wednesday. Which meant that she’d been awake for some twenty hours straight, but almost all of that had been on her feet at work, or walking from the parking lot to the check-in counter in Montréal, or running through the halls of Pearson Airport in Toronto. She took her seat, half-listened to the safety briefing, and passed out as soon as her head hit the headrest. 

Much to her chagrin, the flight itself was only just over an hour, and she was really only able to get in a generous nap before their descent into Ohio. Sitting in the second row, she exited the plane in record time, flicking her phone off of airplane mode and waiting for a text from Pierre-Luc. At least she didn’t have to go through TSA again. He wrote back in record time, letting her know he’d be in his car at the curb right outside the terminal. She waited at baggage claim, grabbing her forest green suitcase; the same one she had when she’d moved to Toronto for university, fresh-faced and 18 and so, so unaware of what the world had in store for her. If only she could see herself now. Laurel ran her thumb along the side handle for a moment, pulling at a loose thread, before hefting it onto the floor and turning towards the sliding exit doors. 

As promised, Pierre was waiting right outside the door, flashing her a bright smile and throwing the driver’s side door open as soon as he saw her. “Welcome to Columbus, babe!” he exclaimed, wrapping Laurel into a deep hug and kissing her on the cheek. 

She laughed as the trunk popped open, each of them grabbing a suitcase. “It’s a little bit funny, don’t you think? That I’ve lived in the Midwest for almost my whole life and the first time I go to Ohio it’s because I’m living in Canada?”

“Maybe just a little bit,” Pierre said, holding his thumb and pointer finger about an inch apart. “I’m really happy you were able to come, though, Laurel. I got used to having you around.” His face was softer now, looking over at Laurel with an expression that wasn’t quite placable but seemed like it was somehow communicating so much in a single glance. 

“Me too,” Laurel replied. The ride to Pierre’s Columbus apartment took just over ten minutes, and Laurel was in the door, petting the dogs, before the clock struck 3:00. 

Pierre approached her from behind, his hands on her shoulders as he leaned around to kiss her on the cheek. “You want to take a nap?” he asked. “We’ve got that thing with the team at 7, and I know you’re probably running on fumes right now.” 

Laurel nodded, giving him a weary smile, dropping her bag on the floor of the master bedroom with an all-too-satisfying thump. “Nap sounds good.” 

---

The nap was good, so good, and Laurel woke up at half past 6 feeling like she’d just had the best sleep of her life. She yawned, rubbing her eyes, and looked around the room to see Pierre with his back towards her, buttoning up his shirt. He turned around, catching her eye, and grinned. “You like the view?” he asked, gesturing to his half-naked torso. 

Laurel rolled her eyes, pulling the sheets up to poorly conceal her embarrassment at being caught. “And if I do?”

She heard a loud laugh, peeking her head out from under. “I’d say my wife has every right to appreciate it.” He walked around the bed while fastening the last few buttons, holding his hand out for Laurel to take. “I let you sleep as long as I could, but we’re going to have to get going in fifteen minutes or so. I was told that ‘we’ve waited this long to meet her, the least you could do is get your damn wife to the party in time,’” he said, adding air quotes for emphasis. 

Laurel nodded, tossing back the covers and walking over to her suitcase, intending to rifle through the stacks of clothes to find something for the night’s festivities. Instead, she was greeted by an empty bag. She wheeled around to look at Pierre, who was sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck as he stared at her suitcase. “I unpacked your stuff,” he said, nodding over towards the spare dresser. “It’s in there. I’m sorry if that seems weird and I won’t do it again if you feel like that was pushing your boundaries, but I know for me when I’m on roadies I like to unpack, even if it’s just one night. Makes it feel more like home.”

Laurel was too overcome with how sweet the gesture was, small as it may have been, to realize that that meant he had touched four days worth of bras and underwear. It shouldn’t have bothered him anyways, and if he hadn’t said anything about it, it clearly hadn’t. So instead, she pulled him into a warm hug, standing on her tiptoes to bury her face in the crook of his neck. “Thank you, P. One less thing I have to do.” 

“You do still have to actually get dressed, though,” he added, giving her sleepwear an appreciative once-over. “Unless you’re planning on wearing that.” 

She let out a giggle. “As much as I love wearing a massive Cloquet High Lumberjacks t-shirt and no pants, somehow I don’t think that’s the move,” she said, ambling over towards the dresser. She found the tops on the first try, pulling out a wine-colored wrap shirt and grabbing the same pair of light-wash jeans she had worn on the plane. Pierre moved to duck out of the room, presumably to give her privacy to change. Laurel made a split-second decision to call after him. “You don’t have to leave.” Pierre stopped in his tracks.

Laurel slipped the shirt on, tying it in the front, and fastened her jeans. Mascara on and booties zippered, and she was good to go. “So what is this thing, anyways?” she asked Pierre as they drove to Foligno’s house. 

Pierre tilted his head. “Little bit of this, little bit of that. Half the typical beginning-of-the-year preseason party, half the wedding reception we never had. They were very insistent on bringing gifts, so be prepared.”

“Will do,” she said, laughing. “And by they, you mean…”

“Some of the guys, but mostly the wives and girlfriends. Their parties are the stuff of legends, so you can imagine how excited everyone was when I told them we never had a proper reception.”

“But they don’t know why we didn’t have a proper party,” Laurel reminded him. 

“About that…” Pierre started, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. 

Laurel froze, her thumb hovering over her phone screen, halfway through composing a text to Kristen. “Pierre,” she swallowed, her voice deadly soft, “did you tell someone?”

---

It was the Saturday before, and the team had gone out to celebrate the end of the first week of training camp. Sunday was an off day, so Saturday night found all the over-21s — and anyone who could get a good enough fake — at a bar in the city. Pierre had just crossed the line into tipsy, and as his captain was about to find out, tipsy Pierre was an oversharer. It was common enough for families to be a topic of discussion on nights out or in the locker room; that wasn’t the issue. The issue was that, as the old adage goes, drunk words are sober thoughts. And, if he was being honest, Pierre was still harboring some guilt from having to hide the truth of his and Laurel’s marriage from everyone, Nick included. Pierre hated that he couldn’t tell Nick the truth. He was his captain and his friend, and he felt the least he owed to him was not to lie. 

“It’s just so weird being away from Laurel, away from Montréal, for this long,” Pierre sighed. 

“Sure,” Nick said sympathetically, “but you said you’d been friends for a few years, so you’ve had feelings for her for a while, no? It’s obviously not ideal, but you’ve been away from her for longer.” 

Pierre turned towards Nick, some of his beer — his fourth of the night — spilling out of the cup. “Can I tell you a secret?” 

Nick rolled his eyes, thinking he was going to be hearing some dumb high school confession, that he had asked out a senior girl when he was a freshman, or filled his QMJHL captain’s gloves with shaving cream or something. He didn’t expect what he heard next. 

“We got married so she could stay in the country, for her permanent residency. I never met her before June.” 

Nick sucked in a breath. “You’re not fucking with me, are you?” 

“Nope.” 

“You realize how much trouble you guys could get into if they figure out, right?” he asked. 

Pierre nodded, looking down at his clasped hands nervously. “We both do. But you’re not going to tell anyone, right?” 

“No, of course not,” Nick said. “I trust you, and I know you and Laurel were just doing what you thought was the best and most logical thing given the circumstances.” Pierre let out a somber nod. “But,” he continued, “I feel like this whole...situation just leaves open the opportunity for things to get really messy really quickly.” 

“Messy how?” Pierre asked. 

Nick shifted uncomfortably in his chair, looking at a spot just beyond Pierre’s head. He didn’t want to, not really, but it was his job as Pierre’s captain — more importantly as his friend  — to make him consider every angle. “Someone catching feelings, one of you falling for the other, or God forbid, someone else. There’s already so much at stake in a ‘normal’ marriage, but yours just has added complications.” Pierre felt a twinge in his heart. He didn’t want to admit it, he really didn’t want to admit it, but Nick was right. “Do you love her?” Nick asked softly. 

Pierre sunk back into his chair. “I don’t know. She means a lot to me, more than I ever thought she would, but I don’t know. Plus, I have no clue how she feels about me, and I wouldn’t want to say something like that only to have her pull away.” 

“Did you guys talk about that?” he asked. 

“About what?” Pierre responded. 

“About what would happen if one of you caught feelings. Because I’m assuming it was supposed to, is supposed to, be a strictly platonic thing.” 

Pierre shrugged. “Not really. We didn’t like make a pact or anything, if that’s what you’re asking. We really didn’t talk much about it at all,” he said, finishing his beer. “I mean, obviously we agreed that we wouldn’t be seeing anyone else, dating or hooking up or anything like that. It was just too risky. But no, we never really addressed how we’d deal with it if one of us ended up...falling for each other. I guess it was just supposed to be a ‘we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it’ type of thing.” 

“And have you come to it?” Nick asked. 

“I don’t know.”

---

Pierre finished the story, hazarding a glance over to Laurel, who was wringing her hands as she looked out the windshield. “I’m not mad at you,” she said finally. “If Nick said he wouldn’t tell, I trust you when you say he won’t. One of us was bound to let it slip eventually.” 

He turned his eyes back towards the road, still feeling a pang of regret. She was almost being too good to him. “We’ll be okay,” he said, saying it just as much to himself as he did to her. 

Laurel gave him a small smile as they pulled into the Foligno’s house, parking on the stone-paved driveway. “We will be.”

Janelle opened the door practically the second after they knocked, greeting Pierre and Laurel with warm hugs. “Laurel, it’s so wonderful to finally meet you,” she said, squeezing her hand. “We know how hard it is to find the time off and make the trip down, and everyone’s excited to see you.” She led them through the entryway to the living room, where Laurel was passed around to some twenty-odd players and their partners, where she introduced herself over and over again as “Pierre’s wife, yes the nurse from Minnesota who none of you knew existed.” 

Dinner was a barbeque outside, Nick, Pierre, and some of the others manning the three grills as Laurel helped set up the drinks table. He held her hand under the table as they ate, his thumb gently rubbing across her thigh every so often in reassurance. “You good?” he murmured in his ear as Laurel sipped a beer, half-listening to some story Korpi was telling about a near-miss incident with a water ski back in Finland during the summer. 

Laurel nodded, squeezing his fingers. “I’m good.”

Plates were cleared, dishes were washed, and everyone was herded into Nick and Janelle’s enormous family room, where a small mountain of wrapped boxes and bags sat in the far corner. “I don’t know if you know this,” Janelle said conspiratorially as Laurel sat down, “but NHLers make more than a little money.” 

She laughed. “So I’ve been told.”

“Which means that, clueless though they may be, you’re going to be getting some very nice presents.” 

And very nice presents they were. A wine club membership, a set of dutch ovens from Seth — “It was my mom’s suggestion”  — Jones, an espresso machine from Boone, a set of matching, personalized dog bowls for Phil, Georgia, and Piper. Laurel honestly wasn’t sure how it was all going to fit in the car, let alone how she was going to manage to stay under the baggage limit on her way back to Canada, but the thought and kindness that went into each gift was what really made it special. 

“From me and the other girls,” Janelle said, passing Laurel a bag. 

“Oh, this is too much,” Laurel said. “You already got the knives and the mixer, I don’t need anything else.”

Cam’s wife, Natalie, shrugged. “Would it help if we made it, didn’t buy it?”

Laurel’s brow furrowed in confusion, her fingers moving to undo the ribbon that tied the handles together, taking out the tissue paper. “Oh!” she gasped quietly as she pulled out a denim jacket, a Blue Jackets logo ironed onto the back, Dubois embroidered where a name bar would be. “You didn’t have to do this.”

“You’re still a part of the family,” Natalie said, smiling. “Even if you’re not here all the time. We want you to feel as included as anyone else.”  

Laurel folded up the jacket carefully, tucking it back in the bag as Josh walked up to Pierre, holding out a small box, clearly wrapped by himself. “Well now I just feel silly.”

Pierre shook his head, smiling at his friend. “Don’t, Josh. I’m sure we’ll love it.” He thumbed open the folds on the wrapping paper, setting it aside before pulling off the top of the box. He fell silent. 

Laurel peeked over, trying to catch a glimpse of the box’s contents. “What is it, P?”

Instead of answering, Pierre just held the box upside-down. Condoms of all colors and sizes rained down onto the hardwood floor as Pierre stared at Josh, clearly trying very hard not to laugh. The side of his mouth twitched. “Interesting choice of gift, you don’t think?” he asked.

Josh shrugged helplessly, his cheeks red. “It’s practical?”

 November 28 (sun)

 Laurel caught every Blue Jackets game she could on the TV, even the ones in early November when Pierre was out for a few games with a mild concussion. She was his wife, but she was also a nurse, and made sure to get daily updates on his condition, restraining herself from FaceTiming him to help limit his amount of daily screen time. But he had been back for a few weeks, making second star of the night with a goal and an assist, so naturally he was pulled away for a few postgame interviews. 

Laurel watched the screen, trying not to get distracted by the sweat drenching his Underarmour. Reporters, the good ones at least, were usually considerate with steering clear of asking personal questions, but sometimes an injury, or the birth of a child, or, as luck would have it, a wedding, begged an answer. “So, Pierre, I think a lot of us were surprised to see you announce on Instagram that you had gotten married this summer. Congratulations, by the way,” the journalist from the Dispatch said. 

“Thanks,” Pierre replied, smiling. 

“And I hope I speak for everyone here when saying that we entirely respect you and your wife’s decision to keep things quiet and announce it in a much more subdued fashion than usual. Players often speak a lot about how integral support from family and friends is, and just how important it is to have that kind of a support system in place.” Pierre could see where the question was going. “Obviously you’ve got the boys down here, but it doesn’t look like your wife Laurel is based in Columbus like you are. Is there a reason for that, and do you think that’s affected your game?” 

Pierre sucked in a breath; it was a fair question, and a reasonable assumption to make, but that didn’t mean he liked answering it any more. But it was almost suspicious how quickly he had an answer. “Uh, yeah, it’s been interesting for us to have to navigate. You’re right, Laurel’s back in Montréal, she spends most of her time at our place in the city. She’s a nurse in the intensive care unit of CHU Saint-Justine, so she does pediatrics there. She loves what she does, and she’s so good at it, and it just wouldn’t be right of me to ever ask or expect her to leave on my account. I know we’ve got a great hospital at Nationwide Children’s, but she loves where she is. We both do. So yeah, it’s rough being away sometimes, but luckily she’s able to move shifts around and make it down twice a month or so when we’re not on the road. But we keep in contact daily, obviously, and I’m able to lean on the guys, especially the other married ones, on how to deal with the stress of being away for so long. But it’s rough. I miss my wife,” Pierre finished. 

Laurel clicked the remote, turning the TV off, her hand scratching behind Piper’s ears, and tried not to replay his words in her mind as she crawled into bed and fell asleep. 

 December 18 (sat)

 Laurel stumbled through the door of Pierre’s Columbus apartment, laughing breathlessly as she tried to lock the deadbolt. “You need some help there, L?” Pierre asked, raising one eyebrow. 

“I’m good,” Laurel said, taking two more tries before it would actually lock. The eggnog from the Christmas party was starting to take its toll; Pierre had agreed to be the pair’s designated driver for the night, so she had had maybe a glass too many. The night had genuinely been so much fun, Laurel had initially been worried at how well she might fit in with the group in a more casual situation. As much as she loved being able to hang out with the team and the other WAGs when she was in Ohio — and she did — she couldn’t help but be nervous that she didn’t have the same level of camaraderie that could help turn a night from good to great. Laurel couldn’t have been happier to be wrong. She was embraced from the moment she walked in the door, a glass of wine pushed into her hand and her Secret Santa gift deposited on the entryway table. 

Laurel used to always roll her eyes at the idea that “time flies when you’re having fun,” but that couldn’t have been more true for the party. It seemed like only minutes had passed, but suddenly it was almost midnight, and the couples with kids had to head home to relieve the babysitters, and Laurel and Pierre were headed home. 

“Let’s get some water in you, no?” Pierre murmured, walking to the kitchen and opening the cupboard. 

“Thanks,” Laurel said softly as she took the glass from him, kicking off her shoes and tucking her feet under her on the couch. 

Pierre perched on the arm, absentmindedly playing with his watch. But while a tipsy Pierre was an oversharer, a tipsy Laurel was always emotional in one fashion or another. “How’d you like the party?”

“It was great,” Laurel said. “I’m not sure why Alexandre thought I’d be into a Blue Jackets scarf, but I guess it’s the thought that counts?” She pulled the offending object out of her bag, running her fingers through the fringe on the edge. “Seeing how amazing so many of those couples are, Janelle and Nick especially, it was awesome…” She trailed off. “But it was hard.”

His brow furrowed. Why would it be hard? “How so?”

“I always thought that, when I got married, it would be once and that was it.” She screwed her eyes shut. “And that’s not to mean I’m not grateful for what you’ve done, it’s so incredible and goes so far beyond just plain kindness. I just thought it would be a forever thing.”

Pierre’s heart dropped. Of course she’d feel like that. If marriage was something she wanted to take that seriously, how could she not feel like she was cheapening its meaning by treating it as nothing more than an arrangement of convenience? It wasn’t even like he felt any differently; hockey was obviously still his first priority most of the time, but he’d always seen himself as someone who wanted to settle down and have a family one day. He guessed that he just hadn’t let himself think about it. “Laurel,” he said quietly, reaching out to her. But she wasn’t done. 

“It’s just,” Laurel sighed, one hand tugging on her hair, tears threatening to escape her eyes, “knowing this is all temporary. Knowing that in a couple of y-years, when I g-get my citizenship and we get d-divorced, this is all going to end,” she said, hiccuping through her words. “I won’t be able to come to your Christmas parties and fly down for games and sit up in the WAG box with my friends and that jacket and a jersey with your name on it. I won’t be able to do any of that any more because it wasn’t real, it wasn’t ever real, and that fucking kills me inside, P.” Laurel sat on the corner of the couch, a spot as precarious as the words tumbling out of her mouth. 

“Why?” Pierre asked, even though if he was honest, he’d stake his career on the belief that he already knew the answer. “Why would it hurt so bad?” His voice was so quiet that if Laurel hadn’t been sitting two feet away, she wouldn’t have heard. 

“Because I’m fucking in love with you,” she whispered. “And that’s the single most terrifying sentence I’ve ever said in my life.” Even though Pierre somehow knew that’s what she was going to say all along, it didn’t stop her words from stealing the breath out of his lungs. Laurel looked up at him through her tears, her eyes beginning to redden. “Say something, please, P.”

Pierre knelt in front of her, his thumb resting gently on her cheek, wiping away her tears. “God, Laur, how could I not be in love with you?” She blinked rapidly at him, trying to process the words that were coming out of his mouth. “I wasn’t lying when I said you were one of the most incredible people I’ve ever met. You’re so caring, not just for me, but for everyone in your life. You’d give a stranger the shirt off of your back. You’re probably the smartest person I know, way smarter than me.” A giggle escaped Laurel’s mouth. “The dedication you show to everything in your life is amazing. At your job, you treat every patient like they were your own sibling or your own child. You make the trip down to Columbus once a month, twice a month. That’s not easy, all the flight time and having to leave Piper and switching shifts around so we can see each other. You’re gorgeous, not just on the outside — though you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen — but the light in your eyes when you talk about a new book you read, or how happy you look when you let me taste a new recipe you’re trying, or how passionate you get when you see something wrong and know there’s something you need to do to change it. So what if we’re doing things a little backwards? First comes marriage, then comes love.” He leaned his forehead against hers. “I fell in love with you awhile ago. I think it just took me a second to realize it.”

 January 26 (wed)

 Laurel thought the distance and space between them would be easier now that she knew how he felt, now that they both knew how they felt. She couldn’t have been more wrong. So the All-Star break, and the Blue Jackets’ bye week, couldn’t have come at a better time. Pierre had made plans for the break a few months earlier, but after everything that happened over Christmas, it didn’t seem right to ditch Laurel for a boy’s trip with Alexandre and Seth. So Hilton Head was traded in for Saint Lucia, and his teammates were traded in for his wife. And he wouldn’t have it any other way. 

Laurel was using three of her paid vacation days and Pierre was able to make the schedule work just right to get five nights in the Carribean. “A belated honeymoon, if you will,” he had said, cracking a grin over FaceTime as they booked the flights. The flight from Columbus was much less straightforward than hers from Montréal, but by a chance airline scheduling his first layover was in Toronto. Laurel met him at the gate, hauling her own green suitcase behind her as he flung his arms around her, kissing her with everything he had in him. They may have missed the not-so-subtle fans taking pictures that later circulated around Twitter that may or may not have led to some grade A chirping in the team’s group chat. But Pierre didn’t care. He cared that for a few days, he could forget about the stress of hockey and trying to make a playoff run and all the rumors floating around and just be with his wife. And, Pierre thought as they walked through the airport door into the Carribean sun, there really wasn’t anything else he wanted. 

They hailed a taxi, the twenty minute drive to their resort rushing by in a blur of palm trees and seas so blue Laurel thought she could fall into them just by looking. Pierre jogged into the main office to check them in, coming back with their key cards before the taxi continued on its way, dropping them off in front of their villa. Laurel spun slowly as they got out of the car, smiling up at the sky as Pierre pressed a few bills into the taxi driver’s hand with a nod of thanks. “You okay there?” he asked with a grin. 

“It’s so warm,” Laurel said in wonderment. Even in January, the weather in Saint Lucia hovered in the mid-70s, a far cry from the twenties and teens of a Montréal winter. Laurel was no stranger to the cold — Cloquet had seen temperatures pushing thirty below when Laurel was in high school — but the idea that she could be somewhere and wear shorts while it was snowing in her hometown was a concept so novel she hadn’t quite grasped it yet. 

He nodded, looking at Laurel with a gaze so soft she thought her heart would maybe burst. “We’re in the Caribbean, L. It’s warm all the time.” 

She rolled her eyes, bending over to get her suitcase, but not before Pierre snatched it up himself, holding the key card between two fingers. “Are you going to just stand there, or do you want to check out our honeymoon suite?” Laurel’s words dripped with suggestiveness, her sandal-clad feet dragging their way up the path to the villa with tantalizing languor. 

“Coming.” 

Even after the six months of their marriage, and even after everything that happened over the holidays, they hadn’t had sex. They’d gotten close a few times, both on her trip in December and in ones since, but never managed to go all the way. First Laurel needed a new birth control prescription — the last thing she would do would be have sex without being extra safe about it — and then she was too tired after a night out, and another time Pierre had scored a hat trick and they had partied way too hard to even think about sex. So needless to say, it had been a while for Laurel since she’d gotten release by any hands other than her own, and even longer for Pierre. And it certainly wasn’t because she didn’t want to. Laurel was well aware that her husband was hot as fuck, and she’d be lying if some of her lonelier nights weren’t filled with thoughts of exactly what she wanted him to do to her. But it felt different than any of her other relationships. Obviously, it felt different, she hadn’t been married to Oliver or Ryan or Carter. And that didn’t mean she wasn’t invested in those, but just that the stakes were so much higher and she had fallen so much harder for Pierre than she ever thought imaginable. She didn’t want to have sex with him until she was sure. Sure that it was going somewhere, sure that it would last, sure that he loved her in the same way that made her heart ache every time he dropped her off at Columbus International Airport. 

