#Dread covered by brand names

[shitspawn]

[scorpiosbite]

when actress!reader and drew met for the first time

𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 ────୨ৎ──── it's your first time in LA, so when your new friend madelyn cline invites you to a club in downtown LA with the rest of her obx castmates, who are you to decline.

𝜗𝜚 pairing: actress!reader x drew starkey

author’s note: this takes place in mid-2024 after the filming of obx 4 wrapped.

you stared at your reflection in the luxurious bathroom mirror, your makeup was light and your hair was straightened and open. yet you felt a bit like that saying 'a pig in makeup.' dressed in a sheer, white, long-sleeve top, a black lace bra underneath, clearly showing through, and black shorts paired with itno biker boots. your fingers, filled with chrome heart rings, sliver earrings of various jewellery brands covering your ears, yet your neck is still bare.

you sigh heavily, being racked with anxiety like this before going out was common for you. there was a reason you barely left your london home except for work. and now, here in LA for the first time and without mimi, your best friend who is the polar opposite of you and the only person who is capable of making you feel calm in these situations, you feel as though you are going to make a fool out of yourself. it's not like you don't want to meet madelyn and the rest of the obx cast, you really do, and you want to make a good impression which is why your anxiety feels worse than normal. the world sees you as this confident enigma, but only you experience this feeling of dread weighing down on your chest that tells you that you aren’t capable of more difficult roles, that you don’t deserve the fame and love given to you, that you aren’t hardworking or beautiful enough, that if people saw the real you, they would hate what they see. this feeling, this voice, is the reason you’re so recluse.

but before you can spiral any further your phone rings. madelyn's name lights up the screen. you pick up, clearing your throat, trying to settle the shake in your voice to hide your nervousness. "hi, maddie" you can hear the smile on her face through her response. "hi, y/n!! are you ready? i'm on the way to your hotel, i'll be there in like 10 minutes." the excitement in her voice eases your anxiety. maddie had dmed you on instagram a few months ago after seeing an interview of yours where you named outer banks as the show you watch during your free time while filming and since that moment the two of you became fast friends. so when you told her you were going to be in LA for the first time for work, she enthusiastically invited you to come hang out with her and her castmates. "yea, i'm ready, i'll come down to the lobby." you end the call and then rush around the room grabbing your bag and filling it with everything you may need, before giving your face and outfit a final check in the mirror before making your way to the lobby.

madelyn texted you that her car was parked outside the entrance when you reached the lobby and the hotel staff let you know that there was no paparazzi outside so you walked outside where madelyn’s driver had the backseat door open for you, you thanked him and hopped into the car and he walked back to the drivers seat and and started driving. madelyn’s smiling face greeted you. “hi, wow you look fucking stunning. it’s so good to finally meet you!” you gave her a bright smile in return. “thank you, you look unreal, and yes it’s so good to finally meet you too!” you gave her a tight hug. “fuck, y/n what perfume do you use, you smell amazing.” “aw, thank you! it’s the kayali vanilla one, babes.” madelyn laughed “what?” you gave her a confused laugh “ the ‘babes’ you’re so british!” you laughed and nodded “i forget that there’s terms we use that aren’t common here.”

madelyn pulled out her phone and started checking something, so you took the time to look out the window and take in LA during the night. “ok so chase is there, so is laci, madison, jd, austin and drew.” you felt your breath hitch at the mention of his name. “drew’s there?” madelyn gave you a knowing smirk. “yea, he’s coming.” you raised a brow. “what was that smirk for?” she shrugged and gave you a downward smile “you’ll see.” before you could question her further, the car came to a stop in front of the club. “we’re here, miss cline.” madelyn’s driver spoke up from his seat and then stepped out of the car coming around and opening the door for the both of you, you hopped out first and thanked him and waited while madelyn got out. she thanked him and then he drove off.

madelyn interlocked your hands together “excited?” you laughed at her excitement. “yea, let’s get a shot in me.” the atmosphere of the club was electric, the people around you were dancing and having the time of their lives. seeing everyone around you, you felt the anxiousness start to melt from your body. madelyn was looking around, trying to find her friends her hand still holding yours. “oh! i see them! let’s go!” she dragged you behind her, coming to a stop at the end of the table. everyone greeted you with bright smiles “guys! this is y/n. but you all already know that” she said in a singsong voice. “we’re all big fans of you.” she added as she turned to you. you smiled shyly with everyone’s attention on you. “hi.” you gave a little wave. your eyes immediately locked with drew’s, even sitting down he towered over everyone. you felt your breathe hitch and your limbs numb. you were suddenly pulled into hugs one by one by everyone else, you muttered greetings but it felt like an out of body experience as your eyes refused to stray from drew’s.

drew felt like he couldn’t breathe, he had spent so many months dreaming of this moment when he would finally see you in person. and all he could think was that the screen could never do justice to you. your energy, your beauty in real life was unmeasurable. “hi, i’m drew.” you smiled at him, a saccharine smile that made his heart stutter. “i know.” you took a seat next to him at the table while austin and jd went to get shots for the table “so y/n, what do you think of LA?” madison asked “it’s quite different to london.” you laughed. you were having trouble focusing as drew’s thigh kept bumping into yours. you thought about how badly you wanted him to use his size and strength against you. if he would throw you and bend you to his will, you clenched your thighs together at the thought.

jd and austin returned with the shots and everyone’s energy immediately skyrocketed. you all grabbed a shot. “let’s have a good fucking night! whoo!!” chase yelled and you all clinked your glasses and downed your drinks. everyone winced but you weren’t phased “what!! how did you not feel that!” austin yelled over the music that had somehow gotten louder. “that was straight tequila!” you shrugged with a smug smile on your face “i’m british, darling, you americans can’t keep up!” you laughed. drew beside you, had a look on his face that was somehow both impressed and turned on. “oh my god! i fucking love this song.” you exclaimed beginning to feel the alcohol travel through your system, taking with it the inhibitions that often consumed you. “dance with me?” madelyn asked and you nodded your head. she grabbed your hand but before she could drag you behind her you turned your head and mouthed to drew “watch me.”

drew’s throat felt constricted, his pants were becoming impossibly tight. you were grinding on madelyn and he couldn’t take his eyes off of you. you’re mesmerising and he had to have you. it felt as though time had slowed down and the two of you were the only people in the crowded club. “come on man, let’s go dance.” jd clapped drew on the shoulder. he got up and began making his way to the centre of the dance floor, his eyes still locked on you.

your eyes were closed and you were completely lost in the music when you felt madelyn whisper in your ear from behind. “drew’s walking over, don’t tell him i told you this, but he’s into you.” your eyes snapped open but before you could question her, drew was standing in front of you, towering over everyone in the club. everyone else present faded away as you took in his presence. he leaned down to whisper in your ear. “wanna dance on me like that?” you smirked, tilting your head up, slightly. “you wish.” he smirked down at you. the alcohol you had consumed throughout the night made you bold and carefree and you used it’s effects on you to the fullest. you wrapped your arms around his neck and he brought his hands to your waist, covering the small of your back.

drew’s head felt dizzy, you smelt so good he wanted to drag his tongue across every inch of the surface of your body. he leaned down to your neck inhaling the scent of your perfume and pheromones. “fuck, you smell amazing.” you smirked “yeah? want a taste?” drew threw his head back his adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. “fuck, y/n, don’t say shit like that.” you leaned up on your tippy toes so that you could whisper in his ear. “why not?” you came back down so that you could gaze back up at him, your eyes big and wide, innocent, like you weren’t thinking all the disgusting things you wanted him to do to you. “you don’t wanna fuck me, drew?”

you giggled as you unlocked the door to your hotel room, drew, hot on your heels. as soon as the door was open drew picked you up and you giggled drunkenly, wrapping your legs around his waist and your arms around his neck. drew’s hands came to grip on your thighs squeezing at the flesh as he devoured your lips with his, teeth and tongue clashing. you moaned into the kiss, your hands scratching at his buzzed head. drew reached out behind you and pushed the door shut. the sound of it echoing through the room but the both of you couldn’t care less. your lace panties were soaked all the way through and you could feel his cock straining through his pants, drew broke the kiss. “you feel what you do to me, baby?” you hummed in agreement already feeling fucked out even though he hadn’t even properly touched you yet “been hard from the moment i saw you walk through the door.”

“need you so bad, drew” you whined, not even caring if you sounded desperate, he was more desperate than you anyway. “yeah? need me that bad, baby? need me in that pretty little pussy?” you nodded, biting your lip “wanna be full of you.” drew groaned “fuck, you trying make cum in my pants y/n?” you giggled. drew began to make his way to the bed, with you still in his arms. he dropped you onto the plush bed and you bounced on the mattress. “are you sober enough to do this? cause i don’t want you to regret this in the morning.” you shook you head frantically. “no, i want you, i’m just tipsy, i told you i have a high tolerance.” he laughed, a low rumble that caused your core to flutter. “that you did, baby.” you spread your legs open to make room for him and he began to unzip your boots and pull off your socks before kicking off his own shoes.

drew kneeled on the edge of the bed, leaning down to attach himself to your neck, biting, licking, and sucking at the skin. your moans were breathy, almost sigh like at the feeling of his lips. his hands brushed at your waist, tugging at the hem of your sheer top. “let me see you.” he pulled it off, messing up your hair as it went over your head. he then moved to your shorts tugging them down your legs, leaving you in your matching black, lace bra and black, lace thong. “fuck, you’re unreal, i can’t believe you’re here right now.” you giggled at his words. “you’re sweet.” he chuckled and he leaned back down to kiss you. “yeah? i’m sweet, baby?” “mhmm.” you nodded as he connected your lips together again. you kissed him back with ferocity. tugging his bottom lip with your teeth, your hands stroked his covered chest, and you broke the kiss, your lips still so close that you could feel his breath on your face. “take off your clothes.”

drew groaned and his face dropped into your neck, before he stood up off the bed and pulled his shirt over his head, moving to his pants unbuttoning them and then pushing them down his legs, leaving him in just his boxers. your mouth hung open when you saw the size of his bulge through his boxers and the wet patch forming on the material. you sat up on the bed and tugged him closer to you by the waistband of his boxers, licking his clothed bulge. “poor baby, so hard, do you need me to help you?” drew whimpered, nodding his head. “need you so bad, pretty girl.” you chuckled, “want me so bad don’t you, drew?” drew’s hips bucked in response a look of pure desperation on his pretty face, oh, you were gonna ruin him. leave him a mess so that the only person he would ever want was you.

you pushed down his boxers freeing his length. his massive cock snapped up, slapping his stomach, the red tip leaking pre cum. your mouth watered at the sight of him, he’s gorgeous. “you’re so pretty and big, drew.” drew whimpered “fuck, you gonna suck me off, gorgeous?” you hummed, your hand coming up to the base of his cock, stroking languidly. “you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” drew groaned, his hand curling into a fist by his side, like he was trying desperately not to force your mouth onto him. he opened his mouth to speak, but before he could say anything, you parted your lips and began leaving open mouth kisses on his tip. alternating between sucking and kissing, drew groaned from above you, his hand finally coming up to tangle in your hair, never pushing or pulling just resting. such a gentleman you thought, but you wanted him to snap, to use you.

you breathed through your nose and then took his entire length into your mouth, your nose pushing into the trimmed patch of hair at the base of his cock. drew let out a loud groan that reverberated through the room. “fuck! y/n!” you hummed and then swallowed around his length, your tongue still rubbing the underside of his cock, before you pulled off of him to catch your breath. but before you could resume your ministrations, drew placed a hand under your chin, tilting your head up. you looked up at him with a fucked out expression and he look even more fucked out than you. “i’m gonna need to prep you, so get on your back for me, baby.” you giggled excitedly, drew reached behind you and unclipped your bra with ease and practised skill before you laid down onto the soft mattress.

your hair splayed around you like a halo, your cheeks flushed with a daze in your eyes as you gazed up at drew. he leaned over you on the bed, one hand placed by your head and the other stroking your thigh. “i’m gonna take you out after this.” you raised a brow, “oh yeah? what makes you think i’m gonna say yes?” drew smirked at you, he did love a challenge. “alright, if i make you cum three times, you have to go out with me. deal?” you hummed, mulling over the proposition. “you’re on, starkey.” drew leaned down and began kissing and biting your neck, then your shoulders then finally your tits, sucking at your nipple and squeezing the other one with his large palm. “been thinking about feeling these since the moment i saw them on my tv.” he mumbled against the flesh. you could only respond in moans. “fuck, drew!”

drew continued his way down till he was face to face with your lace covered soaked core, he nuzzled his face into your clothed pussy, inhaling deeply. “fuck, you smell amazing.” you whined impatiently, bucking your hips. drew chuckled and hooked his fingers into the band of your thong, dragging it down slowly, the material clung to your centre a sticky film connecting your cunt and the fabric as he pulled it down and off your legs, dropping the fabric onto his pile of clothes on the floor. “god, you’re so wet, baby.” drew said breathlessly. “who’s got you so wet, huh? tell me.” your cheeks flushed in embarrassment “you, drew, i’m so wet, just for you.” drew hummed appreciatively “such a pretty pussy, I knew your cunt would be gorgeous, just like the rest of you.”

before you could say anything in response, drew dove into your cunt, eating you like a man starved. his tongue flicked at your clit, as he spread your lips open with his fingers baring you for him to consume. you gasped and whined, your moans coming out broken. then he sucked your clit into his mouth and his long finger prodded at your entrance. your hips bucked and your thighs squeezed at his head. but drew just held your legs open with one hand as he doubled down on his efforts, he slipped in another finger, thrusting with fervour and you thought you were seeing stars, you had never had a man eat you out like this before. it was like drew was born to live between your legs, like he was made just for you. as he sped up his movements you felt the tightening band in your stomach about to snap. “fuck! drew! shit! i’m gonna cum!” your orgasm tore through you with a rage, as you came with a shout of his name. your back arched off the bed and your legs shook around drew’s head, thighs squeezing him. your puffy clit throbbed and your slick walls pulsating around his fingers.

drew detached himself from your abused cunt, slotting himself between your spread legs, your body was still trembling. “that’s one, baby” you could only muster a whine in response as drew grabbed the base of his cock stroking a few quick times, before slapping the head of his cock against your swollen cunt. “fuck, wait, i don’t have a condom.” you shook your head. “don’t care ‘m on birth control, wanna feel you, drew.” you said, your voice full of your need for him. drew groaned his head bowing forward, as if his was in prayer. his voice conveying his all consuming desire for you. “you’re gonna be the death of me.”

drew smeared his pre cum all over your cunt, like he was trying to mark you as his. then he pushed the tip in, your mouth hung open as a gasp escaped your plush, swollen lips. it felt as though he was spitting you open. drew stopped as your brows furrowed and your perfect face scrunched up, mouth still open. he was right, you look exactly as how you did in your sex scene. but seeing you now, in real life, in front of him, as the cause of your pleasure, the feeling was indescribable. he knew in that moment that he lived for you. to be the source of all your joy. you shook your head “no, don’t stop, i want it to hurt, i want to be able to feel you tomorrow.” he couldn’t speak, drew swore that no woman could every make him feel like you did. he pushed all the way in bottoming out, he didn’t give you any time to adjust to his size, pounding into your tight cunt with ardour. your moans and whines came out strangled, your face flushing.

drew’s hand trailed your thigh, grabbing the plump flesh, so tight that you knew that he would leave hand prints, his cock slammed into your walls and he looks so pretty above you, bottom lip bit under his pearly teeth, in effort to keep his groans at bay. sweat gathering at his forehead, that you wanted to lick off, pretty brows furrowed together. you were gripping him like a vice and he knew that he wasn’t going to last long. he brought his thumb to your throbbing clit. rubbing quick circles on the bundle of nerves, you threw you head back exposing your neck as you felt your second orgasm of the night creep onto you. “shit, baby, prettiest girl in the world, fucked out on my cock. you don’t know how long i’ve been dreaming of this.” your tits bounced with each slap of his hips against yours, his heavy balls banging against your ass, the sting adding to your pleasure.

