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[into-crazy]

More to the Madness Pt. 13

Ledger!Joker x Female Reader series

Summary: Joker is arrested and thrown in a holding cell at the MCU. You carry out your own mission to be there for when he breaks out.

Warnings- Mature language, violence, crime, mentions of murder, incorporated elements from TDK, ages 18+

You can find the other parts RIGHT HERE and through the "More to the Madness" tag lovelies💞💞

It's only been a few hours since Joker's been captured and taken to the Major Crimes Unit. He had surrendered easily without so much as a fight. Jim Gordon, who was presumed to he dead, was the one responsible for arresting him. Out of all the possible scenarios that could have turned out, it went the way it was anticipated. J wanted to get caught.

He had to get inside and retrieve Lau, who's locked up in there good and tight. Joker had made a deal with the Mob that he'd get them Lau, since he is the one that knows where all of their money is being kept. The only way to do that was to get inside the MCU, where Lau was held and protected at.

You figure J's currently working on his plan of escape, and he has until a certain time. As of right now, both Harvey Dent and his "squeeze" Rachel Dawes are tied up at two separate locations. They are in rooms filled with oil drums that are rigged to explode through a timer. Joker has to take the attention away from him so he can easily escape with Lau. That was his getaway plan, but also a twisted game to play on Batman. And now, you have to do your part and be there when J breaks out.

The clock's ticking. There's no room for any breaks or errors. You are moving as quickly and accurately as you can with the limited amount of time that you have.

There are a handful of police officers and detectives over at the MCU that could easily be bribed. With a solid arrangement, they'll do just about anything for a large sum of money. Luckily, J's goons already had a customer lined up for you. Derek Turner, a police officer on the verge of losing his house due to gambling debts. Turner was desperate so he immediately took the bait.

It's late into the night, and you are on your way to meet up with Turner now. You're on your own for this one, but that's not going to be a problem. Slung over your shoulder is a medium sized duffel bag- filled with fifty thousand dollars in cash. The agreement is set for officer Turner to arrest you and bring you into the building, in addition to prividing you with explicit details about the situation of Joker's lockup. At least.. that is how the officer thought it was going to go down. The real plan is you're going to knock him unconscious and hijack his police cruiser. Then you're going to use it to discreetly pick up J and Lau at the station. The police scanner will also serve as a useful tool in signaling when you should move.

Deep in between the alley of two apartment buildings is where you're set to meet. When you arrive at the location, you carefully enter the alleyway. Trying not to be heard or seen just yet. First, you have to find a spot where you can set up your device that would distract officer Turner.

As you come up on a corner, you stealthily peek around it to see if you can spot him. Sure enough, you find him waiting. A few yards away, perched on the hood of his cruiser while smoking a cigarette. You retract from the junction and look for a place to set your gadget. There's a large dumpster bin against the wall close to the edge of that corner. Figuring that's a suitable spot, you pull out the device from the duffle bag, which is a little plastic kitchen timer. It may not seen like much, but it'll ring loud enough to grab the officer's attention in case you need it to. You crouch down slightly by the bin, turn the dial to eight minutes, and set it on the lid of the dumpster. If you can't find an opening of your own to knock him unconscious within that timespan, then this timer will give you that chance.

You take a deep breath, then turn the corner. Walking with heavy steps to get his attention. He notices your arrival and flicks the cig onto the dirty floor.

"It's about time!" Turner huffs in annoyance. "You're alone, right?"

You walk near him and stop when you're a couple meters from him. "Mhm, just me."

He waves his hands at your attire. "You are not what I was expecting to show up. It's a bit much. But whatever, fuck it. You got the money?"

"Right here." You pat the duffle bag before slinging it from your shoulder and tossing it in his direction.

He catches it, opening it up to confirm that there's cash inside. Rummaging through the stacks of bills. "It all here?"

"It's all there," you affirm. "Now are you all set for your end?"

The officer sucks air through his teeth. "Yeah.. about that. You see, the stakes are really high right now. So I'm gonna need a little more than this before I go through with it."

His demand for more money makes you scoff. This man is obviously very greedy.. and stupid. You roll your eyes at him. "The deal was fifty. You can't alter it."

Turner's eyes scan your body and he sucks his tongue before speaking. "Another fifty. Or I'll walk, sweetheart."

What an asshole. It takes everything in you to hold back from launching your throwing knives at his smug fucking face. Instead, you pretend to ponder on his ridiculous demand. "Look, I don't have time for this. Now you can either accept what we agreed upon and carry out your end, or you can walk away and lose your house. So what's is going to be?"

Turner scoffs at you, "it's like that, huh? Well how about I just shoot you and take the money anyway?"

Oh, he threatened you. You ball your fists and glare angrily at him. He had to threaten you. If he wants to play this game with you, then fine. You smirk at him, "alright sure, you can go ahead and do that. But you should probably consider your family, officer Turner. You'd have to worry about some of the Joker's other- not so nice- henchmen paying them a visit. And believe me when I tell you that you wouldn't want that to happen. So yeah, it's like that."

"Fucking bitch! What are yo-" He spits sharply at you before being cut off.

"2450 Acadia Street, right?" You state apathetically.

His eyes widen, and he nearly croaks at the abrupt mention of his home address.

It's true that you and a select few of J's crew knew personal details about this officer. But it wouldn't be your call to actually bring any kind of harm to this man's family. You only want him to think that. The thing is, you have to find a way to get this cop to let his guard down. Because he's been on high alert since you've got here. Keeping his hand in close reach of his firearm in case he feels the need to use it. So like it or not, you need to be patient and wait for the opportunity to make your move. No matter how badly you want to just get it over with right now, you don't want to give him a reason to start shooting at you first.

After thinking it through to himself, Turner sighs. "Shit. Alright then.. alright. I'll do it."

"Hm, smart choice." You couldn't help but think you sounded like J in that moment. He must be rubbing off on you. "Well then, everything good to go?"

He quickly zips up the duffle bag and throws it over his shoulder. "All set."

"Good. Hide the bag and let's move."

You make your way over as he pops the truck of the police cruiser, watching him stash the money in a hidden spot. He tells you that you'll need to remove all of your weapons before he takes you in. You nod in agreement and begin withdrawing your weapons. The entire time, you're thinking about how the timer should be going off soon. You toss both of your throwing knives into the truck and go for your gun.

At that moment, the timer finally goes off in the distance. The noise is loud as is rattles against the dumpster lid, the ringing echoing throughout the alley. It instantly catches the officer's attention and he turns his head to look in that direction.

He's distracted, now's your chance!

Flipping your gun over, you pistol whip the officer. Effectively knocking him out.

"Crooked cops." You mutter to yourself, recollecting your knives and placing them back in their slots.

After making sure the officer was going to be out for a while, you take his handcuffs and cuff his hands together. You drag his unconscious body towards the building, placing him against the wall. He was never going to get any of the money, you figured he'd probably blow through it gambling again anyways. You then hurriedly make it back to the police cruiser. Slamming the trunk before getting into the car and driving away.

~~

It's been almost an hour since you've sat here waiting. You are sitting in the police cruiser, parked about two blocks away from the MCU. So far, you've just been listening to the police scanner. Waiting for the signal to start moving. The longer you sit here, the more you think about how much farther you should've parked from the establishment. You worry that you might be too close to it. There's cops surrounding that place. You were smart enough to hide in a parking garage rather than parking on the street in plain sight. But still, you would very much like not getting caught.

Finally, you hear sirens going off in the distance. It sounds like a lot of them, too. You turn up the volume on the scanner and listen closely. Someone starts talking through the channel, you can easily make out that it's Jim Gordon's voice.

"All available units, converge at 250 52nd Street!"

That's your signal to move. Quickly, you turn on the car and exit the garage.

As you get closer to the MCU, you notice that there are no cops outside. Not in front of the building at least. There aren't any other police cruisers either, good thing you snagged this one. Most of the officers must have left with Gordon. Which works out wonderfully in your favor. You park directly across the street, then you duck your head and wait. If Joker is successful, then you know exactly what's going to come next.

Sure enough, a few moments later.. BOOM!

A massive explosion goes off inside the structure, bursting through all of the windows. You look up to see smoke and dust coming out from the broken windows.

"Oh shit!" You exclaim to yourself.

J did that. He really did that.

You pull the car up right in front of the building. That way, it's easier for J to see you when he comes out. If he does. You nervously tap your fingers on the steering wheel. That was a big explosion, you hope that J didn't get hurt by it. There is no movement that you can see inside. Your fingers continue tapping.

He is fine. He's smart and found cover.

A moment goes by, and there is still nothing. Meanwhile you are scanning all of your surroundings. You are making sure you're not spotted, and searching for any sign or sight of J. Then, you see a movement at the entrance of the building and let out a sigh of relief.

J emerges from the destruction. It's hot seeing him stide away from aftermath of the damage he's caused. He's got his usual attire on, though his trench coat is slung over his arm. His hair's wilder than usual and half of his greasepaint had come off. He also has a dusty police hat on his head which you find rather amusing. You were so focused on J, that you didn't even notice the other man with him. It's Lau, walking defeatedly with his hands cuffed behind his back.

You honk the horn and roll the window down to get J's attention. His eyes shoot towards your direction and a smile stretches across his face. He's got this look in his eyes which you would describe as proud. Of you or himself, that you are unsure. But something inside of you tells you that it's meant for you. So you grin back and wave him over. He harshly nudges Lau in your direction. The Chinese man looks beyond terrified, stumbling all the way over to the vehicle.

"Hey good looking, you need a ride?" You ask in a flirtatious manner.

J licks at his scars. "As a matter a fact, I do. Me and the squealer here." He pats Lau on the back, who visibly tenses at the touch.

You motion towards the backseat. "Well hop in. I'll give you a lift."

"My, what a doll."

J opens the backseat door and shoves Lau inside. He then takes the hat from his head, and carelessly flings it towards the building. A final touch to the devastation he's just caused. Much like how an artist adds the finishing touch to their creation. In this case, J is the artist and the shattered structure is one of his masterpieces. Talented is he in the craft of total chaos and destruction.

It's something you shouldn't admire about him, yet you do. You admire all of it.

"Scoot." He shoos Lau over to the otherside so he can get in. The man slides across the seat reluctantly, his eyes going wide as he watches J. He's clearly dreading the thought of being trapped in such a tight space with this dangerous man. J tosses the coat onto the middle seat and climbs inside. Once the door is shut, he signals for you to go. You throw the car in drive and floor it out of the area.

Joker sat in the back, listening attentively to the police scanner for an update on the Harvey Dent and Rachel Dawes situation. Once he heard that Dent was the only one to make it out alive, he cackled in triumph. If that was the outcome, then things went precisely how he'd expected. He knew that Batman was going to go after Rachel. But J still has big plans for Dent. So he had intentionally switched their locations when he told Batman where to find them. The vigilante never stand a chance against the Joker's cruel game.

You peek at him through the rear view mirror. "Went as you wanted, J?"

"Went as expected." He states rather plainly. "That Batman's got a good right hook."

"He hit you?" The question came out of your lips quick and concerned. However, J just laughs it off as nothing.

"Sure did." He stretches his limbs to the best of his ability in the space he's in. "Now, I've been cooped up in that place for a while. How about I tell ya all the juicy details later?"

"Sounds good." You reply smoothly.

A satisfied hum leaves his lips. "Great. So let's get this party going, huh. I want ya to drive this car like ya stole it. Because you did."

You give a jaunty nod in response. "Yes sir."

A surge of adrenaline rushes through your body as you pick up a higher speed. You even turn the siren on to let all the other drivers know to stay out of your way. Because you were definitely blowing past stop lights and swerving around cars. J seemed to be enjoying himself, while Lau sat back there looking scared for his life.

The smell of the explosion was heavy on them both. Smoke and gunpowder. It began to permeate the inside of the car. J has you roll both of the back windows down to air it out. But of course, being the unpredictable man that he is, J stuck his entire upper half out of the window! Initially it startled you, because he just did it without a warning.

You view him through the side mirror. Watching his hair blowing wildly in the wind, the way he licks at his lips and how his bare forearm tenses as he grips onto the car. Now that's the look of a guy who'd just escaped police custody. Damn does he makes it look so good. J shakes his head around like a dog, and in that moment you have to force yourself to focus on the road before you end up crashing the car. That'd be a real mood killer.

End of Part 13.

[ejzah]

A/N: Callen and Deeks share some similarities in this tiny dialogue drabble:

***

Sam: For as much as my dad could ride me and all, we always had our traditions. Like Thanksgiving dinner, picking out a Christmas tree as a family. When I was 13, we even drove all the way to a farm and harvested our own tree.

Deeks, chewing on the end of a pen: Huh. When I was thirteen, mom and I waited until the day before Christmas and snuck onto the closest places selling trees. Stole one they’d thrown in the dumpster.

Callen, nodding in approval: Nice. I once got out of some family’s yard. It was a week after Christmas, but it brightened up the place I was staying.

Sam, staring at them in disbelief: Can’t you two ever just let things be nice for once?

Deeks, glancing at Callen: If you want that, then you need to find some friends with less tragic childhoods.

[mightyflamethrower]

File This Under: Things you couldn't possibly make up

Police: Teenage Son of Homeless Advocate Kills Homeless Man for Raping Girlfriend

The teenage son of a Pennsylvania homeless advocate has been charged with the murder of a homeless man who he claims sexually assaulted his girlfriend, police say.

Investigators said Thomas James Niarhos Jr.,15, shot Jeremiah Waylon Hawkins, 39, in the face at point-blank range on Wednesday afternoon in Pottstown, the Montgomery Daily Voice reported.

After the alleged shooting, the boy reportedly yelled out, “He’s a rapist, don’t feel sorry for him,” according to court documents obtained by the local outlet.

On July 13, Niarhos was reportedly caught loitering by cops close to where the fatal shooting took place months later, just yards away from the Pottstown Police station. When approached by officers that day, the teen reportedly told officers that Hawkins had raped his girlfriend behind a nearby dumpster.