---

By the time they had unpacked, eaten, and gotten a few rum punches in their system, it was well past 7 and the sun had long since set. Laurel peeked out the door onto their balcony, nodding at the private plunge pool. “We’ve got quite the setup here.”

She walked over to the dresser, grabbing a swimsuit out and crossing over to the bathroom, her hand hovering over the knob. “Just something to think about.” Pierre put his swim trunks on in record time. Laurel padded out of the bathroom, the top straps of her bikini dangling, the swell of her breasts peeking above the cups. “Do me up?” she asked. 

Pierre’s fingers brushed the baby hairs at the base of her neck as he tied the straps of her white-hot bikini. “Sure you don’t want to go out to the beach?” 

Their villa came with a stretch of beachfront, and it seemed like such a shame to let it go to waste. Laurel shook her head, a smile playing on the edge of her lips. “We’ve got a couple of days to enjoy the beach. I’d like to stay somewhere a little more...secluded.” She bit her lip as she opened the door to the balcony, dipping her toes in the pool and sighing at the warmth of the water. Laurel looked back at Pierre, one eyebrow raised. “You coming?” Pierre couldn’t follow fast enough. 

They stayed in the water for a while, lazily kissing and staring at the stars and sipping drinks that had lost their potency hours ago, but neither of them really cared much. Sometime during the night, Laurel had made her way onto Pierre’s lap, where she reached over to the balcony, lofting herself out of the pool and wrapping a scarf around her body. “Getting a little cold,” she said, bending down and giving him a soft kisss. She walked into the room, drying herself off; he followed. Laurel threw the towel over a chair in the corner of the room, walking over towards Pierre, stopping when their noses were almost touching.

Laurel’s wrap fell from her shoulders, pooling on the wood floor. Pierre’s hand skated up her arm to rest on her cheek. He leaned in and pressed his lips to hers. She stood on her tiptoes as her left hand tangled in his hair, her right pressed against the back of his neck. She whimpered into his mouth; it took everything in Pierre’s power to keep the blood from rushing south. The kiss got more frantic, tongue and teeth clashing against each other as he walked her back to the bed. The back of her knees bumped up against the edge. 

Pierre pulled away slightly, letting out a moan as he saw Laurel’s face. Her lips were puffy from kissing, her chest heaving with the force of her breath, and her wild hair had long since been taken out of its ponytail. In other words, Pierre was convinced beyond a shadow of a doubt that Laurel, in that moment, was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. “You sure you want to do this?” Pierre murmured. He wanted to. God, he wanted to. But he’d never do anything without making sure that she was absolutely comfortable. Laurel nodded, biting her lip. “I need to hear you say it, babe,” Pierre said, taking a step forward, their noses almost touching. 

“I want you to ruin me.”

Pierre audibly groaned, capturing her lips in his before throwing her back on the bed, his hand moving to her back to undo the tie of her bikini top as his lips trailed down her neck. He threw the top off to one side, paying exactly zero attention to where it landed, as his hands slid up her waist to cup her breasts, his thumbs ghosting over her sensitive nipples. Laurel’s breath hitched in her throat. “You like that, baby?”

“Mhm,” Laurel whimpered, unable to form a complete sentence. 

He smirked, lowering his mouth to her chest, flicking his tongue over her right nipple as his hand pinched her left. The air was filled with breathless sighs from them both until Pierre’s hands left her breasts. Laurel whined in protest until she felt his fingers toying with her bikini bottoms, his head lifting just enough so that his eyes could meet hers. “This okay?”

It was all Laurel could do to choke out a single word. “Please.”

Pierre pulled them down her legs, kissing down, down to her hips, down to her inner thighs, down to everywhere except for where she needed him. “You need something, Laurel?” Pierre asked, his voice dripping with sex. 

Laurel groaned, not wanting to give in but also knowing that Pierre could stay where he was for hours if it meant teasing her. “Your mouth.” 

“As you wish.” And then his tongue was on her, and in her, and she couldn’t help but let out a moan. And Pierre was loving every second of it. He stayed down there for a while, long enough to finish her twice. 

Laurel pushed on his shoulder, trying to get him to turn on his back so she could return the favor. Pierre shook his head as he shucked his shorts off, pulling her head down to kiss her roughly. “I’m going to cum right here if I don’t get inside you in the next two minutes, babe.” He reached over to the nightstand, grabbing a condom. “Guess I’ll have to thank Josh for these when we get back home.”

She raised one eyebrow, clearly unamused. “If you do that, I can promise you I’ll never put your dick in my mouth. Not now, not ever.”

Pierre held his hands up in surrender, the foil packet shining between two fingers. “Alright, alright. I won’t.” He paused just before bringing the wrapper up to his teeth. “You want this?”

Laurel nodded frantically as he rolled the condom down his length. He looked so hard it was painful. “So bad.” He leaned down to kiss her, propped up on one arm as he pushed into her, hair falling into his face as he closed his eyes. He was too blissed out to be able to focus on anything other than how good she felt around him, how tight and warm and how well she fit, like Laurel Elizabeth Klerken was made for him and him alone. 

“More,” Laurel cried softly, and that was all it took for Pierre to grab one of her legs, throwing it around his hips as he increased his pace, head dropping to her neck as he nipped at her pulse points. It didn’t take long for Pierre to reach his high, Laurel right behind him. He pressed a sweet kiss to her forehead before getting up from the bed, going into the bathroom to tie off the condom and grab a washcloth. He cleaned up between her legs as Laurel lay there, trying to steady her breathing, absolutely spent from the night’s three orgasms. “Why didn’t we do that earlier?” Laurel murmured. 

Pierre laughed, throwing the cloth in the laundry basket and tilting down to press a kiss to the crown of her head. “I don’t know. But it was worth it.”

 February 20 (mon)

 Laurel had learned early on in her relationship with Pierre that she couldn’t put much stock into what was said on Twitter. Or Instagram, or any social media for that matter. So much was speculation: about draft picks, about trade rumors, about Pierre-Luc Dubois’ secret wife, that it just wasn’t useful or healthy for her so spend much time looking around. She still had her accounts, but Instagram was the only one she went on with any regularity nowadays. And she rarely checked her phone during the work day anyways; unless it was an unusually slow day  — which was never a good sign in the medical world — the only time she was even able to spare a glance was during her lunch break or when she’d run to the bathroom. So when her phone buzzed with a text from Pierre as she sat at the nurses’ station, her brow furrowed as she unlocked the screen. 

Are you free right now? I need to call you. 

Laurel bit her lip, nerves threatening to boil over. He knew her schedule, he knew she was at work. What could be so important that it couldn’t wait? Are you okay? Did something happen?

He typed a response as soon as her text showed as delivered.  I’m not hurt, it’s not bad, really, I just need to tell you something and I don’t want to have to do it over text. 

Laurel checked her watch. 11:18. It was early for a lunch break, but as long as she wasn’t needed, she could take her half hour any time between 11 and 1. She caught the eye of her charge nurse. “Claudette? I’m taking my lunch if that’s alright with you.” Claudette nodded, and Laurel quickly made her way to the locker room to grab her leftover pasta, texting Pierre on the way. Headed to the changing room now. Are you going to tell me what this is about?

Her phone rang a minute later, when she had just closed the door. She tapped the green button. “You’re going to have to tell me what’s going on here, P, because I’m kind of freaking out,” Laurel said, laughing nervously. “You don’t tell a girl what to expect, she starts assuming the worst.”

Pierre let out a heavy breath. She could imagine him running a hand through his hair on the other end. “I know, and I’m sorry if I worried you. I just needed to tell you before it breaks.”

“Before what breaks, Pierre?” Laurel’s anxiety was coming to a head. 

“I’m coming home.”

Laurel screwed her eyes shut, even more confused than she was before. “Yeah, Pierre, I know you’re playing here next week. Why would that be news?” 

“When’s the trade deadline, Laurel?”

“Last Monday in February, but I don’t see what that has…��� She pulled the phone away from her ear, looking down at the screen, eyes locking on the date. “You got traded?” 

She could imagine him sitting down on the edge of his couch, one hand dangling off the side, Georgia trying to jump up and goad him into giving her a pet or two. “They’re breaking it right before the noon deadline, but you deserved to know before everyone else did. You needed to know.”

Laurel leaned up against her locker, hand over her mouth. “You’re coming to Montréal?” She had seen it mentioned offhand on a few Twitter accounts she followed the handful of times she had logged on in the past week, but nobody thought it would actually happen. Even the concept of trading him seemed so far-fetched with the type of season he was having in Columbus. He was sitting near 30 goals and 40 assists, with one of the best plus-minus scores on the team. It just didn’t make sense. 

“As of twenty minutes ago, I’m officially a Montréal Canadien,” Pierre answered. 

“Oh God,” Laurel said, sympathy lacing her voice. She couldn’t let herself be excited, wouldn’t let herself be excited, until she knew exactly how Pierre felt about it. He had just been uprooted from the team that drafted him, where he’d played for four seasons and made friends and where everyone saw him as the future of the franchise. 

Pierre let out a single laugh. “They let me know what the deal was, apparently Montréal really wanted me. First round pick next year, a second-year defenseman, some prospect from Laval.”

Laurel settled on the bench, tucking the phone under her chin. “Of course they really wanted you, P. You’re an incredible player, you’d be an asset to any team and you’re going to do great things in Montréal.” She paused. “But how are you feeling about the move? I know it’s not what you were expecting. Or what anyone was expecting, really.”

“It’s weird,” Pierre said after a moment. “Obviously yeah, I won’t lie, it’s a shock. But almost every player, even the really good ones, get traded at one point or another. Gretzky was traded to L.A.”

“Are you comparing yourself to Gretzky?” Laurel asked playfully. 

“No,” Pierre chuckled. “But just trying to remind myself that it was almost inevitable. I’m allowed to be sad about it — and I am, it’s going to fucking suck leaving the boys — but I’m not as torn up as I thought I’d be if this ever happened.” He felt more than a little bad about it, but his first thought when his agent called and broke the news wasn’t sadness, it wasn’t despair at having to leave the team he had been brought up in and the men he considered his brothers. It was relief. Relief that he could be closer to his family, relief that he’d be back with Laurel, relief that he was going home. “And hey,” he said, catching Laurel’s attention. “You know what?”

Laurel rolled her eyes. “What?”

“I don’t even have to marry someone to move.”

---

Pierre’s flight got in late Tuesday night, just after Laurel’s shift at the hospital had ended. He had said he wouldn’t mind taking an Uber home so she didn’t have to rush over and stress about traffic, but Laurel didn’t care. She wanted to be at the airport to pick up her husband, even if it meant she’d still be in her scrubs doing it. 

She saw him exiting the sliding doors of the international terminal before she even turned the corner, practically slamming her car into park as soon as she hit the curb. Pierre dropped his bags when her car door opened, paying no attention to the thump of the suitcases as they hit the ground or the wandering eyes of passersby. Airports hadn’t always been his favorite place. They meant leaving the people he loved, going away from what was warm and familiar and safe. They usually meant uncertainty. But that had changed, Pierre thought, as his wife jumped into his arms, her legs wrapping around his waist as their lips met. Airports might just have become one of his favorite places. He pulled back from the kiss, their foreheads just barely touching. “Hi,” he said. 

Laurel smiled, the kind of smile that lit up rooms and made crying babies giggle and that Pierre was pretty sure was his favorite thing he’d ever seen in the world. “Welcome home.”

[alkhale]

Crazy (Hausen/Reader) Ko-fi Request

Hi! Im back with a lot of commission for you. I looked at your old post to see the animes that you could know and surprised you have already seen Gangsta. So I would like to know if I can get an Doug x reader or Hausen x reader (or any character of your choice :)).

I love and miss Gangsta so much, hoping for more chapters and episode to eventual come ;-; Here you go!

(Crazy)

Fandom: Gangsta

Pairing: Hausen/Reader

His boots hit the floor in an even clack clack clack. The military issued steel resounding his foremost intent with thunderous arrival.

Several of the guild members glanced up, some half roused from an evening snooze, others just filing back in from a scouting mission or watch, all of them congregated in one of the main room areas. A few veterans watched the hard set of Hausen’s jaw, skittering off to stay out of the Twilight’s way. They quickly tugged wooden chairs back, sneaking off behind tables and ducking down to the counters. Others glanced to the rugged, muscled outline of his shoulders and back and glanced to each other, whispering guesses on who’d be on the receiving end of his obvious malintent.

“Someone really messed up today, didn’t they?”

“Aw, who fucked up?”

“‘s not me man! I ain’t even on schedule.”

One man shouldered his partner, motioning roughly with his chin. The others all looked, stopping at the sight of the crumpled, brightly colored object in Hausen’s left hand.

The dirty blonde ignored the chatter, camo jacket tied snug around the set of his waist. Hausen swept icy blue eyes once across the room, squinting as though in search of something before he scowled, continuing onwards.

The guild members winced when he kicked the door clean open, stepping into the hallway. It slammed shut behind him.

“Aw, shit.”

“Yeesh.”

“Everyone stand clear, this one’s gonna get messy.”

A few bills were tossed into the center of the table. Heads turned, glancing over.

“Sir’s gonna beat their asses.”

“Naw, Ginger’s gonna stop ‘em before anythin’ happens.”

“They break up!”

“Bet!”

Hausen dragged a hand down his face, lips pulled down into a half-irritated scowl at the words flinging from the door. I can hear you, you dumbasses. He’d have them running laps or cleaning out the temporary Twilight housing facilities later.

Hausen had more important business to see to.

He gripped the object in his hand with renewed vigor, storming his way down the hall with purpose. His military Twilight tags clanked around his neck, clinking together alongside with one that didn’t match his own set. A few rungs of doors were open on the way down to the medical wing, Arthur and Lancelot peeking their heads out from where they’d been fooling around in a slumbering Gawain’s room.

“Hey, Hausen!” Arthur greeted cheerfully. Hausen offered him a quick wave. Lancelot peeked out from right beneath his friend, fixing his goggles. 

“Who’re the flowers for?”

Hausen’s scowl deepened. In his hand was a crumpled bouquet, the pretty pink paper wrapping crinkling under the force of his grip. The stems inside threatened to snap, wheezing at the onslaught while the bright, full sunflowers bobbed unsteadily.

A vein throbbed against the side of Hausen’s head. Arthur pressed a hand down over Lancelot’s head, ponytail bobbing. “Did you hear? (Y/n)’s back—”

Both Arthur and Lancelot stopped, blinking at Hausen’s almost constipated expression.

Gawain snorted from his bunk bed, arms tucked under the soft tufts of his pinkish hair. He kept his eyes closed, legs kicked over the restboard.

“I,” Hausen grunted. “Heard.”

He nodded gruffly to them, marching down the hall, dog tags swaying. Arthur and Lancelot blinked once at his back, blinking again when they looked at each other.

“What’s got him in such a bad move?”

“I wouldn’t worry about it,” Gawain yawned. “Go take a nap or something.”

“Gawain, you’re always sleeping.”

Hausen finally drew his boots to a rough halt just before the medical wing’s doors. There was a bit of chatter on the other side, a few of the Twilights on shift working to organize or help out anyone still injured. Hausen waited a minute longer, fingers rolling over the top of the rusted brass knob. The flowers sagged at his side, no longer brimming with the usual energy sunflowers were supposed to.

Hausen rubbed the back of his head, ruffling the short cropped tufts of blonde hair with an aggravated sigh. Did you have to make things so difficult? 

He heard your soft voice, muffled through the door. Hausen heaved a rough sigh, masking it as a grunt as he pushed the door open, hefting the flowers over his shoulder.

The door opened with a little more noise than necessary to announce his arrival. A few of the guild members glanced up, blinking at first in surprise before their expressions dawned in understanding. They became pale, sweat rolling down the sides of their cheeks as they looked first to Hausen’s hulking frame in the door and then quickly to you.

Hausen only had eyes for you.

You were sitting up in the dingy medical bed, another Twilight sitting in the chair beside you with a medical chart. Your hair was pulled back, revealing the scarred, toned column of your neck to Hausen. Patches of open skin between the mottled scars he’d leave trails of kisses and lingering bites when you were a little more willing than usual.

You had a knee propped up onto the bed, the other dangling, wrapped up thickly in a cast. Fractured. He’d already heard the news. Mounds of bandages were wrapped up your arms, a hefty patch of gauze peeking from under the loose white t-shirt you’d shrugged on to hide the brunt of the beating you took from the last mission call. Another set of bandages were patched over your cheek, making you look a little ridiculous.

Dog tags dangled from the thin chain around your neck. Your own Twilight markings coupled with a tag that didn’t match the other one.

Hausen gripped the flowers. The stems snapped inside the paper wrapping.

He waited for you to make the first move, watching in growingly irritated silence as you dully glanced up, expression neutral. You took in his entire appearance, black tank top and camo attire and crumpled flowers, expression never once wavering.

You snorted, looking back down.

Hausen felt a vein pop.

“We’re just gonna,” one guild member started, gesturing vaguely to the door. Hausen stepped aside, nodding. “Go now. Yeah, we’re gonna go now.”

They scrambled out of the room, leaving the two of you to your own privacy.

Hausen flexed his fingers, curling them tightly into a fist before he cocked his head back. He set a hand down on his hip, fixing you with all the you-better-start-talking-right-now he could muster.

You said nothing, browsing through a crumpled magazine in your lap.

“What the hell is your problem?” Hausen exclaimed, throwing his hands and the flowers into the air. You rolled your eyes. “Why are you like this? You’re always like this! Ya like bein’ difficult? You drive me nuts!”

You flipped a page.

“I told you not to take that hire,” Hausen started, pacing around the room as he shook his finger. His heavy steps made the table shake and you kicked your good foot out to stop the empty vase from toppling over. “I told you. But do you listen? No. You never listen. I said don’t do it!”

You said nothing, flipping another page.

“I rank fucking higher than you but you don’t even care!” Hausen snapped. “What’s the point of bein’ your superior if I don’t even get any respect?”

“You,” you said finally. Your hoarse voice was music to his ears, tearing Hausen up over whether he should just take you up in your arms and spend the time doing something else instead of giving you the tongue lashing he’d been rehearsing this whole time. “Told me not to go as Hausen. Not as my superior.”

Hausen went rigid, setting his jaw. You flashed him a defiant look. “‘s that wrong?”

“That’s not the point.”

“‘s totally the point,” you muttered. “Paulkee said it was mine if I wanted it. I wanted it.”

“Then you should’ve asked me to come with you.”

“Ya got other stuff to do,” you said. “And I managed.”

“You look like they threw you through a fucking roof.”

“‘s a balcony, but close enough.”

Hausen growled. You rolled your eyes, turning to face him, expression neutral despite his rippling frustration. You were used to this after all. For all his bravado and cool when it came down to it, Hausen was always the kind of guy to get worked up over the things that needed it less.

Cause he’s a good guy. 

“Going anyway without telling me was one thing,” Hausen said, marching right over to you. The sunflowers bobbed and you shot them a pitiful look. “Ya spit on my boots with that one. But comin’ back and not saying a thing? Ya might as well punch me in the face! What’re you trying to say?”

Hausen stopped, flashing you a dangerous look. He narrowed his eyes, pointing a rigid finger at you. “If this is your own dumbass idea of trying to leave me hanging—”

“Ya sayin’ I can’t break up with ya if I wanted to?”

“You bet your fucking ass I am.”

“Well, I’m not. I’m tired,” you said flatly. “I didn’t want to hear you yell at me like ya are now.”

Hausen made choking motions for your throat. You leaned back, gingerly adjusting your casted foot. “Why do I even put up with you? Sir’s got a better chance of kicking your fucking ass than I do!”

“‘s somethin’ only you can answer,” you said nimbly. Hausen threw his hands back into his hair. You watched him, eyes traveling all over, checking for new wounds, for new scars. When you found none you let your shoulders rest, feeling the fatigue come crawling back.

“Took that stupid mission, never listen to me when I got something to say, dumbass always doing whatever the hell ya want and—”

“I missed ya.”

Hausen stopped. His jaw worked, entire body shifting as he swung his head back to you. Your face was soft, eyes sleepy as you looked up at him. Your taped fingers lightly thumbed your tags, pinching the one that wasn’t yours.

The one that matched with his other missing one, coupled next to your own swinging round his neck.

Hausen narrowed his eyes, watching you suspiciously. His eyes darted once to your fingers, watching you play with the tags.

You could see the moment you’d won him again. The moment he went a little soft, a little proud of his name swinging against the metal next to yours. A shitty, simple little thing that couldn’t compare to what people better off could have for each other—but for you at least, you’d want nothing else.

Hausen really was too good for you. 

“Missed you,” you said again, looking up at him. You opened your arms, the single invitation. Hausen went stiff. “Lots. ‘m sorry.”

A low, tight, aggravated sigh was exhaled through his nose. Hausen rubbed his temples once, shaking his head as though to berate himself before he tossed the poor, crumpled flowers off the side. They smashed into the empty vase, nearly knocking it over as he marched right over to you. 

Your lips already started to turn up into a grin, knowing one of the strongest Twilight’s of the Paulkee Guild was still too good of a man to stay mad when all he wanted was—

Hausen’s body fell over yours in an instant. He gingerly lifted your injured leg, long, calloused fingers moving against your thigh with ease and setting it up behind him onto one of the chairs. He came forward, one arm moving around your waist, holding you there and holding you tight as he surged forward to claim your lips, his other hand coming around and cradling the back of your neck to hold you steady so you wouldn’t try anything funny.

“I don’t even know why I put up with you,” he breathed against your lips, warm and firm and here, here, here right against you. You closed your eyes, fingers dancing over his arms before he grunted and you slid them around his neck. “You drive me nuts.”

“You’re the one who came for me,�� you said. Hausen grunted again. Your lips quirked. “You’re too good for me, Hau. You outta run before I ruin you.”

“Yeah,” Hausen said, low, voice thick. He pressed you back into the creaky, cheap medical med, the familiar smells of this place you called home and this man you let hold you, over anyone or anything else in this shitty world. Hausen smoothed his fingers down your cheek, drinking in every last piece of you. “I really should.”

His dog tags clinked against yours, resting over your collarbone as they slid together. 

You simply smiled, shaking your head in pity for the poor Twilight as he slotted his lips over yours, working with all his energy and muscles to snatch your breath away and remind you why you should do nothing else but stay beside him too, remind you why there should be no one else but him for you, the way you were the only one for him.

The way it should be, for as long as you two had in this shitty world.

(Hope you enjoyed! Thank you for your support!)