“holy fuck, drew!” your body convulses from your second climax, tight walls clenching hard around drew’s thick cock, he pulled out quickly, flipping you onto your knees as your face buried into the mattress. you panted heavily as he pushed back into you from behind. large palms gripping onto your hips. he picked up his pace right where he left it giving you no time to gather yourself. strong hips pounding against your perfect ass, one hand left your hips that he trailed down your back to your head gripping your hair, turning your head to the side so you could watch him over your shoulder. but you struggled to keep your eyes open.

drew was struggling not to cum, he was nothing if not a man of his word, so no matter how hard your velvet walls clenched around him, no matter how perfect the sight before him was, he had to see you again. so he wasn’t going to lose his chance by fucking cumming too quickly like a teenage boy. “best fucking pussy i’ve ever had.” he praised and you squealed in response, you couldn’t form coherent thoughts anymore, let alone words. the only thing you could think of was drew, and how he was splitting you apart on his big cock. the angle of his thrusts hitting that sweet spot inside of you. “fuck! ‘m gonna cum, baby!” you cried out and drew whimpered in relief, he was teetering on the edge and the thought of having to hold on for any longer made him feel like he was going to collapse. “yeah? gonna give me number three, baby?” you pushed your ass back into him matching his thrusts as you whined loudly. drew was hypnotised as your red cheeks bounced on his pelvis, his hand leaving its place on your hip to smack down on the plump flesh, once, twice, then three times, watching it jiggle. “fuck, please rub my clit!” drew obeyed immediately bending at hip and reaching around you so that his long fingers could rub at your pulsing clit with vehemence.

“i’m cumming!” your body shook and your eyes squeezed shut as tears rolled down your eyes, you felt this wetness exploding out of you but you couldn’t focus on it, drew groaned from behind you his hips stuttering as he came with a loud moan of your name his cum pushing into your cervix. he pulled out of you and you felt the mixture of your fluids seeping out of your pussy. drew took two of his fingers and gathered the mixture and pushed it back into your sensitive cunt, you whined in response, collapsing onto your back it’s only then did you see the mess you had caused on the expensive sheets of the hotel bed. “you squirted. that’s so fucking hot.” you felt boneless, completely spent. “ever done that before?” you shook your head no “mm mm.” drew’s face was completely fucked out and you were sure you didn’t look much different. “hold on, baby, i’m gonna clean you up, ok?” you simply nodded, too tired to speak. drew walked to the bathroom and came back with a wet towel, which he used to wipe between your legs and over your sensitive cunt, before chucking the cloth somewhere on the floor, then collapsing next to you on the bed.

drew gathered you into his arms tugging you close to him, his arm under your head and the other around your waist and you snuggled your face into the crevice of his neck and shoulder. your hand coming up to rest on his chest and your legs tangling with his. you have never felt so content in your life. drew spoke in a hushed tone. “so, that was three, can i take you out now?” you giggled in response “yeah, can i tell you a secret?” drew was tracing patterns on your back. “what’s that, baby?” you smiled against his skin “i was gonna say yes anyway, but i wanted to make you work for it.” drew chuckled. “you cheeky minx.” “can i tell you a secret?” you nodded “i would’ve done anything you told me to.”

TAGLIST: @sunnybunnyy2 @percysley @wearemadeofstardust0 @idgasb @pinkpantheris @emmaaas-posts @grace-sully @chloeisbunny

god that took me so fucking long to write but i hope it’s not disappointing. thank you for all the love on the previous parts my lovelies!!

[moonstruckme]

hi i have an unhealthy attachment to your doctor!remus content…could i request a fic where reader is hiding some type of health problem from him or maybe ignoring it, and when something bad happens he finds out and is all stern with her and his usual worried self? i <3 this man, thank you truly for sharing your writing and doing it so well!!

Thank you for requesting lovely!

cw: description of vertigo, mention of nausea

doctor!Remus x fem!reader ♡ 1.1k words

You’re sick of being miserable. You had a cold, which had turned out to be the flu, which had turned into a sinus infection, and your poor, sweet boyfriend had weathered it all with you. Remus had made you soup. He’d warmed damp towels for your sinuses. He’d stayed home from work a couple of days, and rubbed your back, and your chest, and your temples when they ached, and supplied you with name-brand medicines. He’d been so, so patient when you were whiny and awful to be around. So now, when your sinus infection has turned into this heinous ear pain, you’ve decided you’re done with it. 

You won’t entertain your body with its miseries any more. You certainly won’t be making it Remus’ problem. 

It’s easy not to feel miserable when you wake up before him on a slow Saturday morning. There’s a line of sunlight reaching across the room from the crack in your curtains, Remus’ face lovely even in shadow. He could use a haircut, you think fondly. It’s starting to cover the tops of his ears, which you think is a rather endearing look on him even if you have to agree when he says it’s not very professional. 

Eventually his eyes blink open. He smiles when he finds you watching him, the stretch of his lips sleepy and content. You draw a finger lightly down the bridge of his nose. 

“I think,” you say, “that we should stay here all day long.” 

Remus’ smile widens, and it takes half a second after his mouth begins moving for you to realize you can’t hear him properly. You pick your good ear up off the pillow as subtly as you can, propping your chin on your hand. You ignore the wave of dizziness that follows. 

“...what you really want? You’ve been home nearly all week,” says Remus. “What if we went on a walk today? We could go to that park you like, the one with the lake.” 

You shove down the dread that rises in your chest. This is what you want. You want to get over being poorly and get back to your life. 

“You’re right,” you say brightly. “That sounds great.” 

Remus peers over you to check the time. “Oh. God, we slept in, didn’t we? We may have to go soon if we want it to still be nice out.” 

“That’s alright,” you say easily. “I’ll be right after you, I just have to pick out what I’m going to wear.” 

Remus leans forward to peck you on the forehead, getting out of bed with a sleepy groan. He stretches his neck this way and that, movements sluggish as he goes toward the bathroom. 

Your movements are sluggish for different reasons. You sit up slowly, fighting through the vertigo that sloshes the room about you in protest. It wasn’t this bad yesterday. 

You discover a series of new miseries as you get dressed with cautious, snail-like movements. Your ear hurts something awful. More than that, the pain has spread to most of your head. The constant dizziness quickly results in a low nausea. You’re genuinely uncertain whether the ringing in your ears is a symptom of your ear infection or a warning bell of your impending insanity. 

Putting on your trousers is an ordeal. By the time you sit down on the bed to pull on socks, your resolve has spiderweb cracks spreading and threatening to unleash a meltdown. 

But you’re stubborn. You can do this, you think. If you’re only walking on even ground in the park, and Remus’ hand is in yours, you’re sure you can manage. The internet said your symptoms wouldn’t last long anyway—maybe they’ll clear up as the day goes on. 

“...ove? Dove?” 

You look up as Remus comes to stand in front of you, swallowing when the world spins. In the center of the swirl, you think he’s smiling. His hand cups your face. 

“You seemed off in your own world there,” he says fondly. 

You smile and hum, keeping your head perfectly still so that the spinning slows. Remus’ eyebrows twitch towards each other. 

“You alright?” 

“Mhm, yeah.” You cup your hand over his, holding onto it as you stand. “Let’s go.” 

“You’re ready?” he asks while you pull him towards the door. You sway a bit in your effort to walk at a normal pace, reaching for the doorframe. 

The hallway in front of you looks like a funhouse horror. You put one foot in front of the other as surely as you can. “Yeah,” you say. “Aren’t you?”

Remus’ hand tightens on yours. You don’t understand why for a moment, but then you’re falling sideways, his hands catching you around the waist. 

“Dove.” His stern voice is slightly alarmed and largely disembodied, your eyes unable to find his face in the whirling mass in front of you. “What’s going on?” 

Like an overinflated balloon popping, you burst into tears. 

Remus collects you to his chest, holding your head securely against him as he half carries you back to the bed. It doesn’t prevent your dizziness entirely, but it helps. 

“What’s happening?” he asks more gently as you sniff and whimper. “I can’t fix it if I don’t know.” 

“I think it’s an ear infection,” you say in a small voice. “It hurts, and my head hurts, and I’m so—” You take in a short breath. “—so dizzy I feel sick.” 

“Okay. Okay, it’s alright.” Remus pets the back of your head, shushing you until you calm some. 

“Sorry,” you whimper. 

“What are you sorry for, love? For crying?” 

Your sniffly silence is answer enough. 

Remus sighs. “Why did you try to act like nothing was wrong?” 

“Because,” you say thinly, “I’m tired of things being wrong. I just want—” You pause, pressing your lips together to avoid crying again. “I want to feel normal.” 

“Oh, sweetheart.” Your boyfriend’s mix of disappointment and sympathy only brings you closer to tears. “You can’t will it, my love. And you can’t pretend this away. These are the sorts of things I need to know about.” 

You blink away the blur of tears, grateful that your world has finally straightened out. You press your head closer to Remus’ chest. “I wanted to give you a break, too,” you admit. “The internet said it would go away in a couple of days, so I figured I’d just ride it out.” 

“Mm, a middle ear infection would.” 

You stiffen. “What does that mean?” 

The kiss Remus drops to your head is heavy with compassion. “Vertigo like this comes with an inner ear infection, dove. They take longer to go away, sometimes weeks, but the process can be sped up with antibiotics.” 

He pauses while you process this. 

“You know, the sort prescribed by a doctor.” 

“Oh.” 

He chuckles fondly, kissing your head again. “This is why you tell me things. Understand?” 

“Yeah.” You wrap your arms around his middle, clinging pathetically. “I’m sorry. Help me.” 

“I will, sweetheart. Think you can lay down and be still while I nip to work and the pharmacy?” 

You don’t think you’ll have any problems there.

[hannieehaee]

18+ / mdi

content: pantysniffer!mingyu (sorry), pussy drunk mingyu, he's basically just a depraved perv, roommate!mingyu, friends to lovers(?), oral (f receiving), smut, f reader, penetrative sex, etc.

part 2

wc: 1752

masterlist

'this isnt like him' was the lie mingyu told himself to justify his current endeavor. although he was ashamed of his current state, he had finally hit rock bottom, but that was not something he could admit to himself nor anyone else while also retaining whatever was left of his dignity.

there he was, in his roommate's room as you showered, crouched over your laundry hamper in search of a special something to aid him as he relieved himself of the frustration you had been causing him ever since you moved in a few weeks ago.

after some altercations with your former tenant, your best friend vernon (also known as mingyu's current roommate) had offered you the extra room in his an mingyu's apartment. the room wonwoo had graciously given up in order to move in with his girlfriend two months prior.

now, mingyu had no issue with you. quite the opposite, actually! he had immediately taken a liking to you as soon as youd been introduced by vernon, even befriending you in the process. you, however, despite being his new friend/pretty roommate, were still the source of many of mingyu's problems.

it had first began with the summer heat rising just as you moved in, causing you to wear sinfully short shorts around the house. turning up the ac did not help matters either, as he could not only now see your pretty legs but also the outline of your nipples through your tank tops. and although mingyu was a respectful man, at the end of the day, he was still just a man.

then came what broke the camel's back. mingyu knew that his niceness would one day be his downfall. if he'd known where it'd land him, he never wouldve offered to throw your laundry in with his as you came home from work one day, visibly exhausted at a full day of work under the summer heat.

as he separated the whites, mingyu had felt the soft touch of silk, instantly dreading what his hands had landed over before even having to take a look at it. he knew he shouldve ignored it and just thrown it in with the rest of the clothes, but your name was calling him. the frustration you had caused him since your arrival was beginning to cloud his mind, and without thinking, he was showing the white lace in his face, breathing deeply into it. the laundry took longer to get done that day, as he found himself occupied by more pressing manners before he could finally get to it.

he didnt mean for this to become a habit, except that it ended up becoming exactly that. mingyu might've been a pervert (something he did not want to admit), but he was also a smart man. he would always wait for you to either leave home or head to one of your long showers before sneaking into your room and digging through your dirty clothes, always sighing in relief at finding a brand new used pair of panties to steal away for the next hour. he'd sneak past vernon back into his room and play with himself with the aid of your scent on his nose, imagining what it would be like to have the real thing pressed up against his face, whining as he shoved his tongue inside you.

mingyu, despite thinking himself to be smart and discreet and not a pervert!, was, as previously stated, just a man. which meant doom would eventually find him. unfortunately for him, that day was today. although he was a calculated man, he did not prepare himself for the unexpected, which took form in you barging into his room right before you actually stepped into your awaiting shower to ask if he had extra shampoo, since you had run out. your sentence was never able to leave your mouth, though, as you stopped in your tracks at the sight of your baby pink panties in the hands of your new roommate.