Around noon on Wednesday, Niarhos returned to the same spot with his father’s .40 caliber Smith & Wesson semi-automatic firearm, and got into a physical altercation with Hawkins, surveillance footage and a probable cause affidavit obtained by the outlet showed.

“Niarhos is seen extending his arm towards Hawkins, who then tries to knock the gun out of his hands using a bicycle tire,” the Voice reported.

The boy then fired two shots, with the first knocking Hawkins to the ground, and the second one killing him, police said. 

Upon arrival to the scene, cops say they discovered a group of witnesses restraining Niarhos, while he shouted, “He’s a rapist, don’t feel sorry for him,” and “He raped a 15-year-old girl, don’t help him.”

Niarhos’ girlfriend, now 16, and her mother, were contacted by Pottstown Police on July 13 after hearing about the rape accusation. While court documents revealed that the girl told her mother that “something had happened to her,” the family did not press charges.

The owner of the gun, Niarhos Sr., is the executive director of Pottstown Beacon of Hope, an organization that assists “Pottstown residents experiencing homelessness,” according to its website. 

The father told police that his son was apparently planning to turn to a life on the streets, reporting that “he found a note in his son’s bedroom indicating that his son planned to run away and located a packed bag of clothes and a cellular phone charger in his son’s bedroom,” the affidavit said.

The local outlet reported the boy had “only been living with his father since the start of the summer.”

Niarhos Jr. was charged as an adult with first-degree murder, third-degree murder, possessing a firearm by a minor, possessing an instrument of crime, and other charges.

He is being held without bail at the Montgomery County Youth Center, and his next court date is set for November 30.

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This week 05-04-23 at 6:00 PM EST TIME! New case part 2. Summer Wells, further in-depth look into details that have been uncovered by other sources.

What really happened? What are the facts?

More than 120 teams, including members of the Hawkins County Sheriff's Office, Bureau of Investigation and Church Hill Rescue Squad, searched a wide area surrounding her family's Beech Creek home for 13 days.

The driveway leading to the house has almost eroded away. As you trek up the hill toward the home, forgotten toys covered in grass and vines line the dirt road.

Near the top of the hill, you step on the carcass of a partially buried doll. Then you see the house; part of it is covered in yellow siding while the rest is exposed plywood.

The yard is full of old vehicles and miscellaneous items.

Coup said the search efforts were “very time-consuming and difficult for the searchers due to the extremely dense canopy, along with the excessively steep terrain.”

Authorities utilized several specialized teams, including K-9, helicopters, fixed-wing drones and even divers.

“There was a large amount of different levels of resources used, which each one had different key things that ultimately would lead to finding Summer Wells,” Coup said.

Coup said searchers received an outpouring of support in regard to the child’s disappearance.

“From the response that we received by donations from the community, it heavily impacted our community,” Coup said. “It heavily impacted the responding agencies also from all over the nation and world.

We have received thank you messages from people all over the world. For our agency, this call was just as important as the rest of the calls that we receive, but with the age of Summer, that does add another element to the call.”

Coup said the CHRS continues working with different agencies to find Summer.

The CHRS is also the agency in charge of the Summer Wells Reward Fund. The last total reported by the Times News was $40,423.81.

Leslie Earhart, public information officer for the Tennessee Bureau of Investigation, said the agency hasn’t given up on Summer’s case.

“The Tennessee Bureau of Investigation and the Hawkins County Sheriff’s Office continue to work alongside the FBI to determine what happened to Summer Wells,” Earhart said. “Agents and detectives will continue to pursue all potential leads. We ask anyone with credible, first-hand information about Summer’s disappearance to call 1-800-TBI-FIND.”

Source - Usnews.com June, 18, 2022 by Associated Press 11:55AM

[orphaned-kiirokero]

Ataraxia (JJK)

Ataraxia: Calmness untroubled by mental or emotional disquiet; Tranquillity of mind.

Part of the Protect the Village! Oneshot Series.

Masterlist

Pairing: PoliceOfficer!Jungkook x Delinquent!Reader

Genre/Warnings: E2L (Enemies to Lovers), angst, fluff, humour, mentions of neglectful parents/childhood neglect, swearing, HPD-like behaviors/destructive attention-seeking behaviors, allusions to anxiety, read with caution on this one!

Note: I would die for RT and TITI :(

Summary: Graffiti isn’t that bad. It’s a misdemeanour in most places. So what if the rookie catches you tagging one night? You’ll wiggle your way out of it like you always do... Right?

Word Count: 5.3k

Semi-Unedited

      Night was when all your ideas came to you. In the late hours where the moon comes out to lull everyone asleep, you wander the night in search of an outlet. Backpack swung over your shoulder, paint cans rattling around, sweatshirt taut to your body to fight off the nighttime chill. You search the tiny village where you spent most of your life for the perfect canvas. 

     The only lights to aid you in your search are the dim lampposts that illuminate the sidewalk, but that doesn’t stop you from finding the jackpot. Blank, empty white wall, vast space to work on, flat. You could feel the anxious desire to pick up your paint cans on the tips of your fingers. Quickly, you put down your backpack and got out your colors. 

      Red, green, yellow, blue, black, pink, purple. All the colors you needed to make a stunning art piece. Sure, the shop owner might not appreciate it, but you only paint pretty things. You may be a��“delinquent” but that doesn’t mean you have to spew hate and vulgarity to all of Bangtan Village. 

     What were you feeling tonight? Writing? Animals? Flowers? Flowers. Definitely flowers tonight. Wasting no time, you picked up a can and started spraying. Red here, green there, a bit of pink. You paint and paint and paint. Like your brain is on autopilot, letting your hand do whatever it wants. Left, right, up, down. You watch as your piece comes to life in front of you. Roses, daisies, marigolds. It looks like the garden of your mind. 

     Taking a step back, you admire your work. Clean lines, bright colors, eye-catching. You feel proud. This was better than the sketches. It captured your every breath, every emotion, a true piece of art. You felt at ease looking at the picture of all your pent-up emotions laid bare on the bricks. Expressing the sorrows that plagued your mind through the image of dull, weeping flowers. 

     Sure, it still looked beautiful. When you looked at it as one unit, it was the perfect image to be painted on a flower shop. But if you looked closer, you could see the anxiety in the shaky lines, the sorrow in the dulled colors, the anger in the frenzied coloring. But you didn’t feel like that at the moment. 

     Graffiti was an outlet for you. The ability to get people to pay attention and see what you’ve been trying to get people to see. To show people that you weren’t okay. You wanted someone-anyone- to listen to you, to see you. You wanted someone to look at you and see you as a person who was struggling. Because you really were struggling. 

     Shit parents and anxiety were the things that defined your life. Your life givers made it known to you that they really didn’t care what you did, where you were, who you were with, nothing. They weren’t terrible, luckily enough. They were just neglectful. They forgot you were there half the time, so you had to force yourself to grow up and do things on your own.

     You would cook your own meals, do your own laundry, make your own money. For as long as you remember, you were living as your own person. You brought yourself back up from the depths of panic and kissed your own wounds. You told yourself to suck it up and keep pushing. But soon enough you started to ask yourself exactly why you were still pushing.

    No friends, no family, not even an animal companion could give you the comfort you so desperately sought out for when the thoughts of “why?” clawed at your fragile mind late at night. When you felt like you couldn’t breathe when things went south. You tried. You tried to make friends. You tried to reach out. You tried to get help, but it was all the same. “Your fine, get over it,” Whether those were the exact words or the implied ones, that was the answer everyone gave you. 

“You’re an adult.”

“Everyone feels anxious, you’ll be okay,”

     No matter how hard you tried to use your words, to shout and scream on the rooftops that you needed support, big or small, nobody listened. It’s as the world went deaf to you. Like you were invisible, walking through the streets like a ghost. So you turned to more... Destructive ways of gaining people’s attention.

     Yes, you knew this was wrong. You knew that if you got caught, it would go on your record. But you didn’t care, not at this point. The thought of people seeing this in the morning and thinking about you (Well, not you specifically, but the person who’s been painting the town for months now) Excited you. Having people's attention excited you. Hearing people whisper about the delinquent who's been tagging Bangtan Village left and right made you giddy. Because you had their attention. 

     The sound of heavy footsteps tore through the tranquil bubble you’d put yourself in. “Shit...” You whispered to yourself, grabbing your things and sneaking away from your- admittedly pretty -crime. Because not only did you get the citizen's attention. You got the attention of the police department as well. 

    Steadily, you took silent footsteps as you weaved your way through the back alleys of the main street shops. You could still hear the boot falls of the person making their nightly rounds. Even if they sounded calm. You knew they were looking for you. You knew he was looking for you. 

    You made the haste decision to abandon your bag full of paint cans and respirator behind a dumpster, noting down its whereabouts so you could retrieve it in the morning. You knew that if you got caught with them in your possession, then they would no doubt charge you. So you were left with your sweatshirt and a heartbeat that pounded in your ears. 

      You continued to make your way through the back alley mazes. Navigating them on muscle memory. This wasn’t the first time you’d had to make a silent getaway. You could still hear the footsteps, they were getting heavier. Step... Step... Step... Your anxiety shot through the roof and you wiped your clammy hands on your worn out jeans. 

But then they stopped. 

      There was no more ominous pounding of boots against concrete. Just the ambiance of the crickets chirping their nightly melody. It was calm again. So when you saw an opening out onto the beginning of main street, you breathed a sigh of relief. Home was only a few yards away now. You could go home to your small, dingy apartment and sink into your tiny bed, dreaming of a better life. 

     What world would you escape to tonight? Would you go on your own adventure where your the loved main character? Would you explore what was underneath the sea and discover what laid dormant at the bottom of the ocean? What about dreaming of befriending your favorite comfort characters from your favorite shows? Finally, having friends for once. 

“L/n,”

     You jumped as a voice cut through your train of thought. Looking to your left you saw none other than Jeon Jeongguk leaning against the entrance of the alleyway, giving you a stern face. “Well, isn’t it the rookie? Did they put you on guard dog duty tonight?” You chuckled, regaining your composure and throwing on a mask of confidence. Jeongguk rolled his eyes and stood straight up, towering over you. 

      “What are you doing out so late, L/n?” Jeongguk asked you with a stoic face. “Going for a walk,” You answered, voice unwavering. “Oh really? So you know nothing about the recent act of vandalism on Yoongi’s flower shop, huh?” He tilted his head, talking to you as if you were five. “What? Another tagging? Crazy,” You said, in an feign surprised voice. 

      Jeongguk sighed, stepping away from you. “You’re coming with me, L/n,” Jeongguk deadpanned. Your eyebrows furrowed, and you looked at him incredulously. “What? But I didn’t do anything!” You complained, your poker face unbreaking. “Well, I have reason to suspect you know at least something. So by the laws our government has set up, I get to bring you to the station for questioning,” Jeongguk said in a sing-song voice. 

     “I feel like that’s an abuse of power,” You pointed out, crossing your arms. Jeongguk looked at you, unimpressed. “Public law number 130-13. Any suspect can be put in police custody as long as the officer has circumstantial or physical evidence proving they know or did something.” Jeongguk regurgitated like a parrot. You chucked, “Nerd,” 

     “Whatever, just come on.” Jeongguk groaned, and you reluctantly followed. You knew running would do nothing, it’s a small community, he’d find you in like, 5 minutes. And fighting him? Have you seen Jeongguk? That kid’s all muscle. A total gym rat. He could flick you and you’d get a concussion. You didn’t want to fight him anyway. So you had to follow him, but that didn’t mean you wanted to. 

      “Nice place you got here, Rookie,” You snickered, looking around the relatively small police station. Jeongguk sighed and led you to a small interrogation room. You say “interrogation” like it was intimidating, but nothing’s intimidating about a small room with metal tables and chairs. 

      You sat down on the opposite side of Jeongguk, giving him a smug smirk as he looked at you with disdain. “So... What’s up officer?” You asked, resting your head on the table. “What were you really doing out there, Y/n?” Jeongguk asked, huffing. “Like I said. I was taking a walk. Bangtan Village is nice, ya know?” You restated, not giving up the facade. 

     “I know you did it,” He deadpanned, leaning closer to you. “You see, Rookie... Public law number 130-6. Officers cannot make an arrest without physical evidence or a confession that proves the suspect is guilty without a reasonable doubt,” You stressed the last T, shit-eating grin still on your face. You sounded knowledgeable, but that was the only law you cared to memorize. “Aka. The law don’t give a shit what you think you know,” You sat back up, leaning in your chair. “That law's flawed,” Jeongguk complained. “Take that up with our mayor, Rookie,” 

“You’re insufferable,” Jeongguk spat. 

“I know,” You chuckled. 

      “Why’d you do it? You know canvases exist for a reason, right? Yoongi’s going to pay someone to cover it up.” Jeongguk asked, voice raising a few octaves. “Rookie, buddy, if your fishing for a confession. You ain’t gonna get one,” You snickered, tilting your head in a teasing manner. “Besides, whoever did it-has been doing this-makes pretty good artwork so...” You shrugged. “So you’ve seen the recent tagging on Yoongi’s store?” Jeongguk pried. “I never said that. I’ve seen their other things. Figured the art you're talking about, which I definitely haven’t seen, is just as good.” 

      Jeongguk looked like he wanted to hop across the table and strangle you. It was funny, really. Jeongguk was right, of course he was, but he could never prove it. You didn’t confess to anything, you hid the evidence well, nothing could connect you to the crime. This wasn’t first time Jeongguk tried to pry open your mind and get you to spill out an “I did it,” just to show his hyungs that he really could catch a criminal, just like them. 

Not that you’ll see a bunch of criminals in Bangtan of all places

     The only reason Jeongguk knows it was you (Therefore starting up this hilarious game of cat and mouse,) Was because he knew the kind of person you were. He’s known you since highschool. He would hear whispers in the hall about you and your trusty paint cans, tagging the principal’s prized Chevrolet with the words “Ya mom raised a nerd” because he pissed you off that one time. 