[anandsamir]

★ ━  ( dev patel,   male,   he/him )  ━ ★   just to be clear, ya didn’t get this information from me.   The person you’re lookin’ for is   SAMIR ANAND.  also known as   SAM.    Last I heard they were born on   AUGUST 12, 1990   in    SILVER CITY, NEW MEXICO,   and they’ve been livin’ here in   DOWNTOWN PORTLAND,    for about    THREE MONTHS.   Word around the districts is,   SAM   can be  CYNICAL,   BLUNT,   and    FLAKY, but alls I seen is good things, like the fact that they’re   CAREFREE,   LOYAL,   and    QUIXOTIC,   but guess that depends on how well ya know ‘em.   The last thing ya need to know is that they work as a/an   PÂTISSIER AT PETITE PROVENCE  and I don’t know much about what that’s like but I do know that’s all I can tell ya the rest you gotta find out on ya, own. 

howdy, howdy babes !! my name is naomi, i’m a 24 year old pisces who technically lives in pst but between animal crossing and just me being an overall sleep DEMON i keep the worst hours imaginable. if you prefer discord please don’t hesitate to just dm me, just give me some time to reply i promise its not you, its me mentally replying and then going to get a snack and uhoh its been 3 hours and now im nervous that i’ve made it terribly awkward.                                p.s. please be gentle with me, i haven’t rp’ed in a proper group in ages                               but all my friends are busy and this rp just happened to be at the top                               of the tags when i was searching so i thought it was fate.

TL;DR of my 3am frenzy writing ( ie the bio i submitted and thought yes this is good shit ):

samir is a leo sun, taurus moon, libra rising bad bitch.

just kidding, he’s just trying to piece his life back together after getting the shock of his life.

he was raised by parents who supported his creative endeavors and though he compared himself to his successful older sister, he found his own footing in the culinary world and flourished. 

he worked tirelessly through both stages of chef and pastry but just as he thought he had it figured out his fiance(e) called off their engagement. 

devastated he took the best/cheapest within reason flight back to america ( business because a 14 to 20 hour flight is no joke and its not like he has deposits to pay anymore aNYWAY )

since he’s been in portland he’s done everything and anything to keep busy when he’s not working.

so they could have met anywhere! or can meet soon :)

sam really needs a dog but if he can stop to pet your muse’s dog that’s just as good. he’s 100% the type to ask about any potential dog allergies and then make them homemade treats

connection ideas ??:

your muse stopped sam from petting fish in a park pond. he swears up and down that he wasn’t trying to steal them but he’s not sure if they believe him or not.

even though they live in vastly different neighborhoods, someone’s package got delivered to the wrong house and they delivered it to the right house. ( super open, he would do this even if your muse wouldn’t so don’t worry ^^ )

your muse knows that he misread a casting call that he thought was for personal security but was actually for a stripper cop and he had to apologize profusely his first week in portland 

your muse heard samir tell his sister on the phone that batman wasn’t that great and your muse did nothing when he got hit by a bike for walking in the bike lane

actually, siri, alexa, and google home are wire taps you paid for conversations dead sober at any time is 100% appropriate

samir proudly said michelangelo for ‘who invented the light bulb’ at a pub trivia night and he’s never been back since

can i interest you in a drunken self debate on C vs F? the answer is temperature sucks and measuring sucks and you know what doesn’t suck? shooooooots

they are decent enough friends but your muse works up the courage to ask why he has so many odd frog trinkets and he has to awkwardly explain that instead of developing a palpable personality around his parents when he was a teen he just told them he like frogs so now they send him dumb stuff like froggie oven mitts and frog keychains and its just gone on for so long he actually does like them and please take one of the three frog umbrellas his mom sent him when he told her he moved to portland and she said, ‘hm, rainy’ and sent them with her next care package.

they travel similar routes around the same time and every day and the one day samir says to himself that he won’t have the backbone of a chocolate eclair the only thing that pops out of his mouth is ‘you dress like a cartoon character’ and he’s never emotionally recovered -- its logically a uniform but why is he like that

just nine mini ideas for luck, but i was just playing around we can brainstorm together or just throw them into some ridiculous situation and let what happens happens. i should be up around noon pst bc thats just the type of person i am lol. 

[tuanhood]

not stalking

pairing: im jaebeom x reader (ft. a bit of mark)

genre: fluff, angst(?)

word count: 3,346

summary: you’re finally ready to really talk to your crush… except someone else is in his usual place.

a/n: um so this is really bad and I don’t know why I wrote it but here u go! not edited WHOOPS

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Even you had to admit what a stupid idea it was to keep coming back here almost every single day. You had done the internet stalking before, but actual physical stalking? It was a first time for everything.

You couldn’t help but wonder if this was what it was like for your grandparents or even parents. To be so enthralled by someone that you come to their workplace day after day. Maybe then it was sweet, but now in 2019 you knew it would be considered creepy. And yet, you couldn’t stop yourself from passing by the window of the animal shelter on your way home from university. Although it wasn’t on the typical route back to your place, you would constantly make excuses as to why you had to go that way.

Examples of excuses you would tell yourself and your friends include, but not limited to:

Ah well my second favorite coffee shop is nearby, and I haven’t been in forever!

I heard they’re doing construction work the other way.

There’s something fresher about the air this way.

I can’t deal with all the people holding clipboards and asking questions, even if it’s the quicker route.

I like to look at the animals at the shelter.

The last one was for sure a lie. Well not for sure, because you did enjoy looking at the animals, but there was something or someone else that you enjoyed the sight of.

It started on a day in May when you accompanied your old housemate to the local animal shelter to help her and her girlfriend choose a dog. You didn’t realize what you had been signing up for was your own adoption to a certain boy who worked at the front desk. Never in your life had you immediately become so hooked to someone. It was as though the minute the two of you locked eyes, he demanded that you dedicated the rest of your life to obsessing over him. And so far, that was telling to be true. That day you couldn’t pay attention or hear your old housemate ask what you thought about a certain dog, instead all you were concentrating on was him, his brown eyes and that smile that melted your heart.

You had never been in a serious relationship before and you had to admit to yourself that maybe it had something to do with your tendency to throw yourself into crushes, but never act upon them. With the way this guy made you feel upon first look, you knew something had to be done – even if it took a year.

Throughout the entire adoption process, as your former housemate signed the papers for her new dog you kept trying to think of something to say on your way out that would impress him or better yet make him declare his love for you.

After the last signature and last filled in blank, you stood up and began to exit the shelter. Your palms began to sweat a little and you felt nausea begin to build in your stomach. Passing by the front desk, you had turned to your right and let out a big sigh, thinking, here goes nothing.

“Um bye, thank you!”

That was it. That was all you had thought of to say in the moment. Thirty minutes of thinking and sitting in a chair as you waited for the adoption papers to be signed you had completely been erased from your memory. Apparently, anything intelligent in your vocabulary had also been erased. “Um bye, thank you,” didn’t even deserve a response, but to your surprise he had turned to you with a big smile.

“Thanks for coming in and adopting a new friend! See you around!”

See you around. He was practically asking you to come back, to come pass by the shelter’s window every day. At that moment you had glanced down at the shirt he was wearing with a name tag attached.

Mark.

From that day Mark had your heart. Mark… Mark… something? So, you weren’t sure what his last name was, but did you really need to to be in love? You had tried to do some in-depth Facebook stalking, but you didn’t have much to go off of except Mark and the place he works. After all who even updates their Facebook profile with their workplace anymore?

Regardless, that led to you passing by almost every day and even going inside sometimes to talk to him. It would often be to just ask a simple question about the adoption process or what kind of breeds of dogs or cats they had in. No matter what it was Mark always managed to answer you with a bright smile and cheerful voice.

Luckily, he hadn’t recognized you yet. Although of course the end goal was to get married or just you know… something – you were nervous about him getting freaked out about you constantly coming in. It wasn’t like an animal shelter was a coffeeshop. You timed out how often you went inside to ask a question to no more than once a week, usually every Tuesday. And every Tuesday you would talk yourself up as to how this would be the time you ask him out or just talk about something that doesn’t have to do with the adoption process and best type of dogs for hiking, but it never happened.

However, you felt really good about this week. This week you had planned on asking Mark about the bracelet he always wears on his left wrist. You had noticed it probably the third week you had gone inside the shelter. Who knows? Maybe it would lead to a conversation about something personal and intimate? Probably not, but you could only hope. Taking a deep breath, you reached the front doors of the shelter without looking into the front window. You didn’t want to see him just yet in case it was going to make you talk yourself into not going through a real conversation with him yet again.

Reaching for the handles of the doors and pulling them open, you stared at the floor. You knew you probably looked like a crazy person, but the butterflies in your stomach began to build. Taking the few steps you needed to get inside, you marched towards the front desk and lifted your head to see Mar-

Not Mark.

Instead, a boy with jet black hair, two moles above one of his eyes and a blank face sat in his place. Your face had fallen and he had noticed.

“Can I help you with something?”

You blinked twice in confusion, “Uh sorry?”

Now it was his turn to blink, “You came in here… I’m assuming you need something. To adopt an animal perhaps?” You wondered why he had emphasized the word animal so strangely, but you decided to discard the thought and answer him.

“Um no sorry, my mistake. I thought- nevermind.” You took this as your chance to turn around and leave completely defeated, but a thought entered your mind. Maybe this could be your chance to gather some kind of intel on Mark? At least his last name so you could stalk him on social media later. What was this mole guy going to say? Hey dude some girl came in asking about you? Mark would never know it was you.

Pausing, you turned around once more back to the occupier of the front desk and cleared your throat. You wanted to come off as confident as though you actually knew what you were doing.

“Actually… I was wondering. Where’s Mark today?” He furrowed his eyebrows at you and took out one of the AirPods he had stuffed into his ears as you had had your internal conflict about leaving the shelter or staying for Mark intel. “Mark who?”

Was this guy new? Then a scary thought had come to you, what if this guy was Mark’s replacement? What if Mark didn’t work here anymore? You would have never known if he had put in his two weeks, after all it’s not like he would have told you. How were you supposed to find him now? Was this it? You stumbled over your words, “M-Mark the one who-who’s usually here.”

Upon hearing your reply, the guy at the desk leaned back in his desk chair and brought his pointer finger to his chin, slowly tapping it in thought. “Hmm… Mark. Mark…. Mark, Mark…”

Taking a closer look, you could tell that he had a slight smirk on his face as if playing with you. Was this guy really just trying to wind you up?

“Sorry, don’t know him,” he said bringing his entire hand down to rest underneath his chin, leaning against the table. It was the clear smile on his face that made you realize that he was indeed teasing you. But why?

“I know you know him. Can you just tell me?” He gave another smile and shook his head from left to right a few times, “Sorry that would be against company policy.”

At this you furrowed your eyebrows, “What kind of company policy would that be?”

“The one where we don’t tell any private information to stalkers.”

You immediately froze. This guy knew about your weekly visits into the shelter? And perhaps even your daily passing by? If he knew… that must mean Mark knew. You felt your stomach drop.

As if reading them, your new tormentor interrupted your thoughts, “Don’t worry Tuan doesn’t pick up on that sort of stuff.”

“Tuan?” You asked. He closes his eyes and hits his hand against his forehead in clear frustration, “Fuck, I didn’t mean to say that. Please don’t look him up on Facebook, Instagram or whatever you use to perform your stalking rituals. It’ll just go to his head and I’ll have to hear about it.”

You had it! Mark Tuan! Mark freaking Tuan. Mrs. Mark Tuan. Mr. Mark Tuan and Mrs-

“I can already tell you’re trying to imagine what your name would sound like with his and I’m getting secondhand embarrassment from it.”

“T-That’s not what I’m doing!” You replied with a strained voice, although it was very much what you were doing. He snorted, “Sure.”

Who did this guy even think he was? He doesn’t know you. Sure, maybe he picked up on the fact that you had been coming by an unhealthy amount to see Mark, but that doesn’t necessarily give him the right to characterize you as a stalker!

“And what if I was doing that? It’s a free country. I’m allowed to have a crush on anyone!” You responded. At that, the guy rolled his eyes and you couldn’t help but feel even more attacked, “Yeah, but a crush on Mark isn’t really a good idea.”

“And why’s that?” It was difficult to gauge your emotions. You couldn’t exactly tell if you were annoyed, frustrated or generally curious about the guy’s notion to tell you that Mark wasn’t a good crush to have. “Mark’s just… not interested in dating.”

“I’m not trying to date him!” You said quickly.

He furrowed his eyebrows in confusion, “so are you just trying to fuck him?”

Your eyes widened, “No! Of course not! I’m-” What were you trying to do? Well of course you wanted to date Mark, but the mole guy didn’t need to know that… But it seemed as though he already knew that.

“Listen I work in the cat center here, and us cat people know these things. So it’s better if you just lay off Mark.”

“You work in the cat center?” He nodded his head and looked at you as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, “How do you think I knew you were passing by every day?”

You mentally face palmed yourself as you realized that when walking by the animal shelter, the window does not cover just the reception desk, but the cat adoption center as well. Not only had you been walking by Mark every day, but apparently this guy too. “Well that’s beside the point. I’m not going to lay off Mark, just because some random guy told me to. For all I know you might not even really know him!”

He sighed, “Listen I might as well tell you this, because either way you’ll find out once you go home and stalk him on social media, but Mark just got out of a long term relationship. And he’s kind of still hoping that they’ll get back together. Haven’t you noticed that he hasn’t caught on that you’ve been coming in here so much?”

Hearing this, your heart fell a bit. Not as much as you thought it would, but you still felt a piece of it chip away. “I-I just thought maybe he wasn’t very observant.”

“Well, that’s true… but he’s also just so invested in his ex he hasn’t really paid attention to anyone else.”

A tight smile came to your face and you wanted nothing more than for the moment to just be over. You already embarrassed yourself enough and standing in front of this guy you barely knew only made things worse somehow. “I-I should just go then. There’s no reason for me to be here then. Thanks for all your… help.”

He got up from his chair, and moved around the desk to grab your wrist, just as you began to turn towards the door. Startled at his sudden closeness, you looked into his eyes. For the first time since you came in, you felt him shy away from you a bit, not having the same confidence and cocky attitude as before. Searching his eyes, you felt him wanting to say something to you, but not knowing exactly how to say it.

He cleared his throat, “you can come and stalk me as much as you like.”

“I wasn’t stalk-“ You stopped yourself from finishing when his words finally caught up to you, “w-what?”

He rolled his eyes at you, “do I really have to say it again? Are you going to make me?”

You stepped back from his grasp, “sorry I’m just a little confused.”

He closed his eyes tightly as if cursing at himself for going about this the wrong way. You laughed at his frustration over the situation, it was actually… kind of cute?

With his eyes still closed, “why don’t we just start over? You know before I-” you cut him off before he could finish, “ruined my harmless crush?”

His eyes shot open, “okay harmless? You were coming in here almost every other day and watching him through the window when you walked by every day!”

“For your information I only came in once a week!”

He blinked twice and thrusted his hand forward, “I’m Jaebeom.”

This was not how you expected this day to go at all. You thought at worst Mark would just ignore you and at best you would maybe end up with a coffee date. What was even happening?

Reluctantly, you took Jaebeom’s hand in yours. You told him your own name and felt Jaebeom’s hand draw back. “I-I know actually,” he paused, “we kind of go to the same university. I’ve seen you around campus a couple of times and then when I noticed you passing by here I kind of just you know…”

“stalked me?” You finished for him.

Jaebeom took a step back in panic, “n-no! I was not stalking you! I just looked you up online… You know… just through a friend of a friend’s profile.” He mumbled the last part.

“Oh so a completely normal thing to do, right?” You teased.

He sighed deeply and looked at the ground, shaking his head. “Ugh I probably shouldn’t even be saying this, because it’s so embarrassing… but I thought you recognized me from school and that’s why you had been passing by here,” he avoided making eye contact and kept his head down towards the floor, “then when you come in and I saw the way you asked Mark all those random questions, I realized it wasn’t for me.”

Finally, Jaebeom looked up at you and gave you a shy smile. You took in his facial features which at first had seemed sharp and cruel, but his nervous and almost bashful behavior in front of you made you see how gentle he truly was. His eyes looked into yours sadly, as if he waited for you to make fun of him.

“You know… It’s not that often that I have a stalker. I really have to make the most of this.”

He groaned, “I wasn’t stalking!”

“Sound familiar?”

“Okay maybe I was a little.”

You smiled, “how far did you get on my Instagram?”

His eyes widened and he raised his voice, “yah! I’m not that much of a creep!” You raised your eyebrows at him and he gave in, simply muttering, “your senior prom, 2015. Your friend was your date.” He avoided all eye contact once again and you had to stop yourself at giggling at how cute he was.

You straightened your posture as you channeled your utmost confidence, “Verve is my favorite coffeeshop.”

Jaebeom looks at you confused, “what?”

“It’s my favorite coffeeshop and I may or may not be there after you get off your shift,” you shrugged and took a step towards him, “isn’t that something stalkers want to know?”

He smiled, looking into your eyes and took a step forward as well, “I guess it is.”

Your closeness to Jaebeom was interrupted by the ring of the front door’s bell, signaling the arrival of someone in the shelter. Both of you took a step back.

“I know I said I couldn’t come in today and that’s why I begged you to cover me but I had to come back because I left my metro card when I locked up last night.”

Both you and Jaebeom turned to the front to see Mark quickly rushing in, immediately darting behind the front desk in search of his metro card, paying no mind to you.

“Ah! Found it! I knew it was here. You know how annoying it is to just walk everywhere? It’s like- If I’m paying monthly for this thing, might as well use it and not forget it at wor-” In the midst of his rant, Mark paused when he noticed you and Jaebeom together.

Mark blushed embarrassedly, “sorry I didn’t realize you were with a customer Jae.”

Jaebeom looked from Mark to you and wondered if you would forget all about him and simply return to having Mark be the object of your affection. “Yeah man, I was just trying to help her-”

You cut Jaebeom off, “actually I’m not a customer.”

Jaebeom looked at you confused and Mark spoke up, just as perplexed, “oh?”

“I come in here all the time and pass by every single day on my way home from school.”

Mark looked at you as though you were crazy, “and why is that?” Smiling you answered him, “because I have a crush on someone who works here.”

“No way! Who? Jinyoung? Yugyeom? I bet it’s Jackson…” he paused and took a step back to look at you, “you look like a Jackson girl.”

You moved closer to Jaebeom and softly grabbed his hand. He looked at you in shock as if he couldn’t believe that you’d choose him over Mark. “Nope not them.”

Mark looked at your hand in Jaebeom’s and his eyes widened, “what! Jae? Wow… That’s actually really cute,” he pouted for a moment, “I wish someone would come in to see me everyday. Hana would never do that for me. You’re lucky Jaebeom. Hold on to this one!”

You felt Jaebeom stroke his thumb against the top of your hand, he smiled.

“Oh trust me, I will.”

[keeperofhounds]

A Dragon and her Boy (Chapter One)

Thinking back on that day Varian often wondered how everything just fell into place. It wasn’t a day where every single problem he had magically disappeared. Life just doesn’t work that way. It wasn’t a day where he found some profound destiny either, that would be silly. No, it was the day Varian made a new friend.

Varian had been four years old that day when he discovered his passion for alchemy. It wasn’t something anyone Varian’s age would normally be interested in but that’s how it was for Varian. No one was interested in alchemy and other kids would rather spend their time running around in the dirt. And they called him weird.

“Come on Daddy you promised that we could go to the castle today,” Varian said, following his father Quirin around their castle. He had been looking forward to the chance to spend more time with his daddy.

Looking down at his son, Quirin felt bad at the words he replied to his son, “I’m sorry Varian, not today I need to work on running the fields.”

Varian’s face fell at the words, of course, his daddy was busy when wasn’t he? He understood really, he did his daddy had to help all the people in the village. Sometimes though he really wanted all his daddy’s attention for himself, was that too much to ask? Well, Varian could be patient it was harvest season after all.

“Okay daddy I understand,” he said, before heading outside towards the nearby forest. Maybe Varian could study some of the fauna or find some cool rocks in the forest. Varian had read a book saying that some flowers could do really cool things if he mixed them with the right stuff. The boy was getting ahead of himself though he still needed to find, well anything.

The search for anything to alleviate Varian’s disappointment was fruitless. There was nothing new or exciting that he could do to distract himself in the forest. He tried climbing the trees, but they were too tall for the four-year-old. He dug a hole with a random stick but found no buried treasure. It was just another disappointment. The boy hadn’t gotten that far since he didn’t want to get lost either.

Now Varian was swinging his stick hitting the bushes, “I wish something would just happen already it’s no fun doing things alone all the time.”

The bushes rustled behind him startling him backward. Turning around quickly to face the moving bush Varian held up his stick ready to strike. Varian hoped it wasn’t anything dangerous the very thought of hurting an animal made his stomach drop. Slowly he slid his feet towards the bushes.

“W-who ever you are I’m armed! S-so you better not mess with me!”

The bushes stopped moving at those words, Varian hoped that he was able to scare whoever was in the bushes off. Lowering his makeshift weapon Varian crept over to the bush. He leaned forward, left, right, and tip-toed to see over the bush. Nothing.

“I guess it must have been a bunny.”

Turning his back towards the bush Varian started to walk away. That’s when the creature hiding in the bushes pounced.

If Quirin had been in the range of his son, the sound of his terrified screaming would have caused the father to drop everything. This wasn’t the case when Varian fell to the ground all he wanted was his daddy to save him from whatever jumped him. The thing was still on his back keeping him on the ground. All he could do was throw his hands over his head and covered it in an attempt to prevent any harm.

Varian couldn’t help but feel his eyes start to mist over. He tried to keep it together he was brave, and he was a big boy. Yet he was so upset that he couldn’t help crying failing to notice that the creature on him was doing nothing to harm him.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When the little dragon snuck away from the Hidden World, she was excited. She had grown up hearing stories of her father the King’s adventures. The adventures he went on with the funny human creatures who visit every year. It’s always exciting to listen about the forbidden friendship.

Her mother had different views of the human creatures telling stories of their cruelty and dangers. That wasn’t to say that the views of those creatures were dominant. As the King taught to her brothers and herself there are good and bad among everyone, Humans just happen to think they know best about the world around them.

Be wary of them he warned especially ones you have never met before. He was also clear that you can see their intentions through their eyes. Whatever that meant.

“You would have to meet one and become friends with them to understand.”

She wanted to know what he meant, especially the part of those creatures giving them a name. Mother didn’t have one, but she didn’t look like she was wanting but her father and his friends kept these names close to their hearts as they reminded them of the people they left behind. That was why she convinced her brothers to sneak out with her that winter day.

The little dragon learned a lot that day, they saw so many humans. They saw their father's friend fall off a cliff and got grounded when they came home. Not that such a little set back was going to stop her.

This time she decided to ditch her brothers during their usual adventure time at home.

Looking at the forest and many different creatures in the area was an experience. They were nothing like the ones at home nothing glowing and everything else was not a dragon. That wasn’t what she was here for though she wanted to see a human settlement.

Which is how she found herself on the young humans back. She had assumed that by pouncing him as she did with her brothers the creature might play with her. Now he was making strange noises, but she could at least recognize a cry of fear.

 Jumping off the humans back the young dragon walked over to his covered face. Looking at his scarred face was not what she wanted, she just wanted to have some fun with a human-like her father used too.