'g-gyu?'

startled, mingyu jumped immediately, making a very stupid bad attempt at covering his dick with the small fabric of your panties. 'WAIT. its not-it's not what you think!', eyes frantically staring at you, heart going a mile per minute.

'is that .. mingyu? are those my panties? what ..'

'it's .. i .. fuck. i'm SO sorry. i cant- i swear its not as bad as it looks. it was an accident, i-' he went on like this for a good minute, stuttering half-thought out excuses that wouldnt hold up in court, much less to the owner of the panties.

you hated to admit it, but the depravity of the act had you throbbing in an embarrassing amount of time.

you'd noticed the occasional absence of your panties, chalking it up to you misplacing them or simply not keeping track of their location at all times (i mean, they were just panties to you), but you never wouldve imagined that the gigantic hunk of your roommate wouldve been stealing them away just to catch a whiff of your scent behind your back. you were beyond embarrassed at the thought, but the space between your thighs burned like crazy at knowing how badly mingyu mustve wanted you.

you turned around, terrifying mingyu at the thought of you marching out of his room to go tell everyone about his perverted actions. you surprised him when you simply locked the door, stepping further into the room until you were sitting almost on his lap, only thing separating you being your thin robe.

'mingyu .. have you been stealing my underwear?', you reached over slowly to put your hand atop his, which was located above his throbbing dick, panties in a tight grip.

'i-i didnt, i-' you cut him off, pressing yourself closer to him, lifting your free hand to his chin in order to make him look into your eyes.

'needed me that bad, baby? you couldve just told me. there was no need to go around sniffing my panties like a little perv', there was both lust and mockery behind your tone, making mingyu's mind cloud even more.

'n-not a pervert. just wa-wanted you, i swear', you had taken his hand away from covering his penis, now softly rubbing him with your own, causing him to close his eyes and let out a breath of relief.

'do you want the real thing, baby? wanna feel what you've been missing? taste it?'

that alone broke mingyu's resolve. now that he knew you wanted him too, he could no longer hold back from taking what he'd craved all these weeks.

moments later you were laying face up, six foot man at the foot of the bed whining against your cunt. his sounds of pleasure were making you dizzy, hearing the frantic way he ground his hips against the mattress, seeking relief from the effects of your cunt on his tongue.

he ate you out to completion, exhausting you after just one orgasm, but he wasnt finished. immediately after, he flipped you over, placing you on your hands and knees above the bed, once more shoving his face into your cunt, muttering something about 'want it from behind, baby, taste so fucking good'.

he continued to moan and groan against your cunt, with you pushing your ass against his face and forcing his head closer to you with your hand. you were completely gone on the pleasure, crying out his name, praying to god vernon wasnt home to hear your embarrassing moans.

'wanted you so bad. made me go crazy parading yourself around me like that, thinking i could hold back'.

'wanted to pound you into the mattress the moment i saw you. you're so pretty, fuck'.

'pretty cunt smells so good. tastes even better. all mine now, right, baby?'

the depravity of his words against your cunt drove you to your end once again, falling limp on his bed once he separated himself from you.

'baby, we're not done yet', chuckled mingyu as he turned you around once more. 'need you to take my cock, okay, pretty? need that cunt wrapped around me'.

he entered you quickly after that, folding you like a pretzel in order to bury himself as deep as possible in you. 'fuck .. god baby, you've been keeping this pretty pussy from me. fucking dangling it in my face, knowing id snap and fuck you.' he groaned, lowering his face to your chest, tonguing along your nipples.

there were no thoughts in your mind. you were left with no ability to respond with anything other than loud whines of his name and cries for more.

''m gonna fuck you every day now, baby. gonna keep you in bed next to me every morning n give it to you. you dont know how much ive wanted you. shit. now you're mine to play with whenever i want, isnt that right? dont need your panties now that i have the real thing. n fuck its so warm n pretty too.' he rambled, steadily increasing the pace and force of his thrusts as he neared his climax.

yours arrived before his, the sporadical tightness of your cunt triggering his as he threw his head back with a loud cry of your name. careful not to let himself fall on top of you, he got up in search for wipes to clean you up with, soon after laying you down comfortably in his bed.

a few minutes of silence went by as he held your spent form. it took you a minute or so to catch your breath and gain your ability to speak properly again. 'sorry for taking your underwear without telling you ..' he said bashfully. a striking contrast from a few moments ago.

you giggled at his pout. 'its fine mingyu, its kind of embarrassing but .. it was kinda hot', you felt heat rise to your cheeks. his eyes perked up at that, a smirk replacing the pout on his face.

'oh? god, youre even more of a pervert, oh my god', he playfully laughed in your face.

'me?! you stole my panties, you degenerate!', you slapped bis shoulder in a force that he could only call delicate.

'but YOU wanted me to, didnt you? you little perv. it's okay baby, i'm a perv for you too. next time just give me your panties, baby.'

there was no winning with him, but it was fine. you could now both indulge each other in your depravity for one another, probably driving vernon crazy as his two roommates became an item.

a/n: not proofread

[harrysfolklore]

buzzcut - blurb

this kinda sucks but it was on my drafts sooo why not, hope you enjoy !

MASTERLIST | MY PATREON

//

"I wonder how would I look with my head shaved." Harry randomly said one night both of you were cuddled up in bed.

"Where is that coming from, lovie?" You looked up at him, curious by his sudden statement.

"Dunno, I've never in my almost 30 years of age had a buzzcut," he shrugged, "I feel like It's part of manhood to shave your head at least once."

"Your manhood is just fine," you rolled your eyes with affection and pecked his chin, "But if you want to know how you'd look with no hair, you can always look for those AI pictures your fans have been making lately."

Harry laughed and kissed the crown of your head, leaving the conversation at that and focusing on the romantic comedy movie you picked for the night.

Days passed by and you soon forgot about your conversation and Harry didn't bring up his desire to shave his head again, so when he mentioned that he wanted to get a haircut you assumed that he was getting his usual trim.

Oh boy, were you wrong.

"I want to chop my hair a bit before we head to Vegas." He said a week before your trip, Jeff kept insisting that you needed to see the show he had been working on at the Sphere and you finally agreed.

"That's fine, just don't do anything extreme you know I love the curls." You replied, unaware of what he had up in his sleeve.

"Nothing to worry about, baby." You failed to notice the devilish smile on his face that gave away that he was planning something else.

The following day Harry told you that he was going to Ayae's place to get his haircut, which was weird to you because his hairdresser always came to your house to cut his hair, but you still didn't overthink it too much.

Until you got a text from her that read "Don't kill me or your boyfriend for what he made me do."

Just a minute after you got the text you heard the front door open and your name being called from downstairs.

"H are you home? Ayae texted me but I don't know what she means." You said as you made your way to him, he was standing in your living room, his hair being covered by the hood of his hoodie.

"I cut my hair," he said and a confused frown made its way to your face, "And I'm going to show it to you, but you need to promise me you won't freak."

"Why would I freak? Why are you acting so weird about it?"

Harry only smiled and pulled the hood from his head, revealing that his brand new buzzcut.

You stood in your place for a few minutes before reacting, "Is this some kind of joke?"

"It's not love! I shaved it," he got closer to you, a big smile on his face, “Do you like it?”

“Oh my god! Your hair is really gone! What the fuck, Harry.” You laughed in disbelief, grabbing his face to get a better look at him.

“I told you I wanted to give it a try before my twenties ended, remember?”

“Yeah, but I didn’t think you’d actually do it,” you shook your head, “This is crazy! Does Jeff know? Forget about him does your mom know? Oh my god we need to facetime her right now.”

Harry laughed at your rant, “Jeff knows love, he wants to shave his too, and we’ll facetime mum later,” he pecked your lips quickly, “Now wipe that look off your face! You’re looking at me like I’m an alien!”

“This is just so weird, but also such a you thing to do,” you pecked his lips back, “Your fans are going to be absolutely nuts about this.”

“Lord, that’s what i’m dreading the most.”

A week later you and Harry were standing in the crowd of U2's concert at the Las Vegas Sphere, surrounded by friends and other concertgoers.

Somehow Harry's new look gave him a little more privacy, since the world didn't know that his signature brown curls were gone and he could go unnoticed sometimes.

"You've been busted." You said as you noticed a phone camera filming the both of you, Harry was standing behind you with his hand protectively gripping your neck.

"What, love?" He asked, making you discretely point at the person with the camera.

"Well, I guess the madness stars now."

A day later, pictures and videos of Harry's new haircut flooded the internet, making his fans go crazy once again.

taglist: @lightsoutstyles @willowpains @straightontilmornin n @sleutherclaw @gimsaysay @hazzassmirk @platinumbarbie143 @musicforcinemas @celesteblack08 @scntfrhs @eleanordaisy @lomlolivia a @iceebabies @iloveshawn @be-with-me-so-happily @watermelonsugacry @rayisthehoe @drewrry

[moonsaver]

You've had the unfortunate privilege of being on the recieving end of Sunday's influence.

He's no ordinary man, at least by status. Penacony, although now a huge tourism spot, had it's plethora of secrets, and The Family seeks to keep it as just that. With secrets comes trouble, and with trouble comes opportunity. Sunday is a man who seizes it when he has the chance.

And you suppose his nature has rubbed off on you. The moment a flicker of freedom sparked before you, you didn't hesitate to seize your opportunity, grabbing tightly, and running into it headfirst.

The fact you've made it this far surprises even you, as your legs ache from the sheer amount of distance you've had to cover on land, the splinters and cuts on your feet burning as you drag yourself as far away as you can, hop planet to plant if you must, to escape Sunday at all costs.

Of course.. you haven't been in the best physical condition ever since you decided freedom was worth it. Hair messy, fingers bruised, and your lips bloodied as you gnawed on them continuously from the sheer dread and fear. You've managed to make it on Belobog's icy cold planet that's only starting to warm up, and to your dismay, the snow only worsens just how bad your splinters and cuts hurt.

It's not long before you make it to the city. You go through a lengthy procedure and are finally taken in, provided for and hidden under wraps by your own request. You suppose the silver-haired girl didn't need much convincing from the long struggles your body seems to have endured.

However, word reaches fast.

Its also not long before there's representatives and ambassadors sent from different branches of the Families in Penacony, and a few unfamiliar names. Your ears stay close to the wall as you try to make out their words.

It seems Sunday has chosen to brand you as a dangerous, wanted criminal instead of his lover. But perhaps you'd prefer that?

And the countless visits put a strain on legal relations. The silver-haired girl has to let up with resignation, and informs you Belobog cannot house you. Not anymore.

However, even in your desperate, anxious state, you can clearly tell Sunday was desperate. It seems he's managed to rope the IPC into it aswell, given the talkative, sly blonde man who keeps droning on about how excited he is to help Sunday out as a favor. You get the impression he's not keen on really making friends, but rather debts.

As for Sunday.. he hasn't heard from you in a few weeks. It's been your longest time missing, evidently. He sighs grimly as he reviews reports, clearly fabricated. The last time you really were seen after the expedition of that retrieval group, was with none other than Aventurine.

That peacock just loves seizing his opportunity, doesn't he?

[eccentricgrace]

allies or enemies || BatFamily

summary: a brief history of jason's experience with panic attacks over the years.

tags: hurt/comfort, panic attacks, bruce wayne's c+ parenting, jason's death & resurrection

wc: 11,043

cross-posted on ao3 under the same name!

twelve

The manor was nicer than his crappy rundown apartment.

Smoke had laid a thick film on the walls, the plaster was cracking and falling further apart with every gust of wind. He covered the faults with posters, the ones they sold at the corner store for cheap— all off-brand copies of movie or album covers, the stars’ faces photoshopped to hell and back.

He had slept on a mattress set on the floor, no sheets, just the one blanket he kept from Mama, torn and tattered and loved.

“Do you live here?” Batman had asked him, as if his little hole-in-the-wall residence was something to be disgusted by. As if Jason didn’t have it a million times better than he had a few months before.

He memorized every spot of mold, every place the floor creaked, every sound and smell, like the back of his hand. It was familiar. It was warmer than outside, and it was home.

Was.

Objectively, the manor was better. The food was good and never ran out (but he kept a stash, just in case), the bed was always warm and he never woke up with a sore neck, and there was never mold or dust or anything. Alfred was really good about that.

It was so safe here, and he did his best to keep it that way. He scrubbed the dishes, he kept his room tidy, he made sure he studied, came home with A grades— but despite it all, he was still waiting for the other shoe to drop.

He felt like he was walking on eggshells all the time, thinking, Well, if it’s going to get bad, might as well be done with it, and he’s being stupid, but he knew that.

So really, in hindsight, it made sense what led them here.

“You spend a lot of time in the library,” Bruce noted.

Which was true. He liked the library. It was quiet— he could hear exactly when someone was walking down the outside hallway. He liked the smell of books, he liked the big red chair next to the fireplace because it was the most comfortable one…

He liked that Bruce didn’t seem to care if he moved the books around. He kept a very close eye every time he would shift something out of place, and every time Bruce hadn’t even blinked.

Yes. He liked the library. He didn't like that Bruce was mentioning it. In his experience, there was always an ulterior motive for that kind of questioning, always an angle.

Kid, you know those sandwiches at the end of Mora Street? I’ll spot you a deal with the owner if you just…

Hiya Scrawny, just turn the other cheek, why don'tcha? I know how much you love a bargain…

Hey, Todd’s boy, right? Listen, I know you’ve been askin’ around for some of the good stuff for ya’ mom…

Jason felt an uncomfortable ripple in his stomach. He fiddled with the book pages carefully. “I like to read.”

Bruce nodded easily. “There’s nothing wrong with that. Are there specific books you’d like?”

Something’s wrong, a voice in his head warned him. His skin felt buzzy. He quickly flashed his eyes over Bruce, trying to pin something down that made sense.

Jason had never asked for anything before. He’d made sure to take everything in small doses and without complaint from the second he stepped foot on the property. He hadn’t even hinted that he wanted anything more, because really, he didn’t need anything— so what was Bruce even asking for, anyway?

Kindness requires a price, Jason. Are you willing to pay?