      You got away with it too. The principal never got wind of who did it. Even if everyone at school knew it was you. I mean, come on, who else carried black spray paint in their bookbag? Plus, not a lot of people come to Bangtan, therefore not a lot of delinquents with a taste for artful vandalism existed here. 

     “Listen Rookie, you have no proof that it was me. You interrogated, I answered. Now I get to go home,” You smiled, getting up from your seat. Jeongguk just tsked at you, rolling his eyes at your “friendly” wave goodbye. “Nerd,” You chuckled to yourself, skipping out of the police department. 

Today couldn’t get any worse.

     “But I already finished the piece! My policy states that the down payment isn’t refundable!” You let out a frustrated groan as the lady on the other side of the line complained that your policy was unreasonable and she should get her $150 dollars back because she wasn’t interested in the china set she commissioned from you anymore.

“Look, I don’t care what happened on your end. At the end of the day, I told you it wasn’t refundable, and you still paid it. You agreed to it. So either I can send you the set and you pay the rest of the amount we agreed on. Or I keep the $150, and you have no custom china set,” 

      Guess she really didn’t want that china set, since she huffed and said, “Fine, keep the damn glass,” Which set you off more because china is made of kaolin and quartz, delicately painted with subtle details. Not! Glass! It didn’t help that bills were coming up and you were tight on money this month. 

     Being a freelance artist is unstable. You knew this. You knew that there were other professions that you could throw yourself into that would give you a more stable form of income. But it would also chip away at your spirit. You loved painting, you loved pottery, you loved making porcelain. 

      Now you were stressed, anxious, and the owner of a china set fit for a 50-year-old lady. You wanted to cry. You felt like sobbing. What were you supposed to do now? The only other commission you had was a landscape portrait that costed only $160, and with bills coming you’d have like $60 to spend on food. 

      You covered your face with your hands as you started to breathe erratically. It felt like the walls were closing in on you. Like a snake was curling its way up your body and squeezing your throat. Shakily, you stood up on your wobbly legs and grabbed your bag full of spray paint that you recovered earlier in the day. You needed your outlet. 

      You ran out into the chilly night air, making your way towards main street to find something to paint your frustrations on. You needed to calm the sickly feeling that bubbled up in your throat, to throw water on the fire in the pit of your stomach that urged you to scream into the woods that surrounded the village. 

      Finally, you made it to an empty wall. The one on the side of “Kim’s Confections” that you painted a week ago. The owner painted over your image of the night sky, you guessed. It didn’t matter though, you were too focused on ripping open your bag and pulling out your paints. 

      What were you feeling tonight? Red. Okay, what’s red? Apples, flowers, fire. Fire, that’s it. What else... What does fire do? It burns. Yeah, lets burn shit. What shit are we burning? Uhh... Flowers? That works... 

      You quickly picked up your red paint can and started spraying. You had no idea what you were doing, this wasn’t in your sketchbook. This was purely a product of the emotions currently plaguing your mind. You could already tell it was going to be ugly... It looked like chaos incarnate, but it was an accurate picture of what you were feeling. 

    You furiously painted the wall with blobs of different colors that weren’t mixing well at all. Like yes, green and red are contrasting opposites, but they don’t mix well. And what was pink doing next to a neon orange? You didn’t know, you barely even cared.

However, you did care when you heard those same familiar footsteps. 

     “Why today, Jeon?” You huffed, packing your things and running off into the back alleys. What you didn’t expect was for the footsteps to start running with you. Panicking, you ran faster, focusing more on getting away than where you were going. 

     They were getting louder and louder, closer and closer. “Shit,” You whimpered to yourself when you came upon a dead end. The familiar feeling of tears pricked up in the corners of your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. Thump... Thump... Thump... You refused to turn around to face the last person you wanted to see today. 

     “Well, we meet again L/n,” Jeongguk’s voice echoed off the bare brick walls. You said nothing, opting to continue looking at the wall in front of you. “Come on, L/n, it’s time to give it up,” He sighed, taking a few steps closer. “I know,” You whispered out, feeling the dread creep into your mind at the thought of your only outlet being taken away. 

Scratch that, today could get worse. 

      “I see you’ve got this place nice a cozy for me, Rookie,” You chuckled, holding onto the cell bars with two hands, trying to hide the fear you felt inside, the anguish. Like always, Jeongguk just rolled his eyes, laying back in the chair at his desk while he wrote up a report. 

      Jeongguk said nothing to you as the hours dragged on, and that made the situation worse. You would poke fun at him, call his name, you even asked how his day was. Nothing. You felt invisible all over again, and it made you even more scared. It was like you were that naïve six-year-old girl again, begging for an ounce of her parents' attention.

“Mom, I made you this today,”

“Dad, there's a father-daughter dance at school this Friday,”

Nothing. 

It was always nothing. 

     Because even if there was another body in the room, you felt alone again; you felt pathetic. Unwanted, unheard. At times like these you would paint a gigantic mural on the side of someone’s business on main street, but now you can’t. That’s what got you in this mess in the first place. All you wanted was somebody’s eyes on something that was you, whether that be your work or your features, and now that was yanked from your grasp.

      After this you couldn’t spray paint anymore, because then the entire police department would watch you like a hawk. Nobody would whisper about the mysterious pretty painting in the street anymore. And Jeongguk wouldn’t be the cat chasing the mouse anymore. 

      Jeongguk suddenly put his pen down with a huff, the action much louder in the quiet police station than it would be in a normal setting. “So, Y/n, I know you're not dumb. You’re obviously under arrest for vandalism. And with the severity and amount you committed, there's a $300 fine and a week of jail time,” Jeongguk explained, sounding bored. 

      Your eyes widened. “What? A week of jail time?” You exclaimed, feeling your heart drop. “Yep,” Jeongguk confirmed, popping the p. “No... No, Rookie, you can’t do this...” You whimpered out, trying to calm your breathing. You saw a look of sadness flash in Jeongguk’s eyes before he returned to a stoic state. “You’re the one who committed the crime, Y/n,” He stated, messing around with some papers. 

“Jeongguk please,” You begged, using his actual name for the first time since highschool. 

    Jeongguk paused, his back turned towards you and hand frozen in the motion of putting away a file. He took a deep breath and continued his movements. Going back to ignoring you. You felt dejected, so you gave up and slumped onto the small bed in the cell's corner. Just as you were about to close your eyes, you heard the slap of a book on the floor. 

     You looked over your shoulder to see Jeongguk at the door of your cell, giving you a tight smile. On the floor was what looked to be a sketchbook and some pencils. Cautiously, you got up from the bed and grabbed them, giving Jeongguk a curious look. 

“It’ll be okay,” He said. 

      Over the next few days, life fell into a routine. You would wake up, Jeongguk would give you breakfast, and you would draw in between meals. Nothing else. Sometimes you would try to strike up conversation with the stubborn police officer who kept you company most days, but he would either stay silent or reply with one-word answers. So you quickly gave up on that. 

      Sooner or later, the sorrow you felt turned into bitterness. You were mad at yourself, mad at the world, mad at Jeongguk. A week in jail? What was that supposed to do? Teach you a lesson? As if. If anything, it just made you want to do more illegal things as a big “Fuck you,” To the officers who walked past your cell with looks of pity on their faces. 

     Yes, people in Bangtan were overly nice, and no, you didn’t need their pity. You survived on your own long enough without anyone’s pity, so you didn’t need it now, when you were already fucked up. Where was this kindness when you cried to the school counselor about your home situation and she sent you away with the excuse that you were “Pms’ing” and “It wasn’t that bad” 

    You felt this boil in you every night and through the day. And it was still boiling in you when Jeongguk set you free and paid your fine. (Which made you angrier cause now your set back on bills AND food) “Don’t get into trouble,” Was the last thing he said to you. You knew his words should’ve made you angry, but knowing that you wouldn’t see him every day now made you... Sad...

      The world felt cold... Colors seemed to dull and noise seemed to be muffled everywhere you went. You felt, empty. Alone. Sad. You felt like you didn’t have a purpose now that you caught up on all your commissions and going out spray painting the town was an even more risky thing to do. On the bright side, you were able to pay your bills. 

      But that didn’t help the dread you felt when you woke up every single day. The bitterness was still there, but now it was buried with dread and trepidation. Sometimes the fire of your anger would burn bright, sometimes it was just embers. The intense mood swings you were feeling gave you emotional whiplash, and all you wanted to was lay in bed all day. 

“It’ll be okay,” 

     Jeongguk saying those words to you swirled in your head daily. They never left. Not since he first said that. You could hear the slight accent in his voice and see the slight squint in his nose when he speaks. That’s what fueled your fire the most. He did nothing for you. Why are you giving him the time of the day? He locked you up. 

     But there was also this voice that reminded you of the playful bickering the two of you shared, the sparks in your eyes when the two of you looked at each other, your game of cat and mouse. It told you that if you tried, maybe he could be your friend. Maybe he could help you. He’s a police officer, he’d want to help anyone... Right?

But if he wanted to help you, why would he lock you in a jail cell?

   That bitterness and conflict in your mind led you here, to an empty wall. Why were you here? Why did you have a spray paint can in your hand? Why were you painting again? Why Y/n, why? No matter how loud the angel on your shoulder screamed at you to go home, do something better with your life, be something better. It fell on deaf ears. 

      Not even the crickets were chirping as those boot falls made their way towards you. Nothing but the spray of your paint and the thud of Jeongguk’s steel-toed boots fill the surrounding night. Jeongguk only sighed in disappointment when he saw you standing there. Waiting for you to turn to him before he said anything. 

      “Isn’t it the Rookie...” You muttered. The same teasing words were there, but they lacked the enthusiasm. “What are you doing, Y/n?” Jeongguk asked, still sounding very unimpressed. 

“Your smart Rookie, what does it look like I’m doing?” 

“What I told you not to do,”

“Ding ding! We have a winner,” You exclaimed sarcastically. 

“Did you really not learn your lesson?”

     You scoffed, “Learn my lesson?” You stopped painting and turned towards Jeongguk. “Learn my lesson? What exactly did you do to teach me a lesson?” You scowled. “Was a week in jail not enough?” He retorted, and you felt yourself boil over.

      “Listen here, Jeon. Do you know what that week really did to me? It made me bitter. It made me feel like shit, like I was back living with my parents,” You spat. Jeongguk’s face fell at the mention of your parents. He knew what you went through, everyone knew. Bangtan was a small village, after all. “I mean come on, you really think locking me up behind bars is going to change me? Look at where I am Jeon! In the same goddamn alley doing the same shit cause I didn’t learn my lesson!” You ranted, and you felt tear prick at the corner of your eyes. You couldn’t stop them from overflowing this time. 

      “Police officers are supposed to help people, ya know. You don’t just catch criminals, you should help them. You wanna know the best way to prevent people from becoming re-offenders? Helping them!” You cried, throwing your paint can on the ground. “But no, you just care about handing in that report, huh? You caught me! Now you want nothing to do with me! I get it Jeon, really. Nobody wants anything to do with me...” You sniffled, feeling your anger dissipate. 

     Jeongguk looked like a kicked puppy. He didn’t know what to do when you started crying, but he knew that he needed to do something. “Y/n...” He said, reaching out for you, but you backed away. “Don’t... Just go away,” You said, but you didn’t really mean it. No, you wanted Jeongguk to come closer, to help you, to tell you it was okay again. Luckily, he understood that. 

      While you were wiping the tears away from your face, Jeongguk pulled you into a hug. At first you struggled, trying your best to get away from the muscle bunny, but soon you relented, falling into the comfort that his muscular arms offered you. “I’m sorry,” He whispered to you, squeezing you tight. “You’re right, I should be helping. Let me start by helping you,” 

    You sniffled, pulling away from his chest to look up at him. “Help me? I’m a lost cause,” You croaked, but Jeongguk shushed you, pulling you back in. “My friend goes to this therapist, he says they’re great, maybe they can help you,” He offered. 

“Maybe they can,” 

      “You're a pain in my ass, you know that Hobi?” You groaned, squinting at the laughing red-head who was currently sitting across from you in your studio. “But it’s too funny. I mean, a delinquent falling in love with a police officer? A classic,” He teased. You just rolled your eyes, bringing your focus back to the pot you were working on. “I’m not in love,” You retorted. 

      Hoseok snickered, “You remember what Dr. Choi said about lying to ourselves?” You wanted to strangle the shit-eating grin he had on his face, but you opted to huff and show your disdain instead. “Sometimes I wish you weren’t in my group therapy sessions,” You complained, but that smile never left Hoseok’s face. 

      After that night in the alley with Jeongguk, he lived up to his words. He introduced you to your current therapist Dr. Choi and got you the help you needed. Soon enough, you were slowly getting better. Your desire for graffiti slowly dissipated, and you opted for a canvas. It was easier to sleep at night, and Dr. Choi introduced you to a support group. Which is how you met your friend, Hoseok. 

      But Jeongguk still stuck with you. He would check up on you every day and keep you company when he had the time. Recently he’s been showing up at your place with cupcakes from Taehyung’s bakery, (You recently learned his name and he admitted your paintings were cool, but they didn’t fit his aesthetic) Sometimes you’d even visit the station, dropping off lunch for him. 

    Jeongguk and you became quick friends. Besides the ironic differences between the two of you, you also had a lot in common. You’d have movie/video game nights, sometimes you’d let him paint with you, he even introduced you to his other friends (All six of them,) Outside of work, he let down the intimidating police man facade and became a lovable bunny. 

Maybe a bit too loveable, since you seemed to like Jeongguk a bit too much these days. 