“I’m sorry,” she said, nudging her head against his head.

Finally feeling the weight of the creature off his back, Varian slowly took his hands off his head. He gasped, “A dragon, wow.”

Varian scooted away in shock; he had never seen a dragon before. Taking a deep breath, he leaned toward the dragon turning his head sideways. The dragon did the same, Varian couldn’t help but think it was very cute. Only she also turned her snout up in a gummy smile.

“You’re toothless!” Varian laughed, pointing at the black and white dragon.

The dragon growled happily, “That’s the name my dad likes!”

Not that Varian could understand her all he heard from the dragon were happy growls. He saw the dragon jump around similar to a dog wanting attention. The dragon wasn’t scary, she looked like she just wanted to play.

“Do you wanna play?”

The dragon wagged her tail communicating to him that that’s exactly what she wanted. Picking up the discarded stick he shook at the dragon. “You want the stick? You want the stick?”

He threw the stick, but the dragon didn’t go after it instead tilting her head in a way that asked, ‘what was he doing?’ Varian blushed looks like she didn’t want to play fetch.

“So, what do you want to play?” he asked, wringing his hands against his stomach.

That’s how they spent the next few hours playing with each other. The dragon chased Varian and Varian chased the dragon in the game of tag. Racing through the woods Varian chased the dragon tripping against a store falling on his face.

Seeing Varian fall the dragon flew towards her new-fallen friend, “Are you okay?”

Varian jumped on his feet, “Boo!”

The dragon screamed laughing as she dashed away from Varians ‘surprise’ attack. She had been so focused on Varian she didn’t notice the mass of meat that was in the way. Pawing at her head when she fell to the ground she looked up and was met with the green eyes of her father.

“I'm a catch you…” Looking at the black scaled dragon Varian looking up at his regal appearance slowing to a stop. “Wow.”

He turned to the little dragon, “Is that your daddy?”

The older dragon narrowed his eyes at her message was clear, “Home now.”

“Varian! Varian, it’s time to come home!” Quirin called from the distance.

“That’s my daddy. I have to go.” Varian said, rushing over and giving her a hug, “I liked playing with you I hope we can play again.” He gave a kiss on her head. “Bye Delmira!”

Varian dashed away towards his home leaving Delmira alone with her father. Looking at her father Delmira gave him a toothless grin. Toothless snorted, “Don’t think you’re not getting grounded.”

Delmira groaned following after her father as he flew away. Even though she knew she was going to get grounded thinking about the fun she had today it was worth it.

“I like Delmira,” She told her father.

[darks-ink]

Absurdism Chapter 7

Valerie is here! Cujo causes trouble (as always)! I regret involving Vlad in this plot because it’s so hard to elude to his motivation without giving him POV scenes!

Rating: Teen/K+ (a lil swearing, because teenagers, man) Warnings: - Genre: Family, Hurt/Comfort Additional Tags: Sibling Bonding, Family Bonding, Alternate Universe - Halfa Jazz AU, Jazz makes friends

[AO3] [FFN] [more Absurdism on Tumblr] First Chapter | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

---

Chapter 7: Shades of Gray

Sidney’s eyes slid past Jazz, towards the rest of the city that laid behind her.

“That different, huh?” she asked, tone light and teasing. He’d been doing it almost the whole time that they’d been up here, on the roof of Casper High. It must’ve been forever since Sidney had last seen the rest of Amity Park.

He laughed, clearly sheepish. “Sorry. I don’t mean to be rude.”

“I know, it’s fine,” she assured him, curling her legs underneath herself again. Her jumpsuit creaked a little, pinching her strangely, but Jazz was finally getting used to it. Was spending enough time in her ghost form to adjust. “Amity probably looks way different, huh?”

“Yeah.” His gaze wandered off again, towards the busy streets away from the school. It wasn’t that late yet, but, well. Not a whole lot of people came out near the school on a Sunday.

Besides, enough people had seen her and Phantom now. There was no point in trying to hide the existence of ghosts anymore, not after that huge battle with Spectra just a few days ago.

Jazz opened her mouth to say more, but cold mist wafted free instead. She groaned, drawing Sidney’s attention back to her.

“Ghost,” she explained, answering his unasked question.

She pushed herself up onto her feet, knowing that she would have to go look for it herself. Phantom was patrolling, yes, but he was taking care of the far side of Amity. If he came too close, Sidney would set off his ghost sense, and they didn’t want to risk him missing any ghosts because he thought it was just Sidney.

A small bark sounded behind her, and Jazz froze. Then turned around, slowly. There, on the roof of the school, was the ghost that had (probably) set off her ghost sense.

The ghost was small and clearly a dog, puppy-like with big red eyes. Its fur was bright green, but its folded ears were black, and its lolling tongue was faint purple. Its tail, as wispy and flame-like as her own hair, was wagging up a storm.

“Well, that saves me the search, at least.” She stared down at it, and it looked back at her.

“Be careful!” Sidney cautioned, perched on the edge of the roof. “Animal ghosts are as unpredictable as real animals!”

“I know, Sidney.” She rolled her eyes. His advice was meant well, of course, but she had fought plenty of animalistic ghosts to know how to deal with them. This one, though… It didn’t seem particularly volatile.

She lowered herself down into a crouch. The dog didn’t move, but kept its eyes on her. She could tell, now, that it was wearing a black collar with glinting spikes on it. A dead pet?

Slowly, she extended an arm towards it. It stopped panting, stretching out its neck to sniff her hand. Whatever the ghost was looking for, apparently she was accepted, because it nosed her hand.

Jazz shifted her fingers, scratching the dog in its cold ectoplasmic fur. Its eyes closed into squints as she petted it.

“Jazz…” Sidney said, and she turned to look over her shoulder at him. He was clearly worried, gray eyes darting between her and the ghost.

“It’s fine, I think it used to be a pet.” She frowned, turning back to the dog. But if it was just a pet dog that died, why did it become a ghost? And why would said ghost then come to Amity? Did it live here? Was it looking for its former family, its owners? “It’s not volatile.”

Sidney hummed, tone clearly skeptical.

If this ghost was anything special, Phantom would know, right? He didn’t have a phone, unfortunately, so she would have to go find him to ask.

She scooped the dog off of the ground, looking at the bundle of green fur squirming in her arms. Well. She couldn’t really go looking for Phantom while carrying this ghost, could she?

The ghost was promptly shoved into Sidney’s unsuspecting arms, and he scrambled to grab hold of the dog.

“Jazz, what—”

“I just need you to hold him for a bit,” she explained, stepping away when it became clear that Sidney had the ghost. “I have to… go ask Phantom.”

“Your brother?” Sidney raised a skeptical eyebrow at her. “I don’t see why he would be any help in this situation.”

“It’s complicated.” The dog held still in Sidney’s scrawny arms. Good. Now she just had to—

“Oh!” Sidney exclaimed, arms flailing in an attempt to grab the ghost dog again. Somehow he missed every attempt—or the dog dodged them all—because it landed back on the roof.

And then, before either she or Sidney could grab it again, it was off like a shot.

“Shoot!” Sidney grunted, clearly frustrated. “Sorry, Jazz, I don’t know what it happened. It just freaked out!”

“It’s fine, Sidney. It happens.” She looked in the direction she thought the dog had gone, but couldn’t sense it. She wished her ghost sense functioned a little more like a tracker, sometimes. “Neither of us had expected it to freak out like that. Why don’t we go look for it together?”

He nodded, toeing the gravel on the roof. “Alright. Sorry, Jazz.”

“Stop apologizing.” She waved a dismissive hand in his direction. “Seriously, it’s not your fault. Come on, this is a good opportunity for you to see a little more of Amity, too.”

---

The faintest whiff of her ghost sense told Jazz that the ghost was just on the edge of her sense’s range. She followed the implied direction, hoping to finally find that dog ghost that had gotten away earlier.

It was about time, really. She’d been looking for so long that Sidney had left to go home. At this point, she figured it was more likely that she was looking for Phantom to ask him if he’d caught the ghost already.

She’d been high in the sky during the approach, in an attempt to make sure the ghost wouldn’t see her and run. It had worked; the ghost, in all its green and glowing glory, stood still in the street. Of course, it didn’t seem that Jazz was the reason for that. Phantom was darting all around it, interchangingly hitting it with blasts and dodging its swipes.

That, and the ghost she had found wasn’t the one she was looking for.

Still, she was here anyway. Might as well make herself useful, especially as the fight was taking place in a residential area.

Jazz launched herself downward, blasting the ghostly feline in the side. Apparently she had blindsided it, because the cat yowled and bounced over the street, not even landing on its feet.

“Specter?” Phantom paused, throwing her a confused look. “Thanks, but… why are you here?”

“Was looking for a ghost.” She watched the ghost clamber back onto its clawed feet. “Found you two instead.”

Phantom hummed, before throwing himself at the ghost again. It hadn’t quite recovered from her blast—thanks to the element of surprise, not her strength, she was sure—and was sucked up in the Thermos easily. She contemplated leaving, but chances were that Phantom had found the ghost dog already.

That, and the meaningful look he was throwing her meant that he would chase her down if she left without him.

She rolled her eyes but followed his path up to a nearby roof, ignoring the hushed whispers of the crowd. This neighborhood was pretty far from FentonWorks; they likely hadn’t seen much ghosts around here, not yet.

“Why were you patrolling?” Phantom asked the moment she touched down. “I thought you were spending time with Sidney?”

“I was,” she admitted, shrugging. “Some kind of ghost dog found its way up to our roof, but it wasn’t malevolent. I wasn’t sure what to do with it, but then it suddenly sprinted away. Sidney and I looked for it, but we couldn’t find it, so he went home.”

“And you kept looking?” Phantom shook his head, then nodded. “What did it look like? I might’ve come across it before you did.”

“Probably, yeah.” She held out her hands. “About this big, standard coloration. Floppy black ears, though, and a spiked collar.”

Phantom groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Of course it was him. Figures.”

“You know this one?” Well, she figured he probably knew all the ghosts they fought. But apparently this one left enough of an impression for Phantom to remember it—him.

“Yeah. Not sure if he has a name, but I’ve been calling him Cujo, and he answers to that. Sort of.” Phantom made a face. “He’s a major pain in my ass, honestly. Not too bad himself, but he’s looking for a toy from when he was alive, and that set off a huge chain reaction in my world. I thought I had more time to go look for it before he came around, but I guess not.”

“There might still be time, right?” She wasn’t sure how a dog looking for its toy could cause so much trouble, but still. Phantom had no reason to lie about this stuff. “Let’s go retrieve it before he tries doing it himself.”

“Right.” Phantom nodded, then turned to gesture further out of the city. “We’ll need to head towards Axion Labs, then.”

“Axion Labs?” she echoed as they both took flight. “Why would he go look for his toy there?”

“If the timeline matches up, which I think it does, they recently replaced their guard dogs with an advanced security system.” Phantom looked at her, his expression pained. Surely he didn’t mean… “I think Cujo was one of their old guard dogs.”

“But— They can’t have put all of those down, can they?”

He shrugged. “Maybe he died before then. I don’t know. Not like I could ask him, y’know? But his toy is there, in the old kennels.”

She opened her mouth to answer, but Phantom paused, suddenly. She stopped as well, hearing, faintly… alarms?

“We’re too late.” Phantom stared past her, and following his gaze, she saw Axion Labs in the distance. Red lights blinked over the building, and now that she was listening for them, the sound was definitely alarms that were going off.

“What happened?” Surely the ghost hadn’t caused any injuries? Phantom would’ve said if it was dangerous. Right?

“He broke in.” Phantom continued his flight again, more slowly. “The security system couldn’t stop him, because it was designed to stop humans, not ghosts. The boss is going to be pissed, and they’re not going to realize he’s a ghost and not a regular dog. The designer of the system, Damon Gray, will lose his job.”

“Gray?” she echoed, faintly. “Valerie’s dad?”

“He gets re-hired later,” Phantom said, sounding like it was supposed to a comfort. “In a lower-paying position, though. The Grays never find their way back to riches.”

Jazz felt like she had swallowed a block of ice. She had never really liked Valerie, per se, but that didn’t mean that she wanted this for her.

“And it’s—”

“Not your fault,” Phantom cut in. “Nor mine. If you want to blame someone, blame whoever is responsible for Cujo’s death.”

He paused, and she stopped next to him. She startled when he grasped for her shoulder, when he met her eyes. “Jazz. Don’t blame yourself, okay? It’s not your fault that Cujo got away—trust me, he’s very good at that. Cujo is just one ghost, and he’s not even malevolent. No one is hurt.”

“But Valerie—”

“Will be fine.” Phantom shook her shoulder a little. “Seriously. It sucks now, and it’s gonna suck for a little longer, but in the end she’ll be glad it happened. She was in my universe. She’s an A-Lister now, I know, and she won’t be allowed to stay in that group when they find out that she’s not rich anymore. It’s gonna be rough, yeah. But eventually she’ll realize that those guys were never really her friends, and she’ll find better ones, and she’ll be happy. Happier than she was before. Okay?”

“Okay,” she repeated, not really believing it.

Phantom didn’t look like he believed her either, but he let go anyway. “Good. I’ll see if Cujo got his toy, and if not, I’ll bring it out so he won’t break in again. Why don’t you go home?”

She sighed, but nodded. “I guess. Not much else I can do, anyway.”

He didn’t look happy at her sentiment, but hey, neither was she. “Good. Bye, Jazz.”

“Bye, Phantom.”

---

Jazz was still thinking about it when she heard Dash snip at someone during lunch. She looked, barely noticeable, as Dash puffed himself up, blocking Valerie’s way.

“Oh,” Valerie said, posture tense. “I see.”

This, she didn’t want to hear. Jazz turned back to her lunch, trying to ignore the way her guts squirmed. Phantom might’ve said that it was unavoidable, that it wasn’t her fault, that Valerie would be better off for it, but it didn’t feel that way.

She trusted him to be right. Her body didn’t have to agree with that, though.

There was nothing she could do about it, anyway. If the other A-Listers got troublesome enough, Sidney could interfere, but she? She couldn’t do anything.

The scrape of a lunch tray on a table. Jazz looked up, slightly, to see Valerie hesitate. She shrugged, lightly, then turned back to her own lunch.

Didn’t comment when Valerie sat down, joining her otherwise empty table.

Jazz was a Fenton, and unfortunately, the Fentons were outcasts. Danny might’ve been able to find two kids his age, similarly outcast from society—or uncaring enough to befriend him—but she hadn’t been as lucky. Not that she cared, not really. No one picked on her, anyway, and teachers liked her. Who cared about the opinions of kids?

Well, Valerie did, she supposed.

She continued eating her lunch. Phantom had encouraged her to eat well despite the awfulness of both cafeteria food and food prepared home. Apparently half-ghosts burned through a lot of energy, and she had to keep up a steady supply of energy to her developing core.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Valerie pick at her lunch as well. The girl relaxed slightly, over time.

Jazz was a Fenton, and she’d always been an outcast. She hadn’t cared enough to change it.

She had never considered that being an outcast would make her a safe haven. She was glad for it, now, for being able to at least offer that to Valerie. Even if she was the reason why Valerie needed it in the first place.

It was something, at least.

---

Jazz dove, corkscrewing around a non-existent obstacle.

“Good!” Phantom complimented as he caught back up to her side. “Could use more work, though.”

She rolled her eyes, whirling around him. “Are you really surprised?”

“Nah,” he said, easily. “But it’s good to keep in mind, now that we’re no longer hiding in the woods.”

That, at least, made sense. With Amity’s increasing familiarity with ghosts, Phantom said that they could move some of their training sessions back to the city. Some things, like flying, you just couldn’t practice in the dense woodlands.

“Fair enough.” She watched as he did a complicated roll through the air, darting up and then suddenly dropping down. Phantom might have two years of experience over her, but she was certain that this grace came from elsewhere. He looked right in the skies, in a way she didn’t think she ever would.

Still, she tried to mimic his maneuver, coming to a halt next to him. “How was that?”

“Pretty good.” He grinned at her, looking impressed. “You’ve been holding back on— Whoa!”

A bolt of pink ectoplasm shot past them, almost brushing Phantom’s arm. Jazz startled. Why hadn’t her ghost sense warned her?

She curled through the air, rather than turning in place. Staying in one spot? Potentially dangerous.

When she saw the origin of the blast, however, she faltered.

The figure was humanoid—actually human, she was sure—clothed entirely in red, but with black gloves and boots. Wearing a mask, even. Stood shakily upon a hoverboard, like they—she?—hadn’t quite gotten used to it yet. A rather sizable ecto-gun was braced against her shoulder, aimed in their direction.

A second pink blast pinged off of the green shield that had appeared in front of Jazz, and she jerked back to the moment. Phantom hung next to her, his eyes fixated on the human as well. On the ghost hunter.

Jazz opened her mouth to ask him—what now?—but Phantom whispered, so quiet she almost missed it, “Red.”

And, oh.

Red was Phantom’s ally in his dimension, wasn’t she? He trusted her to keep Amity safe from ghost attacks. They couldn’t… couldn’t fight her, could they?

The third shot went wide, and Phantom’s shield faded away. He dove, suddenly, and Jazz swallowed her questions to follow him. Behind her, she could hear thrusters whir to life.

She didn’t understand. Wasn’t Red an ally in Phantom’s world? Wasn’t that why he trusted her to keep Amity safe? Had Jazz messed something up, in this universe, that had led to this? Or did they just have to win Red over?

Why was she here, now? What had led to this sudden appearance?

Phantom paused, suddenly, low in an alley. Red’s hoverboard sped by, apparently having missed their last dive.

“What—” Jazz started, unsure of which question she was going to ask, but Phantom held up a silencing hand.

“We need to leave,” he said, quietly. “We can’t—shouldn’t—fight humans. The only way to get rid of her is to escape. Split up, and I’ll meet you back at your house later so we can talk. Okay?”

She nodded. “Gotcha.”

“On go.” He crouched in mid-air. She braced herself against a wall. “Go!”

They both pushed off, shooting diagonally out of the alley. Red had spotted them immediately, her hoverboard roaring as she raced back in their direction. Jazz threw a glance at Phantom, saw that he was heading away—towards the park, the woods—and continued her chosen direction towards home. Even if that might seem suspicious, that was were the portal was located. It made sense.

Phantom was much faster than Jazz. She knew this. She knew she was the more likely target. Red’s hoverboard just wasn’t fast enough to keep up with the older half-ghost.

Still, the roar of the engines went in the other direction.

She slowed, just a tad, to look over her shoulder. And, indeed, Red was chasing down Phantom, not her.

Was she going after the more dangerous target? Surely not? Wasn’t it better to chase the weaker target that you knew you could get, rather than go after the more dangerous one you can’t catch?

Something weird was going on here. And Jazz didn’t like it.

---

Honestly, Danny hadn’t put much thought into how he would meet with Jazz that night. They couldn’t risk meeting on the roof in their ghost forms, not if Valerie might be on patrol. And he couldn’t just phase inside as Phantom. Even if their—her—parents hadn’t ghost-proofed the place, it was far too likely that someone might come in.

But that someone might also be the Danny of this universe. If he saw Danny…

Well. They could probably play that off a shapeshifter ghost? It was his best option, he guessed. He just had to make sure Jazz knew which Danny he was.

He waited until darkness fell, his stomach grumbling as dinnertime came and went. It wasn’t as bad in his ghost form, but, well. No sense in risking the Red Huntress just for a little hunger, right?

The light came on in Jazz’ room. Showtime.

Danny turned himself invisible, flying towards her window. His powers were harder to use in human form, sure, but not impossible.

Only Jazz was present. He knocked, drawing her attention to the seemingly-empty window. She frowned, but caught on quickly—as expected. Nodded.

He phased inside, dropping his invisibility almost immediately.

“Phantom,” she greeted him, and he ignored the usual pang of hurt. He understood, of course, had encouraged her to call him Phantom instead of Danny. It was important to maintain that difference, to remember that he wasn’t her Danny.

But hearing his sister, her voice so like his own sister’s, call him Phantom instead of Danny…

It hurt. But that was okay. Just a little pain, he could endure. Better him than her.

“Hey, Jazz.” He hesitated, then sat down on the edge of her bed. Watched as she dragged a chair in closer, so they could face each other more easily while talking.

“So… Red?” she probed, in a tone he knew oh-so-well.

He laughed a little, despite the pain of the memories. “Yes. The Red Huntress, the public calls her. Or, well. You know what I mean.”

Jazz nodded, slowly. Her facial expression was one he was very familiar with. It said ‘you’d better keep talking, or I will dig out this information the hard way’.

“She’s hired—kinda—by Vlad. Well, an anonymous benefactor, but it’s Vlad. He drops off ghost hunting supplies for her, top notch, invented by himself. In return, she hunts down ghosts. Specifically, she always had it out for me.”

“Still does, it seems,” Jazz pointed out. “She chased after you, even though you were too fast for her. Any sensible hunter would’ve gone after me.”

Then Jazz frowned. “Wait, but why now? What happened that would’ve brought this on?”

Ah, and there came the real banger. The source of guilt for both of them—because he hadn’t prevented it. Almost casually, he said, “Well, her dad lost his job because of ghosts.”

“Oh.” Jazz’ eyes grew wide. “Wait. That was Valerie? A-Lister, sends jocks after kids instead of getting her hands dirty, Valerie?”

“Well, no longer an A-Lister,” Danny pointed out with a shrug. “And she is like, a ninth degree black belt. Trust me, you do not want to take Valerie on in a direct fight.”

“But—” Jazz slammed her mouth shut, then groaned. “But why? I mean, I get why she’s after ghosts, but she was gunning for you, specifically, I’m sure of it. Why would she do that?”

And that was the real question, wasn’t it? In his own universe, he’d drawn her ire by being associated with Cujo. In this one? It must be Vlad’s doing, right?

“I’m not sure,” he admitted. “In my own universe, she had fixated on me because I was there when her dad’s reputation was ruined. She thought Cujo was my dog, and blamed me for his rampage. In this one… I don’t know. I guess Vlad asked her to focus on me, but I can’t imagine why.”

“Maybe he wants her to… eliminate you?” Jazz said, slowly. “I mean, I did turn him down because I already had a ghostly mentor. Maybe he thinks that, if he takes out the competition, he can win me back?”

Danny made a face. “Ugh, that sounds exactly like Vlad. It’s possible, yeah.”

“So we just… need to win Valerie over, somehow?” Jazz shifted in her chair, the frown back. “How did you do it in your universe? Especially since she hated you?”

He laughed. It wasn’t happy. “I didn’t, not really.”

“But—”

“Valerie hates ghosts. I’m not really a ghost, am I?” He grinned, humorlessly. “She fought me until she found out. After that she was still pissed, but she didn’t shoot me anymore, so.”

“But you… you said you trusted her to keep Amity safe,” Jazz stammered, eyes wide.

He shrugged, plucking on his sleeve. It was going ragged—all this time outside in the same clothes was wearing them out way faster than he would’ve thought. “Well, yeah. She’s a great ghost hunter, especially now that she’s not driven by vengeance. I trust her. I never said she trusted me back.”