“No,” Jason said quickly, and he immediately knew he sounded like an asshole. The bout of dread he received from the realization made him nauseous. “The ones you have are fine, alright?”

Bruce’s eyebrows tick up momentarily, and even the slight movement had every hair on Jason’s arms stand up.

“Alright,” Bruce said simply.

Alright what?

“I mean—“ Jason sat up in the library chair. It was too big for him. Everything was too big for him, here. “I just mean, I’m fine. You can leave me alone, you know? I can take care of myself.”

That’s what he meant to say, but that’s not how it was supposed to come out of his mouth. Everything he said sounded like an insult, and he felt like a damn idiot.

His internal struggle must have shown on his face, because Bruce’s expression does a weird twisting thing.

“Okay,” Bruce lifted his hands, and before he could even parse the action, Jason launched back in his seat like he’d already been hit.

It went very quiet.

Jason tilted his head and peeked one eye open. Bruce was still there. His hands still lifted, but held open, unthreatening. Slate blue eyes were calculative, calm, toned with a familiar sympathy.

Jason’s cheeks still burned, but not for the reason he had thought it would. Embarrassment flooded through him and he felt hot and itchy. He shut the book on his lap, scowling.

“Stop looking at me like that!” He snapped. “What, you’ve never seen someone flinch before? It’s not a big deal!”

It was like he had been possessed. He’s yelling at Bruce, but it’s not him. Jason’s in his head begging, ‘What are you doing?! Stop talking!’ and some other, angrier kid has taken over his mouth.

“I know, Jason,” Bruce said placidly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t—“

“Stop saying sorry,” Jason said, his breath running far from reach, his vision going blurry. “I don’t want a sorry, or pity, or— or your stupid books!”

An out of body experience followed, in which Jason watched with horror as he threw the book on the ground. What the fuck.

What the fuck was wrong with him?

“What’s wrong with me?” Jason asked out loud, his face red and hot, his chest heaving.

He stared shock-shelled at the cover of The Giver, on the floor, splayed open. He’d never thrown a book before in his life. His hands were tingly and numb, he couldn't think straight, and he was having a tantrum, throwing books like a baby.

“Jason,” Bruce tried. “Calm down, chum. Take a breath.”

And now Bruce was using the victim-voice. He’d really done it now, hadn’t he?

He was perfectly fine ten minutes ago. How could he have gone from fine to pissed off in such a short amount of time, over nothing? It didn’t make sense, and he had to make it make sense, because he was suddenly terrified and he didn’t know why.

“I can’t calm down,” Jason snapped instead, baring his teeth like a dog. “I’m— I don’t know what's wrong with me, I can’t breathe.”

“I know,” Bruce said calmly, his hands held out in front of him. “I know, Jason. Look at me— I’m going to sit down, and I’m going to close my eyes.”

Jason clenched his fists, hard enough to feel his fingernails dig into the meat of his palms. His face screwed up in confusion as he watched Bruce do exactly what he said.

The man shut his eyes and slowly eased himself down to the floor, sitting cross-legged. His hands lay limp and relaxed over his knees.

Bruce cleared his throat. “I’m going to breathe in and out, now. I’ll be counting as I do so.”

“What the hell’re you doing?” Jason rasped, the back of his throat feeling dry. His chest hurt from every beat of his heart, like the damn thing was made of something inhumanly heavy.

“Breathing,” Bruce answered, because he was kind of a dick. He inhaled deeply. “One, two, three…”

Jason blinked a couple of times, just until his eyes were less blurry. He watched Bruce hold his breath for a solid five seconds.

“One, two, three, four, five, six, seven,” Bruce finished, breathing out. He still hadn’t opened his eyes.

“This is stupid,” Jason said stuffily, tentatively creeping down to join him on the floor. “You already know how to breathe.”

Bruce didn’t answer, except for starting to count again to three. Held for five. Out for seven.

“Shouldn’t you be mad?” Jason pressed, because his hands were still shaking, and even he was pissed at himself for acting out. “I threw your crap, you should be kicking me out.”

His heart stilted, waiting for Bruce to open his eyes, to calmly declare that Jason was right, that he would need to pack his things—

“One, two, three…”

Jason liked living in the manor. He really, truly did. He didn’t want to leave.

“One, two, three, four, five…”

Jason quietly folded his hands in his lap, ducking his head down. He breathed in time with Bruce’s counting, if for nothing else, to cure the complete loss he was at for what to do.

They sat there together for a length of time that Jason couldn’t even count. It was like the numbers slipped away when they were so short, measured out in such small increments.

All he knew was that at some point, the ache in his chest faded, the numbness in his fingers evaporating away. He felt the weight of his shoulders drop, and exhaustion swam over him like the ripples of an ocean.

Bruce’s rhythmic counting suddenly stopped, and Jason’s head lifted. Bruce was looking at him again, but there wasn’t any threat in his eyes. Jason’s not sure there ever really was.

“I’m not mad at you, Jason,” Bruce said softly. “And you’re not being kicked out.”

“Yeah, I know,” he muttered weakly, letting his gaze fall to his hands.

“Are you okay?”

Jason let the question linger, frowning as he tried to come up with an honest answer.

“I don’t know what happened,” Jason answered after a moment. His eyebrows furrowed and he picked at the dead skin on his cuticles. “I haven’t been like this. Not since— well, not in a long time. It’s embarrassing.”

“That’s alright,” Bruce assured calmly, his voice low, a steady baritone that never wavered. “I understand, Jason.”

“I don’t,” Jason laughed breathlessly. “I’ve seen stuff that was worth a freak-out, this wasn’t one of them. It’s stupid.”

Bruce grunted. “It’s more normal than you’d think. Millions of people experience panic attacks everyday. Me included.”

The frustrated retort evaporated in his throat before it could even build steam. Jason tilted his head. “You?”

“You know about my parents,” Bruce supplied, and didn’t say any further.

Jason opened his mouth, and closed it. It wasn’t like he needed to confirm, and it seemed insensitive bringing up the fact that everyone knew about Bruce Wayne’s parents. For some reason, he’s only clicking into place now what it really meant, seeing Bruce in this light, in this moment.

He imagined a smaller Bruce, so young that he was still wide-eyed, bright, shiny— like the kids Jason saw when they first moved to the Row. Just like any other poster child of innocence and willful ignorance. He imagined the tragedy being something more than just a headline article.

…He thought of himself at the same age, still wide-eyed, less shiny, holding his Mama’s hand as delicately as he could. Trying to feel a phantom warmth. Trying to imagine a steady, quiet thrumming against his thumb where her pulse lay.

He thought of the first time he couldn’t catch his breath, and the hatred he spewed at the coroner who covered his Mama’s tired face, and the way adrenaline kicked him out the door the moment social services were mentioned. The first freak-out, and certainly not the last.

He wondered if that was Bruce’s first, too.

“Hm,” Bruce said finally. He uncrossed his legs and stood up, his knee clicking twice in the way it always did. He cleared his throat. “I have a sudden craving for Alfred’s cocoa. Would you like to join me, or would you rather finish your book? I did interrupt your reading session.”

Remembering the book, he looked over at the floor, seeing the tossed thing still sprawled out. Ears red with his own disappointment, he picked it up and smoothed it out, the pages folding back in properly. He gently brushed imaginary lint from the cover with the back of his hand, like the action itself would prove his sincerity to the object.

“I can finish it later,” Jason mumbled, setting the book down on the side table. “Where is Alfred, anyway?”

Bruce hummed. “In my experience, he’s always around somewhere.”

fourteen

This had to be the worst part of being a Wayne.

Two years, and he still was treated like he was some half-formed member of the family. He ate breakfast at their table, he had his own room, his own goddamn legal paperwork, but still— at these galas, he was reduced to nothing more than another one of B’s charity cases.

It wasn’t even like he was in a shared boat, either. Dick had been adopted too, also an orphan, not built from money, and he was still so much better at this. He always knew what to say, always knew how to smile just right, how to charm everyone in a million-mile radius— he wore the Wayne reputation like he was made for it.

Jason was always being teased by stuffy pearl-wearers about the perfect shoes he had to fill. (If only they knew that the shoes were actually pointy and green and stupid-looking, but they didn’t, obviously.)

Jason was not good at being perfect. Not like Dick.

Jason was smaller, and he smiled nervously, and blushed like a tomato when the elderly ladies teased him for being “cute”, and he stuttered over his words to try and say the right kind of things. God forbid he let his street accent slip (which inevitably happens every time) and then they look at him with some twisted-up form of pity.

“Thank the lord he found you,” they would say, clutching their hearts, batting their eyelashes. “All alone on those dangerous, filthy streets…”

Sometimes he literally cannot believe the audacity of privileged rich people.

So yeah, he hated galas.

For this one, he had stayed relatively glued to Bruce’s side, trying not to avoid eye contact with people and trying to seem like he wasn’t wildly uncomfortable. His hands were clasped in front of him, fingers interlocked, because if he let them limp at his sides he was worried they would fidget themselves onto holding Bruce’s sleeve.

Then Bruce had been pulled away by a group of men in suits about fundraising, or something. Jason gave him a desperate expression before he left, his eyes wildly flitting around to the crowds of vultures, and Bruce had responded nonverbally, pressing his lips into a firm line. Be back soon. Bruce subtly nodded once. You’ll be okay.

Jason exhaled through his nose and watched Bruce leave with a massive fake grin for his new audience.

He stayed closer to the walls, the perimeter of the room, where an exit was close if he needed to make his own disappearance. He took a glass of sparkling juice from a passing tray and held it in hands, just for the sake of holding something.

“Mister Wayne! I was hoping to run into you!”

Jason blinked as a younger man in a tweed suit pushed forward, smiling brightly at him. The guy looked like he was in his younger twenties maybe. Scrawny. Jason opened his mouth to tell him that Bruce wasn’t here, and then realized with belated dread that–

“I’ve always wanted a chance to talk to the younger ward of Mr. Wayne,” the man explained, eyes bright. He held a drink from the bar, and sipped at it periodically.

“Well, you found me,” Jason put on his best fake smile. “I’m not really that interesting though. You’d have better luck talking with Dick, probably.”

“I quite disagree, sir!” The man, still grinning like this was the best day of his life (weird), shook his head. “You’re an inspiration to me.”

Jason furrowed his eyebrows, awkward smile still plastered on his face. “Oh. Okay.”

He’s been told that a lot of times, but all of them were when he was in a different suit. At night. With his face covered by a domino. And the people who said it to him were kids. So, it was different. It certainly made a hell of a lot more since when he was Robin.

“See, I grew up right next to Park Row,” the man continued. “It’s just great to see someone make it out of there, you know? Us Alley kids have to stick together.”

There were a lot of things running through his head, but the first and most loud one being that this guy definitely did not grow up in The Alley. It was glaringly obvious, from the way he spoke to the way he walked, and for some reason his false claim made Jason’s skin crawl.

Even if he didn’t live there anymore, he was very protective of his turf. On patrol, he made a conscious effort to add more routes through there, and fought needlessly tooth and nail when B had asked why. The Alley was broken, and dangerous, and violent, but it was also just… home. In a way he couldn’t describe.

“Where did you live?” Jason asked, interrupting his lengthy tangent about “the horrors” of the Alley. “What sector?”

“Well, East End. But I always grew up hearing stories–”

Jason choked, coughing loudly into his fist. “That’s not Crime Alley, that’s literally across the bridge.”

“So?”

“So?” Jason huffed in disbelief. “You can’t call yourself an Alley kid if you aren’t one. That’s an earned title, it's got a culture to it. It’s not that hard to understand.”

“I think that’s very prejudiced of you,” the guy raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms. His smile had long faded into something equally forced. “I grew up with hardships, too. My father could hardly afford to pay for my college, my parents almost divorced because of it.”

Jason laughed. Tossed his head back, hand on his stomach, and laughed. He can hardly breathe. He’s in a state of shock. It isn’t funny, but fuck, isn’t it? Imagining a childhood where the hardest thing Jason had to deal with was almosts.

“Are you serious?” He managed to say between bursts of laughter.

The guy’s smile faded completely, and he glared. “It isn’t funny at all. Is this the respect that you’re taught to show other people?”

“I’m sorry,” Jason tried, because he knew he had to keep it together. Even if it was a totally reasonable reaction, this would definitely be frowned-upon as a Wayne. This wasn’t what Dick would do in this situation. He tried to smother his laughter in his sleeve.

“I’m serious,” the man insisted, looking disgusted, now. “Is this really how your mother raised you? She would be very disappointed, I suspect. I know mine would be.”

And just like that, nothing was funny anymore. Like he was doused in ice water. A chill ran down his spine.

“Hey, don’t fucking talk about my mom,” Jason spat out, sticking a finger in his face. “You don’t get to fucking talk about my mom.”

“Fine,” the man raised his hands, scowling. “I’ll be leaving you alone. I have more than enough content to write my article on. I’ll have to change my premise though, since I wasn’t accounting for such a disrespectful young man.”

He stormed off, leaving Jason in a shell shocked state of adrenaline. He couldn’t comprehend what the hell had just happened. He hadn’t clocked that the asshole he was talking to had been a reporter, and he’d just– he didn’t even know what he’d done, just that he’d been so offended in such a short amount of time that he’d blacked out and said something that definitely shouldn’t be in the press.

Fuck, B was going to be so upset.

Jason swallowed thickly and stared at the drink fizzing in his hands. The constant eyes on him were starting to get to him now, and he felt nausea that sunk deep in his bones. He had to make a quick escape. He could argue with B later.

By the time he had snuck into the kitchen, away from the crowds and the noise, his lungs were tight in his chest and his heart was beating like he’d been dosed with some of Crane’s toxin. He rubbed at his eyes with his palms, and sniffled when they came back wet with tears.

Is this really how your mother raised you?

God, no. That was the problem, wasn’t it? That’s why everyone was always so upset by him. He was raised to snarl back at those who bite and to look out for the ones who couldn’t. Who to take a punch from, and who to hit back. He knew where to get the cheapest drugs and which buildings to avoid on each street. He knew he could survive on an empty stomach and a thin blanket.

None of this shit translated to the cushy high-life of the Gotham upper class. He didn’t know how to adapt properly. None of it fit right. He didn’t fit right.

She would be very disappointed, I suspect.