    “How would I even tell him? “Hey! It’s me, Y/n! Delinquent turned mural artist who has a huge crush on you! The police officer who arrested me and put me in jail!” Ha, no.” You dramatically exaggerated with your hands. “Oh come on Y/n! He’s pining over you too!” Hoseok said, trying (and failing) to convince you. “Didn’t you write that love letter to him? Why not give him that?” Hoseok suggested. You immediately cringed, hiding your face in your hands. “No way, that’d be so embarrassing,”

“So your saying that if I ran over to the police station with this slip of paper and handed it to Jeongguk you’d never forgive me?” Hoseok asked, holding up the infamous love letter you wrote for Jeongguk 3 weeks ago.

“You wouldn’t dare,” You glared at him.

“Y/n... You’ve been debating telling him for months...” Hoseok groaned, “Maybe you just need a little... Push!” He said, jumping out of his seat and running out the door. 

      “Jung Hoseok, I’m going to kill you!” You yelled, running after him. Unfortunately he was like, 90% legs so it was hard to even keep a foot’s distance between the two of you. “Hobi! He’ll hate me!” You whined, huffing a puffing. You really needed to get back in shape. “No he won’t! He literally talks about you all the time! I’m doing you idiots a favor!” Hoseok yelled back, bursting his way into the police station. 

    “Jeon Jeongguk!” Hoseok called, getting weird looks from the other officers. Jeongguk’s head popped up from his desk and he got up to see what his friend wanted. Not before you tackled Hoseok to the ground, however. The paper flew out of Hoseok’s hand as he fell to the ground with an “Oof”

      Jeongguk looked at the two of you with a smile, choking down his laughs as he picked up the paper. “Don’t read it!” “Read it!” You and Hoseok said at the same time. But Jeongguk’s nosy self had already opened it and was reading the words. You groaned and hid your face in Hoseok’s shoulder out of embarrassment. Jeongguk just chuckled, leaning down to give you a kiss on the cheek. “Let’s go to dinner after I’m done here, yeah?” He said, giving you a wink as he walked away. 

“What just happened,” You asked, putting your hand up to your cheek. 

“You just started a new chapter in your life. This one titled “Me and Jeongguk, the most cliche shit I’ve ever seen,” Hoseok smiled, patting your head.

“Shut up... I got a mural to spray paint,”

[simdiva1]

*NEW SIMS 4 CHALLENGE*

HOMELESS TO FAMOUS SIMS 4 CHALLENGE BY SIM DIVA

YOUTUBE CHANNEL: http://www.youtube.com/c/SimDiva

ORIGIN: SIMDIVA1

THIS IS A SIMPLE YET TOUGH CHALLENGE I CAME UP WITH FOR MY SIM AND WANTED TO SHARE WITH YOU ALL. LET ME KNOW IF YOU ARE INTERESTED IN DOING THIS CHALLENGE AS WELL AND GIVE CREDIT PLEASE IF YOU DO THIS CHALLENGE ON YOUR YOUTUBE CHANNEL.

RULES:

NO CHEATING UNLESS SAID TO DO SO DOWN BELOW

Create a single sim (just one sim)

Appearance: Can be whatever you choose

Traits:Can be whatever you choose

Aspiration: Musical Genius or Master Maker

Life Span: Long

Game play Process:

1. Must move into a one bedroom apartment in San Myshuno (city living) or Evergreen Harbor (eco lifestyle)

2. Remove all furniture and wall paper.

3. Buy either a guitar or keyboard.

4. Remove all money.You can only make money buy selling items using the sales table, playing instrument for tips, singing for tips and dumpster diving for money. Items to sell are (fish,frogs,fizzy juice other inventory items) only one sales table.

5.You cannot move into your home lot until you pay your first set of bills and have your your first sets of furniture.

6. You can live/hangout at a community space to keep your needs filled but only with these items a full bathroom (shower/tub/toilet/sink) A sofa for you to nap on, a mini refrigerator and a microwave (if you don't have a mini one use regular). The community space needs a sale table no more than 4,only 2 fizzy stations, 2 recycle machines, 2 fabricators, and no more than 4 dumpsters to dive in and 4 garden planters.

7. Once you have ten or more dumpster furniture pieces (sofa,tv,tables,stereo,painting,beds,etc) in your inventory you can place them in your home. Any duplicate items you can sell but you must keep one of them.

8. After putting furniture in home go back to live mode and you can select only one furniture piece to repair/replace with the money you made from selling duplicate items.

9. After repairing or replacing item you must get rid of all your money again. Repeat the process from number 7.

10. You are only allowed to make money from singing (get tips) playing guitar or keyboard, selling fizzy juices, frogs, metals, crystals, plants,fish etc from a yard sale table at your community space. Of course digging in dumpsters for simoleons.

11.Once your apartment is completely furnished from the dumpster items and everything is fixed and clean then and only then you can start the acting gigs. Only one acting gig can be completed every week. After your first gig you can start buying wall paper for your home.If you don't want to act then you can join the entertainment career.

12.Once you max out either your keyboard or guitar skill then you can date. Your mate can move in with you but cannot work he/she can work on their skills though.

13. Once you have a mate living with you can have a baby. It is up to you to make your money to buy the basic items your toddler will need. Potty, highchair, bed, a toy.

14.You cannot move out until you have made it to the top of the acting/entertainer career. When you do move you have to move into a mansion with a butler or maid or both. So start saving now!

15.Once you become famous you must share your wealth in a charity event etc. Throw a dinner party, house party, on different days and receive gold. If you don't you have to throw the parties again until you do.

16.When all objectives are complete you can keep playing and do whatever you want from there.

NOTES: I MAY ADD MORE GOALS TO THIS LIST. BUT FOR NOW HAVE FUN AND MAKE SURE YOU LET EVERYONE KNOW THAT THIS IS SIM DIVA'S CHALLENGE AND LEAD THEM TO MY YOUTUBE CHANNEL. I HOPE YOU ALL ENJOY AND HAVE FUN WITH THIS CHALLENGE. IF YOU WANT TO COLLABORATE EMAIL ME AT thesimdiva2020@gmail.com

HAPPY SIMMING

SIM DIVA

[normal-with-adhd-is-a-joke]

ranking my cats from best to worse because I’m bored

yes I do play favorites.

1. Seal

- Is old as fuck (12-13 y/o).

- Found her like 10 years ago because she was eating out of our trash.  Came with a companion who has since passed away (R.I.P Shy :( )

- Never bites unless she’s in pain or you touch her belly a lot.  She gives plenty of warning if she’s going to bite as well so if you get bitten it’s basically your fault.

- Lorge and in chorge.

- Very quiet, really only meows once or twice if she needs something.

- Gets along with Piggy.  Indifferent to Cathy.

- Loves to be cuddled.  Maybe too much honestly. 

- Loves to be kissed.  Will demand hundreds of kisses at a time.  I don’t know why but it’s very cute.

- Steals my fucking seat on the couch all the fucking time like seriously I have to fight her for it every time.  Also taught Piggy to steal my seat.

- Sometimes eats out of the trash.  Also taught Piggy to eat out of the trash.

- Throws a tantrum if I won’t let her into my room to sleep on my bed.

- Throws a tantrum if you keep her inside for too long. 

- Never goes on the dining room table (or any table really).

- If she hears you crying she will come running across the house to cuddle with you.

- Learned to use a litterbox despite being outside all her life.

- Generally a pleasure to be around.

2. Piggy

- Is little baby (a year+a few months old).

- Found her like a year ago under a shed behind a dumpster at my college.  Came with 2 siblings (Inky and Midnight).  Midnight disappeared before we could catch her but Inky was taken in by another student and is thriving.

- Bites you for literally no reason.  Like you bend down to pet her and she just fucking chomps you.  It doesn’t hurt that bad though and it’s just because she wants to play but damn.

- Small and very scared.

- Will scream for no reason.

- Gets along with Seal but is terrified of Cathy.

- Wants to be held sometimes but if you hold her when she doesn’t want it she will bite and scratch and scream like she’s being murdered.

- Is indifferent about being kissed.

- Learned from Seal to steal my seat as well but she weighs less so she’s easier to move.

- Learned from Seal to eat trash but doesn’t respond to being told no so you have to drag her out of the trash every time.

- Sneaks into my room and gets lost in there and worries me because I don’t want her to get hurt.

- If you take her outside she gets very scared and goes back in.

- If you leave glasses of water on the table she will try to drink out of them and she will dump them on the floor.

- Is afraid of of crying.  She fears the tears.  If you hold her while you’re crying she’ll bite you.

- Pees outside her litterbox for some reason???

- Generally a nuisance.

3. Cathy.

- She’s like 3 y/o??? Vets are unsure.

- Found her a few months ago in a neighbor’s yard by herself.  We were supposed to give her to the SPCA that day but ~surprise!~ they aren’t taking cats right now.  No one else wanted her so now she lived in a big multi-level cage in our basement.

- Bites you unprompted and hard.  Has drawn blood.

- Big and terrified.  Not a good combo.

- Mostly quiet but will cry if she needs her litterbox cleaned.  Also makes scary rumbling noises when you pick her up.

- Attacks both of the other cats unprompted.

- Will cuddle if you pick her up but prefers to be left alone.

- I have not tried to kiss her because I am afraid.

- Isn’t allowed upstairs but would probably take my seat if she was.

- Hasn’t shown interest in trash but will eat the other cats’ food if you let her.

- Doesn’t really have an interest in my room.

- Came from outside but doesn’t really want to go back.  She’ll stick her head out the door but if you take her out on a leash she just wants to go back inside.  I think she’s afraid we’re going to leave her out there.

- Legs are too weak to jump up on the table but she doesn’t really want to anyway.

- I don’t dare show weakness around her.

- Is very good about using her littlebox but will fear poop every time you take her to the vet.  Her poop also smells really fucking bad. Every time she poops our whole basement become inhospitable for like 10 minutes.

- Generally I fear her.

[raywritesthings]

Bird in a Storm 13/17

My Writing Fandom: Arrow Characters: Laurel Lance, Oliver Queen, John Diggle, Tommy Merlyn, Athena, Carly Diggle, Moira Queen, Thea Queen, Malcolm Merlyn Pairing: Laurel Lance/Oliver Queen Summary: The confrontation between the Hood and SWAT on the roof of the Winick Building goes differently, altering the course of Laurel’s career, relationships and efforts to save her city forever, the shockwaves of such an altered path making themselves felt throughout her family and friends. *Can be read on my AO3, link is in bio*

If there was one thing Carly hated the most about closing, it was taking the trash out back. And not just for the smell.

The back of the building let out into a darkened alley with no street lamps. It reeked of garbage thanks to all the times the truck just simply hadn’t shown up, and was usually populated by all her smoking coworkers during a rush.

This late, the alley was empty. Or so she’d thought.

Just as she heaved the bags up and over to throw in the dumpster, she felt the barrel of a gun press into her side. Carly froze.

“Who’s inside the restaurant?”

“My- my manager. Couple customers.” She drew in a shaky breath. “Please, I have a son.”

“Give me your tips,” the mugger growled.

“He’s not even ten years old, father shot on the job. I’m all he has, I swear to you,” Carly continued as she slowly reached into her apron for the money. Her mace was in her purse hanging from a peg in the back of the restaurant.

“Give me the money!”

Her hand closed around the bills, shaking in fear and anger. Didn’t anyone in this town have compassion? Pity at the least? “I’m begging you. It’s for his lunches in the cafeteria. They don’t give him food if he’s in debt.”

“You think I give a shit? Give me the money!” The gun pressed hard enough into her back that she thought it might bruise.

Carly took her hand out of her apron.

Whack!

Suddenly the gun left her back and she heard a thud of someone hitting the ground behind her. She whirled around, backing up several steps.

Her attacker was on the ground with a woman all in black standing over him. She carried a long stick which she’d clearly used to knock him out and wore a mask over her face.

“How- how did you?”

The masked woman looked up at her and gave a nod but no answer before running down the alley and out to the street. Carly stood there gaping a few moments after.

Had that really just happened? And to her? Sure she’d been grabbed earlier last winter by that military whacko who knew John, but this was something else.

The man on the ground gave a groan of pain, and Carly hurried back inside. She quickly explained to her manager, and the other woman agreed to phone the police.

John had stopped by in the time she’d been outside, it seemed. She was glad he wasn’t staying too far away even if their sort of date hadn’t worked out. A.J. needed a good role model.

Her brother-in-law stood from the booth he was waiting at and came over. “Everything alright, Carly?”

“For the most part. The police are gonna be here in a little while. This guy out back tried to jump me.”

John’s fists clenched at his sides. “Where is he?”

“Hey, it’s okay. You don’t need to get in trouble over this. Anyway he’s already hurting pretty bad. There was this woman.”

“A woman?”

“Yeah. She was all in black except her hair. A blonde. And she wore this mask. I guess she must be some other vigilante?” Carly shrugged. “Least the guy’s still breathing.”

“Yeah. Guess so.” John frowned. “She say anything to you?”

“No. I don’t even know how she knew to be there. I mean I’ve been hearing things about a woman — wasn’t sure if they were true. But I’m so glad it is.”

Getting mugged tonight wouldn’t have been the end of her world. But it would have been a setback she would have struggled to come back from for a long time, even if she’d borrowed from John for a time. Now she didn’t have to. She had her own money and her pride along with it.

If that’s what these vigilantes wanted to be about, she couldn’t say she’d complain about it.

---

John didn’t get home until after the police had left with Carly’s statement and her would-be attacker. They’d asked her to come in the next morning to describe the woman who’d saved her to a sketch artist as well, so he’d be taking her there. Just as well, since he hadn’t gotten the chance to tell her about his success in finally taking down Deadshot with Oliver’s help. Lyla had been mad as all hell at him for showing up until the Hood had kept what had ended up being a setup by Lawton from turning too ugly. Then she’d just pretended to be mad, though John was pretty sure he could still tell the difference.

In the present, he placed a call to Oliver to update him on the situation. “I’ll be late getting to the house tomorrow. Have to help Carly with something. Police matter.”

“Is she okay?” His friend asked.