“Oh.” She turned her face down, her tucked-away hair slipping free.

“But that doesn’t mean anything,” he said, trying to comfort her again. “I mean, I’ve got plenty of enemies that you talked out of fighting. And your Valerie, your Red Huntress, she’s not blaming you for what happened. If anyone’s gonna talk her into being a proper ally, it’ll be you. You’re great at that stuff.”

Jazz looked up again. Her eyes were big and watery. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He shrugged, trying to come across as casual again. “I mean, look at all these ghosts you’ve talked out of violence. Lunch Lady, Dora, Sidney, Desiree. I fought all of those guys.”

A grin crept on her face, little by little. “Yeah,” she said again, more sure. “Yeah, I can do it. I’ll convince Valerie. I can do it.”

---

Jazz walked into the canteen a little late. Automatically, she took in all the tables, searching for a spot to sit. Her eye caught on Valerie, alone, outside despite the cold.

She bit her lip.

Win her over. Right. She could do that.

Her lunch tray was filled, and then she walked outside. Sat down on the opposite side of Valerie.

The girl shot her a skeptical look, throwing a very clear glance back at the door. Jazz shrugged.

“I know what ghosts can do to someone’s reputation,” she said, in lieu of an explanation.

“Oh.” Valerie’s gaze dropped back to her plate. Her posture softened a little, though. “Right.”

They sat in silence for a long moment, both of them picking away at their lunches.

“Look,” Jazz finally said, breaking the quiet again. “I’m not going to say that I know what it feels like, because I know that it’s not the same. But Valerie…”

Valerie looked up from her lunch, meeting her eyes.

Jazz rolled a lipstick over the table. It hit Valerie’s lunch tray with a metal sound, the smooth plating catching the light even when it laid still.

“If you ever want to learn more about ghosts, including how to fight off the bad ones…” She shrugged. “Well, I’d be willing to teach you. Including how to use that laser lipstick.”

“Laser?” Valerie echoed, somewhat incredulously. She reached for the tube. Uncapped it to reveal the bright green inner tube.

“Just point and twist the green band,” she explained. Handing a ghost hunter a weapon might not seem like the best plan, sure. But Valerie already had plenty of guns. The laser lipstick didn’t pack that much of a punch, and it would win her some trust.

Besides, if Valerie wanted to hunt ghosts, she might as well be safe doing it.

Valerie shook her head, capping the lipstick again. “I’ll try that somewhere safer, if you don’t mind.”

But she stuck it in her pocket, rather than handing it back to Jazz, so she counted it a victory.

“Now, about ghosts…” Valerie continued, a grin slowly creeping onto her face.

And Jazz smiled back.

[davidelizabethbowiestrider]

A background on how Diego came to Auradon would be nice... maybe via a wish?

“One wish. Any wish in the entire world, what would it be?” The group seated around the cafeteria table exchanged a look at Jane’s question, taking a moment to think on it before Mal perked up, grinning widely as she tapped her fork on the table.

���A mountain of chocolate covered strawberries. That’s my wish, right there.” Ben chuckled, sliding a small bowl of said strawberries towards the purple haired girl, and Mal beamed as she picked one up. Evie shifted in her seat, smiling at Jane as she thought on the question before responding.

“I would probably wish for a magical sewing machine that didn’t have to have it’s thread changed. It was just always the right type and colour no matter what!” Beside her, Jay snorted, and Lonnie raised a brow as she looked at him.

“Alright, Mr. Hotshot, what would you wish for?” Jay leant forward slightly, as though his wish was a huge secret, grinning widely as he spoke.

“To be able to do Tourney and Swords and Shields instead of classes. Duh.” Lonnie rolled her eyes, and Jane cleared her throat to gain their attention.

“I’d wish that I was cooler.” She stated in a small voice, causing everyone to assure her she was cool on her own. Doug wrapped an arm around Evie’s waist, grinning widely as he gazed at her with a love struck look on his face.

“I’ve already got everything I could wish for.” Beside him, Lonnie made a gagging noise, and he shot her a look. “Well what would you wish for, Lonnie?” Lonnie hummed, tapping her fingers on the table top as she thought a moment before letting out a cackle.

“I’d wish for something ridiculous, like Fairy Godmother breakdancing in the middle of the cafeteria or something. Ben?” Ben raised a brow, glancing up from where he had been slowly feeding Mal strawberries to consider the question.

“I’d wish for all world conflicts to be dealt with via laser tag.” Jay reached out for a high five, and Ben grinned before noticing that Carlos hadn’t stated what he’d wish. “Carlos? What would you wish for?” The table fell silent for a moment, all eyes on the youngest boy as he stared at the table top for a long moment, contemplating. After a few minutes, he looked up, his eyes fixed on Ben as he spoke his wish, words almost too quiet to hear over the din of student’s around them.

“I’d wish for my cousin to be brought over from the Isle even though he’s eighteen now.” Silence fell over the table, no one quite sure what to say, and Carlos pushed his half eaten tray away, excusing himself from the table to go to his dorm. The group exchanged a look, and Ben frowned as Mal leant towards him with a sad look.

“He’s sort of right, Diego and the Bad Apples are too old to be brought over for school but they shouldn’t be left on the Isle either, Ben. They’re good people…and it would do wonders for Carlos to see that his cousin’s safe. He’s been worrying about it ever since Cruella and the others went missing.” Ben frowned at Mal’s words, thinking over the list of kids Evie and Mal had put together for him the month before. None of the kids had been older than 17-still young enough to attend at least their final year at Auradon Prep. He hadn’t even considered the young adults on the Isle; too young to be truely evil like their parents, but too old to be brought over with the younger kids.

“How many kids are there Diego’s age?” 18 was old enough, in Auradon, to do a lot of things. To start college or university, to have a full time job if you weren’t a sovereign of your land, to rent an apartment. He hadn’t considered the fact that 18 was also young enough to show the way of good, to being brought to Auradon for a better life.

“Diego, Aren, Edith and Eli are all 18. Harry’s sister Harriet is nineteen I think, she graduated Serpent Prep before we left the Isle. Gil’s brothers have to be nineteen now too I think?” Mal glanced at Jay for confirmation, and the ex-thief nodded before pointing his fork at her.

“Yeah but I think they’re beyond saving after what they’ve done over the years.” The Islers at the table fell silent for a moment before Mal cleared her throat, turning her attention back to Ben.

“That’s pretty much it though. They were the first wave of kids, mostly villains who were pregnant when the Isle was created and stuff.” Ben nodded, leaning back in his seat as he contemplated the information. There had to be something he could do for the older kids. They couldn’t attend school, but…

“I’ve got it!” Dropping his napkin onto the table he pushed his seat out, beaming before leaning to kiss Mal excitedly. Mal raised a brow, and Ben’s grin widened as he waved her look off. “I have to call a council meeting. I’ll see you after Tourney practice Mal!” With that he took off, leaving the table slightly baffled.

“Well alright then.” Mal snorted, pulling her bowl of strawberries closer with a grin.

-=-=-

“Carlos? Are you in here?” Ben’s voice barely gave Carlos warning before the king was pushing open the door to his dorm, the younger teen scowling as he crossed his arms over his chest where he sat at his desk.

“Benjamin Florian what have we talked about barging into bedrooms?” Ben had the sense to look sheepish as he rubbed the back of his neck, scuffing his shoe as he offered Carlos a nervous smile.

“Knocking isnt a precursor to opening the door, it’s to ask for an invitation in. But I have something really important I need your opinion on. I found something roaming the school grounds and I’m not sure what I should do with it. Please?” Carlos tilted his head slightly, curiosity roused as he neatly closed and piled his notebooks to the side of his desk, tidying his work space before standing up.

“Alright, I’m coming. But stop just opening our door please. What if Jay was in here masturbating?” Ben flushed slightly and Carlos chuckled before moving toward the door.

“I would apologize profusely if that happened. Besides, we both know he masturbates in the bathroom in the middle of the night, not in the middle of your shared dorm during Swords and Shields practice, Carlos, honestly.” The two shared an amused grin, and Ben gestured for Carlos to follow him down the hall. “I wasn’t sure the safest place to leave it so I brought it to one of the empty doem rooms for now. I figure if anyone knows what to do with strays its you.” Carlos hummed, wondering if Ben had found a stray dog in the quad.

“Well, I’d have a better idea what to do with this mysterious creature if I knew what it was, Ben.” He teased, and Ben chuckled as they came to a stop outside of the empty room between Chad’s room and the one Doug shared with another student.

“Nah you’ll see it in a second, go on in. I’m pretty sure he won’t bite.” Carlos rolled his eyes at Ben’s secrecy, pushing the door open carefully so whatever animal Ben had picked up wouldn’t be startled and bolt for the door.

“I don’t know why you keep bringing me strays, you know Fairy Godmother won’t let me keep th-“ Carlos’ words cut off as his eyes landed on the tall, slim teen standing near the bed; taking a moment to take in the quirked smile and familiar dusting of freckles over tanned skin, the black and white mohawk that the other teen had spent years of their childhood working on. “Diego.” The name was almost whispered as the older teen grinned at his cousin, opening his arms wide.

“Hey, lil’ cuz.” Ben barely had time to step into the room before Carlos was across it, throwing himself into his cousin’s arms with a half laugh, half sob. “Hey, it’s good to see you too man. No need to cry, I’m here now.” Ben leant against the doorframe, watching the reunited relatives for a moment before clearing his throat, Carlos turning to look at him without letting go of Diego as though the older deVil would vanish as soon as he let go.

“I was thinking we could keep this one, actually. I hear he’s even house broken.” Carlos snorted as Diego huffed, turning to press his face into Diego’s chest as he squeezed his arms, laughing.

“You’ve heard wrong, he sorely needs obedience training. He bites and plays dirty when you’re wrestling. Evil’s sake D, how are you still so much taller than me, I’ve grown a whole two inches in Auradon!” Diego chuckled, rubbing his cousin’s back as he glanced at Ben.

“Well first of all I take offense to that obedience training comment- I’m totally house broken, don’t let Carlos tell you otherwise your majesty. Secondly, eight months isnt enough time to kill the foot I have on you, dream on C. Are you gunna let go?” Carlos shook his head, murmuring something into Diego’s shirt and causing the boy to frown. “Wanna repeat that without the mouthful of shirt?” Carlos pulled away a fraction, his eyes focused on a rust coloured stain on the collar of his cousin’s shirt.

“If I let go you might disappear just like you do when I dream you come to Auradon.” Diego’s eyes widened, and in the doorway Ben’s expression softened as he moved towards them, placing a hand on Carlos’ back.

“He’s not going anywheres, Carlos, I promise. I started a work program for the older kids on the Isle- as long as Diego shows up for work at Lumiere’s and stays out of trouble, he’s here to stay.” Carlos turned to look at Ben, eyes wide as he gave the king a warm smile.

“Thank you, Ben. I can’t imagine the council was very happy with that decision…” Ben shrugged, letting his hand drop away as he took a small step back, giving the cousin’s some space.

“They weren’t as opposed to the idea as I thought they’d be, actually. We brought over all of the Bad Apples and Harriet Hook, though we decided against offering the opportunity to Gaston Junior and Gaston the Third.” Carlos nodded, and Ben grinned at the two, nodding towards the door. “I’m going to dinner with Mal, so I’ll leave the two of you to catch up. Diego, if you need anything at all please let me know, and remember your first shift is in two days at seven am. “ Diego gave a half salute as Carlos dragged him to sit on the bed, and Ben stepped out into the hallway, grinning to himself as he closed the dorm room door.

“I did a good thing. “ his grin widened, and he started off towards the girls dorm, whistling contently.

[bosstoaster]

For the Advent fic prompts, how about a return to the Old Friends, Shiro's Sanctuary AU? Maybe Lance gets it into his head to put together a calendar featuring the animals and staff of the sanctuary as a holiday fundraising scheme, with varying levels of cooperation from both the staff and the animals? ( At least Coran backs him up when he insists the more skin Shiro shows, the better it will sell. )

"Okay," Shiro said slowly, looking out over the rented equipment.  Pidge and Hunk had gotten together to help their photographer set up the lights and camera.  So far, none of the dogs seemed to be especially bothered by the commotion.  A few came over to sniff and investigate, but the chilly weather had driven most inside back onto the couch.  So there was that, at least.Lance looked over, sporting a clipboard, an iPad, and a bright smile.  "Yes, Shiro?" He asked, all studied innocence."I get the calendar," Shiro said.  "The calendar makes sense.  It's a good way to raise money for charity and to show the dogs we have who need forever homes.  That part is good."Beaming, Lance held his armfull to his chest.  "I'm glad you agree.  We got so many requests for a calendar that it seemed silly not to at least think about it."Shiro held up his hand, stalling Lance's chatter.  "Yeah, good idea.  But what does that have to do with this?"  He held up the tight black shirt that the photographer had shoved into his hands just a few minutes ago.Lance shrugged.  "Well, you need an outfit for the photos, right?""No, I don't," Shiro said.  "The shirt I have is perfectly fine for standing by and making sure the dogs are comfortable.""Shiro, I told you that you were going to be involved."  Lance eyed him, brows up and severe.  He looked terrifyingly like the librarian in Shiro's high school who had believed every student was going to run off with her books and never return.  "What did you think I meant?""What I just said," Shiro replied.  "Working with the dogs.  Doing my job.  Maybe helping to pick out what dogs should be in which shots."Lance pressed his hand to his face and slowly dragged it down.  "No, Shiro, I meant you were going to be in the photos."  With a flat glare, he pulled out his iPad and started to flip through something.  Then he handed it over.  "Read the comments."It was the original post about offering a 2018 calendar.  Shiro's brows rose as he started to scroll down.  The first few were exactly what Shiro would have expected.  Talking about wanting to buy a copy, getting some for friends, happy to support the organization-'It'll include the hot owner too, right?  You know, for charity.'The comment had well over a thousand likes, and a couple hundred comments.  A few were scolding, either telling them not to objectify Shiro or reminding them it was about the dogs, not thirst.  But the vast, vast majority were agreements.  Some responses were only emojis, including lots of eggplants, faces with the tongue stuck out, and water drops.Shiro swallowed and shoved the pad back at Lance.  "Oh."

(Read More)

"Yeah," Lance drawled.  "Oh.  So, we figured you could at least be in a couple.  February would be nice, maybe getting kisses from the dogs.  And another for later in the year.  The summer maybe, or November."  He paused, then pointed a finger at Shiro.  "You still have that little costume you put on Black this year?""The angel wings?  Yeah, somewhere, I think."  Shiro frowned thoughtfully, distracted by the change in topic.  Then he shook his head hard.  "You- seriously?  You really want...?"  He looked at the pad again.  "They know about this?"  He held out the prosthetic.Lance nodded.  "Oh, yeah, they know.  Shiro, if you really don't want to, don't worry about it.  But you being in the photos always nets us a few hundred more likes than average.  There's a whole lot of middle aged women out there who would love to have a calendar of an attractive man, but with the dogs and charity as an excuse.  Only a couple of shots.  Please?"This was-  On one hand, the entire thing was baffling.  Once, Shiro had taken a lot of pride in his appearance.  He had a good mix of delicate and strong features, and he could be plenty charming when he wanted to be.  That had gone away when he'd come back from service with his face scared and his arm gone.  Now, people didn't really look at Shiro's jawline or eyes anymore.  It was his nose or his metal arm.  He wasn't attractive anymore, he was a curiosity.  On the other hand, it was clear there was a market, and wasn't raising money for the charity the most important thing?Especially when over a thousand people were willing to publicly throw their (very thirsty) support behind the idea?Shiro shifted from foot to foot, carefully considering.  Then he finally took a deep breath and nodded.  "Alright.  At least one.  But not on the cover, alright?  Those comments were right.  This is about the dogs first.""Perfect."  Lance beamed at him and knocked their shoulders together.  "It'll be tasteful, I promise.""By who's definition?" Shiro asked.Hand on his chest, Lance stuck out his bottom lip.  "Rude.  C'mon, I know what the people like.  That's my job.  It's the thing you literally pay me for, Boss Man.  Besides, it doesn't have to be just you.  I'm definitely getting Hunk in there for one.  The Red Cross has a Pet First Aid month in April, so that'll be good for him.  And I'm taking Juen for sure.  We'll bring out the wading pool."Shiro frowned.  "It's a little cool for that.  Not too long."  That earned him a nod, so he sighed. "Not Pidge, alright?  I mean, if she really wants to, I guess, but... I'm friends with her dad.  I have to look Sam in the eye next time I see him.  I'd rather not have to explain why I put his daughter in a sexy dog calendar."Nose crinkled, Lance shook his head.  "Please never call it a sexy dog calendar again.  It's only a little sexy, and never with the dogs.""Agreed.""I'll talk to her about it.  I think she'll want to bow out anyway.  I'm not even going to bother to ask Keith.  I don't feel like getting stabbed."  Lance held his clipboard in front of him, as if to fend off Keith's imaginary attack.Shiro watched, unimpressed.  "Keith wouldn't stab you for asking.  He's never stabbed anybody.""Are you sure?" Lance asked, glancing around conspiratorially. Brow up, Shiro nodded.  "Pretty damn sure, yeah.  I technically employ you guys, remember?  I did background checks.  I knew I wasn't going to find anything, but better to do due diligence than have problems later.  It's a charity, I want to have my paperwork done.""You have my background?" Lance perked.  "What'd it say?  What's in my background check?""Confidential.""It's my background!""It's my business.""Shiro!"***Two hours later, Shiro was shivering in the thin black tank top. "Can we do this quickly, before I freeze to death?""It's not that bad," Pidge called, rolling her eyes.  She was decked out in the winter gear they'd just finished shooting her in, so she had exactly zero room to talk.  Especially since she had Rosie the golden doodle snoozing away on her legs.  "You might want to pick Black up a little bit higher, though."Shiro shifted his grip on Black, who continued to survey the lawn/studio with all the contented ownership of a queen.  All was well in her realm, even as Shiro struggled to hold her not insignificant weight.  "Okay, like that?  Was she not in the shot?"Pointing to his chest, Lance grinned.  "You could see some stuff through your shirt."Oh.  Shiro looked down, and indeed, he could see his body reacting to the cold.  He groaned and cradled Black closer, only to have to spit out black fur when she shifted."Okay, the shot looks good."  The photographer pulled back, head tilted.  She looked over the cheesy fake heart behind them both with a critical eye.  "Actually, the flower collar is a little crooked on the dog.  Can someone get that?""I got it."  Keith stepped over carefully to avoid stepping on any of the props.  He gently straightened the rows of fake flowers.  "What about the crown on Shiro?  That good?  It's off too.""It's fine, the angle gives it character."  The photographer waved Keith back.  With a final, comforting smile, Keith ducked back behind the camera.Lucky bastard.Once everything was settled again, Shiro offered the camera a smile.  "Just let me know when to get Black started.""Now is good."Show time then.  "Black," Shiro called, voice pitched up and encouraging.  Her tag started to wag as her ears perked.  "Kisses!"Obediently, Black leaned forward and pressed her nose to Shiro's cheek, just as she was trained.  It was Shiro's absolute favorite trick, and never failed to make his chest feel like it was melting.  And why not?  His dog was trained to give cheek kisses.  It was the cutest thing ever.There were a couple of clicks from the camera, but this wasn't what Shiro was supposed to get for the shoot.  So instead he turned and gave Black a kiss on the tip of her wet nose.  At first, Black reared back, eyes wide with shock.  No matter how many times he did it, she still seemed shocked by the touch.  Then she came back forward and lapped wetly up the side of Shiro's face.  He laughed, camera forgotten, as she licked a huge wet stripe over his ear.  "Eugh!"  But the tone was anything but discouraging, so Black continued to lick and wag her tail.It was a bad habit, and Shiro really shouldn't be so good at egging her into licking.  But he couldn't help it.  Doggie kisses were too sweet, and Black seemed to like giving them.  She'd chase his face all over the couch so she could continue to lap.  It was probably because he reacted so positively and because skin was salty, not because Black understood that Shiro thought of it as kisses.  Even so, how was he supposed to seriously tell her no?Actually, telling Black 'no' in general was a hard task."Okay, these look good," the photographer called.  "Let's try some with you sitting down.  I don't think the photos of you dropping your dog will sell very well.""I won't drop her.  Will I, girl?  You like being picked up, don't you?  I'm very good at this."  Shiro made a kissy face at Black, then burst into delighted laughter as she licked over his nose.  "Gross, Black, that can't taste good."The photographer looked on blandly.  "Just for options, then, alright?  Were there other dogs we wanted in this shoot?""I've got 'em."  Keith wandered off, and returned with a fluffy white older dog with a pink ribbon around her neck.Shiro beamed at her, shifting so Black was sitting his his lap and he could hold a hand out.  "Don't you look pretty, Lady?"Lady's tail wagged, a dignified little twitch, and she plopped down contentedly next to him to rest her head on his knee.  She wasn't so much of a cuddler, so Shiro just used his free hand to pet over her head while Black continued to lick over his ear like it was a treat.  "How's this?""Good." The photographer went back to work, quickly snapping photos.Chuckling, Lance held up his phone and snapped a picture.  "Our very own ladies man.""Hah.""I'm totally posting this.  You know that, right?  Gotta drum of excitement for the calendars themselves."Ah, boy. Shiro sighed dramatically, only to giggle again when Black rested her head on top of his.  "Yeah, fine.  Go for it."They went through a few other poses, including letting Black play with a squeaky toy shaped like a heart.  Lady snoozed through most of it, not seeming to care at all about the commotion.By the end, Shiro was coated in fur and saliva and beaming.  "Am I allowed to go back inside, now?"  It really was chilly out in the early November air, and Shiro would prefer a jacket."I think we're good, yeah, if you want to go wash up."That wasn't at all what Shiro wanted, but he still shot the photographer a polite smile.  "Is there anyone I should bring out next?"Pidge shook her head. "Nah, just let Hunk know we're ready for him.  He's got Sandy and Old Yeller ready to go.""Stop calling Yeller that," Shiro grumbled.  "None of my dogs are going to die.  Ever."  It was a complete lie, but one that made Shiro happier to believe.  By now, Pidge just waved him off with an indulgent eye roll.Shiro slipped inside and let out a groan as the warm air hit his skin.  "Thank god," he muttered, rubbing up and down.  "Hunk?""My turn?"  Hunk gave a wave from the couch.  He was wearing a lab coat over scrub tops, all decorated with cartoon puppies.  With a groan, he stood from the soft cushions, picking up Sandy with him.  The terrier barely cracked open an eye at the new position."All yours.  At least you have a coat."Hunk grinned at Shiro's outfit.  "No kidding.  I'm impressed Lance managed to get you into that.""For the dogs," Shiro repeated, which had become his mantra over the day.Smiling softly, Hunk stepped forward and patted Shiro on the back.  "Hey, you're still allowed to bow out of stuff.  No one will mind, least of all the dogs."Shiro's expression went bland.  "Because they bow wow?""Dammit, I've used that one too much."  Hunk grinned back and soothed his hand up and down to rub warmth back into his skin.  "Now, I prescribe a nice long session on the couch with some warm dogs for you.""You're a vet, you can't diagnose me."Hunk rolled his eyes and shook his head.  "Take the excuse.  Once you're warm, you might want to play with Bluebell a little.  I think Lance wants to use her for his shoot, and she'll need to get rid of some energy first."Brows up, Shiro nodded.  "Alright.  I'll do Bluebell and someone else.  Lance is still pretending he's not going to adopt her?"  It had been going on for a month, since they'd taken Bluebell in.  Lance had immediately fallen in love with the poodle, but he still insisted he didn't want a pet yet."I have a client who owns mice, and was looking for an older dog without much of a prey drive," Hunk said.  "I told Allura about here, and I was going to point her toward Bluebell.  She's high energy but not much into chasing, so she'd be fine.  Maybe someone else interested in Bluebell might kick Lance into gear."And if not, Bluebell would still go to a good home.  Hunk never sent along clients who wouldn't be good dog owners.  Shiro nodded agreeably.  "Sounds like a plan.  Now, you might wanna head out there while you can.  Need help with Yeller?""No, I have it.  Yeller!"  The huge lab bounded down the stairs and sat in front of Hunk, tongue lolling out.  "See you when you're warmer."Shiro waved him off and flopped down on the couch, stretching out comfortably.  Black immediately staked her usually claim on his chest and became snoring.  He kept on eye on Lady while she delicately picked her way to her favorite dog bed and settled in.Everything was going well.  Silly, yes, but tomorrow everything would go back to normal.  Hopefully this would bring in some money and help them keep the dogs happy.Shiro was happy too.  And that counted for a lot.