He hoped she wouldn’t be. He sniffled some more, let the hot tears burn their way down his cheeks, and he missed his mom.

For a while, it was just the two of them. All they had was each other. Even with all the shit they went through, he knew when the cold was too sharp at night, and they snuggled together for warmth– he was able to bury his face into her stomach, and she would just hold him. “Cry as long as you need, baby,” she would say, and “I’m so sorry.”

His chest heaved with a sob, and buried his face in his hands. He was gasping in air faster than he could taste it, and his lungs wouldn’t stop burning, and it all just ached.

He hated Gotham. He hated stupid posh reporters who lived in the stupid East End. He hated himself for not thinking enough before he said stupid shit. He hated himself for stealing a car tire that got himself in this stupid position to begin with.

“Master Jason,” a familiar voice said gently behind him. “I wasn’t expecting anyone in the kitchens at this time. Is everything alright, my dear?”

Jason turned around while messily wiping tears and snot off his face. He made an incoherent sound, and then stumbled forward, digging his face right into Alfred’s chest. His arms wrapped around on their own accord, holding him like he would disappear.

There was something about the old man that just made Jason feel like he could be anyone he needed to be, and Alfred still would take care of him like he mattered more than anything else.

“There was a reporter,” Jason hiccuped out, failing to catch his breath. “I didn’t realize, like an idiot, and I said stupid stuff because he really pissed me off.”

“Bother,” Alfred murmured, rubbing circles across Jason’s back. “Did you catch this particular reporter’s name?”

Jason shook his head, guilt pressing at his insides and squeezing them inwards. He held onto Alfred tighter.

“No harm done. Master Bruce has said far more unruly things in his youth, no doubt, and I’ve dealt with them all the same. You mustn't worry.” Alfred pulled away and led him to sit down at the counter. He pulled his handkerchief out and started to dab at the tears. “I’d like you to take some deep breaths for me.”

Jason nodded, breathing in bursts of air through his nose and shakily stuttering them out through his mouth. His lip wobbled, so he bit down on it. “Can—”

“I’ll do the counting, yes.” Alfred gently wiped away the snot from his nose. “One, two, three.”

Jason breathed in, and then held his breath. His chest hiccuped, trying to take in more air, but he held steady until Alfred began counting to seven.

“I feel like a dumb little kid every time I have to do this,” Jason complained miserably.

“I understand that you’re rather bright,” Alfred corrected, raising an eyebrow. “And there is nothing wrong with youthfulness, Master Jason.”

“I guess not,” Jason said, and then breathed in to repeat the process. He held his breath. Breathed out.

The door slid open, and Alfred seemed to grow in size with the way that he had shielded Jason from view. For an old British butler, it was honestly impressive. He couldn’t be luckier to have Alfred on his side.

“Master Bruce,” Alfred greeted. “You seem to have lost your ward again. I distinctly remember suggesting you keep him by your side at these galas.”

Bruce shrunk, looking almost as miserable as Jason. “Jack Drake wanted to speak with me about — well, it doesn’t matter. There’s no excuse. I shouldn’t have left him. Is he alright?”

“A reporter found him,” Alfred said, displeasure permeating every word.

“I’m fine,” Jason spoke up, poking his head out from the side. His eyes are still red, his nose still sniffling, but his lungs reasonably more calm. “I had another freak-out, but Alfred helped.”

“Jason,” Bruce said, his shoulders dropping with relief. “I’m sorry. The reporters aren’t supposed to approach you without me there.”

“And you know how they just love following the rules,” Jason scoffed, kicking his feet.

“I’ll take care of it,” Bruce said, his eyes cold in determination like they were before patrol.

“Master Jason revealed that he may have said some things not suited for media presence,” Alfred said, carefully tucking his now dirty handkerchief into his pocket. He arched an eyebrow at Bruce.

Bruce blinked, and then understanding dawned on his face. He nodded seriously, lips pressed in a firm line. “Hm. Well, I suppose I’ll have to do something about that.”

Bruce Wayne’s definition of ‘doing something about that’ was apparently to publicly declare that he had slept with a member of the Justice League, therefore causing a media frenzy so big that Wayne Tower was flooded with paparazzi for the next four weeks. He never revealed who it was, and nobody had noticed how an entire publication website had been discreetly shut down under their noses.

Even with all his embarrassment, Jason had to admit it was funny.

sixteen

For all his expectations, Sheila Haywood turned out to be everything that his mother wasn’t.

She was tall, she had a healthy weight on her, she had blonde hair that curled at her shoulders. Her nails were well-manicured and her makeup was done with a steady hand, if the straight lines over her eyelids had anything to say about it. Her face was sharp angles and narrowed eyes, serious, firm. There was no love when she looked at him.

“What do we do with him?” She said, as if she were talking about a dead possum on the side of the road.

Robin’s domino cracked, his boots yanked off. His hair limp and matted with sweat and blood. Jason had to be the biggest idiot in the whole wide world for playing right into her hands.

“Something I’ve wanted to do for years,” Joker’s mouth stretched into an awful grin, his teeth crooked and stained with blood. “But unfortunately, you’ve outstayed your welcome. And outlived your use!”

Sheila jerked her head up, her eyes widening. “What?”

The Joker let out a long-lived cackle, his head tossed back as two of his lackeys went to tie her in rope. She fought back, gasping in shock.

“You can’t do this! I helped you! I gave you Robin,” she screeched, kicking uselessly in the air.

“Ah, yes, yes,” Joker giggled maliciously. “You were so helpful! I couldn’t have done it without you! Is that what you wanted to hear? Now tape the bitch’s mouth shut. I don’t want her spoiling my fun.”

Jason struggled against his own restraints, his wrists and ankles burning against the rope. “Batman’s gonna find you, Joker. When he does, you’re done for.”

“Nice try, baby birdie!” Joker let out another stream of lucid giggles. “He’s off across town, miles and miles away. Played right into my little trap. There’s nobody coming to help you, now. Not even your mommy! Aww, how sad...”

“Fuck you!” Jason squirmed.

Joker laughed, and laughed, and then sighed leisurely, his eyes going cold. “Clear out.”

His goons immediately vacate, leaving him and Sheila alone with Joker.

“I’ve thought long and hard about how I’d do this,” Joker smiled, adjusting his gloves. He picked up a crowbar that one of his lackeys had left. “So many good options! Pits of acid, a good dose of gas so we can all laugh together about how funny this all is, or maybe just a big ol’ shove into the Gotham River…”

Jason glared at him, not saying a word back.

“Then I figured, the more personal the better, right?” Joker leaned down, getting real close to his face. He smelt like cigarette smoke and blood and something distinctly bitter, like corroded batteries, like rotten fruit. “After all, it’s not everyday someone gets to kill Batman’s favourite toy.”

Giggles spiraled through the air, turning to roaring peals of shrieking laughter.

The first slash of the crowbar hurt the most. The cold metal slamming into his ribs, his muscles jumping, his fists clenching, his teeth scraping against each other as he flinched. The Joker kept hollering, but Jason refused to scream.

After that, the hits didn’t stop coming. His ears rang, he could hear the blood rushing. Adrenaline was the only thing willing him to stay conscious. B will get here eventually. He had to.

Another hit sent him spinning to the floor. His head hit the concrete.

“Wow…” Joker said mildly. “That looked like it really hurt.”

One. The crowbar whacked against his ribs again.

Two. His knee snapped.

Three. His collarbone cracked.

Jason collapsed to the floor again, grunting with pain, breathing like his airways had been reduced to that of a coffee straw. He was in bad shape, and he knew it– and Joker knew it, too.

“Woah, now, hang on,” Joker trailed off. He smacked the crowbar against the palm of his hand, grinning. “That looked like it hurt a lot more, so let’s try and clear this up. Okay, pumpkin?”

Jason could take a hit. He was born to take a hit. He just needed to hold on until B got his ass over here. He stared at the ceiling of the warehouse while his vision swam in circles.

“What hurts more? A, or B?” Joker began. Two blows against his chest. Another rib cracked.

“Forehand?” The crowbar knocked hard against his stomach. “Or backhand?” A strike across his face, his nose dislodging out of place.

He let out a keening groan before swallowing it down. He exhaled stiffly through his nose, shuddering in pain as the Joker broke into sadistic cackles. He mumbled under his breath, something entirely inarticulate even to himself. His head hurt.

Joker leaned in again, mimicking his choked out gasps and grunts. He chortled, grabbing him by a fistful of hair and lifting his head off the floor. “A little louder, lambchop. I think you may have a collapsed lung. That always impedes the oratory.”

Jason gathered all the blood in his mouth to one side and spit at the fucker’s face. His head immediately was slammed back into the concrete.

“Now, that was rude,” Joker said distantly, heavily annoyed. His voice sounded underwater. “The first boy blunder had some manners.”

Jason grinned back at him, unabashedly proud. Blood in his broken teeth, his eyes swollen so bad that Joker is all blurry in his view.

“I suppose I’m going to have to teach you a lesson so you can better follow in his footsteps,” Joker sniffed, crossing his arms. Then his face split apart with gleefully bared teeth. “…Nah, I’m just gonna keep beating you with this crowbar.”

Joker stomped his foot onto Jason’s cheek, kicking him farther into the blood-splattered floor as he laughed.

He couldn’t help himself, he was starting to doubt. How long did B have to take before it doesn’t matter anymore?

Not that he’d ever admit it, but Joker was right. He had a collapsed lung. Definitely an even longer list of other shit that will definitely kill him if they aren’t solved like, yesterday. Dr. Thompson will probably kill him herself when she finds out. He didn’t even want to think of the disappointed expression on Alfred’s face when B dragged him back home covered in blood, bruises, and broken bones.

As Joker kept hitting him, his mind drifted away and drowned in the sounds of faded laughter, the scrape of metal against concrete, his own blood pumping in his ears. He suddenly really missed Dick, wondered what his reaction would be when he got home from his mission in space and saw his little brother all banged up like this.

He wanted to imagine that he’d take him to get milkshakes, and would guilt B into paying for it. And Jason would laugh and make fun of Dick for getting bubblegum, because it was too sweet and he knew it, and then Dick would shrug and still offer to share.

With every wheezy breath, Jason wanted to believe that he would make it, that he’d beat the odds and come out swinging like the proud streetrat he was. (But he wouldn’t. He knew a lost battle when he saw one.)

Joker sighed heavily, tossing the crowbar off to the side. He straightened the sleeves of his coat. “Okay, kiddo. I gotta go. It’s been fun though, right? Well, maybe a smidge more fun for me than you. I’m just guessing, since you’ve been awful quiet…”

Jason stayed crumpled on the floor, his head forward and blood dripping down from his hair. He inhaled and exhaled shakily, the air rattling through his chest.

“Anyways,” Joker sang. He pointed at him meaningfully. “Be a good boy. Finish your homework and be in bed by nine…”

He just had to keep fighting, didn’t he? A few more minutes. Come on B. Don’t let me down.

“And hey.” Joker smiled sharply. “Tell the big man I said hello.”

The door slammed, the echo of his laughter reverberating through the metal walls.

Jason opened his eyes and weakly rolled over, fitting his feet through the circle of his arms. His head pounded, every bone in his body ached and bruised. He grunted with pain and stood up, stumbling from the vertigo.

His mother— Sheila was still tied up, duct tape over her mouth and her eyes distant as she stared at the spot where Joker had been. She was trembling, exhibiting all the classic signs of a victim in shock.

Jason unsteadily swayed towards her, lifting his arms with a great deal of effort to tug the duct tape off. He swallowed another bout of blood and bile.

“Sheila,” he rasped. “We have to go, okay?”

Sheila looked at him like he was already dead. Like she was seeing a ghost. She wordlessly shook her head, her lips pale but surrounded by an angry red marking from the ripped tape. “I’m gonna die,” she spluttered.

Jason shivered, a ripple of pain shooting up his spine. “No, you’re not gonna die. Calm down. Take a breath with me, alright? You have to calm down.”

“No, no, no…”

“Mom,” Jason said desperately. “Please. Please, just breathe. I’m gonna look for a way out of here. Batman will save us, okay? He’s on his way.”

I hope.

Sheila breathed in shakily, and Jason took that as his cue to step away. He tripped, hitting the floor with a painful slam. He shuddered once, and then crawled across the floor with his bound arms.

He just had to reach the door. Then they were free. He could do it. Blood made a trail as he bodily dragged himself forward, and he’s almost there, he’s almost done it, even when everything hurt and screamed at him to stop.

“There’s a bomb,” Sheila suddenly said, her voice ringing in distant panic. “In the warehouse. Joker told me it was to get rid of evidence.”

Jason’s heart stopped, and he frantically searched the warehouse. His ears tuning in the muffled beeping, his eyes landing on a box with poorly concealed wires off the top and a timer on it.

The light left his eyes.

It was a rigged game from the start. There was no way to make it out alive.

“I’m going to die,” Sheila repeated again, sobbing. “I told you. I told you!”

He had every reason to hate this woman. After everything he had done to find her, after keeping his heart open from where grief had sealed it shut, and it ended like this. He had been betrayed, threatened, and served to Joker on a silver platter by her.

Jason swallowed thickly. He kept his voice calm. “You aren’t going to die. I promise. Okay? I promise, I’m going to save you.”

But it was his fault, really. He just wanted his Mama back, but Sheila wasn’t her. She was just a scared civilian, manipulated by the Joker like so many others had been, and Jason…

Jason had a responsibility to take care of scared civilians, didn’t he? Wasn’t that what the ‘R’ on his chest stood for?

“I want you to breathe with me,” Jason said, his voice shaking. “Breath in for three seconds, hold for five, and then let it out real slow. That’s how– that’s how my dad taught me to do it. Okay?”

There’s ten seconds on the clock.

“Okay,” Sheila said shakily.

“One, two, three.” Jason stood up and shakily made his way to the bomb. If he shielded her, then…

Sheila gasped for air, then held it.

“You’re gonna be okay, Mom,” Jason promised her. Six seconds left. His eyes set on the timer with a stony acceptance. “One… Two… Three…”

“Four…”

“Five…”

Robin hugged the bomb.

Sheila exhaled with a scream.

seventeen: an interlude

Nobody had ever taught him how to return from the dead properly.