“Fine. But she wouldn’t have been if that Woman hadn’t shown up tonight. She’s definitely real, Oliver. Carly’s giving them a description tomorrow.”

Oliver didn’t speak for a moment. “See if you can sit in on it. I don’t know if this Woman’s done enough to get her sketch on the news.”

They both knew busting up the odd small crime here or there didn’t drive up ratings. Then again, perhaps the novelty of a woman being the one doing so might be enough to pique media interest.

“You think it’s time to step in?”

“I’m not sure,” Oliver admitted, and he sounded discomfited to do so. “She’s not the Savior, she doesn’t look to be doing this for her own gain… I’m not sure what to make of her or how to find her except to get lucky and spot her out some night.”

“Well, luck be a lady,” John remarked. “And ladies tend to be mysterious.”

Oliver snorted, then said, “Keep me updated about the police sketch.”

“Alright.” He hung up and eased himself back up out of his chair. If he was going to the precinct tomorrow, he wanted to have some research already done to see if he could pick up on anything else they might be talking about regarding this Woman.

He went looking through some recent reports out of the Glades. Just as Raisa, Detective Lance and Carly now said, there were rumors growing about a woman in black. Taking on gang bangers, putting a stop to a rash of bus hijackings...the more he read, the more it sounded familiar.

John went through each of his suits, digging deep into the pockets until he came across a folded piece of paper. The list Laurel had written up for Oliver weeks ago.

It was almost identical.

He sat back on his bed, hand running down his face. It wasn’t definitive proof, but it was a damning coincidence at the very least. And what was he going to do if it was more than a coincidence?

He’d warned Oliver that the problems in this city were many and varied, that people wanted to see more than some billionaires getting knocked down a few pegs. Laurel had warned him, too. Now it seemed she — or someone — had taken matters into her own hands. And he couldn’t quite bring himself to disagree.

That was the trouble that came in signing up for this kind of crusade; it was a slippery slope. How did he support Oliver while condemning Laurel? The key, he supposed, was in learning what her motivations were. If she was even the one doing this.

One thing was certain: there was no way he could suggest the Woman and Laurel were the same person to Oliver unless he had real evidence or a confirmation. It would only start another argument otherwise, judging by how fiercely protective he’d become of his mother. So he was going to have to confront her on his own.

He kept his suspicions to himself while he sat in a chair at the precinct with Carly. The sketch artist drew up a picture of a beautiful blonde in a black mask. It didn’t look just like Laurel, but it didn’t not look like her at the same time. Still, no reason for him to voice his concerns just yet. Especially when doing so would paint a big target right back over Oliver, and himself by extension.

He kept his eyes on the road as he drove Carly back to her apartment, still unsure how to address the news he’d intended to give her last night. Eventually, he said, “There was an Op the other night. The Feds. And, uh… they got him.”

“Him?”

“Andy’s killer.”

He heard Carly turn her head and chanced meeting her eyes. “Really?”

“Yeah. He’s in custody now.” Lyla had held him back from doing something he knew he’d probably regret, as much as his anger was telling him Deadshot should be dead in the ground for good just like his brother. “He was wanted for a lot of stuff by the government. Sensitive stuff. So there’s not really gonna be a trial or anything, but I wanted you to know.”

He pulled the car to a stop outside her building. Carly didn’t get out right away.

“Were you there?”

John nodded.

“Thank you.” She leaned across the seats and hugged him. “I don’t know what I’ll tell A.J., or when, but… I’ll sleep better, knowing he’s getting what he deserves.”

John swallowed down the little of his disappointment that remained. If Carly was satisfied, then that would have to be enough.

She got out, and he continued through the neighborhood to his next stop. He’d have to hope she was in.

John knocked on the door of Laurel’s place but received no answer. Soft music from around the back drew his attention, so he circled around to the small yard.

Laurel was crouched beside a very rough-looking bike, looking to be struggling with a tuneup. She sat back with an exhale.

“Roy, great, I could really use some help—” Laurel stopped when she caught sight of him.

“Sorry, not Roy,” he said unnecessarily. “But I might still be able to lend a hand.”

Laurel stood rather than keep working, wiping her hands off on a towel that had seen better days. In the tank top she wore, John could definitely tell she had truly dedicated herself to the training Oliver had mentioned she’d picked up.

“Is Oliver okay?”

“He’s fine. Was glad to get your tip on Rasmus.”

Laurel nodded.

“Surprised you didn’t just take care of him yourself,” he added casually, watching her freeze for a crucial instant. John nodded to the bike. “Is the Woman gonna be spotted on this any time soon?”

Laurel hung her head for a moment, then leaned over to switch off the music playing from her phone sitting on the ground.

“Okay, great. Everyone knows I’m a vigilante. I guess Oliver has a better handle on the whole ‘secret’ thing,” she muttered as she straightened up.

“There’s a reason he acts the way he does in public,” John pointed out. “But you wear your heart on your sleeve, Laurel. Of course you’d be doing this.” He took a step closer, looking out to make sure they truly were alone. “What I have to ask is, why didn’t you say anything?” Did she really not want them to know? And was it because she wasn’t interested in working with them or some other kind of reason?

“How do you think Oliver would react if he knew?”

John grimaced. “Not well.”

Laurel nodded. “Exactly.”

“But, him finding out you decided to take on the problems you pointed out might make him decide to take them on himself. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“Not anymore.” She heaved a sigh. “Since doing this, I’ve realized just how much it is, and expecting one person to tackle it all would be impossible. Oliver has his mission, and I get why. If that’s what he needs to do to absolve himself of survivor’s guilt over his father, he needs to do it. And it does help the city.”

John frowned, unable to deny her point. He was privy to just how overwhelmed Oliver got at times. Expecting him to do it all was an unfair burden.

“It’s the only way left I have to help, too,” Laurel added. “Isn’t that why you work with him?”

“Yeah, but I work with him. However he would react, he’s going to find out eventually, Laurel.”

“I know,” she admitted, looking down. “But I’m not going to stop.”

“No, I didn’t think you were. You got the same look in your eyes when you talk about going out there that he does.” He wasn’t sure he understood it fully, how two otherwise civilians could decide to throw all caution to the winds night after night in an effort to clean up the streets. Maybe it really wasn’t about the training; maybe it was just about the person. “If he asks, I have to tell him.”

“I understand.” She at least didn’t look angry with him, merely resigned. So there they were.

John bent down towards her toolbox. “This wrench will work better for what you’re doing.”

The corner of her mouth lifted as she took it from him. “Thanks.”

“So who all knows? This Roy?”

“Yeah. My old trainer, Ted. And you. That’s really it, but you know, not great for that number to keep going up.”

“From what I can tell, it only keeps going up. Secrets always get out.”

“Maybe. That’s a risk I knew going in, I guess.”

“Have you thought about what happens when your father might be forced to arrest you some day?”

“He’ll have to catch me first. And it can’t hurt worse than a rubber bullet, so.” She shrugged. “Believe me, John, I’ve thought of all the reasons not to do this. You don’t need to walk me back through it.”

“Guess I can’t help trying.” He turned and began walking back to the street. “Be careful out there.”

“You too.”

John still hadn’t decided if he was going to wait for Oliver to bring up the topic or if he was going to just get to the point on his own by the time he reached the base. But then it didn’t really seem to matter when his partner of sorts was already gearing up for a serious brawl.

“Felicity thinks she has a hit on Walter,” Oliver said the minute John cleared the steps, hope in his eyes for the first time in a while when it came to talking about his stepfather. “There’s a large sum in Dominic Alonzo’s account that’s dated the same night of the abduction. If we can get to him, we might have a lead on what happened.”

Faced with Oliver’s rare optimism, John just couldn’t bring himself to do it. Telling him about Laurel would only throw him off of what they were working on now, and the information on Walter wasn’t getting any more recent. They needed to act as fast as possible if they had even a prayer of finding him alive.

So John held his tongue and told himself what Laurel was no doubt telling herself: Oliver would just have to understand.

---

Tommy stood by his father’s bed, fingering the vial in his pocket. According to the woman who’d called herself Athena the other night, the contents of this vial were all that could save his father from death or from life as a vegetable. But could he risk it?

He didn’t have a way of verifying her word or her identity. But she had at least shown him her face. That was more than the Hood had done. If she wanted to poison his father, she likely could have snuck into the hospital and done it herself, considering how she had slipped past the mansion’s security team with ease.

Visiting hours were almost over, which meant that he needed to choose. What did he have to lose? He knew, active as his dad had always been, he would hate spending the rest of his days on life support, stuck decaying in a hospital bed. And Tommy did not want to pull the plug until he had tried everything.

So, with a look to the door to ensure he wasn’t about to get walked in on by a nurse, he took out the vial and added the liquid inside to the IV feeding down into his father’s arm. Tommy watched the liquid slowly descend and disappear beneath the paper tape covering the needle. He held his breath for as long as physically possible. Watching, waiting.

No change.

He deflated, even as he reminded himself that Athena had said it would take time. He needed to let the vial’s contents work through his dad’s system before he decided if this had been a waste of time and hope.

For now, he returned to his new office inside Merlyn Global. He both loathed and craved being in this place at the same time; this was where he had nearly lost his father. Yet that same night had shown him just how much his father loved him, that he had fought and even killed to keep Tommy safe. 

If this mysterious cure worked and he had the chance to speak with his dad again, Tommy knew he would apologize for ever assuming his father hadn’t cared. They had grown a lot closer in the time before his father’s injury, and he wanted that to continue. He wanted to understand him. Perhaps this Athena, if she was sticking around, could help him.

With one call on the special phone he had been given, it was not long until the very woman he had been thinking of entered his office. “Very elegant,” she remarked.

“That’s down to my father’s good taste,” Tommy said. “I gave him what you told me to about an hour ago. How long?”

“It is not an exact science. I am confident he will show signs of improvement before the night is over. Now,” Athena said, walking further into the room. “What is truly on your mind?”

Tommy smirked to himself. Was he really that obvious?

“This wall,” he answered, walking up to it. He revealed the panel of buttons hidden under a piece of artwork. “It’s false. My father was keeping something behind here, but I didn’t see what. I also didn’t see what code he put in.”

“I have been trained in code breaking,” Athena said. “But I do not think it will be necessary in this case. You are your father’s son, Thomas. You know him better than those who think they have seen his true face. What drives him?”

That was an easy question after the speech his dad had given shortly before the attack that had landed him in a hospital bed in Starling General. Which could leave only two dates, though Tommy quickly dismissed the birthday. Neither of them had felt much reason to celebrate that milestone, not without her there with them. It was the death date that he entered in on the panel instead.

1-0-0-3-9-3

The light turned green for a moment, and the wall slid aside.

What waited behind the wall caused him to back up with a startled cry. It couldn’t be real.

But the evidence remained before him. A black suit with a head covering, a quiver of black arrows and a bow. The copycat archer’s armaments and more were in his father’s possession.

“His uniform,” Athena said with warmth and reverence. “I knew he would keep it close.”

“His? He’s — he can’t be,” Tommy insisted, even as his mind went to the two Triad men his father had fought and killed without a moment’s hesitation. “I don’t understand.”

“I told you your father belonged to an ancient order,” Athena repeated. “It is one based on the oldest form of justice known to man: evil must be replaced by death.”

“But the- that’s — he took hostages!” None of those people to his knowledge had been criminals, not even of the embezzlement kind.

“And were any of those hostages harmed?”

His mouth snapped shut.

“Your father waited to engage the Hood until after the hostages had been sent back to the authorities, according to the reports I have read. Their only purpose was to draw this vigilante out.”

“But… why? Why do any of it?” He just couldn’t seem to grasp that his father had taken on that crazy vigilante at Christmas.

“Your father has been attempting to retrieve Starling City from the brink of decay. Crime, corruption and apathy rule its citizens. Even the attempts of the local relief efforts have failed to improve its citizenry. Your mother learned this the hard way.”

Tommy swallowed. Yes, he could agree that Starling City was a festering pile of shit most days, and the Glades most of all. Something should have been done about it a long time ago. But the idea of taking that knowledge and acting upon it with violence in return, was that really the way?

The Hood seemed to think so, he supposed. And Laurel believed that particular killer was a hero. There were rumors of others beating the snot out of these gangbangers and robbers. Was his father’s old form of justice really so far removed from their society when they were letting Robin Hood and his ilk roam free?

“You said you had knowledge of his plans,” Tommy began slowly. “What were they?”

“There is a phenomenon referred to by your National Park Service as ‘natural fire’, she explained, walking away from the secret room and instead turning to the windows overlooking the city. Tommy followed. “In order to revitalize nature and the lives of those creatures who dwell in such places, humanity allows these fires to burn away the parts of the forest filled with debris and detritus. They then flourish anew. So too will the Glades in your father’s vision.” Her eyes were fixed on that part of the city, which always stood out as an ugly mar beyond the tall, pristine buildings and clean streets of downtown.

“He wants to… burn them?”

Athena’s lips quirked. “Not quite. But a similar act of nature will do the job.”

If the copycat archer’s suit — his father’s suit — wasn’t standing in a case behind him, he would think she was making this up. But there was evidence to back up her claim. His father had closed his mother’s clinic after how many years of increasing crime in the Glades — why now unless he knew something was coming?

“These aren’t trees or animals, though. There are people down there. Families, children.” Laurel, he thought to himself.

“People who have chosen lives of crime and substance abuse. You have multiple stories in your culture’s religious tract of various peoples being punished for the actions of the collective evil. Is this not so different?”

“Nobody’s even sure those things really happened. They’re stories or warnings. I don’t know.” He hadn’t really done the whole Sunday School thing after his mother died. “Look, the Glades are beyond saving. The Hood and anyone else who thinks so are just delaying the inevitable. But this isn’t the answer.” He backed away, leaving the office and placing his head in his hands as he rode down in the elevator.

Was this really what his father wanted? Tommy wouldn’t know, not until his dad healed enough to ask. All he had was Athena’s word, and the matter-of-face way she spoke of this unnerved him.