[lenpez-blog]

MAYBE BABY || VALARION

WHO: Valencia and Amarion

WHEN: Late August

WHERE: Amarion’s House

WHAT: Len gets interesting news from the doctor. 

Valencia sighed, biting into her bottom lip. Ten. Ten. She'd taken ten home tests and they'd all said the same thing. The same thing that lead her directly here two days ago, to get her blood drawn. She didn't know why she'd lied to Amarion, told him that she was just having a regular doctor's appointment. Maybe she was afraid to tell him she might be pregnant, maybe she was afraid to get his hopes up. She didn't know which it was. Maybe it was because she didn't know how she felt about being pregnant. All she did know was that now there was no choice but to tell him the truth. She tried to remember if he'd ever mentioned wanting kids before now. Normally, she was good at remembering little details, but she was too shaken up by this to think straight. Instead, she focused on driving home, keeping her mind occupied with the road in front of her. She hadn't officially moved in, but she realized she'd started to consider Amarion's house as her home. Something she was sure he'd be happy about if he knew. But would he be happy about a third member of the household? She couldn't imagine him not being happy, could she? Honestly, she needed to just stop thinking about it. She'd have no idea how he'd react until he reacted. She'd be okay no matter what, she knew that. Pulling into the driveway, she slowly made her way into the house, winding around the house until she found him. Smiling at him softly, she slid behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist. Slowly she moved around to his front, resting her head against his chest before letting out a long sigh. "How was your day?"

Amarion was starting to hate being home alone. Although he had an empty house before Valencia had came into his life, there was something about it that made it feel less like home to him when she wasn't there. He almost hated the way her presence had affected his home life, but he'd be lying if he said he didn't want her around more often. If it wasn't for the fact that they had already had the moving in conversation more times than he'd care to admit, he would've asked her again to think about staying with him, but he didn't want to push anymore than he already had. There was a lot he could do to occupy his time, but the only thing he could think about was when his fiancé was getting home. He knew waiting around would only make the time go by slower, so he decided to watch some TV and see if that helped. Picking up the remote, he flipped through the channels trying to find something good to watch but came up empty. Why didn't he offer to drive her? Or at least offer to tag along, because he didn't realize how boring his home life was when she wasn't around. Maybe this is why she didn't want to stay with him, and if it was he would completely understand. Pushing himself out of bed, Amarion made his way downstairs to get dinner started. He couldn't find anything else to do, so cooking would be the next best thing and he imagined Len would be happy to come home to a meal. He couldn't help but slightly jump at the arms that snaked around his waist, eventually relaxing into them as she made her way around. "It was boring. Never leave me here by myself ever again." He said in a huff as he leaned down to press a kiss against her lips. "How about yours? Everything good? You not dying or anything, right?"

Valencia laughed at his words, thinking about how probably neither of them would have much alone time ever again pretty soon. "I guess that depends on your definition of good. I'm definitely not dying though." She sighed, letting go of him and hopping up onto the counter, and picking a grape out of a bowl on the counter and putting it in her mouth. "Would you still love me if I was miserable all the time? And sick? And fat and ugly?" She asked, resting her hands on his shoulders. "Not like dying sick, not like any reason to worry just like, flu sick." She added, not wanting to worry him. "Not that I'm saying I'm sick. I'm not sick." She clarified further. And then sighed, rubbing her temples, wishing she could have a glass of wine, and then suddenly being grateful that she was never a big drinker. But she was only 23, and she definitely didn't feel old enough to be a mother. "We should get a dog." She added, feeling out his response, because if he was against a pet, she might need to ease him into the idea of a baby a bit more gently.

Amarion placed his hand over his chest dramatically as he heard her words, "Good. I thought I was gonna have to get another PA, and I don't think I could handle that right now." He listened to her speak as he positioned himself between her legs, his face going from calm to confused as she continued to talk. "I'll love you no matter what, Len. I didn't do all that complaining about not being with you just to leave. Plus, you're gonna be my wife and to me that's a forever thing" Where was this coming from? Did something happen at the doctor that she didn't want to tell him? Whatever it was, he wasn't going to push it just in case she wasn't ready to talk about it yet. "Okay?" He was confused at the sudden suggestion considering she had never brought it up before, but it was normal for couples to have dogs so maybe she was just trying to make them normal. "Like today or are you just saying you want one? ‘Cause we could hit up a shelter or two before it gets too late." He said as he went back to the task at hand, not too sure where their conversation was going.

Valencia laughed at his response and then nodded, "I'm glad that my potential health won't be putting you out, honestly." She grinned, though it turned to a slight pout as he continued. Not a sad one, but more so just contemplative. "It's a forever thing to me, too." She answered after a few seconds. Len couldn't help the smile that formed when he answered her dog question. Not that she really wanted one, but that he just was so at ease with the idea. She sighed when he turned away and went back to cooking. She stayed silent for a while, not answering his question, and instead just watching him for a little while. "Maybe we should get a cat instead. Or a bunny. Or maybe a hedgehog!" She said, her voice excited, even though she was clearly joking. "Or, and hear me out on this, or what about a kid?" She asked, raising her eyebrows for a few seconds before letting her face turn more serious. "And when I say a kid, I'm not talking about a baby goat. Just to be clear."

Amarion laughed at her and just shook his head as he tried to make sense of the conversation they were having. "You mean it?" He asked as he brought his eyes to meet hers. He knew that was a stupid question and he already knew the answer to it, but never hurt to double check. The silence between them was starting to make him uncomfortable, and the fact that she was being somewhat secretive didn't help either. Amarion let out a small sigh as he finished with the food, eating some of it before he began to make their plates. The look of confusion managed to make it's way back onto his face, but it was mild this time as he listened to her name off all the animals. Before he could say anything, her last suggestion caught him a little off guard. "You wanna get a kid? Why don't we make one? I hear it's way easier than the adoption process, and I've got no problem with putting a baby in you."

Valencia tilted her head to the side at his question, biting her lip, and nodding. "Absolutely." Len was quiet as she watched him, trying to gauge his reaction. She couldn't help but chuckle at his response. At least he wasn't totally against the idea of having a kid. Joking about having one wasn't the same as finding out they already were, but at least she knew he wanted them. Len hopped of the counter, taking her plate from and smiling up at him, before standing on her tip toes to kiss his cheek. "Yeah, I know you don't have a problem putting a baby in me, because you already did." She said, raising an eyebrow at him before turning around and walking to towards the table, "I hope you meant it when you said you'll still love me when I'm fat." She said over her shoulder before sitting down and taking a large bite of her food, as she waited for him to join her.

Amarion couldn't help the surprised look on his face as he heard her words, or at least the words he thought he heard. He was more than on board with being a dad, yet he didn't think it would happen so soon, and especially not this soon. He wanted to say something but he just stood there, trying to gather his thoughts to put them in words that Len could understand. At least he understood what their conversation was about now, but he wasn't sure why she wanted to get a pet. Did she think they needed to practice before the kid came into the picture or did she really just want a dog? That was a question for another day, because now all he could think about is when it happened and why she didn't tell him sooner. Walking to the table, Amarion sat down and just stared at her. He had hoped his expression didn't throw her off, but he was honestly having trouble wrapping his head around the fact that she was going to be his wife and the mother of his first child. "Did you find out when you went to the doctors? Is that why you were saying all that stuff about being miserable?" He asked as he took a bite of his food, keeping his eyes on her as he waited for the answer.

Valencia had said it now, and she couldn't take it back, all that she could do was hope that he'd take it well. She made eye contact with him for a few seconds as he stared at her, and then forced her eyes onto her plate instead. "I missed my period, so I took some home tests. And I wanted to tell you then, but I wasn't sure, and I didn't know how you'd react. I didn't want to freak out if it was nothing, or get your hopes up if it was nothing." She said softly, feeling her nerves return. "So, I went to the doctor and they did a blood test, and here we are." She sighed, finally looking back up at him, a frown now evident on her face. "I know it's not something we planned, and when I said it's a forever thing for me, too, I meant that...But if this changes things for you, that's okay."

Amarion continued to stare at her, still trying to comprehend everything that was happening right now. He regretted not going with her or at least asking if he could, but now he had a feeling she would've turned him down anyway. And there's a chance this news would've upset him if he had ask and was told he couldn't go, so he was grateful that he was finding out this way instead. Reaching across the table, Amarion grabbed onto her hand and laced their fingers together as she went on. He couldn't help the tears that were welling up in his eyes, and at this point he really didn't want to. He was going to be a father, so he felt like he had every right to cry in this moment. "Can we have the wedding before you have the baby or would that be too soon?"

Valencia felt like she was watching in slow motion as he reached for her hand. She squeezed his hand gently, and then let out a soft laugh at his question. She hadn't really thought about it, and now all she could picture was herself giant and pregnant in a wedding dress and she couldn't help her frown. Len pulled her hand away, instead moving around the table and sliding her way to sit on his lap. "I know this will sound so stupid, but I don't want to be fat, and swollen and miserable when I marry you. I don't want to look back and remember my back hurting and my feet hurting, and us having to kiss each other over my giant stomach." She said, and then bit her lip. "But if you wanted to do it, like, right away, we could. But only if you're sure. Not because you want to be married before we have a baby, but because you just want to be married." She said, softly, kissing his forehead gently, one hand rested on his cheek.

Amarion couldn't figure out Len was frowning when this was suppose to be a happy moment for them. They were going to be parents and it was going to be great or at least he assumed it would. The first few months might be bad, but he was more than prepared to deal with a crying baby. And if he wasn't he had a feeling Len's hormones would be all over the place, and that would be the next best thing to some much needed practice. "I wanted to marry you as soon as I proposed. I just wasn't sure if you were ready for that, but if you are then I say let's do it. I really only suggested the wedding thing ‘cause I think you would be cute all pregnant and what not, but if those aren't the memories you want then I'm fine with that too. Just know, as soon as you start showing I'm probably gonna go picture crazy." He said, wiping the tears from his eyes as he rested his head on her chest. This wasn't the ending to his night that he expected, but he was happy that it played out this way. Lifting his head, he placed a soft kiss against her lips and pulled back to look in her eyes. "I love you. Never forget that, okay?"

Valencia shrugged a shoulder, "It's not that I wasn't ready, but I guess I just didn't see a reason to rush, because I figured we had forever. But there's no reason to wait. Plus, I already have a dress, and if I get too fat, I won't fit into it, and I really, really like my dress. I know that's really not what's important. I just....I feel like it's such a big deal. My grandmother and my mom never got married, I'm like the first one, and I just feel like it has to be perfect. Is that stupid?" She asked, frowning again, maybe it was hormones, but she just kept bouncing from scared, to happy, to scared again. She frowned again when he mentioned her showing, "You know, it's still really early. I mean, super early. Like... A lot of things could still go wrong early. It's too early to even tell people, really. And I'm scared." She whispered, frowning again, "But I love you, too. So so much."

Amarion nodded as she spoke. He could understand where she was coming from, so he couldn't hold it against her. "It's not stupid at all. I get it and if you want this to be perfect then we'll do whatever we need to do to make it perfect." He didn't know what she considered perfect, but he would do anything in his power to give her the wedding she wanted. "I was just about to say can I see the dress but I'm pretty sure that's bad luck, so I'll just wait until our wedding and cry over how beautiful you look." Those were not the words he wanted to hear but she did have a point. It was a little too early for him to start celebrating or thinking about how he would tell his mom, but that excitement was still there because he couldn't get over the idea of them being parents. "You're right, but how about we don't think like that, okay? It's not gonna make you any less scared, so how about we eat and then we can go upstairs and watch a movie or something. Sound good?"

Valencia sighed again, shaking her head, realizing how ridiculous she was being. "No, as long as it's you I'm marrying, it will be perfect. The wedding doesn't matter, it's the marriage that does." She said, smiling before giving him another kiss. She laughed at his comment about the dress and shrugged, "I don't know how into superstitions I am, but just to be safe, let's save it." She stared at him when he mentioned crying, bring one of her thumbs to wipe away any of his remaining tears. Seeing him cry wasn't something she'd ever expected, but she didn't mind, at least his tears were happy. When he dealt with hers it was always when she was a mess of emotions. "You know, if we have a girl, you're finally going to have a girl living in this house that lets you spoil them without getting all weird." She grinned, changing the subject when he said he didn't want to think like that. "That sounds perfect, though." She paused, biting her lip. Judging from his reaction, she was pretty sure she knew the answer to his next question, but she had to ask anyways. "You're sure this is what you want, right?'

Amarion nodded as she spoke. He got what she meant now, but that didn't mean he was going to go back on his words. Going all out was something he was use to doing, and he wasn't going to stop now. Leaning into her hand he couldn't help but smile as he looked at her. Amarion knew it was too early for her to start 'glowing', but he'd be lying if he said he didn't think she looked a little different. "Does that mean you're never gonna get use to me spoiling you? Because I don't think I'm ever gonna stop. No matter how many kids we have." He smiled, reaching for her hand and lacing their fingers together. The idea of having more kids probably wasn't one he should've shared, since they were just finding out that they were having their first one, but it was an idea he had in his head the moment she agreed to marry him. "I'm more than sure." He said with a slight grin playing on his lips as he took another bite of his food. "You should get back to eating though, babe. Especially since you're eating for two now."

Valencia laughed at his words, shaking her head. "I mean, you can spoil me with lots of babies. And you can spoil me by spoiling all of our babies." She offered, shrugging a shoulder, "Although, who knows, maybe being pregnant will bring out a side of me that likes to be pampered." She couldn't stop beaming when he said he was sure and that only grew even more when he said she was eating for two. She kissed him again before standing up and moving back to her own seat across the table. "There's just two other things that I think we should talk about." She said, taking a bite of the dinner he'd made, "Now that I'm pregnant, I think it's time that I move in. It seems ridiculous to not live together now. I mean, I know we have a while, but we're going to have to set up a nursery, and there will be appointments, and it just makes more sense to be here." She said, giving him the more positive thing she wanted to talk about first and then sighing, "But I also think you need to start looking for a new PA. I mean, once I get further along I'll be taking maternity leave anyways. And afterwards, I just think that I'm not going to want to go back to work right away. My mom had to work so hard to raise us and I'd never hold that against her, but she was never around, neither was my abuela, we had babysitters and then Mari when she was old enough. Then she started to work and javi had me. I don't want nannies and baby sitters raising our kids. And we're ...well you're in a position financially that we don't really need my income. But is that totally selfish of me? Because if you feel differently, then tell me, and I'll keep working."

Amarion arched his eyebrow as he heard her words. "Lots of babies? Now that's something I'd be more than okay with doing. How many are we talking about though? 'Cause I've always wanted like ten, but if that's too much then I'm definietly fine with however many you want." He couldn't help the smile that painted itself on his face as she kissed him, letting go of her hand as she walked back to her seat. "Are you telling me all I had to do was put a baby in you to get you to move in here? I would've done that months ago if I knew that was all it took." He laughed as he finished what was left on his plate, putting his hand over his mouth as he spoke. "I'm also kind of glad that we never got started on that office, 'cause now we can make that room the nursery, and it works out 'cause it'll be right across the hall from our room." Amarion smiled when the words left his mouth, but that smile quickly faded as Len got serious. He tried to keep his composure as she talked, but the idea of having her at home all day everyday was an idea he could definietly get behind. He always found himself missing her when she was at her second job, and he saw himself as more of a distraction when they were at the office, so having her home seemed like a need rather than a want at this point. "I don't think that's selfish. It sounds like the opposite if you ask me, but I've got on question for you. Do you think you would mind helping look for a new PA? Preferably someone who is as good at the job as you were, 'cause my track record when it comes to picking them out hasn't always been the best. I honestly feel like I got lucky with you."

Valencia eye's widened at his words, "Ten sounds like a lot. Let's see how this one goes and then we can decide. Definitely at least three, though. I always pictured, like, 5 at least. Len laughed again at his words, shaking her head, "I should have just moved in months ago. I'm sorry that I kept you waiting, that I put up such a fight about it." She grinned, "I still think we should give you an office, though. I still want to climb under your desk while you're trying to take an important call." She said, winking at him, before shrugging, "We have plenty of time to make a nursery, though." She couldn't even put into words how much she loved him when he spoke next, and only laughed as he continued. "Yes, I'll help you find another one. Preferably one that's extra ugly." She grinned, though she knew she had nothing to worry about, she knew what one of his main criteria had always been when looking for PAs.

Amarion bursted into laughter when he saw Len's eyes widen. He knew ten kids was too much, but he did always want to have his own version of the Von Trapp family, yet he understood why ten was a little too much. "Five sounds a lot better than three, but I guess we'll just have to wait and see." He said picking up his plate as he stood up. "It's fine, babe. It's not like you didn't have a good reason not want to move in. But does that mean Javi got a girlfriend or something, or are you trusting him to fend for himself a little bit since you'll be here more often than not?" He wanted her to move in more than ever, but if she still felt like she needed to help her brother he wouldn't hold her back from doing so. Amarion smirked as she mentioned climbing under his desk, but shook his head quickly before his thought process went any further into that fantasy. "Whoa, whoa. She ain't gotta be ugly, just interested in getting money instead of getting with me."

Valencia smiled at his words and nodded, she wanted to make him happy, she wanted to give him everything he ever wanted, and if that was a big family, she wanted it, too, she just didn't know about ten. "Maybe we'll get lucky and have some sets of twins, then you can get your ten, and I don't have to be pregnant for the next 15 years." She laughed, taking another bite of her food as she finished up her meal. "He doesn't have a girlfriend, but I just feel like he's had long enough to get used to being out here, he's starting school, so he'll be busy most of the time anyways, and Mari will be back in a couple of months, she'll probably be living there. We bought the full size bed to share, but I'm going to get fat, so she probably won't want to share with me anyways." She shrugged, "And I want to be here. I felt guilty leaving him, but this feels so right. I've got to worry about this baby, because this one can't take care of itself, Javi can." She said, frowning slightly. She did still feel a little bit guilty, but she knew that was just the protective big sister in her not letting her let go. Len grinned at his response, shaking her head, "Does it matter one way or the other wether she's hot or ugly?" She asked, resting her chin on her hand as she waited for his answer.

Amarion shook his head as she spoke. The idea of having that many kids always seemed outrageous to him, but the fact that she would be willing to at least try to give him the family he had dreamed of made him realize just how lucky he really was to have her. "Or maybe we'll get even luckier and you'll have a set of quints, that way we're already half way there. Though, I really am fine with however many we have. As long as I have them with you." He smiled sweetly as he reached over the table and grabbed her plate, finally making his way to the sink and dropped them in there. Walking back to the table, he took his seat as he listened to her involuntarily rolling his eyes as she said she was going to get fat yet again. "Okay, I doubt you're gonna get fat, babe. I hear the first pregnancy is suppose to be the one where you don't gain that much weight, and even if you do I think you don't start gaining it until the end. So you could still share a bed with your sister if you wanted to." Amarion wasn't sure if that applied to all women, but he was trying to make her feel better since she didn't seem all that happy in the moment. He had seen her frown more times than smile throughout their entire conversation, and it wasn't exactly his favorite sight, so at this moment he would do anything to see her smile again. "Nope. As long as she gets the job done as well as you did, then I'll be fine. Hell, who's to say it's gonna be a girl anyway? You might find a dude who's just as good."

Valencia let out a loud laugh, shaking her head. "I'm not sure if that's the better option! Can you imagine having to take care of five babies at once? We'd never sleep again!" She shook her head, though she had a wide smile spread across her face. "But you know, if I wasn't already ridiculously in love with you, that whole 'as long as I have them with you' thing totally would have done it for me." She watched as he sat back down, a smaller smile spreading on her face now, though she was no less happy. "Id rather share a bed with you. Fat or not." Len stood from her seat, walking back to where he sat and wrapping her arms around his shoulders. "As long as they help to keep you from getting stressed out at work, I don't care who it is, or what they look like." She smiled, giving him a kiss on the cheek. "But what I do care about, is how long you're going to make me wait before you take me to bed for that movie and cuddling you promised." She grinned.

Amarion nodded once he realized that probably wouldn't be the best option, more so because he would rather be sleeping than dealing with five screaming infants, and he had a feeling that would probably put a hold on their sex life for a little longer than he'd like. "Are you saying that didn't make you fall a little bit more in love with me? 'Cause that was totally my angle." He said as he chuckled at her next comment. He was sure she was going to say she was going to get fat, and he could tell her that she wasn't but that was a battle he didn't think he was ready for yet. "Right, yes. The movie and cuddles. I was too busy thinking about all those babies but lets go get our cuddle on." Amarion leaned back into her arms and smiled as she kissed his cheek, but he decided not to get too comfortable as she brought up the movie. Standing up, he swiftly picked her up and shot her a small smile as he made his way to the stairs. This was surprisingly the perfect end to the unexpected day the two of them were having.

Valencia scrunched her nose at his words, and nodded "I can honestly say that since we've been together, you've made me fall a little bit more in love with you at least once a day." she grinned, wrapping her arms around him again as he lifted her up. Truthfully, she was pretty scared about becoming a mom, but she didn't think that fear had totally set in yet. But as scared as she was, she couldn't wait to see Amarion as a dad. Something told her that he was going to be amazing at it, and she couldn't wait for it. She waited him to put her down and lay down with her before getting comfortable, pressing herself into him her arms around him again. "Do you want a girl or a boy?" she asked, looking up at him, before sliding a hand down to rest over her stomach. "It's weird, right? Like, there's actually a baby in there. But it's so teeny tiny." She frowned, not because she was sad, but the idea of just how small the baby was gave her a little jolt of fear.