All he knew was that he woke up very much alive. There wasn’t air to breathe, and the box he’d been trapped in, the coffin, was damp and layered in satin. He was suffocating to death. Instincts kicked in. He broke through the box with his fist, punching upwards as hard as he could manage, and then the dirt started to pour.

There wasn’t time to think. For the next two minutes, all he’d known was desperation; blue lips and clawing hands. Dirt and blood were caked underneath his fingernails when he finally managed to haul himself out of the hole. He’s catching his breath, sucking in greedy gulps of oxygen like it’s the first time he’s ever tasted it, choking on rain and mud, and he’s so confused.

He looked down at his clothes, he was wearing something expensive, a black and white suit and tie that was actively being waterlogged. His limbs are heavy, his mouth tasted thick of wax. He was hungry. Supposedly an indeterminate amount of time underground will do that to you.

Maybe he was a zombie, except instead of brains, he was hungry for cucumber sandwiches, for whatever reason. Maybe he was a ghost. Maybe he dreamt the whole thing up, and this is just a really weird coma nightmare.

Fuck, all he remembered last was pain. Awful, torturous amounts of pain. The smell of burnt skin, blood sticky in his hair, and laughter, so much fucking laughter. He couldn’t get it out of his head. He couldn’t place where it was from, or why, but he wanted it to stop.

He walked until grass turned to concrete. He walked over a bridge, and through a city, stumbling along the way in a mindless trance. He shivered from the cold, he ignored everyone in his path, and when he blinked, he found himself at the entrance of a hospital.

The hospital asked him who he was.

He said he didn’t know.

The hospital asked him why he had several broken ribs and bones that hadn’t healed properly.

He said he didn’t know.

The hospital asked him if he was feeling alright.

He said he was scared.

He’s set up in a room and the clipboard said his name was “John Doe”, which he knew wasn’t correct and made his head hurt when he tried to fix it. They gave him so many drugs that he slept for what seemed like weeks, and when he woke up there’s someone else in his room.

The hospital said she knew him.

He didn’t say anything.

He couldn’t say anything, actually. His mouth didn’t feel like it was working right, like it had still been full of dirt and mud, and his head was buzzing like he was still underneath the ground, waiting for that last gasp of nonexistent oxygen before he died again.

He gripped his arms with a white-clawed grip, his nails digging into the skin. He tried very hard not to throw up.

“My name is Talia,” she greeted, her arms crossed in front of her. “Do you remember anything?”

Laughter. It’s crawling up the walls and crawling down my throat and it’s hitting me in the chest over, and over, and over again.

“No,” he answered, forcing the words out.

“I see.” She cleared her throat and stood up from her chair, tossing her long brown hair off her shoulder. “We shall have to do something about that.”

His eyes lifted to hers, and his jaw shook from how hard he was clenching his teeth. “You can fix me?”

Talia’s green eyes glinted at him like knives. “When I am done with you Jason, you will be able to fix yourself.”

nineteen

“Fuck, did he leave? Shit. He wasn’t even supposed to be here tonight! Intel said he’d be in Tricorner.”

“Well, obviously, he fuckin’ wasn’t, because the goddamn Joker broke outta Arkham again. Use your brain, numbnuts,” the other spat back. “Hood said to be on guard, so I bet it was in his plan, anyways.”

“Hood fucking hates Batman, doesn’t he? He’s always doin’ all these extra steps to avoid his ass, I dunno what the hell he’s thinkin’.”

“That’s because it’s not your job to know! Our job is to shuddup and do what we’re told, not to sit around with our thumbs up our asses wonderin’ what the big guy’s plannin’.”

Redhood shoved open the door, and all the voices went quiet. They wisely didn’t say a damned thing about how he was trembling, how his heavy breath could be heard through his helmet.

“Wise,” Redhood said, jutting his head towards the last one of his asshole lackeys who spoke. “More of you should take his advice.”

“Mr. Hood,” one of them said hesitantly. “What the hell happened out there?”

“Don’t worry your pretty little head about it,” Hood growled out. He sat down heavily in the nearest chair.

He took his gloves off, his hands shaking bad, and flexed his knuckles, stretching out the sore muscles of his fingers. Blood dripped down to the floor and on the desk in front of him.

“They said the Joker’s—”

Hood shuddered, and instantly turned around with a gun, cocked and aimed right at the man’s head. He grit his teeth. “Do you think it’s wise to keep speaking?”

The man gulped. “N-No, sir.”

Hood clicked the safety back on and put the gun back on his thigh. He continued to scowl underneath the helmet. “Fan-fuckin’-tastic. You’re not as dumb as I thought.”

Someone else spoke up, nervous. “Do you want some water, sir?”

Redhood stood up, and everyone went still again. Silent. Waiting for a pin to drop, waiting for the grenade to go off. He exhaled stiffly through his nose. “Everyone go home.”

They didn’t wait for another order, all scurrying off in different directions like rats. Redhood stood alone in a warehouse, blueprints and firearms scattered across tables, a hellish empty home of his own devising. He exhaled and clicked his helmet off, setting it in front of him.

“You don’t understand,” Bruce told him. “I don’t think you’ve ever understood.”

Jason’s stomach turned, twisted, tensed. He swallowed back bile and cradled his injured hand to his chest. Maybe he didn’t understand. Maybe he didn’t even want to. There was still the little kid in him waiting for Batman to show up in time, to take down the Joker, to make the hurt stop, to bring him home safe again—

“I can’t.” Bruce’s voice was cold. “I’m sorry.”

Jason ran his tongue along the inside of his mouth, tasting blood from where Batman had beaten his face in. His whole plan had gone belly-up. He was getting tired. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could do this.

He had the Joker right under his hands— could’ve squeezed the life out of him all by himself– and Bruce had been right there, gun in hand—

“If you don’t kill this psychotic piece of filth, I will,” he had promised, digging the muzzle into Joker’s temple. “If you want to stop me, you’re going to have to kill me.”

He had always asked Bruce for so little. Now he had been begging. Please do something. If you’re going to kill me again, at least do it right this time. Make it last.

It had been easier when he didn’t ask for things. Easier to avoid betrayal.

But he had to admit he was getting tired of exploding buildings, and even more tired of counting to three.

twenty

“Ok, Hood.” Oracle’s voice rang succinct and clear through his earpiece. “Spoiler and Orphan have wrapped up the robbery on your turf. They’re heading towards Little Italy for a carjacking, I’ve put them on their own channel.”

“Sure,” Jason stretched his hands above his head, his spine giving a satisfying crack. He groaned and twisted side to side. “So, where do you want me?”

“Perfect timing. I’ve just received a signal from Nightwing, he’s near your area. Looks like he could use some help.”

“Send it my way,” Jason said, shoving on his helmet. He kicked the stand off his motorcycle and started towards the east border of the Alley, where O had sent a geographical beacon.

“Patching you in,” Oracle said, and the comm beeped.

“Hey, Dickwing,” Jason greeted. “Heard you were getting your ass kicked.”

A series of gunshots layered over Dick’s response. “Little Wing! Oh yeah, I’m great. This is my favourite way to spend a Friday night.”

Jason snorted. “It’s Tuesday.”

“… Is it? Oh shit, I totally missed an appointment with Thompkins. She’s going to kick my ass.”

“Yeah, you’re fucked,” Jason confirmed.

“No chatter on the comms,” Oracle cut in. “Hood, take your next left. Shortcut. Nightwing, maybe start with explaining why you need an assist.”

“Right! Yeah.” Dick coughed. “Got caught in a blast. There's some gang war going on down here; Joker’s men fighting with Black Mask’s.”

Oracle paused for a moment. Jason was so caught off guard that he missed his shortcut.

“I’m calling in Batman,” Oracle said finally. “Hood, take your next exit, I’m redirecting you to—“

“I’ll be fine,” Jason cut in sharply. “It’s just some shitty henchmen, alright? I’m more surprised there’s a fuckin’ gang war going on and I didn’t hear about it ‘til now.”

“I think it was spontaneous,” Nightwing explained. “Seemed like one of them got in the way of the other’s operation by accident, and the retaliation turned into this whole mess.”

“Fuckin’ idiots.”

“Right,” Oracle sighed. “Okay. Nightwing, do you need an evac?”

“No, I’m fine,” Dick confirmed. “Little banged up, but nothing is broken. I need some help tying the loose ends, they have some pretty heavy artillery and I’m pinned down in the middle.”

“I’ll work my way from the outside,” Jason grunted. “O, can I have the schematics of the building?”

“Sending them now.”

“Received. I’m on my way.”

“Thanks, Hood.”

Jason hopped off his motorcycle, the sounds of gunfire loud now that he was right next to them. The entire outside of the warehouse was wrecked, bullet holes leading chaotic trails up and down the concrete. He could place exactly where explosives had been carelessly thrown around by bits of shrapnel and old mortar.

He unholstered his own pistols, keeping them at his sides, and grappled up the nearest wall of the warehouse. He looked in through a gap in the roof. There were several guys on either side, all of which were armed to the teeth with bulletproof vests and autos. Great.

“Wing, where’re you at?” Jason scanned through the inside with the X-Ray visor of his helmet. “Wave.”

He caught a body crouched behind big shipping containers, waving. Right in the center of the warehouse.

“Jesus, you really like getting yourself wedged in the middle of all the shit, don’t you?”

“Right in the crack,” Nightwing agreed dryly.

“If I toss a smoke grenade, can you sneak up to the rafters?” Hood asked, fiddling with the pouches on his belt.

“Yes,” he agreed immediately. “Great idea, Little Wing. I used my last one earlier.”

Hood gave an noncommittal grunt, and pulled the pin on a smoke grenade from his belt. “Heads up.”

He tossed the thing towards the center, and smoke billowed out. Some of the men started shouting, equal parts alarm and confusion— everyone thinking the other side threw it. A blurry figure tumbled through the smoke and disappeared in the upper shadows.

“Nice,” Dick grinned. “I’ll go for Joker’s gang, you go for Roman’s?”

“Whatever,” he replied, trying to feel indifferent about the relief that threatened to bloom in his chest. It’s not that he couldn’t take on Joker’s goons, he just fuckin’ hated doing it. And Dickie knew that, no thanks to his goddamned bleeding heart.

Jason moved, dropping down behind the offending criminals. He took them out two at a time, and made quick word of it: knocking AKs out of hands and shooting rubber bullets at kneecaps, close-range.

If there was one thing Blackmask never got right, it was competent henchman. Even if he hadn’t gotten personally trained by Talia’s hired teachers, these assholes were only as good as their trigger finger— and Jason was great at breaking those.

Based off of the easy jabs and carefree laughs coming from Dick’s comms, he wasn’t having trouble either.

“Gunshot reports are being called in,” Oracle informed. “What’s the progress?”

“Give us ten minutes,” Nightwing’s reply called back. “This should wrap up pretty quick.”

“Heard,” and then a beep signifying Oracle muting herself.

“Hood,” Wing said suddenly. “We’ve got a problem. They don’t care about me kicking their ass anymore, they’re trying to run away. I think they know something we don’t.”

Jason swore loudly. It could just be simple when Joker was involved. He knocked out more of the incoming henchman and then bit out his reply. “Is this a gas-mask situation, or a get-the-fuck-outta-Dodge situation?”

Honestly, it didn’t matter to him. He didn’t like messing with toxin, too much room for accidents, and he really wasn’t the biggest fan of being inside explosions either, believe it or not. It was almost as if he had massive undealt-with trauma around the idea of getting blown to smithereens. Almost.

“Not sure yet,” Dick sighed. “Interrogating now. Yes, you, I’m interrogating you— what are you running from?

A loud, incoherent response that was fuzzy over the comms.

“How long?” Nightwing’s voice dropped, going serious. Something in Hood’s stomach dropped.

Another response that he couldn’t hear, followed by Nightwing swearing loudly. “Hood, evac now.”

Jason’s stomach twisted, his throat tight. He jumped up the storage containers, leaving the remainder of Blackmask’s men to ditch. “Where is it?”

A body tackled him and they both went flying out the window, glass splintering everywhere, and then a cacophonic boom rattled the ground. Waves of heat rushed over them both, and it was too familiar, it was too fucking familiar.

Jason scrambled away, and he can smell burning flesh, he can smell burning rubber, smoke is in his eyes, his mouth, his throat. He tugged away at his helmet, tossing it to the floor carelessly as he gasped for the air that’d been knocked out of him.

“Shit,” Nightwing heaved. “Wing, are you okay? Are you hurt?”

“Shut the fuck up,” he wheezed out, shutting his eyes tight. Fire licked at his face, he can hear cackling in the back of his head like a goddamn earworm.

There’s someone talking to him, to both of them, a quick voice rattling off in both of their ears and asking questions. Jason ripped the comm out of his ringing ears, but it didn’t stop the laughter. Nothing stopped the laughter.

“We’re alive,” Dick said, finger pressed to his earpiece. “We need fire rescue, EMT, and body recovery. Hood needs support, I’m signing off early. If B asks where we are, lie.”

“I don’t need any fucking support,” Jason spat out. “Fuck off, Dick.”

His vision was spinning. He searched around blindly to get his helmet, because he needed to fucking leave, now.

“Hood, hold on,” Dick said, catching up to him. He’s clutching his side with one hand, his muscles tensing from pain. Jason scowled at him. “C’mon, let’s go take a breather somewhere. You pick the spot.”

“I don’t need a breather!” Jason seethed. He finally found his helmet, a crack in one of the visor’s eyes, and picked it up with one hand. “Go to the cave, you’re hurt. And fuck off, you’re gonna get blood on me.”

Dick ignored him, following him like goddamn stink on shit. “I’ll leave you alone if you can promise me honestly that you’re not having a freak-out right now.”

‘Freak-out.’ Like he was thirteen years old again and Dick just learned about the panic attacks, the first time he slept over at his apartment. The undertone of worry, the hesitation to hold out his arms, the smell of burnt cocoa on the stovetop in his best attempt to comfort.

And as much as it pissed him off, he wished so badly that it could be like that again. But he didn’t know how to be that little brother anymore. As far as he could tell, that kid died with an ‘R’ on his beaten chest, and was buried in the ground.

He never did figure out where that left the two of them— or where that left him.

“I’m not a fucking kid,” Jason said, shoving him away. Green in his eyes, smoke in his throat. He pressed onwards, getting back on his motorcycle. “I’ll be fine on my own.”