He needed to get out of here, needed to think, needed — a friend.

He didn’t have very many of those. And after their last conversation, would Oliver even want to see him? But he didn’t know who else to turn to.

Tommy jumped in his car and traveled the familiar route to the club. Inside, he asked around for his friend, avoiding Thea’s busboy friend, and learned Oliver had been around but had gone down to his private office as per usual.

Tommy had never been to that part of the building himself. Oliver had been a much more private person upon returning from the island, and he had always gotten the impression that he was not exactly welcome. But after the attack on the club by that deranged firefighter where Oliver had gotten lost in the building, Tommy had had a copy of each of the door keys made for himself to make sure that he could get to his friend in an emergency if need be.

So he went around to the outside of the club and the back door he had never used. It took a few moments for him to find the right key, but he turned it in the lock and entered.

“Ollie?”

The room was dark, which likely meant no one was in. Tommy searched around for the light switch on the wall.

“I could really use some— advice,” he finished, the last word dropping almost soundlessly from his lips as the lights came on, suddenly illuminating the space.

The room was sectioned off into smaller areas, one with what looked like a mat like the kind the gym teachers put down when they were practicing tumbling in grade school. Other workout gear was around there as well. Then another section was made up of a table with computer monitors and other technology.

Tommy’s eyes, however, were fixed on the last section. A table upon which stood a row of arrows not unlike what was waiting back in his father’s office, but tipped in green. The Hood’s arrows.

Oliver was the Hood.

He wanted to reject the evidence before him, and yet it was all too obvious now that it was staring him in the face. Why would the Hood have been around in the middle of the day to rescue them from those thugs? Oliver had killed them himself, then made up the story. Why was Oliver always making excuses to be somewhere else, leaving his mother and sister behind to worry? Because he was out there in the streets hunting his chosen prey. Why would Laurel have fallen for him so completely? Because it was the man she loved.

And he had left her to fall, Tommy realized, his shock disappearing in a flash of anger. Oliver had been the one to lure her onto that roof, get her shot at, taken her away while Tommy had searched and worried — probably to this very place.

She knew. Laurel had known Oliver’s secret from at least then on, and kept it from Tommy. They both had. It was the two of them as always, shutting him out. How could he have ever dared to think Laurel even cared about him, when she would throw her own career and life away for Oliver’s sake, even after all he had done and become? They deserved each other, and it was a vicious thought. He almost wished his shot hadn’t missed the green-clad archer that night in his father’s office — that night Oliver, his own friend, didn’t save his father. He’d been lying this whole time to Tommy, pretending to be a sympathetic ear all the while never telling him the role he had played.

He needed to leave. If Oliver discovered him here, what would he do? Was Tommy allowed to know, or would he be silenced? He couldn’t say. He didn’t know his own best friend anymore. The man he’d thought of as a brother had truly died out at sea, and a monster had taken his face.

Tommy sat in his car, having no idea where he could go. His friends had all betrayed him, and he still didn’t know how to feel about what Athena had told him. He needed guidance, yet there was no one in his life who could provide it.

His phone range. And Tommy answered it with a weary, “What?”

“Thomas Merlyn? This is Dr. Adams from Starling General.”

He sat up straight in the driver’s seat. “Is my father okay?”

“He is. He’s doing better than we truthfully expected. He seems to be responding to some stimuli. We think it would be helpful for you to come in and sit with him, at least for a little while. Coma patients respond best to family and loved ones.”

“I’ll be right there.”

It had worked. The miracle liquid Athena had given him had worked. Or was working. He raced to the hospital and up to his father’s room, heart in his throat.

“Dad?”

His father’s eyes were just barely open. Tommy was ushered into the chair at his bedside, and he took hold of his father’s hand. “It’s me, dad. It’s Tommy. You’re gonna be okay. You need to be, cause we have stuff to talk about, alright? Stuff to do. I know- I know everything now. And it’s okay. It’ll be okay when we can talk.”

Very slightly at first, and then more rapidly, his dad’s eyelids fluttered. The hand Tommy held squeezed his fingers.

Grateful tears sprang to his eyes. “He’s really there. Oh, thank God.”

He stayed another hour, keeping up a constant stream of chatter about the company and the house, old forgotten childhood memories. His father never quite managed to fully open his eyes. Eventually, the doctors decided it would be best to leave him to rest some more and asked Tommy to come back in the morning.

“I’ll be here first thing, dad. We can talk then, okay?”

Getting back into his car where he’d crookedly parked it in the garage, Tommy wiped at his eyes and let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. No matter what shocking things he had learned today, he had meant what he had said to his father; it would be okay now that he was getting better. Tommy could talk to him, reason with him about just what this whole plan was and if it was truly necessary. They could work it out together as father and son.

If nothing else, he had his family.

---

Moira wished she had her family here at home with her, but life seemed to find its ways to make that impossible. 

Oliver kept incredibly late hours thanks to the club he was running out in the Glades. She worried about him and knew that hiring Mr. Diggle to protect him especially as he traveled in and out of that neighborhood had been the right call.

Then there was Walter. At times, she didn’t know how she kept breathing let alone kept up her day-to-day obligations and appearances all the whole fretting over where he was, what he might be thinking. Horrid as it was, sometimes she had to force herself to stop thinking about his situation in order to just make it through the next board meeting or the next meal.

Thea was home tonight at least, though she’d been staying out rather late as often as not. It had begun shortly after she had started the community service at CNRI. Moira suspected a boy might be involved, but considering how little she had done to curb Oliver’s dalliances with the opposite sex, she couldn’t reasonably do so to Thea.

Were things different, she might have been worried about all the time her children were spending in the Glades and how to make sure they were not there once Unidac completed its work. But that had been one less worry on her mind for the last month now, even if the attack at Merlyn Global had not ended precisely with the result she had wanted.

Best not to think about that, either, Moira reminded herself. She and Thea were both relaxing in the sitting room after dinner, the television on low for something to look at more than anything.

The front door opened, and two sets of footsteps indicated her son and his bodyguard had finally arrived home. Moira looked up as they entered the sitting room, but whatever wry remark had come to mind died on her lips at the sight of both their expressions. She stood. “Oliver?”

“Mom. Thea.” His voice, normally quite steady and strong these days, barely carried. “There’s um, something we need to talk about. About Walter.”

Beside her on the couch, Thea perked up, but Moira felt frozen.

Mr. Diggle spoke next. “I reached out to some contacts I have in the FBI on Oliver’s behalf a while ago to see what they might be able to turn up for the case. The thing is, they’ve gotten word back.”

“No.” It took her a moment to realize she had been the one to speak. “No, it can’t be.”

“Did- did they find a body?” Thea asked, her voice breaking on the last word.

“He’s gone, Thea. I’m sorry.”

“No,” Moira repeated. Oliver stepped towards her but she got up and moved back. She couldn’t allow him to comfort her. That comfort would make it real when it obviously wasn’t. There was a mistake or a misunderstanding of some kind. She knew Walter was alive, had to be, because of her deal with Malcolm. And yet, could she really trust Malcolm to begin with?

Her first impulse was to leave, to seek out someone, something to set the record straight on what had to be an error. But who could? Malcolm could not answer to anything, and she had no way of her own to contact his associate. No one at Merlyn Global would either. Malcolm had always kept everything separate from the company, and Tommy of all people was running it. Tommy had no idea of the things his father had done.

No, as far as she or anyone else knew, this was the truth.

Standing as she was, Moira instead retreated up to her room to get away from her children and their stricken looks. She knew they thought she was crumbling. Well, she wasn’t. Or couldn’t. Not until she had had a moment to think. How could this be happening?

Had Malcolm’s people killed Walter once he had fallen into the coma and been unavailable to command them? Or had her husband been dead all this time? Either way, she was a widow once again, and the blame lay at the same man’s feet.

The blood pounded in her ears as one thought echoed through Moira’s head: no more. She was done being the victim, standing by as her family was picked off one by one. Malcolm slept in a hospital bed, utterly helpless. Why hadn’t they followed through? Why shouldn’t they?

Part of her had been afraid, but what did she have to fear now? Another part of her had thought leaving him to his fate in the hospital was enough. After all, without Malcolm in charge, she could put the Undertaking off indefinitely under the presumption that they should wait for his recovery. The rest of Tempest would have fallen in line. But it was not enough to scupper his plans now. Oh no; Moira had promised Malcolm what would come were he to harm her family, and Moira, at least, was a woman of her word.

She got out the phone she used for these sorts of discrete communications and dialed the number Frank had given her to arrange for the contract hit at the award ceremony. She waited three rings before it was picked up.

“Jade Dragon, how can we be of service?” A woman’s lightly accented voice spoke.

“Yes, I placed an order about a month ago that was never completed. I’m asking for it to be done now.”

She had waited too long to save her family from Malcolm’s madness, but Moira would protect what she had left and avert his horrific vision for the city in one fell swoop, the way she should have done years ago. For Robert, and now for Walter.

[charles2027]

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Pureheart: Part 11 (Caspian x Reader)

MASTERLIST

A/N: I’m not quite done with part 13, but I’m still two chapters ahead of what is posted here, so cool. This is an interesting chapter to say the least. :)

Summary: You and Caspian spend a little time among some people of Anvard.

Rating: T and probably leading to M simply for alcohol.

Words: 3.3k

Tags: @anverli @drinix @gollyderek @its-my-little-dumpster-fire @poindexted @suchatinyinfinity @the-blind-assassin-12 @thisisparadisemylove

Let me know if you want to be tagged or not!

People stared. They stared a lot. You were used to it since returning, but those stares were bearable. The ones they gave you and Caspian were enough to make you blush. It wasn't every day you walked around with a man, let alone one as handsome as Caspian. You wondered if they recognized him at all.

When the whispers started, you almost regretted leaving the castle. Caspian being the first male – other than your father – you were seen with in quite some time rekindled the rumors in a new way. The people thought he was the secret man causing you to turn away so many princes.

"Is this normal?" Caspian whispered, studying the number of eyes on you both.

You choked up an awkward laugh. "Yes and no. People stare at me a lot. They don't stare this much, but I usually don't have a man with me."

"I guess they wouldn't recognize me, would they?"

"Maybe. I don't think they know you are a king if they do."

"We could use that to our advantage."

"How?"

"If your people realize who I am – not a king, but the boy who used to run in these streets with you – we could talk to them on a personal level."

"That could work. Where should we start?"

He pondered it. "Follow me." He took your hand and pulled you behind him.

"How do you remember these streets? It's been ages."

"I never forget my favorite memories, especially when they involve you."

Your mouth dried up from the sidelong glance he gave you and the way one corner of his lips turned up. He was so... confident. You wondered if being a king had something to do with it. Most of all, you chided yourself for reacting.

A grin slithered onto your face when the church came into view. Many days were spent there with Caspian not because of the ability to worship. Most of Anvard didn't believe in Aslan. What made that church special were the children.

"Y/N!" Four children came running toward you from the yard where they had been playing. Their caretaker, an older woman name Elizabeth, stood and waved at you.

You squatted to hug them, happy they still thought well of you. "I've missed you all."

Theo, the bravest of them, pointed at Caspian. "Who are you?"

"My name is Caspian. What should I call you?" He got down on their level as well.

Theo stood between you and Caspian. "Theo. What are you doing with the princess?"

"Yeah!" The only girl, Ariel, stood next to Theo. "Why are you with her?"

Caspian's grin showed off his teeth. "I'm a good friend of Princess Y/N's."

Four pairs of eyes shot to you. You smiled. "He tells the truth. Most of you were too small to remember when he came here last."

It was wonderful chaos once you said that. All four knocked Caspian on his back, hugging him and asking him a hundred questions at once. Elizabeth made a sound of surprise and rounded them up to give Caspian a chance to stand again. If Elizabeth had known he was a king, she would have been mortified.

Caspian laughed as he sat up. "If I'm greeted like this every time I come to Anvard, I would never want to leave!"

"That's too kind for this lot," Elizabeth said. "They take trouble with them wherever they go!"

You smiled. "There's nothing wrong with a little trouble." Turning to Caspian, you took a step back to the children. "You've met Theo and his partner in crime, Ariel." You pointed to the two boys standing next to her. "This is William and Jackson."

"It's a pleasure to meet you all." Caspian stood. "And who is the brave woman taking care of these rascals?"

"Elizabeth," she said holding out her wrinkled hand.

Caspian took it and left a kiss on the back.

"You may not remember him, but Caspian is the boy I always played with around town when he came to visit."

Elizabeth studied Caspian. Her mouth fell open. "You're the young man Y/N spent her time with? That Caspian?"

"The very same."

"You've grown so much! Look at how handsome you are! You look so much like your father."

He blushed. "Thank you."

You saved him from the flattery. "Caspian and I were hoping we could help you this morning. Is there anything we can get for you? We can take the children into town for a little bit if you want."

"A princess shouldn't have to take care of four rambunctious children when I'm perfectly capable of watching them."

"I know, but we want to help you."

The old woman sighed. "It would be nice if you could run to the market and get what I need to make lunch for the children."

"We'd be happy to," Caspian smiled. "Do you have a list?"

She nodded. "Can you watch the younglings so I can grab it for you?"

Caspian nodded. Elizabeth smiled and scampered away.

Ariel shimmied over to Caspian, her eyes big and a shy smile on her face. "Are you a prince?"

"I was." His eyes shined as he looked at the little girl. "I'm not anymore."

William jumped closer. "Did you marry a princess like Y/N?"

"No. I'm not married."

"But that's how princes become kings, right?"

You placed your hand on William's head. "Sometimes that's how kings and queens are made. Other times, the king before grows too old and can't rule anymore. Then his children take his place."

All four children made a sound of understanding.

You motioned for them to come closer and looked each one in the eye. "Now don't tell anyone Caspian is a king until we say so. Nobody can know who he is yet. Got it?"