Amarion couldn't help the huge grin that spread across his face as he heard her words. When it came to making her fall in love with him, he tried his hardest to do it even before she had finally decided to date him. To hear that it was something he did without trying, made him feel accomplished for lack of better words. He had got the girl and now he was going to get the family he had always wanted, and even though he knew it was still too soon to be excited but he couldn't help himself. Placing a kiss on her forehead, he put her down and made his way to the other side of the bed, making himself comfortable as she pressed into him. "A girl, but I'd be fine with whatever we end up having." Slightly shaking his head, he pressed his lips against hers and wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her closer to him as he deepened the kiss. "Let's not think about how small it is right now, okay? Let's just be happy that it's there and it's ours."

Valencia settled into his arms, something that was so easy to her now, that was her real home, wherever he was, as long as she was wrapped up in his arms, it didn’t matter what came, she knew things would be okay. “You’ll make such a great dad,” She whispered, looking up at him, not able to even explain the amount of love that flowed through her for him. “But you’re right. It’s there and it’s ours, which means it will be perfect.” She whispered, amazed how much at ease he could make her. “Let’s get married.” She said, knowing they’d already talked about it earlier that night, but she just wanted to be with him so badly. “Tomorrow, in a month, in six, I don’t care. Whatever you want I want to be a family. I want you and me to be us, forever. If you want to get married when I’m huge and fat, then let’s do it.”

[hell-if-i-know13]

Death??

"Oh, crap! I'm late.  Oh, well...I probably have one of the only jobs where people prefer that I'm late.  Actually, to be completely honest, most wish that i would never show up at all. Not everybody.  But most."  I open the door.  "Hello.  Let me check my chart...Ah, here it is.  Mr. Campbell.  Hey!  You wouldn't, by chance, be related to the Bruce Campbell, would you? Ya, know...famed 'B' actor.  Guy with the chin?  'This is my Boom Stick'."   Campbell stared at him blankly.  Frank pitched his voice, "Give me some sugar, Baby."  Nothing.     "Um, no.  Why?"  Incredulously, he exclaimed, "I love that guy!  His movies are awesome!  So funny!  Hahaha...so funny!  Check him out, totally worth it.  Seriously."  "Who are you?", Mr. Campbell asks.  "I'm sorry.  How rude of me!  My name is Frank, but most people know me by my other name- Grim Reaper.  Ya know, the hooded one, the angel of death. But I like Frank better.  It's a less "shit-your-pants" kinda name.  "So I'm dead?"  "Well, yes and no.  You're currently in a coma, but it's your time."  Stunned, Mr. Campbell stutters, "If I'm in a coma, then how am I talking to you?"  "Cuz I'm dead, dude.  You're thinking of the laws of the living. I go beyound that. Take a look around, man!  All your family is here but no one can see us.  And for the love of god...  You're standing up!  You've been, like, paralized, a vegetable, for 5 years!   That should be a big give away right there."  Frank felt kinda sorry for him, but he deals with this crap all the time and had a job to do, so he continued.  "So, as you may know by my rep, I'm here to escort you to your final judgment. But since it's Friday and because I kinda feel like slacking off a bit, if you want, you can tag along with me today.  Hangout."   He looks around at Campbell's family- women sobbing, men shuffling from one foot to another, obviously uncomfortable and no doubt wishing they were anywhere but here. "This job can be boring.  It would be kinda nice to have some company. So, what do you say, man?  You game?" Death's enthusiasm was apparent.  "That is, unless your'e that excited to see where you'll be spending eternity."  Hahaha!  "I mean, I dont know how you lived your life so I'm not really sure if you'll be heading north or south, but it's your call."  Campbell stared at him vacantly.   "Please hangout with me!" Frank blurted out.  "I'll put a good word in for you."  Campbell snapped to.  "You can do that?" he asked.   "Well, shit yeah, I can!" Then, half-under his breath, Frank murmurred, "If they listen to me, that is.  But hey!  It can't hurt, right?  Ok then, Mr. Campbell.  Wait, that's so formal.  If you don't mind, what's your first name?"  "Rob."  "Rob.  No shit?  You took me as a Mark."   "So, Mr. Death."  "Hey!  That's my father.  Like I said, call me Frank."  "Ok, then, Frank.  Why "Frank" and why do you look like a normal man instead of a skull in a hood?  I thought you'd be, like, different."  "Death or any of my other names are just...scary.  The 'Reaper-look' is just so, ya know, eighteen hundreds. I mean, shit, your dead and this tall hooded skull holding a huge scythe just appears, standing over you...That's some scary-ass shit!  You humans are already dealing with the whole 'being dead' thing, and then that thing walks through the door!  Fuck me side ways!  That's some cruel shit.  Don't get me wrong, though.  There are still some of us who like that look but not all of us are into that shit."  "What do you mean by 'all of us'?", Rob asks.   "Well, you see, Rob, there are, like, 150,000 deaths a day so that would be impossibale for one dude to reap them all.  Plus, I like my weekends off.  Shit, who the hell wants to work that much? So, anyway, there are a lot of us. And since everything has to be so P.C. these days, there's a Reaper for every religion.  Like I said, most of us try to make this as easy as possible for you, but not all of us. Like Gary, for instance.  That dude is a dick! Scares the shit out of every single soul he reaps. So fucked up!  But he's been doing this for a super long time."  Frank chuckles to himself, as if a funny image just popped into his head.  He sobers, shakes the thought away and looks back at his charge.  "So Rob, what do you say?  Wanna hang for a little while or shall I take you straight to your judgment? Da-da-da DUM!"  Rob thought a second, then replies, "Sure, I guess.  Just as long as it doesn't effect my judgment."  "Nah, man.  No worries.  It really all depends on how you lived your life. Once your dead, it's all good. Ok?  Sweet.  Then, follow me.  We have an agenda to follow.  So, first, we have to go to a union meeting.  I know, I know.  Boring shit, right?  You wouldn't believe some of the stuff they make us do.  Like, before we got the Union, we had to work all animal deaths.  You wouldn't believe how many more deaths that adds to our schedule!  Man, those days were crazy!   Dog really is man's best friend. Those stubburn S.O.B.'s  would never want to come with us.  They'd just want to hang around waiting for their masters.  It was so bad we had to start carrying dog treats with us! And leashes!  Shit was unreal.  But ever since we got the Union, they sanctioned a whole other Grim department  to take care of pet deaths.  Helps out alot.  "Oh, and also to answer your previous question, we Reapers can look anyway we want."  To emphasize his point, Frank suddenly appeared as a large-breasted, scantily clad blonde woman, then quickly shifted back to his old self.  "Remember me talking about Gary?  Yeah, don't let him scare you. He can't hurt you in any way so if he starts anything, just ignore him.  "Alright, we're here.  Let's find a seat.  Don't worry, man, these meetings don't usually last long...unless one of those dick holes starts asking stupid questions. I'm sure you know what I'm talking about."  They both take a seat near the back.  "Wwwwhat the hell is that?", Rob asks, shuddering.   "Oh, now see, that's what i was talking about- that's Gary. Man, he is such a dick!  Why he want's to scare the souls he takes is such a dick move. HEY GARY!!!"  Frank waves, trying to get Gary's attention.   "Yeah, Frank." Gary waves the finger at him.  "Eat a bag of dicks."  "Screw you, Frank."  Gary shakes his head in total annoyance.  "Haha! I love fucking with him. You see, Rob?  You're lucky you got me. You could've had him or one of these other boring pricks.  Ugh, they're so lame.  It's like 'Hi...I'm Death, here to take you to your judgment...follow me, please'.  BOOOORRINNG!  So lame!  Told ya, you're a lucky guy...well, except for the whole 'dying' thing."  Frank shifts awkwardly in his seat.     "Right, then...it's starting.  Pay attention.  You might find some answers to a few questions you had in life."   The Grim on the mic clears his throat.  "Uh-Hem!  Excuse me, sorry about that.  Alright.  I'd like to thank you all for showing up and sharing you support for Team 013. I guess I'll get right down business- I know you guys have alot to do. Okay, first on the dockit. If everyone could do their best at getting the spirits to come with you, that would be great.  I know they have free will, but try to remember that they don't know they have free will.  Basically, don't give up so easily if they give you problems.  It's too much paperwork, anyway.  And now we're being threatened with quotas!  I know none of us want that.  So, please, folks, let's all work together on this."  The Team Leader shuffles a few papers, then runs his long, boney finger down the page.   "What's he talking about, Frank?", Rob asks in befuddlement.   "Well, you see, even though your dead, you still have free will.  Technicall,  you don't have to go with us. We have always made it seem like you have no choice, but that's really just to make it easier on us."  Frank muffles a laugh.  "And to make the boss men happy. But, some souls put up a fight, and that's where your 'ghost' comes in."  Rob's face glazes over.  Frank continued, "Alright...so, for some people, it's really hard for them to leave their loved ones.  Or maybe they have some sort of unfinished business so they refuse to come with us.  Instead, they end of wandering the world as a detached entity, or rather, a ghost.  Eventually, most end up calling on us after they feel that their loved ones are fine, or that unfinished business they were so concerned about finally gets taken care of.  For instance,  there are the ones that have been killed at the hands of their fellow man.  Once their murderer is caught or killed, they usually seem to be able to rest in peace and take their judgment.  Unfortunately, though, there are some that don't.  They stay on Earth, eventually becoming evil.  They start getting jeolous of the living and become violent.  They'll try to possess people."  Frank shakes his head, a little in disgust but mostly with sadness.   "You see, there are demons and angels, but known of them are allowed on Earth. Only us-the Grims- and the Almighty Big Cheese himself.  That's it.  So really, that demon-possession stuff is really just a pissed off spirt that's refused to be judged and is trying to find a way back to the living.  It's fucked up, right?!  Man, your kind will do anything to stay on Earth.  Oh, shit!"  Frank exclaimes.  "We've missed, like, half of the meeting!  We better start paying attention."   The speaker raises his voice a little. "And for the love of that man right over there..."  Frank glances over in the direction of the speaker's gesture.  "Is that God?  Holy shit!  It is!!  He never comes to these things  Check this- I'll see if we can talk to him after the meeting...ya know, throw a good word in for ya."  The Grim throws Campbell a wink.  Speaker- "Ok, ok...calm down, folks."  God clicks his cheeks and points his finger to th crowled.  The crowd starts hooting again.  God bows his head slightly, a sly smile on his lips and says, "What can I say?  I'm the shit."  The speaker sighs, waits for the cheers to subside.  "Ok, then, back to business, Boys.  As I was saying, I know all of you are overloaded as it is, but please, do your best to get the spirits before they die or at the least, right at the time of death."   "Why is that so important?" Rob asks.   "If we are too late the spirit doesn't really know they're dead, which brings us back to the ghost thing.  Have you heard of the different kinds of hauntings?"  "Yeah, I have.  I was kinda into that sort of stuff."  "Oh, cool.  Then you know what a residual haunting is, right?"  "Yeah."  Rob was actually starting to perk up, finally.  "It's where the ghost does the same thing at the same time, over and over.  Like, every day."  "Yep, you got it, buddy.  So these poor bastards...if we don't get to 'em in time, they get stuck and end up repeating the last moment that they remember.  Like, what they were thinking right before they died or whatever and get stuck there.  And they don't become mean because they don't know they're dead. They're the hardest ones to get to cross over.  So hard, even, that once they get stuck in that loop, we have a special Grim that gets appointed the case.   "And that concludes our meeting for Union 013.  Thank you, Gentlemen, for coming."   Frank nudges Rob, "Let's go talk to the Big Guy."  Rob follows the Grim over to where God was sitting behind the podium.  "Hey, you old son-of-a-gun!  Or should i say 'Gaylord Olda Dern'?  Hahaha!"  "You can stop right there, Frank." God says, holding up his hand in mock-protest.   "Haha!  I love messing with this guy!  Ok, Rob, like, we call him God 'cuz those are his  initials and he hates his real name.  That's why people also call him 'Lord'.  It's just the abbreviation of Gaylord."  Rob is still just staring at God, mouth slightly gaped.   "So, where's that bastard son of your's ?" Frank says, giving God a slight jab in the arm.  "Let me guess...back on Earth just hanging around."  Hahaha!  God roles his eyes and gives a slight huff.  "Man, don't get me started with that kid!  I have no clue where he is most of the time!  You know how he likes doing that disappearing act of his. Get's all kinds of attention when he's a kid and then poof!  Becomes antisocial for thirty years, resurfaces and is all like- "Look at me! Look what I can do!"- That boy, I swear!"  God's clearly exasperated.  Frank turns to Rob.  "So, I'm sure you know about Mary and the virgin birth, right?  Well, that wasn't really what God, here, intended it to be."  Frank lowers his head and starts chuckling.  He continues, "Oh man, this shit is funny! Ok, ok...so God goes down to Earth and starts spitting game to Mary, right?  He's all like, 'I'm the Almighty being, the creator of the stars and the universe...' Hehehe." Frank puts his hand to his mouth and whispers, "If you couldn't tell by the Bible, He kinda has an ego and shit." Rob just looks at him.  Frank nods over at God, "So anyway, He and Mary start talking all dirty.  She's all naked, rolling in the hay, talking some nasty perv shit  back to God, and he's all like, 'damn, girl' because she's a virgin.  So, He's gettin' all hot and bothered.  Starts priming his piece from across the room just from the way she's been talking to Him.  Then, all of the sudden there's a big BANG!  And it goes off prematurely.  A hole in one from across the room, like some Arnold Palmer shit!  Frank's doubled-over in laughter at this point.  Through snorts, he says, "God gets so damn embarrased that he's like, 'Oh, hey, yeah, sorry about that.  So.....I gotta go.  Peter just sent me a message...Morning Star is starting some shit, so I gotta split.'  Um, so I'll, like, set a bush on fire or something to get ahold of you.'  And poof!  He disappeared!  Whatdaya know...nine months later and here's Jesus!  Oh, man!  That was so great!  I love telling that story.  God just shakes his head at Frank, who asks, "So, what's that son of your's going by these days? If I can remember correctly, it's been Krisha, Mithra, Jeshua...that boy could never make up his mind.  Haha."  Frank shakes God's hand, says, "Alright, Gaylord.  We gotta get back to work...Unlike some of us."  He grins and gives a little ahem.  "I'll talk at you later, my Dude.  Oh and do me a solid, would ya?  Take it easy on Rob, here, when I bring him up.  He's a pretty cool dude."  He gives Rob a nudge.  God smiles at Rob.  "Yeah, I'd say...if he's had to hang around you all day, listening to all your shit, Frank!" Hahaha.  "Good one, God...go eat a bag of dicks.  Ok Rob, let's hit the bricks, Bud.  "So dude, I'm going to go in here and do my thing.  You wait out here.  Hopefully, it won't take long."  Thirty minutes later,  Grim walks out.  "Sorry man.  Took a little longer than I thought.  But anyway, Rob, this is Doris.  She's going to tag along with us, too.  I only have a few more stops to go.  "Oh, shit.  This next dude is a bad fucker. Um, if you here screaming and shit, pay it know mind."  Grim opens the door and walks in. All of a sudden, Rob and Doris hear screaming and begging, then, a really loud roar-like growl.  More screaming.  Finally, silence. Grim opens the door again.  "He was a bad dude.  He had to pay. I took him straight to judgement, but not before I had my fun. Fucking child molestor-piece of shit.  "Ok, I'm going to pick up a few more souls. Man, Peter hates when I bring a group to him."  He chuckled.  "When this is all you do every day for hundreds of years, you gotta have fun with your co workers, right?  I know it's kinda dick, what I'm about to do, but hey! It's funny to me!", he busts out laughing.   Regaining composer, "Ok.  Let me do a head count here.  Fifteen.  Ok, cool.  Didn't lose anyone."  Pointing a finger upwards, he says, "It's time to head up to them Pearly Gates for all of you to receive your judgements, and, of course, for you guys to meet the biggest Peter of them all!"  Frank snickers and lets out a snort.  "If you could just head through that door over there and take a seat, please. Thanks."  "Hey." Grim says as Rob slowly walks past him towards the door.  "I had a blast with you today.  I really hope you get some good news.  Come on...I'll walk in with you."  "God damn it, Frank!", exclaims Peter.  "What have I told you about collecting so many?  One at a time, you dick.  It's Friday and almost time for me to get off.  I have a date for  the movies with Shiva.  Oh, man...all those arms!  Can you imagine?"  "Chill, man.  You know I have to fuck with ya, Petey-boy."  "I hate you, Frank."  "Oh, but I love you!"  Grim puts a hand on Rob's shoulder.  "Well, Rob, take it easy, my dude."  He turns to Peter and says, "Take it easy on my boy here, Peter."  "Shit, if he's had to deal with you all day, then that should be a gold pass straight through!"  Peter chuckles.   "Whatever, Dick nose."  Then the Grim shakes his head and says, "Damn!  That's twice today I've been told that."  He lets out a laugh and turns to Rob.  "Hopefully for your sake they mean it.  "Ok, my dude."  He shakes Rob's hand.  "I better see some wings on you and not horns."  All of a sudden there's a loud voice behind the door. Frank turns his head.  "Oh, shit!"  He walks out the door.  As it shuts behind him, Rob hears Frank exclaim, "What's up, Dick nose?!" 

[melyaliz]

It’s Britney Bitch

Summary: The Story of how Jennifer and Dick went to see Britney in Vegas. 

Pairing: Dick x OC 

Notes: So many ideas for this... it’s a bit choppy but was WAY too much fun to write. Dick’s love for Britney is inspired by my best friend who will fight you if you look at Britney wrong. 

Maia @royslittleharper

Annabella @the-shadow-of-atlantis

Tagging: @guns-n-lilies @coffee-randomness @daisyboobear @werewitchling @nightwing-rules

Sometimes being a hero was just too much. While Dick was normally good at compartmentalizing his lives some days it was just too much. One small slip up, one civilian lost and it would all come crashing down on the boy.

 Today was one of those days.

 Dick lay on his bed just staring at the ceiling letting the events of the past week play out in his head. Over and over again. Lost in a circle of “what ifs”

 The sound of music a the knock on his door suddenly broke the cycle.

 “Go away” he yelled

 He was answered by another knock. Sighing he pulled himself up walking toward the door.

 “I’m not in the moo..” his words were cut off by Jen throwing a fuzzy pink boa around his neck pulling him into the hallway. His sister Annabella holding up a jukebox blasting Britney Spears.

 “Come Dance!” Jen sang twirling around pulling him toward the stairs. He couldn’t help but laugh at their ridiculousness as he let them lead him down to the living room where the speakers blasted his favorite's from the pop star.

 A few hours later Bruce found them sprawled out on the couch. Annabella’s head resting in Jennifer’s lap asleep while Dick and Jen watched Britney's music video “Baby One More Time”. Dick explaining all the work that was put into the production his hand gently playing with Jen’s as she giggled at his excitement of the performance.

 “She’s a true entertainer.”

 “Yep.”

 ----

 Jen let out a long breath as she bent down over her feet on her Yoga mat. Slowly she moved from a downward dog to a Warrior slowly breathing. Deep breaths, in and out, trying to clear her head as her phone buzzed. Dick frantically trying to explain himself and why did had not told her about Jason’s resurrection.

 But she wasn’t having it. Not today.

 Let him stew in his dishonesty.

 Jerk.

 Suddenly she heard her doorbell buzz and the sound of a beat she couldn't quite place. Frowning, confused, she stood walking toward the door, the beat getting louder. 

 Opening the door she was greeted by Dick holding up his cellphone blasting Britney, the pink fuzzy boa around his neck. He threw it around her before taking a step in.

 “Dick I’m still mad…”

 “Shhhhh,” he said shutting the door. “Just dance with me,” he added before pulling her toward the living room by the boa that was around her neck. She couldn't help but crack a smile as he sang the words to their favorite song “Circus”.

 -----

 "So Dick's birthday is in a month..." Faith said as she stretched before their practice session. Damian frowned from his place next to the punching bag.

"tt, So?"

 "I just have a great idea for a gift.”

 “You?” Damian said, “what are you going to get him? A box of ice cream?”

 “Ohhhh something so good I will become his favorite and he will ask me to be the next Robin.”

 Damian froze studying her, sometimes he had a hard time reading his cousin. While she was always saying outlandish things which he had learned to discredit, there was always those few that held some grains of truth to them. He knew she would never be Grayson’s favorite, but the thought didn’t sit well with him.

 “First off, am the heir to Batman and I could get Grayson a better gift in my sleep.”

 “Wana bet?”

 Tim sighed watching them. He knew Faith well enough to know she had an ulterior motive. Whenever she got that look in her eye she was scheming. Damian hadn’t been with them long enough or cared enough to really notice when Faith was up to no good.

 “If I win you have to be MY sidekick for a week.”

 “And if I win I get to be Robin for a week.”

 “You’re on!”

 Of course, everyone wanted to get in on the bet. Annabella joking that the idea of being Robin for a week was too tempting to pass up. Stephanie saying she already had the costume while Gigi really just wanted to be “part of the Bat-fam”

 Dick had never gotten so many gifts for his birthday.

 Stephanie found him the box of the iconic Wheaties with Nightwing’s face on them.

 Annabella had a remade Dick’s first costume “I fixed it, after all, I was the one who burned it last time” she said as he laughed looking it over.

 Tim and updated his suite with some amazing new features.

 Gigi got him a book with all the best Nightwing tweets. Several included the trending hashtags #nightbooty and #bestbatbooty. Maia may have stolen it to read a few out loud.

 Faith gave him a mini figure of Nightwing keyring. “For your belt” she giggled “he can have your back.”

 Damian couldn’t help but snicker as he proudly presented him with a katana from Japan, a one of the kind apparently. And better than anything else, especially a stupid little keychain which he didn’t fail to point out to Faith.

 “He can put little-wing on the hilt!” Faith cooed looking over the blade.

 “Don’t you dare!” Damian said glaring at the brunette who flashed him a sweet smile while Tim pried the blade from her hands concerned what the smaller boy would do to his girlfriend. The younger Wayne was about to add something else but Dick’s laughs cut him off.

 “Maia, what are these?” he asked holding up a pair of booty shorts with “Britney Bitch” written in pink rhinestones on the butt.

 “Open mine.” Jennifer said handing him an envelope, “and all will become clear.”

 Everyone fell silent as Dick opened the card quietly reading it then pulling out two tickets, his eyes growing wide. “No” he gasped holding them up.

 “Yep,” the older O’Neal sister said a huge smile on her face, “Two front row tickets to see Britney’s Vegas show opening day.”

 “OHHH!!!” Annabella squealed, “I get to do costumes!”

 “Take tons of pictures!” Gigi added, “I want to have tweets and everything!”

 “I’m so jealous” Maia cried, “I tried to get Jen to let me go instead of her!”

 “No way!” Jen laughed, “I am not missing this for the world.”

 --------

 "Hey Jen, can you just help me with this body glit..." Dick's voice cut off as all thoughts left him as Jennifer walked out.