He left Dick behind, and when his eyes were burning, he ignored it. He knew it wasn’t because of the smoke.

twenty-two

“Listen, old man,” Jason sighed. “You want to help, I get it. But I really can take care of myself. I’ve been doing it for a while. You know, in case you forgot.”

He wasn’t even sure why Bruce was so determined to follow him all the way out here. The Prince of Gotham was rarely seen slumming it in Crime Alley, unless there was some kind of press event. Which there definitely wasn’t.

Apparently Bruce was convinced that Jason needed some kind of “spotting” on funds, or rent, or something. It all just seemed like too little, too late. He had his own apartment, he paid for it himself, with good and honest crime-lord money.

“Alfred told me to intervene. I’m not saying you need to live in the manor,” Bruce argued. “Even though we have more than enough space—“

“Okay, yeah. I’m not fuckin’ living in the manor. I’m not twelve anymore, Bruce.”

“—Tim told me about the state of your apartment,” Bruce continued, conceding a very tired look. “He said it was worse than your brother’s.”

Jason turned into the next alley, the one behind the Monarch— the quickest shortcut to his so-called trash heap of an apartment. If you asked him, it was actually very distinguished. He even had a black couch to mask the blood stains.

“Oh, we’re trusting the kid’s judgement?” Jason walked backwards, screwing his face up for Bruce to see. “Have you seen Timmy’s room lately? That shit should be marked as a BSL-4.”

Bruce wasn’t even looking at him. His eyes trained ahead. “Jason—“

Jason scoffed. “No, I’m serious. Have you been in there with a Geiger-Müller counter yet? I’ve got some concerns.”

“Jason.”

“Jesus, what?” Jason finally turned around to face in front of him.

The exit to the alley is totally blocked off. One mugger, gun drawn, held out like it was his first time holding any kind of weapon.

“Don’t fucking move,” the man said lowly, his voice shaking.

A laugh threatened its way right up Jason’s throat, a boisterous, almost manic kind-of-thing. His mouth fell open, and he just stared, for a moment. Taking it all in.

The dumb-fuck that just cornered the Red Hood and Batman— The Boogeyman, The Dark Knight, Literal Fucking Shadow of Gotham— with intent to mug. And he had no idea what he was doing.

“Oh, this night has just gotten so much better,” Jason muttered, a smile stretching its way across his face.

“Empty—“ The man shook and stuttered, the muzzle waving all over the place from his trembling hands. Jason almost felt bad for the poor bastard. “Empty your pockets! Now, damn it. Right now.”

Well, he knew Bruce didn’t have shit— but Jason was actively carrying two pistols and three knives. They were, after all, in Park Row. Home sweet home, right?

Ah, but they were civilians, so Jason couldn’t reveal that just yet. Had to keep up some kind of illusion, supposedly, but Jason really just wanted to be an asshole. Forgive him, it wasn’t so often that he got to have fun outside of the mask.

“Have you ever even shot that thing before?” Jason jutted his chin out, amused. “You look nervous, buddy.”

“I have,” Dumb-fuck blurted defensively. “I’ve fired it loads of times. I’ve— this clip is full, too, so don’t fuck around!”

“Sorry, what’s full?” Jason repeated, taking a step closer. He was full of an undeniable glee, watching this idiot squirm. “You know, other than your fuckin’ ego.”

Bruce stayed silent behind him, and he could picture how he looked just from the muscle memory of having done it so many times before. Here they were, back at it again after such a long time. Him doing the distracting of some guilty schmuck, Bats doing the intimidating; a silent, lurking mass of shadow that stood like a shield behind him.

He sure as hell wasn’t Robin anymore, but Jason was an annoying little shit long before he put on the colours. Everything be damned if he didn’t keep it after the green and yellow was ripped away. (He almost felt like something was clicking back into its old, childish place. The two of them facing off a threat together, again.)

“The clip,” Dumb-fuck insisted. His finger twitched around the trigger, but didn’t pull. He made an expertly dramatic move of pointing the pistol right at Jason’s face, but he’s shaking so much that it would be a goddamn miracle if he actually landed a shot anywhere.

“Right, yeah. That’s called a mag, babygirl,” Jason grinned, his teeth sharp as a wolf’s. “Listen, I’ll give you a choice here, because you’ve really made my night with this whole mugger-schtick.”

Dumb-fuck swallowed audibly, his eyes wide. He shifted around uncomfortably on his feet.

“Run off now, and we’ll let you go,” Jason offered. “Or, I can take another step forward and show you exactly how that pistol works. I’ll give you three seconds to think about it, alright? One… Two…”

Dumb-fuck’s eyes flit around wildly between Jason and the street. He suddenly shoved the pistol down his pants, and took off sprinting around cars, nearly getting himself killed in the process.

Jason laughed loudly, tossing his head back. He rubbed at his eyes in disbelief, turning back to Bruce. “Can you fuckin’ believe that? Holy shit. Didn’t even have—“

His voice disappeared as he actually caught sight of Bruce.

Or, what… should have been Bruce.

Right now, he was looking more at a ghost.

Bruce hadn’t been hidden. He stood directly in the harsh light of the moon. His face gaunt, the blood drained and leaving him as pale as a cadaver. His eyes wide, trained on the same spot, and full of an emotion that Jason had never ever imagined to see on him.

The pieces click fast. The alley, the gun, the haunted tone of B’s voice last time he’d said his name.

He… had no idea how to handle this.

Jason awkwardly stood there, not knowing what to do with his hands, not sure if he should step closer or step away.

“Hey,” Jason tried. “Bruce, where are you right now?”

Bruce’s lips pressed into a firm line. A shudder of anguish visibly passed over his face, his eyes shutting, his chin tilting down. “Here,” he said gruffly.

Liar.

“Sure,” Jason conceded, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, that’s right. We’re here. That asshole is gone. It’s just us, alright? Come on, you know that.”

Bruce swallowed thickly, his eyes never leaving the broken concrete of the alleyway’s ground. He nodded, twitched for a moment, his lip curling. Then he turned his head and gagged.

“Shit,” Jason said quickly, and made a move towards him, like that would do fucking anything.

Bruce exhaled stiffly through his nose, bending over to rest his weight on his knees. He breathed out shakily through his mouth.

“Okay,” Jason hovered his hands over B’s shoulders, unsure if touching him would make it worse, god forbid. “Let’s— er. Let’s get to my apartment? We’re a minute away. The fresh air will do you good.”

Hopefully. Fresh air wasn’t really a commodity in Gotham, anyways, but Jason was shit out of luck if he didn’t try something.

“I’m just fine, Jason,” Bruce said hoarsely. His eyes flitting around the alleyway, looking towards both exits like he was about to bolt but couldn’t decide in which direction. “Go home, we’ll speak later.”

“Yeah, that’s not happening,” Jason scoffed. “We’re walking together. Both of us, right now. Keep up.”

Jason grabbed him by the collar and started walking, depending solely on Bruce’s stumbling next to him to set the pace. After he was sure that Bruce wouldn’t fuckin’, escape, or something, he let go of him. Bruce kept following.

“I'm sorry,” Bruce spoke up. Still pale as a ghost.

Jason led him up the stairs of his apartment complex. “The fuck are you sorry for? You didn’t even do anything.”

“That’s why I’m apologizing,” Bruce said dryly.

Jason scoffed and shoved the keys into the door, turning it open. He tumbled in and instinctively set a saucepan on the stovetop.

Bruce had never seen his apartment. Jason tried to look at it now how he was probably seeing it— the crappily-installed bookshelves with borrowed books from the Manor’s library, Roy’s clothes scattered in odd places, stains on the walls where smoke had been and odd cracks filled in with spackling. It was all just familiar in a way that made his chest hurt.

He poured milk and vanilla into the saucepan and started it on a low heat, and Bruce stood uselessly in the doorway. Jason huffed. “Stop lurking. Sit down somewhere. I don’t give a shit where.”

Bruce uncomfortably moved further into the apartment. He sat down on Jason’s taped up black couch with perfect posture and worrying hands. His detective eyes wandered around the place, and Jason hated every second of it.

“Tim was wrong,” he said finally. “Your apartment isn’t as bad as Dick’s.”

Jason opened his mouth, and then closed it. He furrowed his eyebrows and stirred at the saucepan mixture. He wordlessly measured cocoa powder from the cabinets and dumped in chocolate chips.

He could see how Bruce was breathing. The rhythm of how his chest would rise and fall were always the same, always in sync with the same pattern. Fuck, Jason knew it well. He probably wouldn’t ever forget, because he did it too, every night.

“He could have killed you,” Bruce mumbled coarsely.

“He really couldn’t’ve,” Jason said back easily. Stirring the saucepan. Avoiding eye contact. “His safety was on.”

“Jason.”

Jason sighed, scrubbing a hand over his eyes. “Yeah. Yeah, I get it.”

“You don’t,” Bruce argued tiredly. “You couldn’t possibly. He had a gun on you, and I couldn’t move. I could have lost you.”

Again.

“I could have lost you, just like I lost them,” Bruce shook.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this,” Jason said, glaring at the stove, “but you have to be easier on yourself.”

Jason turned the burner off and grabbed two mugs down from the cabinet. “Yeah, we could have died. But we almost die every night, B. Plus, the circumstances weren’t exactly on your side.”

“It doesn’t matter. I—”

Jason sent him a nasty look, jutting his chin out. “Do you force me to go patrol when Joker breaks out of Arkham?”

Bruce sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Of course not. But that’s—”

“It is the same,” Jason interrupted. He poured the cocoa mixture into both mugs and walked into the living room, setting both on the coffee table. “Now stop fuckin’ arguing and drink your damn cocoa, or I’ll call Alfred.”

Bruce stared at him for a long moment, his shoulders dropping, the fight drained out of him. His eyes were so gentle, and for a moment Jason almost didn’t recognize the expression, and then he realized with a start that it was just… love.

Despite everything.

“Jason,” Bruce began again.

“Don’t,” Jason said, his voice rough. A lump in his throat. “I know.”

Bruce’s eyes twinkled at the edges, his mouth turning up at the corners.

“You make good cocoa.”

[fishyfishyfishtimes]

So Pigeon Washing Machine Man, Huh?

Sometimes you may have heard me mention a character by the name of Pigeon Washing Machine Man, or Pigeon Man for short. Often I haven’t mentioned very good things, but I haven’t really gone in depth about who that guy is or why he’s so.. despicable. No more! I will now finally share with you the story of Pigeon Man, and the most unsettling nightmare I’ve had in my life.

Okay, first to set the context of the dream. You know those creepy videos that sometimes circle around, a la I Feel Fantastic? A brand new one was making waves in Internet circles. An arts and crafts tutorial, that somehow hid a dark secret inside it, at least that’s how the rumours went. I decided to give it a watch on YouTube: the very first clip at the beginning of the video was of a large, bright yellow claymation slug crawling on what appeared to be an empty bed frame. A cheery voice spoke, “arts and crafts can be a great way to spend your spare time!” That was about the only normal thing I heard in the entire dream. As my eyes were glued to the screen, my perception began to shift…

I was there. In the blink of an eye, without realising how or when, I suddenly found myself in a dimly lit, empty apartment. The main room was without any furniture, and all the windows were covered with thick curtains. No lights were on, only the small amount of natural light available. On the very back, there appeared to be a new room, with several glass doors and windows leading up to it but covered with red curtains like at a theater. On the other side of the hall, a kitchen. And in there was a man! A very average-looking brown-haired pale man in a long-sleeved shirt, he was always smiling and spoke in an overly enthusiastic YouTuber voice. I inferred from context clues that expecting guests over to his house. I had to infer this, as the man himself spoke complete nonsense — he either said phrases with no meaning entirely, or would replace words in otherwise appropriate sentences with incorrect ones. Two things I recall were him talking about pigeon washing machines (there’s the name!) and how the "guests should've died already" when he really meant they should've arrived.

The apartment, as mentioned, mostly consisted of a grey, empty "ballroom" with stairs leading downstairs in the middle, with three rooms connected to it. The bedroom, which was empty save for a single empty bed frame where the gigantic slug crawled, the bathroom with a single bathtub, where the robot "Police" told Pigeon man to clean before guests arrived. Police took the form of a rainbow-coloured screen with a pixelated face that took up my entire field of vision. The kitchen I could not enter. At the edges of my vision I could see people in strange costumes enter and disappear. They would walk in from the doors at the other side of the big room, and vanish into another door. My entire vision was also bombarded with floating colourful balls, strings, and other strange shapes.

Soon enough, guests arrived. All were children, from preschool age to my own age (I was about 17 at the time of the dream), and sometimes their clothes were covered in blood. Pigeon man didn't seem to care at all or mind. Every time I tried to look back the blood was gone, we were all just sort of.. waiting for something. At one point, before guests had arrived at all, I was walking behind Pigeon man, when he suddenly turned around and looked at me in the eyes. I was nervous, so I smiled at him. His response was to smile even wider with his teeth.

Eventually I had had enough of this horrible place where I could never shake off the feeling of dread! Me and some other girls my age decided we'd get the hell out of there. We descended down the ballroom stairs to a very large dark room, similar to an indoor car park. We ran in the cool, dark and empty space towards a light that seemed to be shining from under a door. Freedom was so close... except, recall how this whole thing happened in a video? The video rewinded, and I was back in the house of Pigeon man. Except, this time the staircase was gone. There was nowhere to go now.

I was beginning to panic, and right before my breaking point Pigeon man finally unveiled what he had been preparing the whole time: it was a group of people, all smiling and welcoming us! There were the people in the silly costumes, like animal and muppet costumes, there were my parents, and there seemed to be the parents of the other children, too. He wasn’t evil at all, I could see then, he had just tried to prepare this wonderful party for all of us! Relieved to see our families, me and the other guests rushed over for a happy reunion. I could see myself in third person talking and laughing. This is when a deep-voiced, disembodied narrator piped in. "But what they didn't expect," a high-pitched violin cue got louder, "was death."

Black. Everything went black. And that’s when I woke up.