They nodded vigorously and you grinned, leaning forward to kiss each one on the forehead just as Elizabeth returned with the list.

You and Caspian dismissed yourselves from the children and strolled toward the market.

"They love you a lot," Caspian noted.

"Since I've been home, I've volunteered my time with them. It lets our people know I care about our kingdom. When I have to take my father's place, I need Anvard to trust me."

"Let us hope my visit secures their trust in you and your family. And know as long as I'm king, Narnia will support you."

"Thank you." You link your arm with his. "Knowing you'll help us means so much." You peered up at him. He was already looking at you. It was hard to ignore the redness coloring the bridge of his nose and his cheeks.

You pondered how long it'd been since you were that close. You felt guilty for denying Caspian friendly affection. But seeing how he reacted to your touch made you nervous. You let go of his arm as soon as you entered the market, much to his disappointment.

You ticked off items on Elizabeth's list while conversing with the vendors. The grocer was the first person who recognized Caspian as soon as you walked up to him.

"Well if it isn't our princess with her favorite prince!" He grinned from ear to ear and shook Caspian's hand. "My, my, you grew up to be a good lookin' lad!"

You were starting to blush from all the compliments Caspian was receiving.

"Thank you," Caspian said. "How's business?"

"Depends on the day. Things were great when everyone panicked about the war. Now it's gotten quiet. People don't like to walk around town as often."

You frowned. "I wish they would believe us when we say Narnia has no reason to fight us. The war was a dispute between family and was a way to give Narnia back to the Narnians. Anvard, Archeland... we were never the target and won't be."

"I believe ya, Princess. I've been doin' my part tellin' 'em. No one wants to get their hopes up."

You and Caspian looked at each other. "We have to do something."

"We will." Caspian looked back at the grocer. "Anvard will know Narnia doesn't want to harm them."

"Good luck. If anyone can change their minds, the two of you can. What can I get for ya now?"

The children were reading by request of Elizabeth when you and Caspian made it back. It allowed for the three of you to start on lunch.

It didn't take long, so you took advantage of having a free kitchen once Elizabeth gave the children their food. It was time to give Caspian the lesson you owed him.

You didn't say anything to him. Instead, you pulled out a few peaches you managed to purchase while he was distracted and set them down in front of him. He stared at them and then grinned at you.

"I think it's time I teach you the art of baking. That is if a king doesn't mind getting his hands dirty."

"Is he a true king if he lets everyone else do the work for him?"

You smirked. "I wouldn't know."

"You're funny, Princess."

"All jokes aside, you're a good king, Caspian. An even better king than I predicted. There aren't many who would leave their home to help out a small kingdom when they ask for help."

Caspian smiled, taking your hand and squeezing. "Thank you. I'm always happy to help you and your family. Being a king won't ever change that."

You stared up at him, into the warmth pooling in his dark eyes, and you swore the ground under you fell away. Looking in the other direction, you slipped your hand out of his and grabbed a peach.

You cleared your throat. "Um, I'll show you how to make the pie crust. You'll work on that while I cut peaches. Okay?"

"Sounds good." You missed the large grin plastered on his face.

It was awkward at first with you trying to regain your composure. Eventually, you pushed it away and buckled down, running Caspian through making the dough and preparing it for the peaches you were going to cut. Once you had them sliced, you showed Caspian how to sweeten the fruit and turn it into a chunky almost jam texture. You let him spoon the filling into the pies and put them in the oven.

Elizabeth walked in as soon as you closed off the heat. "What is that?"

"Peach pies," you said. "I owed Caspian a baking lesson and I wanted to give the children a nice treat."

"That's sweet of you. Have you two eaten yet?"

"Uh, no. We have not."

"Get yourself something to eat while those bake!"

Laughing, Caspian stepped forward and made up two plates of the leftover food from lunch. You ate quietly while Elizabeth washed the dishes and the counters – she refused to let you or Caspian help clean up.

Soon the smell of baked pie wafted through the air, signaling they were finished.

You expertly pulled out each pie and let them cool. The crust was a delicious golden brown, though it lacked your usual perfection. You found Caspian's clumsier crust refreshing.

"They look good," Elizabeth said. "And they smell even better."

Nudging Caspian's arm, you nodded toward the pies. "Not bad for a first-timer."

"I had a talented instructor."

The flattery was going to give you a heart attack if he didn't cut it out. "But you made them. I only taught you how."

Elizabeth leaned over to smell them. Her eyes closed when she inhaled. "The kids will love these. Thank you both for your help."

Caspian nodded. "It was our pleasure. Thank you for taking care of those sweet children when no one else can."

"It's a blessing every day."

Ariel teared up when you had to leave. She hugged your leg and whined about how much she'd miss you. The boys stood tall and refused hugs, so Ariel didn't have to let go. You promised you would return as soon as you were able and that was enough for her to let go and stare up at Caspian with big tears.

"Protect her, okay? Our princess does a lot and needs to take care of herself."

Caspian set down the small crate with leftover pies and took Ariel's small hands in his. "I will protect her with my life. I promise."

The sun felt like fire on your already hot skin. He had to say things like that with you standing right there. And the way he looked at you after standing back up... It wasn't fair he so blatantly shared his interest in you. You were starting to wonder if it was worth waiting until you were sure of being a queen, a wife. It was so easy, the idea of being with Caspian. You almost wanted it. Almost.

The afternoon and evening filled with more mingling with townsfolk. No one seemed to want help from you. They were more interested in catching up with Caspian. You never knew how many people paid attention to the two of you growing up.

The worst part of it all was the question that hung in the air with each person who talked to you: was Caspian the rumored lover? You hated it, hated that Caspian was roped into a scandal your people made up. What would happen when they learned he was king of Narnia? Would the rumors get worse? You were afraid to find out.

As you walked back to the castle, the owner of the nearby tavern spotted you from afar.

"Is that Princess Y/N walking around with a man?"

You groaned but smiled as you turned to look at the burly man. "It's not that unusual, Saul."

"Ever since you and your prince friend quit visiting each other, it's a rare sight."

"Well, lucky for you, this is my prince friend." You tried not snickering calling Caspian a prince when you knew better.

"That's little Caspian?"

Caspian rubbed the back of his neck. "In the flesh."

Saul lit up. "Ah! Wow! You're not so little anymore, are you? Come in! Come in! Maybe I can get you two a pint before I open for the night."

"We barely turned 18," you noted.

"Then you're legal."

You looked at Caspian. "It's up to you since... you know."

He smiled at Saul. "A pint sounds like fun."

So, you both had a pint. It burned on your first few sips. You weren't new to drinking – you had a glass of wine now and then at dinner – but beer wasn't a drink you were accustomed to. The flavor was odd, yet you liked it.

Caspian drank his like he'd been drinking for years. You tried keeping up with him, which was a huge mistake since your body wasn't used to it and you had an empty stomach. Your eyes were heavy, and you kept leaning on the counter half-listening to Caspian and Saul speak.

"You all right, Princess?" Saul finally noticed your slumped posture.

You nodded against your hand and blinked slowly. "Just fine. You two keep talking."

Caspian pulled your drink away from you and stood up. "I think it's time to call it a day, Y/N. Thank you, Saul, for the conversation and the good drink. I'll be sure to come back when I can."

"I look forward to it. Now take our intoxicated princess home. I suggest taking back alleys to avoid prying eyes. The people haven't been too kind to her reputation."

"I know." Caspian frowned. "I hope they realize they're wrong about her."

"That won't happen until she gets herself a prince. Take care."

Caspian carefully picked you up, one arm under your knees and the other supporting your back. The basket of pies swung haphazardly on his arm. You draped your arms lazily over his shoulders and groaned.

"Don't move so fast."

"Sorry. I'll walk slow."

He did not walk slow. Caspian was eager to get you behind the castle walls to avoid more rumors. He took Saul's advice and took as many back ways as he could to bring you safely back into the castle. He couldn't sneak past your parents so easily.

"What happened?" Your mother trotted over to you half-asleep in Caspian's arms. She touched your forehead and cheeks. You moaned and tucked your face into Caspian's neck.

"Saul, the barkeeper, offered us a drink," Caspian explained. "I suspect she drank too quickly. I apologize for this. Had I known it would affect her so negatively, I never would have accepted his offer.”

Your father sighed and patted the young king's shoulder. "Take her to her room and get some rest. We can discuss it in the morning. Thank you for handling this discreetly for us... for her."

"Of course." Caspian repositioned you higher in his arms after handing off the basket of pies to your mother. "Should I send for a maid?"

"No, please keep this between us," your mother said.

Caspian nodded and made his way to your room. He tripped up the steps, which woke you up enough to cackle at his clumsiness. You were still laughing when he carefully laid you on your bed after shutting your door with his foot. He would have left the door open for propriety's sake, but for your dignity, he wanted to keep wandering eyes out.

"I'm sorry, Y/N, but you'll be sleeping in your clothes," he said, attempting to get you under your bed covers. You wouldn't quit squirming and giggling.

"I'll get tangled."

"Too bad."

"There's a slip under this, I promise. I'll get so hot overnight."

"No." Caspian touched the tip of your nose with his finger. "You can try to get out of it on your own once I leave this room. If you can't manage that, then you're stuck sleeping in your dress. I'm doing this for your sake, Y/N."

You groaned and flopped your arms out across the bed. "Why do I feel heavy and light at the same time?"

"You're drunk. I never knew you were such a lightweight."

"I drink wine... sometimes."

"Maybe next time you’ll get a smaller drink and sip it. There was no need to gulp it down."

"But you were and you're fine."

"That doesn't matter. If you did this while I wasn't around... I don't want to think about what could have happened to you..."

In your daze, you studied Caspian who was sitting at the end of your bed watching you. "Do you love me?"

He blinked. His mouth fell open slightly. "W-What do you mean?"

"Do you love me? And not because we're friends."

"Uh... I'm not sure this should be discussed when you're in this state."

"I'll never ask you when I'm sober." What ounce of sobriety you had screamed at you to be silent. Of course, that was impossible. "It's a simple question, Caspian. Do. You. Love. Me?"

Caspian ran his hand through his hair and shifted his gaze from you. "Maybe. I haven't figured it out yet."

You sighed and turned to lie on your side. You closed your eyes. "Sorry, I'm so stubborn."

"It's what I like about you."

Sleep was quickly taking you. "I... I considered marrying you today..."

He stayed quiet, but his eyes fell back on you.

"You take care of me... better than... than anyone I know." You yawned and nuzzled your face into your pillow. "I'd be lucky to call you my husband... if only... I wasn't... so afraid."

The king sat there a few minutes longer while you let sleep take full control of your senses. The words that came from your lips didn't seem real. There was no way you said them. There was no way you thought about being with him. And yet, his heart was racing, his hands were sweating, and the goofy grin that appeared on his face didn't seem to want to go away. There was hope. There was hope for a life with you as more than just his best friend.

[something-tofightfor]

Thanks to You

Pairing: Sam Adams x Reader

Word Count: 3238

Rating: PG-13? There’s some suggestion.

Author’s Note: Takes place in the Rebel in Love universe ... what happens when Mr. and Mrs. Dumpster Fire are tasked with hosting Thanksgiving? Some familiar faces show up, there’s a new addition to your family... and you eat a ton of food. 

Happy Thanksgiving to all of you in the United States. I know that I’m a few hours early, but since there’s a lot going on tomorrow, I figured I’d post it early. After all... is there anything better then Thanksgiving with an actual Founding Father? 

General:

@the-blind-assassin-12 @its-my-little-dumpster-fire @obscurilicious @sweetybuzz25 @suchatinyinfinity @lexxierave @gollyderek @poindexted @ificouldhelpyouforget @elanor-of-imladris @thesandbeneathmytoes @luminex3 @geeksareunique @weallhaveadestiny @mfackenthal @thesumofmychoices @yannii04 @beautiful-thinking @drinix  @blah-blah-fuckit-shit  @dreams-with-thoughts  @wangmangagavroche @traeumerinwitzhelden @agentlingerie

Sam Adams:

@damalseer @chibiyanai

Uncategorized: 

@banditthewriter @padfootagain @madamrogersstorytelling @ethereal-heavcns @editboutique @marauderskeeper @ilkaeliseb @delicatelilyflower @king4thesirens @ymariejp @mr-robot-x @rageshots @introvertedlibrary @writing-for-a-chance @yesixoxo @ilikebeachessushiandsmallanimals @likeorions @swiftyhowlz @dylanobrusso @malik-payne @lynne1993 @ladyblablabla @dreamwritesimagines @audreychaz @tc-elliot @kind-wolf @honeyydippaa @binbonsadoration @ms-delos @jeanettexkillian @avengerswhore @elioelioeli0 @projectcampbell @giggleberts @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes

“What would you like me to do?” Sam stood in the doorway, arms hanging down at his sides. “I feel like I’m not -” You set your knife down, closing your eyes and counting to five before you responded. “Just tell me what -”

“Samuel.” You said his name firmly, turning to face your husband. “You need to let me be.” The look that crossed his face was -for a moment - one of hurt, but then he recovered, setting his jaw. I didn’t mean… 

 “Fine I’ll take the dogs and -” Shaking your head, you stepped toward him, wiping one hand on your apron. 

 “That’s not what I meant and you know it.” Stopping in front of Sam, you reached up to run a thumb over his stubbled cheek, smiling. “You’re of no use to me in the kitchen, Mr. Adams.” He was still scowling, but you saw one corner of his mouth twitch. “I didn’t marry you for your culinary skills.” you cocked your head to the side, wetting your lips. “I would like you to go and visit John, and perhaps Paul, too.” You sighed. “We need benches and a few tables, Sam.” He opened his mouth in surprise, the facade of irritation gone. “We’re meant to host dinner tomorrow, and we have nowhere for people to sit, perhaps they can help you with that.” Sam looked at you but didn’t say a word, his brown eyes giving nothing away. “What?” 