 "That bad?" She giggled as he stood there mouth agape taking her in her "Slave for You" outfit complete with a stuffed animal boa constrictor. Slowly his expression grew to a lopsided goofy grin as he let out a low chuckle. 

 "You look amazing, Annabella knows her stuff."

 Jennifer giggled twirling around letting the beads and lace around her hips sparkle. “Right?” taking a step closer to him. Dick felt his heart pick up feeling slightly like a teenager again as he watched her, “now come here so I can bedazzle you”

 “Of course,” he said shivering slightly at her touch. They both may have already had a few drinks with dinner and a few more while getting ready. Which is what he choked up his nerves too. Just the alcohol.

 Nothing else.

 The concert hall was already packed by the time they go there. Of course, they had to take pictures and then stop to take a few more with other fans. A Bachelor party was so in love with their outfits that they ended up buying them drinks. One of the guys informing Dick that “if he wasn’t taken he would be tonight.” Jennifer was doubled over laughing so hard as Dick sat on the groom-to-be’s lap.

 “Just don’t tell my hubby,” the man said laughing.   

 “You guys are just too cute!” one of the girls in the group said taking a few more pictures, “You need to party with us all night!”

 Which they did. Drink and more drinks with a million more pictures before Britney came descending down like an angel from heaven. Quite literally in white feathers and all.

 Song after song while they sang at the top of their lungs dancing along with the beat.

 The music swelled and Dick couldn't help but admire the way Jen looked in the glow of flashing multi-colored lights laughing and dancing along with the beat. Sure he still had feelings for her, almost 10 years later. But he was grateful because they had something stronger than sexual attraction. They had a friendship. Something that had been tested by everything. From a failed relationship both togeather and separately. Fights, disappearances, and even deaths. Yet here they were, like old times, just enjoying the silly things in life together. Experiencing the world with both arms open.

 And he as grateful they were fri...

 "Happy birthday" her voice cut off his musings mid thought. Her bright eyes looking up at him as they glowed in the light of the music. Beautiful blue almost magical. Her smile, the smile that seemed to emanate from her very body, that smile that would make him weak in the knees. That smile that he would do anything to see.

 Who was he kidding? He was in love with her, he would be until his dying breath.

 Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was the magic of Britney, but suddenly all his resolve was gone. That small thin thread of friendship he had been clinging too disappeared with the smoke that filled the air as he leaned forward kissing her.

 And to his pure delight, she kissed him back.

 He must have been dreaming, there was no way this was real. Yet here they were, and God did she taste amazing.

 Pulling away he found himself lost in those blue beautiful eyes totally forgetting where he was. Not even the power of Britney Spears herself could bring him back from the heaven he had been pulled into.

 "Wana get out of here?" He asked, more of a plea than a question. She nodded slipping her hand into his.

 He had never run so fast in his life.

 Pulling her with him hearing her laughs ringing in his ears as they darted around other guests of the hotel. A laugh that was more beautiful than any other sound in the world. God, it took all his self-control to not take her right there in the middle of the Planet Hollywood.

 They were in the room moments later as he pulled her into another kiss. Hands desperately moving over at her outfit (or lack there of), her hair, her skin. Anything and everything. Just to feel her, taste her, just to get her as close to him as possible.

 They landed on his bed her looking up at him with those beautiful blue eyes as he undid her bra-let.

 "Are you sure you want this?" She whispered doubts filling her eyes as she studied him. He felt himself melt seeing her under him for the first time in a long time so vulnerable. If it had been anyone else he would have taken this as a cue to slow down but he knew Jen. She was a clear communicator even more so when drunk. "because I don't know if I can promise anything later and..."

 Gently he leaned  down kissing her, "I want this more than you will ever know"

 -------

 "I won" Faith sang skipping down the Batcave holding out her phone. Damian scowled as he walked up to the girl who stood smugly holding up her phone.

 "You gave him a keychain, I had a katana"

 "Oh silly, that was simply a division, " Faith said showing the others her phone.

 "What... is that GRAYSON?"

 Stephanie giggled leaning forward to look at the pictures Faith was showing them, "man they look amazing" There was a picture of Dick dressed up in his Circus outfit complete with top hat and open tux jacket. Body glitter over his face and bare chest.

 There were a few of Jen in her outfit kissing her snake.

 Another picture showed Dick holding Jen's hand up as he spun her around.

 “Who took these pictures?” Tim asked

 “I have my ways.” Faith giggled before swiping to another photo.

 One of the everyone’s favorite non-couple (after Maia and Roy) kissing under the flashing colored lights.

 "Jen's the one who got him those tickets" Damian mumbled going back to the mat unconvinced of how this was Faith’s gift.

 "That's what they think... but where do you think she got the idea? Who do you think casually mentioned it to Annabella what their outfits should be? Who do you think kept saying what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas? And who knew put in the right situation those two would finally get over it?" Faith said sweeping her hands open as she revealed her master plan. Tim laughed shaking his head

 "You really are a little puppet master."

 “I mean… it’s Britney Bitch” Faith giggled, “Anything can happen.”

[tavrosnitram12]

HalBarry- We’ll Meet Again

((this was based off a HalBarry rp I did where i literally changed my name on Chatzy to ‘little Hal Jordan’ and Barry went awwwwwwww.... Also I am some what going with time period from the horrid GL 2011 movie))

Summer-1993 

Even two months after his father’s death, Hal Jordan was still not used to the fact that his father died in a plane accident. The young 13 yr old brunette had turned into sort of a teenage angst kid. Never listening to his mom. His grades started dropping. It was almost as like loosing his father, who Hal looked up to, was his role model. In fact, it was his dream to become a pilot like his dad. Now that dream was slowly fading, until the day he met.......him. 

His mother, saw that change in him and decided it was best for her and the boys to take time away from their home in Coast City. Walking into the hotel in Central City, Hal with his hand stuffed in his father’s jacket, which he wore everyday, and lugging his suitcase around like it was bag of rocks he was carrying. Sighing at the fact that this was suppose to be a ‘family get away trip’ but in reality it was a trip for Hal to feel better, which didn’t really help. 

“Stop it!” Jim cried as his older brother Jack was picking on him. “MOM!” 

Their mom, who was standing at the front desk checking in, told the lady hold on a minute. “Hal honey can you stop your brothers from hurting each other?” She gave him a quick glance. 

At first he didn’t want to but his mom’s ‘go do it for me’ look was getting to him. “fine.” 

“thank you dear.” Then she went back to checking in. 

Hal slugged his way over to where his brothers were in the sitting area seeing Jack was running around playing keep away and being chased by Jim. “Give it back it’s mine!” 

Jack was holding a Green Lantern figurine that their dad had given Jim. “um....No.” Jack stated. “here Hal think fast.” 

He quickly caught the figurine studying the design of it carefully before Jim snatched it from his hand then running over to his mom. Hal looked up at his brother who gave him an expression that meant ‘really?’

His older brother crossed his arms. “Keep away means don’t let him have it back,” he said walking over to his mother nudging Hal’s shoulder as he passed him. 

Hal shrugged but he couldn’t stop thinking about the figurine. He remembered when Jim got it from his dad a couple of years ago for his birthday. It had been his father’s toy growing up because Green Lantern was the protector of Earth and was his favorite superhero. Still thinking about it as he made his way following his family to the room on the 2nd floor. 

After throwing his stuff onto his claimed bed he sat there holding his father’s air force dog tag. “Something the matter, Hal?” he mother asked as she  came into the living room ((suite style hotel room)). 

He snapped out of it. “yeah.....” he said a little bit plainly looking up to meet his mother’s gaze. 

“oh alright,” she said smiling. “so Jack and I have agreed on sleeping arrangements.”

Hal put his head back down thinking as his mother told him that he was gonna sleep on the sofa bed with Jim and  she and Jack was sleeping in the twin beds in the bedroom. He didn’t mind sharing a bed with his brother but what bugged him was no on was noticing his emotional pain. It was weird, being on vacation with out his dad showing him cool things. The fact of him not here was just too much that at any given moment Hal could explode in tears but he remembered his father telling him something night before his plane crashed. The words “It’s my job not to be scared” haunted him, but at the same time he was scared. 

“Hal honey are you listening?” he mother kept repeating. “Hal?”

He balled his fists and looked up at his mom. “How can we be on vacation!” 

His mother raised an eyebrow and his brothers looked at Hal. All three wondering why the sudden outburst. “Hal calm down.” 

“yeah Hal what’s the big deal?” Jack said making his way over to sit next to him. “its just a vacation, bro.”

Hal looked at them with this frustrated look on his face. “no its not just a vacation!” 

“what are you saying Hal?” his mother asked trying to calm him down. 

He stood up frustrated and making a fist with his hands. “How can it be a vacation without dad!” glaring at everyone, who were still in shocked by his frustration. 

No answer from them. 

“How can we have a vacation and have fun without dad!” he continued to rant. 

“Now Hal i understand that you are still upset and so are we.” His mother calmly putting a hand on his shoulder to calm him down. “But we-”

She was immediately cut off by Hal who threw her hand off his shoulder and his mom was offended that he even do that. “No you don’t get it! You all act like dad’s death is just something that we can forget and go on vacation for!” 

His mother crossed his arms and told the other two boys to go into the bedroom and wait. After watching them leave and hearing the sound of Scooby Do Where Are You? turn on she immediately turn her gaze back to Hal who was staring at her. 

“Hal I don’t know where this is coming from but it needs to stop,” she told him in a serious tone that meant trouble if he didn’t stop. 

He didn’t stop, however, instead Hal kept on ranting with his mother getting more frustrated and irritated by every word that came from the thirteen year old’s mouth. Eventually, Hal took off leaving his mother flabbergasted and appalled that he would take off like that. She picked up the phone, but then deciding that he would come back after cooling off. Putting the receiver back down and walking into the bedroom sighing as she fell back into the chair just in time to listen to the Scooby Doo gang to reveal the villain. Jim, being an 9 year old, saw how upset his mom was and immediately responded with giving her hug. 

“Mom is Hal going to be alright?” he asked burying his face into her shirt. 

She sighed. “I think so he just need to cool off, but he’ll be back.” She kissed his head and all three of them continued to watch the Scooby Doo marathon. 

Hal walked down the sidewalk of the unfamiliar city of Central listening to his walkman CD player with his hands stuffed in his jacket. Looking at the ground as he walked kicking a beer can onto the street wondering if he should go back and apology. Shaking his head and coming to the conclusion of they just don’t understand his pain. He loved his father. He was the coolest dad ever. His father always let him skip school to let him watch him pilot and he always gave him model airplanes when ever he piloted a new plane. He missed him so much. Sighing at what his dad looked like, he accidentally bumped into some one. Falling back a little and looking up at the stranger as he rubbed his head.mumbling the word ow.

“You okay?” the stranger asked in a voice that was almost music but nerd like. In the dim light of the street lamp, Hal cold make out the features of the man’s face. His blue eyes reminded him of a clear sky. 

“yeah I am fine,” he said regaining his posture. Hal was beginning to notice the blonde stranger staring at him which made him feel uncomfortable. Oh god what if it was weirdo child catcher? He hoped not. Hal looked up and down him as he continued to stare. “well Mister I gotta go.” 

He quickly walked past him, and seeing that the stranger was still watching him. Hal made a B-line by running to the corner where he got one last look at the stranger. 

“what a weirdo.” 

He started walking again and looking over his shoulder to see if he was being followed which he wasn’t. But by doing so, he was unaware of some one grabbing him in front. The arm quickly grabbed him pulling him into the ally way by surprise. 

“HEY LET GO OF ME!” he hoped it wasn’t the blonde weirdo from before. Turning his head and completely terrified he thanked the god because it wasn’t the other person. Instead it was a grungy looking man with a bandanna around his head and tattoo of a lady with a name on it. Must be a lover or an ex-girlfriend. 

“come on kid stop whining or we’ll have to gag you,” another man said coming from the shadows behind the dumpster. 

“NO LET ME GO. HELP ME! SOME ONE HELP!” he cried just before being his mouth was covered by one of their hands. 

“Shut up kid!” 

The blonde stranger, who was not too far away, heard the cry for help. Barry immediately ran to the cry for help and was appalled that some one would try to kidnap an innocent kid. Although, him being part of the CCPD, he’d seen it all the time. The speedster’s usual instinct would be to put on the scarlet spandex suit and go Flash mode but he considered that fact that this was not his time zone and that he didn’t want another Flash in 1993. No instead he went with the old fashion way. Punching the thug, who was trying to keep Hal from getting away, square in the jaw sending him flying back into a pile of boxes. At that moment, Hal bit the hand covering his mouth and immediately fell to the ground, while Barry send him flying into the dumpster. 

Hal layed on the ground a little scrape on his hand from hitting the pavement and watching the stranger beat the thugs up. At the end, the thugs ran away and hoping that the Flash wouldn’t catch them next. 

“Yeah you better run!” Barry yelled almost pleased with himself for taking care of them with out super speed. He smirked and then noticed the kid on the ground. kneeling beside him and giving him a friendly smile to let him know he wasn’t gonna hurt him. “You alright there, kid?”

He swallowed thickly and nodded. “I think so.” looking at his scraped hands and then looking at the blonde stranger who know looked familiar. 

“good,” he said. There was that stare again and Hal felt uncomfortable. 

“um....Thank you,” he said getting up and dusting himself off. “Well....I have to go.”

Barry looked at him wide eyed. “Kid i am not gonna let you just go walking by yourself after what happened.” he said a little obligated to make sure he got home safely. 

Hal crossed his arms and glared. “First off I am a teenager and my name is not ‘kid’ it’s Hal.” he stated. “And second, I can take care of myself.” 

Barry finally realized why he was staring, this was Hal. Hal Jordan. His boyfriend. His 37 year old boyfriend. oh God this was awkward but he knew that he couldn’t hint about being from the future. “listen Hal. I am sure you can take care of yourself, but this is a dangerous part of Central City. I am not about to let a kid or teenager or anyone get hurt by people. you understand?”

He sighed. “I guess so.” At the moment, he didn’t realize he had forgotten about dinner. 

Barry smiled and patted Hal’s back just before hearing his stomach growl. “You okay with me buying you dinner?” he asked hoping, Hal wouldn’t see this as some threat. 

“sure since I don’t wanna go home.” he shrugged. 

“alright then.” 

Together, they started making their way back towards the sidewalk. Barry knew this part of town from having arrested criminals as the Scarlet Speedster plenty of times to know that a diner was not too far. He didn’t bother to ask if Hal liked hamburgers from having multiple dates with him it was like hamburgers were Hal’s favorite meal. They walked side by side in silence until Hal looked up at him trying to figure out why he saved him and who he was. 

“So you have name?” Hal asked kicking the same can again but this time into the sewer. 

hm. Barry looked down at him and saw Hal’s brown eyes clearly in the light of the lamp. “Barry.” he said. “Barry Allen.” 

Hal stopped for moment and pondered where he heard the name Allen from before walking into the diner. The older man, grabbed a booth. Hal sat across from and him and they were immediately greeted by the waitress. They both began looking over the menu but Barry already knew what he wanted so he put the menu down on the table. After ordering, Barry began to question Hal.

 “so what were you doing out here by yourself anyways, Hal?” he asked taking a sip of his rootbeer, which had a different taste than the rootbeer from his time period. 

he looked up as he slurped his chocolate milkshake. “oh no reason.” 

Barry always could tell when Hal lied from the slight smile and his small dimples appearing  when he did lie. He still found it cute even if Hal was 13 years old. “Hal  I am not an idiot so come on tell me what you were up to.” Barry glared a little which always worked on future Hal. 

The glare was hard to resist and so he sighed putting his milkshake glass on the table. “I needed to get away from my obnoxious family, okay.” he started to get irritated again.

“Why? What happened?” Barry asked when the waitress put their hamburgers on the table in front of them. 

The teen, automatically started eating the hamburger savoring the juciness of the meat. It was the best thing he’d ever eaten and he gave no answer to Barry’s question. 

“Barry is it,” he said swallowing the meat putting the burger down to take another sip of milkshake. “Who are you anyways? Because you look familiar.” 

Barry wondered how he could look familiar to Hal when they won’t meet for another several years at Mount Justice. He raised an eyebrow as he ate quickly due to his increased appetite. 

“why do you say that? We never met.” 

“well I don’t know...” Hal finished his burger and moved onto dipping fries in the ketchup. Eating the french fries as he thought. Barry looking at him quite intrigued as to where Hal had seen him before. “I know where I’ve heard your name.”

He looked up taking another sip of the soft drink.

“I remember watching the Coast City Channel 4 Action news with my dad,” he started to say and eating another french fry. “There was a news report about a doctor.....oh I can’t remember his name.” He thought hard trying to remember.

“Was his name Henry Allen?” Barry asked a little surprised that Hal put that together quickly but then again Hal wasn’t stupid either. 

“Yeah it was,” he said. “Is Henry a relative of yours?” 

They bother finished their meal and were leaning back to digest the food they ate. Barry couldn’t wait to get back to his Hal Jordan and have a nice juicy hamburger with him. The blonde looked at Hal. “um.....distant cousin.” 

Yeah distant cousin let’s go with that. Hal will believe that. 

“oh.” was Hal’s response. 

The waitress came bringing them the check and clearing the table. She joked at how quickly, the teenager ate. “Your son has quite an appetite,” she smiled. 

. “um yeah.”  Barry giggled a little. 

After she left, they both laughed so hard at her comment of Hal being Barry’s son. Then Hal gasped and began to frantically look at his chest. 

“what is something wrong?” Barry said looking up from looking over the check. 

No answer. Hal got up in heart beat and started searching around the table. “It’s gone.” he kept repeating and Barry repeating his answer of ‘what’s gone?’

Before anyone could realize it, Hal was running out the door back towards the ally way. “Hey wait Hal!” 

Barry quickly payed and then ran after him trying not to used superspeed but ended up using it anyways. Luckily vine and snapchat hadn’t been invented yet so no one could record a a blonde flash running by. Back in the ally way, Hal was searching in the dark for his necklace. 

“oh come on where is it.” he said on his hands in knees searching. 

The scarlet speedster made it to the ally in less in a second. “Hal what are you searching for?” he asked walking over to him and kneeling on the ground next to him.

“My dad’s necklace it must’ve fallen off when I was trying to get away,” he said searching near the dumpster where he fell. 

Barry stood up again and was going to regret doing this. He pulled his iphone out and turned the flashlight on. It’s bright light, scared Hal a little. “use this.” handing him the phone which Hal looked at carefully trying to understand what it was.

“is this a cell phone?” he asked never seeing one like this. Snapping out of it and using it to find his necklace. 

Barry stood there watching and remembering the story about Hal’s father dying in the plane crash and he understood why the dog tags were important to him. Even in the future, Hal wore dog tags. One for his current membership to the Airforce and the other is the one his father wore. He never took it off. Not even for showers. Understand, what Hal was going through, he didn’t question the importance as he watched. 

“Ha found it,” he happily said standing up with the Iphone in one hand as he put the necklace back around his neck. 

He then tried to figure out how to turn the light off by pushing the button at the bottom of the phone. The lock screen showed a picture of Barry kissing a man who looked like Hal except older. The brunette had the same hair color. Same eyes. same skin tone and same..........dog tags. He stood there staring at the look alike of himself and Barry wishing he hadn’t given him the phone because now he had to explain. This was not going to be easy. 

Hal handed it back to him. “who is that on the screen with you?” he asked looking Barry directly at him with the same look that he gets from future Hal when he wants something. This look was not something you could escape from.

Barry sighed after Hal really started to glare at him. “He’s my boyfriend.” 

He raised an eyebrow. “okay but why does he look like me and has my dog tags?” 

oh great here it comes. He really hope this won’t change the future anymore than what Barry had done from going back in time before. “Because he’s you.....” Barry pursed his lips waiting to hear some big reaction from the younger Hal Jordan. 

Instead of exploding with a million batrillion questions Hal simply remained calm. “Are you saying that you’re from the future?” he asked trying to make sense of things. 

Barry nodded. “yeah....” he was surprised by the kid’s calmness. Most people would be bamboozled by meeting some one from the future but then again Hal was always calm about things. He would have to be since he would become apart of a secret Alien organization from outer space known as the Green Lantern Corps. 

Hal really didn’t ask anymore questions other than. “How come you didn’t make me go home?” 

Barry knelt on the pavement putting a hand on Hal’s chocolate brown hair. “because I know exactly what you’re going through.” smiling at him. 

“You do?” he asked tilting his head as he looked at him. 

“course....” Just then Barry Allen started to fade into a portal that opened behind him which was vibing him back into his own time. 

“wait don’t leave...” Hal cried out to him. 

“Hey don’t worry we’ll meet again,” he said. “just remember that what you’re going through is when you need family and friends most. losing some one dear to you is not easy but casting away the ones who are here is more difficult because they are the ones who love you. Your dad is still here in your heart Hal.” 

Then he was gone like that leaving Hal alone to think about and with that he smiled for the first time in months. “Thank you Barry,” he said still smiling. 

The smiling teen started walking back to the hotel and up ahead were  flashing lights of blue and red. He ran across the street join the crowd of people. once he was among the spectators watching a man being arrested and a body bag being carried out, he put it all the together and thought best to not ask what happened. As he left he saw, blonde boy sitting on the back of the ambulance truck crying with a blanket around him. Hal felt bad and walked over to him putting a hand on his knee. 

“its okay,” he said trying to cheer him up. 

The boy looked up with tear filled blue as that reminded Hal of the sky.  He didn’t say anything and watch the brunette sit beside him on the edge of the truck. 

“I lost some one too recently.” clutching the dog tags that hung around his neck and looking up at the stars. 

“you did?” he asked shivering through his crying. 

“Yeah I did,” he said. “but who ever you lost they are still with you.” pointing to the other kid’s heart. “they’re in your heart.” 

At that the blonde kid smiled a little at his words and started to calm down. “My name is Barry.” wiping his tears away with the back of his hand. 

“I’m Hal.”

Present Day. Summer 2017

Hal was eating left over Chinese food and drinking a beer when Barry came home. The Scarlet speedster was dressed in the same clothes from yesterday but that never bothered Hal. As soon as Hal saw him, he immediately swooped his boyfriend into a hug. Hugging him as if he had just came home from a long vacation to god knows where. 

Barry hugged back enjoying the hug and but surprised by it. “Great to see you, honey.” he patted the taller brunette’s head before breaking the hug. Nothing changed? good. Barry sighed in relief. 

He smirked and kissed Barry who gladly kissed back. 

“Barry?” he said putting his arms around his boyfriend and looking into the other’s blue eyes with his brown eyes. 

“hm?” Barry leaned his head against Hal’s chest embracing the warmth of his body. 

“I never thanked you for the burger you bought me....” he said which the thought just came out of no where. 

The blonde speedster looked up at him and just smiled at him before going back to lean on his chest. “You’re welcome Hal....”

“I am glad we met again.” 

“Me too.” 

The End 

((hope you all enjoyed that and the only thing that was changed by Barry going back in time was how he met Hal. Who knows why Barry went back in time. I will leave you to make up your own reason.))