 “How is it,” he asked, ducking his head down to kiss you gently. “How is it that in only a little over a year, we’ve gone from being newlyweds to hosting such an event? Me? Samuel Adams?” You pressed your lips together, waiting. “Don’t people spend the day with their -”

 “They all want to spend it with you, Sam.” Your hand again rose, this time finding the ends of his hair, the shortest pieces hanging loose around his cheeks. “You’ve made quite a name for yourself, haven’t you?” You sighed, allowing yourself to smile and leaning in to press your chest against Sams. “And your reputation? No one remembers the rebel, or the smuggler. No one thinks of you as -” He cut you off with another kiss, this one more thorough than the first and you melted into him, feeling Sam’s free arm wrap around your waist and hold you close. 

 “I only want to spend it with you.” He wrinkled his nose, kissing you again briefly. “But having our friends here will be nice, too.” Sam sighed, clearing his throat. “What are we doing with the -”

 “Oh you mean my dog and your…” He laughed, throwing his head back and closing his eyes, the sound echoing throughout the kitchen. “Your-”

 “Tory isn’t just my dog.” Sam glanced out the window, his eyes following the movement of the two large animals as they chased each other through the early afternoon sunlight. “We bought her as a companion for Rogue, and -”

 “And she listens to no one but you, Samuel Adams, and acts like I don’t exist.” You swatted at him playfully, shaking your head as you turned back to the counter. “I know where her loyalties lie, and it’s certainly not with me or her brother.” He laughed as he stepped up behind you, his arms going around your waist, his chin resting on your shoulder. 

 “What are you making?” You’d picked up the knife again, using it to cut through the apples on the counter. “Apple… pie?” You shook your head once, picking up a slice of the tart green apple and lifting it to his lips without hesitation, turning your head to watch as he bit down on it before pulling your hand back and putting the remaining piece into your own mouth. 

 “No. Abigail is bringing the pies. I’m making cobbler.” You turned, kissing his lips and tasting your husband along with the fruit. “Because I know you like it better. Now go.” You elbowed him, lowering your head and returning to your task. “We need tables and benches for fiften.” Sam kissed your cheek quickly and then stepped back, whistling as he walked out the door and through the yard toward the barn.

 --- 

 Later that evening, you finished wiping the kitchen surfaces down, taking stock of all you’d completed. The crumble was baked and wrapped, you’d cubed the bread that you’d baked earlier in the week for stuffing, and the herbs were chopped and mixed in. The root vegetables were washed and ready to be peeled and cooked, and the turkey was soaking in brine, waiting to be stuffed and roasted. Others in that would be in attendance had been tasked with bringing additional dishes - Abigail was making the pies, your mother was baking cornbread and bringing the chestnuts and greens, Paul would be bringing Sam’s favorite; a large haunch of venison that would be roasted slowly over an outdoor fire from the moment the man arrived in the morning until it was time to eat… and the other attendees were bringing things too - cranberries and carrots, fresh butter, wine, beans, coffee … there would be plenty of food, you’d been assured, and though you’d chosen to prepare the (arguably) most important parts of the meal, you weren’t feeling overwhelmed. 

 Sam had come back with Paul in the early afternoon, a cart loaded down with wooden planks behind the men, and for hours, they’d locked themselves into the barn, the sound of laughter and hammers ringing across the yard and to your ears. Rogue and Tory had pawed at the door for their dinner, but both dogs had quickly finished eating and then begged to be let back outside to join the men. For Tory, it wasn’t a shock, but Rogue’s interest was a surprise. 

 You’d taken Sam and Paul a meal just before dark, bread and cheese and some salted meat, expecting them to thank you and then immediately turn back to the task at hand, but Sam had extended his hand to you even after taking the plate you held out to him - and you weren’t about to start denying him anything. You sat next to your husband on one of the newly constructed benches, taking with him and Paul as they ate, and Paul informed you that his wife Rachel would be bringing sweet potatoes and apples baked with cinnamon and sugar, and that she would be coming over with him early in the morning. “We’re gonna leave the tables and benches in the barn, just in case it rains.” Paul chewed quickly, gesturing to the half finished table behind you. “Gonna head home soon, get back to her, and then we’ll be back in plenty of time tomorrow.” 

 You glanced down, seeing that Tory was laying at Sam’s feet with her snout on one of his boots and rolled your eyes before looking back up at Paul. “Of course, go home. I’m sure she’s been expecting you.” Paul put his plate down, grinning and then stood, pointing to the open barn doors. “We’ll see you tomorrow, Paul. Thank you for your help.” Paul reached the door, pausing and then meeting Sam’s eyes. You looked between the two men, confused, but Paul chuckled, muttering. “I’ll bring it” under his breath before exiting the building. What was that about? When the man was gone, leaving you alone with Sam and the dogs, you turned to your husband, raising an eyebrow. “If it had only been you out here, Sam, I would have found a reason to come and watch you with that hammer.” He smirked at you, leaning closer to press his forehead against yours. “Guess I’ll have to find something else for you to build, hmm?” He nodded before straightening up and stretching, his long arms rising straight up and above his head before he rolled his neck. 

 “Let’s go to bed?” Shooting to your feet, you picked up Paul’s plate and then your husband’s, clicking your tongue at the dogs to get their attention. From the far corner of the barn, Rogue rose, trotting over to where you stood, but Tory stayed on the ground, her dark brown eyes - so much like Sam’s - locked on his face. You sighed but he laughed, nudging her with his boot. “C’mon, girl. Bedtime.” She stood, waiting for his next command, but didn’t move until Sam did, his free hand taking yours, fingers threading through to grip your hand tightly as he led you back to the house, a lantern in the kitchen window shining brightly. Halfway across the yard, Sam leaned over, lips next to your ear. “I’m not quite done usin’ my hands tonight.” 

 --- 

 Through no fault of your own, dinner the next day was delayed by nearly an hour as the turkey took longer than expected to roast, and some of the other dishes needed to be reheated before they could be served, too. While the men sat outside - it was cool but sunny, you and the other women busied yourselves in the kitchen, putting final touches on all of the food and ensuring that your cutlery, plates and cups were clean and presentable, and that there were enough linens available. While it wasn’t the first Thanksgiving after declaring Independence, it was the first where all of your friends and family could freely gather; Sam and John weren’t off in Philadelphia, Paul wasn’t riding back and forth between cities and encampments and Sam’s other friends - and yours - were free to do as they pleased. It was safe to gather, because the British were beginning to leave in droves, and there was much to celebrate. 

 As you and the other women carried the food out into the barn after making sure that the dogs were tied on the other side of the yard, each one chewing on a large piece of buck’s antler (courtesy of John and Abigail), the men settled into their seats, content to let you do what you needed to do. Once the dishes were placed atop the table and everyone was seated, Sam cleared his throat, looking to your father with a nervous smile on his face. “Sir?” Your father nodded, waiting. “Would you mind leading us in the prayer? Your daughter’s told me -”

 “Of course, Sam.” Smiling broadly, your father reached for your hand on one side and then your mother’s on the other, the entire table taking hands wordlessly. You felt Sam’s thumb rubbing over your knuckles slowly as your father began to speak, reciting the same blessing you’d nearly memorized as you grew up, but as he reached the end, he took a deep breath. “And though we’re eternally grateful to you, Lord, for watching over us and keeping us safe, we’re also thankful for the time that we spent with those of us that are no longer among the living.” Sam’s grip tightened on your hand and you glanced over at him, noticing that he was still looking down, but was watching your father through his lashes, lips parted. “A great many have fought and died to honor this new country and her people, and among them are a few men that should be here right now.” 

 Sam sucked in a breath and you squeezed his hand tightly, your father going on to name Dr. Warren and Kelly first, then Christopher, followed by a few more explicitly, the other guests at the table murmuring quietly in agreement. Though you knew it was improper, you couldn’t help pulling your joined hands toward you, lips pressing against the tips of Sam’s fingers for a moment. I miss them too, Sam. Ending the blessing, your father raised his head - as did everyone else at the table - and after a few moments of silence where your husband’s eyes were locked on your father’s in silent thanks, your mother sighed and then smiled brightly. “Let’s eat.” 

 That was all it took, and as everyone dropped hands and began serving themselves, you turned on the bench to look at Sam, sitting at the head of the table, a pensive expression on his face. “You alright, Mr. Adams?” He paused before he answered but when he did, he sounded relieved, speaking in a low but steady voice. 

 “I am.” He reached up to rub at his face. “I don’t… think of them as memories, you know? But your father was right, they should be here and they aren’t. And we are, and…” His shoulders slumped. “They would have loved to see this, to -”

 “They would have, Sam.” You squeezed his hand again. “But now we live for them, and we celebrate for them, and we honor them… thanks to you.” You leaned in, speaking so that only Sam could hear. “Everything you do for these United States is for them as much as it is for all of us.” You stared into Sam’s eyes and watched as the troubled expression changed to one of resolve - one that you’d seen countless times, one that you loved. It’ll be alright, Samuel Adams. He nodded at you, pressing his lips together. “But right now? If you don’t load up that plate and tell me that my turkey is the most delicious thing you’ve ever tasted… we’re going to have -”

 Sam’s laugh rang out through the barn as he pulled his hand from yours and reached for the basket filled with bread, grinning. That’s what I thought. 

 ---

 A few hours later, most of your guests had left, riding toward their homes after thanking you and Sam for hosting, taking covered dishes of the leftovers (of which there weren’t many; your guests had eaten their fill and then some) and bidding you goodnight. John, Abigail, Paul and Rachel were the only ones still seated in the barn with you, the large table pulled apart into sections and a smaller one in front of you with a deck of cards spread out atop it. Sam excused himself, gripping your shoulder for a moment before he turned and walked away, and though you wondered where he was off too, Abigail distracted you with a story about shopping in Boston earlier in the week. 

 After a few minutes, Sam came back into the barn and you heard a clinking noise. What does he have? “I’ve been working on something.” Sam spoke as he approached the table, setting a jug down with a thunk, followed by six pewter mugs. “Well, we’ve been working on it.” Paul laughed again and Rachel tilted her head to look at her husband and then at you and Abigail. What? “It’s nothing right now, not really, but this is the first … and I wanted to…” Sam uncorked the jug before picking it up by the handle, tilting it over the first mug. “We’re brewing at the Green Dragon right now, but…” Beer? He’s brewing… Sam filled the mugs in turn and then slid them across the table one by one. “Tell me if it’s terrible, I’ve never done this before, but we made a recipe…” 

 “Don’t tell me if it’s terrible.” Paul spoke up, holding the mug in the air. “Lie to me.” All of you laughed, but before you took a drink, you looked at Sam. Wait. 

 “Sam?” He paused with the mug halfway to his lips. “Can we make a toast?” He swallowed and you looked away, meeting the eyes of the others. “It’s no secret that this… getting here has been a struggle… but we’re here now. And we need to honor the sacrifice that our friends - our family members - have made.” You took a breath, looking back at Sam. “I cannot think of a better way to do that than to raise a mug - on Thanksgiving - of the very first batch of a beer that you, Samuel Adams, my husband brewed in remembrance.” The others were quiet and then Paul cleared his throat, lifting his mug. 

 “To Kelly.” John nodded, lifting his own drink. 

 “To Christopher.” Rachel and Abigail joined the men, holding the metal in the air. 

 “To Joseph.” Sam’s mug met the others in the middle, yours clinking against it quietly. 

 “To all of you - all of us.” You nodded, meeting the eyes of each of your friends in turn. “We’ve sacrificed so much, but we’ve…” You looked at Sam, the smile on your face genuine. “We’ve gained a great deal more at the same time.” 

 “Cheers!” Sam nodded, and the six of you knocked the rims of your mugs against each other before raising them to your lips. As you took a long swallow of your husband’s beer, your eyes widened. It’s strong. The seriousness of the prior conversation all but forgotten as you congratulated Sam and Paul on their endeavor, your husband’s cheeks growing red in embarrassment, the six of you returned to your card game. Time passed and you finished the jug of ale, laughing and joking together until Abigail pulled John to his feet, suggesting that they go home. Paul and Rachel were soon to follow, and though he’d had just as much as anyone else, Paul was the one who guided his wife from the barn and to their wagon, holding her elbow tightly to help her balance, though she giggled the entire way across the lawn. 

 Once it was just the two of you, Sam caught your wrist as you went to exit the barn, the mugs and empty jug still on the table. “Sam?” 

 “Thank you for today.” His words slow and deliberate, Sam stepped toward you, hand sliding up your arm. “It means something different than it did just a few years ago.” You nodded, watching as Sam eyed you. Neither of you were drunk, but the alcohol had you feeling warm despite the cool temperature, and the feeling of Sam’s fingers on your arm kept you grounded. “Dance with me?” You closed your eyes, ducking your head and without thinking, you and Sam adjusted your positions, one of his hands moving to your waist and the other palm pressing flat against your back as your arms wound around his neck. “I never thought I’d have so much to be grateful for.” He spun you slowly, your feet moving over the scattered hay and sawdust on the floor. “You prove me wrong every day, Mrs. Adams.” 

 “As do you, Mr. Adams.” You used one hand to pull the leather strap from his hair and tucked it into your sleeve before using your fingers to comb through Sam’s long locks, aware of the tightening of his grip on you as your nails gently raked over his scalp. “You proved everyone wrong, Sam.” His hand moved up your back and slid against your neck, fingers curved around the base of your skull. “I love you.” 

 “I love you, too,” Sam murmured as he lowered his mouth to meet yours, lips pressing together in a kiss that made you feel warmth throughout your entire body as you stepped closer to your husband. “So much.” Me too, Sam. When you finally pulled apart, still swaying gently where you stood, you pulled one hand from Sam’s hair, trailing your hand down his chest and letting it rest over his heart. 

 “Sam?” He raised an eyebrow, the light of the lantern low but still allowing you to see the expression on his face - skirting the line between a smile and a smirk, eyes full of admiration. “I think it’s time you take your wife to bed.” 

 ---