[umlewis]

"@.lewishamilton, um dos nomes mais influentes da Fórmula 1, é também a quarta capa do Volume 04 da #ELLEMenBrasil. Nascido em uma família inglesa da classe trabalhadora, conta sete títulos mundiais. Também detém o maior número de vitórias, pole positions e pódios da categoria mais importante do automobilismo mundial. Primeiro (e ainda único) piloto negro da F1, ele se tornou uma voz contra o racismo e em defesa da diversidade no esporte, se posicionando firmemente em meio ao Black Lives Matter. Hamilton não teve receio de se contrastar com o visual homogêneo dos colegas de circuito, com seus dreads, tatuagens e joias. São nítidas sua paixão pela moda e sua disposição em ousar – natural então que o inglês seja um dos protagonistas da nova campanha da @.rimowa, marca alemã referência em bagagem de luxo. 'Nem sempre acerto, mas acho que é uma questão de expressão pessoal,' diz em entrevista à editora de cultura @.brunabittencourt1. Nossa equipe foi até Seul para fotografar #LewisHamilton, que se junta ao time de homens que têm a certeza e o orgulho de serem o que são. Ao recusarem as cartas que lhes foram dadas, não se conformaram com os moldes possíveis, escreveram as regras. Possivelmente até a história. Para comprar a quarta edição da #ELLEMenBrasil, corra já para o nosso site ou para a lojinha de Instagram. Imperdível!"

"@.lewishamilton, one of the most influential names in Formula 1, is also the fourth cover of Volume 04 of #ELLEMenBrasil. Born into a working-class English family, he has won seven world titles. He also has the highest number of victories, pole positions and podiums in the most important category in world motorsport. The first (and still only) black driver in F1, he became a voice against racism and in defense of diversity in the sport, taking a firm stand in the midst of Black Lives Matter. Hamilton was not afraid to contrast himself with the homogeneous look of his colleagues on the circuit, with his dreadlocks, tattoos and jewelry. His passion for fashion and his willingness to dare are clear – it's only natural that the Englishman is one of the protagonists of the new campaign for @.rimowa, a German brand that is a reference in luxury luggage. 'I don't always get it right, but I think it's a matter of personal expression,' he says in an interview with culture editor @.brunabittencourt1. Our team went to Seoul to photograph #LewisHamilton, who joins the team of men who are sure and proud to be who they are. By refusing the cards given to them, they did not conform to the possible forms, they wrote the rules. Possibly even the story. To buy the fourth edition of #ELLEMenBrasil, go to our website or to the Instagram shop now. Unmissable!" - august 8, 2024 📷 @.ellebrasil / instagram

[hungermakesmonsters]

Catch Me If You Can

Bonus Christmas Chapter

Plot summary : When your friend interviews for a position at Anvil, you have a chance encounter with Billy Russo. He takes you for coffee and, by the time you’re done, Billy decides he’s anything but done with you.

Pairing : Billy Russo x Reader

Story Rating : R 

Chapter Rating : R (p. much just smut)

Warnings : [This is a fic for 18+ only, minors DNI] This chapter contains smut and Billy using sex to get what he wants . Please check the warnings on each chapter if you choose to follow this story. 

Word Count : ~2.3k

A/N : This was written as a bonus chapter for Christmas but I couldn't post it because of where the main story was, so I'm posting it now, late AF. It's pretty much just a cutesy smut fest. Nothing that happens in this chapter will effect the rest of the story.

CHAPTER ONE | CHAPTER TWO | CHAPTER THREE | CHAPTER FOUR | CHAPTER FIVE | CHAPTER SIX | CHAPTER SEVEN | CHAPTER EIGHT | CHAPTER NINE | CHAPTER TEN | CHAPTER ELEVEN | CHAPTER TWELVE | CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Bonus Christmas Chapter

On Christmas morning, you’d woken to find Billy sprawled beside you, sleeping so peacefully, that you decided to wake him by slipping beneath the covers and wrapping your lips around his cock. He moaned your name in that sleepy, scratchy tone that always had your thighs clenching, and it wasn’t long until you had him falling apart. But you didn’t want to spend the whole day in bed with him so, before he could come to his senses, you were slipping out of bed and heading for the bathroom, instructing him to stay put.

Once you were done in the shower, you slipped into Billy’s Christmas present;  a red lace lingerie set that was so sheer it was practically see-through, complete with a strappy garter belt and black stockings. Over the top you wore a dark red dress with a satin sash that you pulled into a bow, almost making you look like a wrapped up present.

He was speechless when you finally left the bathroom, but you didn’t give him a chance to do anything more than look before telling him to get showered so you could have breakfast; French toast, bacon and mimosas.

When you were done eating, he took your hand and led you to the tree you’d helped him set up and decorate. Dread coiled in your stomach when you noticed a pile of presents, and the feeling got worse when Billy handed you one.

Carefully, you tore the wrapping paper, revealing a brand new, top of the range mirrorless camera.

“Billy,” his smile waived as you looked at him and he realised you were upset, “this is too much, I can’t accept this.”

Before he had a chance to argue, you were on your feet, heading for the bedroom, feeling like an idiot - how could you have let yourself think that some lingerie would be worth whatever he could get you?

You should have known that something like this would happen, and you felt like an idiot for not anticipating it but - but, now that it had happened, you felt like you were being ungrateful and that wasn't fair to Billy. But, how could you accept a gift that had cost him thousands when all you'd gotten him was ninety dollars worth of lingerie?

“Hey, don’t walk away from me,” his hand on your wrist, pulling you back to face him. He wasn’t angry, he just seemed confused.

“I just need a minute,” you told him, pulling against his grip, but he didn’t let go.

“Talk to me.”

“You can’t spend over five grand on me and expect me to be happy about it,” you blurted out.

“Why not? You’re overthinking it; it’s Christmas. Why can’t I spoil you for Christmas?”

“Because it’s too much, Billy. I don’t need a sugar daddy.”

“Careful, sweetheart, I could get used to you calling me Daddy,” Billy tried to joke.

“I’m being serious!”

He let out a sigh. “I don’t think it’s too much. Not for you. You deserve it - I want you to have it. You know the money doesn’t matter to me.”

“It matters to me, Billy. Especially when all I got you was some stupid lingerie.”

“You got me lingerie?” He grinned, completely missing the point you were making. You slapped his chest with your free hand. “Okay, okay - if you don’t want the camera, we can take it all back. I’ll do whatever you want.”

It was strange for him to relent so easily, but you hoped he was finally starting to understand why his money sometimes made you uncomfortable, but with it being Christmas you didn’t want to argue anymore, so you let it slide.

“Thank you, Billy,” stepping forwards, your hand slipping around his neck and pulling him down into a tender kiss, happy that he seemed to have seen things your way.

“So, about this lingerie...” he grinned against your lips.

You’d wanted to save the surprise for later but, since the cat was out of the bag, you decided to take a step back, indicating the bow of your dress with a wave of your hand.

“Why don’t you unwrap your present and see for yourself.”

His hands were on you in an instant, starting at your shoulders then slowly tracing the low neckline of the dress down to your cleavage, palming your breasts through the fabric before continuing down to the bow. He licked his lips as he looked at you, taking in the sight of you like you were the most beautiful thing in the world to him as he finally started to undo the bow. Once it was open, he turned you so he could get to the zipper, slowly lowering it and, then, letting the dress drop to the floor.

Fingers ran across your bare stomach, urging you back against him, letting you feel the press of his erection against you. You ground your ass back against him until you heard him take a sharp breath, then you stepped away from him, turning so he could get a proper look at you.

Billy froze, his eyes tracking down your body, taking shallow breaths and looking ready to pounce. You swayed your hips from side to side, watching as he fought against his desires. When he still didn’t move, you reached for him, pulling him towards the bed and sitting him down. Climbing onto his lap, your hips continued to sway as you slowly unbuttoned his shirt and pushed it off his shoulders. His dark eyes continued to glare and you just smiled, wanting him to do his worst.

“Aren’t you going to finish unwrapping me?” You asked as innocently as you could manage, finally snapping him out of it.

His arm moved around you, fingertips pressing into your back, pulling you closer before he deftly unclasped your bra. You slipped it off while his lips trailed down the column of your throat to your collarbone, your back arching without a second thought, knowing exactly where his lips were headed. Fingers ran through his hair as he sucked a nipple between his lips, teasing it to a hardened nub before moving his attention to the other.

While he enjoyed your breasts, his hand slipped between you and into your panties, smirking when he realised how wet you were. Fingers trailed through your wetness, teasing your clit before sinking into you, setting a languid pace; he wasn’t trying to make you come, he was making sure you were ready for him. He pulled back his fingers as you undid his pants and pulled out his erection, slowly running your fingers up and down him, but you stopped the moment you felt him tug on your panties.

“Don’t you dare tear these panties, Billy.” You tried to sound serious despite the laughter in your voice.

He practically growled in response, fingers still tugging, very obviously thinking about doing it anyway before relenting. His hands gripped your hips and he quickly moved you off his lap and onto the bed, pulling your panties down and gazing down at you as he dropped his pants and boxers.

“As much as I want your legs in those stockings wrapped around my head, I don’t think I can wait to fuck you.” He confessed.

You’d come to learn just what that meant; when he was willing to skip foreplay, it meant he needed you, and when he needed you, things got rough. Just the thought made you tremble with anticipation.

“It’s your Christmas present, you can do whatever you want with it.”

“You’re my Christmas present.” He corrected you, crawling onto the bed beside you. You. Not the sex on offer or the lingerie, you were his present. You were his. “And I’m gonna do whatever I want with you, sweetheart.”

He manoeuvred you onto your side and laid behind you, his hand slowly trailing down your body, leaving goosebumps in its wake. But, despite his tender touches, his ragged breathing told you that this was going to be anything but gentle. Finally, his arm hooked around your thigh, lifting it until it was almost perpendicular to your other leg, leaving you spread wide for him.

You looked down as he curled around you, realising you could see his cock between your thighs.

“That’s right, sweetheart, watch,” he muttered, slowly moving his hips, letting you watch his cock running through your folds. He watched too, slowly building up your arousal until he was coated in it and his tip was starting to leak. Eagerly, you reached down, thumb swiping a bead of pre-cum and bringing it to your lips, earning a growl from Billy, reminding you that he was in charge right now, not you.

To punish you, he started to tease you, pressing the crown of his cock against your slit, letting you feel the slow stretch before pulling back again. He did it over and over, leaving you feeling desperate and needy, moaning his name every time his shaft rubbed against your clit.

“Billy, please -” you finally broke, unable to take any more.

“Say it,” he demanded quietly, his lips brushing against your ear.

“I need you inside me,” you begged.

Finally, he relented, slowly pushing past the threshold of your wet slit. A cry spilled from you, the angle of his cock stretching you, filling you in a way you hadn’t felt before. Billy, likewise, let out a groan, easing you open with inch after inch, holding you close as he sank deeper and deeper.

You whimpered as he bottomed out, but he didn’t give you time to adjust before he started to fuck you with hard, brazen thrusts of his hips. Trembling every time he filled you, his grip on your thigh left you completely at his mercy to take whatever he gave. And Billy gave you everything, swearing and groaning your name as you clenched around him, as you drenched his cock with your arousal.

“Is this what you needed?” He grunted in your ear.

“More,” you moaned, toying with him. “Everything.”

He fucked you harder, faster, filling the deepest parts of you, and by the time you felt his fingers on your swollen clit each breath you took was punctuated with a moan.

“Like this, sweetheart?” he mocked, knowing you couldn’t answer. All you could do was moan. “Always so fucking needy for me, aren’t you?”

(You both already knew the answer to that one.)

Glancing down, just the sight of his fingers working your clit was enough to make you come.

His cock slipped from you without warning, still in the throes of your orgasm, still moaning and writhing beneath him. Getting to his knees, he straddled one thigh while pulling the other around his waist, keeping you on your side as he slipped back between your walls. The new angle had your eyes rolling back in your head every time he filled you.

Noticing your breasts bouncing with each thrust only inspired him to fuck you harder, his hand soon slipping up you body, fingers pinching and tugging at your nipple, the sharp sting bringing an overwhelming mixture of pleasure and pain.

“Mine,” he growled, demanding you admit it; that you were his, that you’d never want anyone else again. But you weren’t there yet, and your denial had him pounding his cock into you even harder, making you come again.

Rolling you onto your back, he pulled up both of your legs as he sank back inside you, lowering his body over yours, letting you feel his weight on top of you. His lips ghosted yours but, when you tried to kiss him, he pulled away, smirking. His movements turned slower, more purposeful, letting you really feel him. It was almost too much after everything you’d already been through, but you soon realised that was the point.

“See how easy it is to empty that head and stop overthinking when you give in to me?” His hand cupped your cheek and he smiled down at you. “This is why you’re mine, sweetheart. No one else will ever make you feel this good.”

As your back arched off the bed, Billy lowered his head, capturing a nipple between his lips, sucking and nipping, while his fingers found the other, tugging and twisting until it ached. It wasn’t long before you started to tremble beneath him, moans stacking and getting louder, nails tearing into his back as you tried to hold on.

You clenched around his cock, so close to coming, when he took hold of your wrists, pinning them above your head.

Then he pulled out.

“Billy -” you practically sobbed, desperate to come, not understanding why he'd stopped.

“Say thank you for the camera, Billy,” he instructed.

You stayed quiet, defiant, realising what he was doing. He wanted to make you change your mind.

Squirming beneath him, you tried in vain to pull from his grasp. His cock filled you again, giving two deep thrusts, almost enough to push you over the edge before pulling out again.

“All you have to say is thank you,” he told you again.

With the way you were bent beneath him, you couldn’t move, couldn’t free yourself. You hated how much you were loving being restrained by him, hated the thrill that ran up your spine as he kept edging you, knowing you well enough to pull out each time you got close. Minutes passed, the demand made over and over, keeping you on the precipice until your eyes were watering and your body was shaking.

But you didn’t ask him to stop. You didn’t want it to end; naively, you thought you could beat him. You couldn’t.

“Thank you!” You finally cried out, broken by him.

“For?” He prompted.

“Thank you for the camera, Billy.” You whined desperately.

“You’re going to keep it, aren’t you?”

Fuck, he’d managed to trap you.

“Yes!”

He grinned, pitching his cock inside you again, fucking you fast and hard enough to finish both of you, his thrusts finally turning languid and lazy as he emptied himself of every last drop inside you, and you clenched around him, unable to stay annoyed as you fought to catch your breath.

“I’m really glad you decided to keep the camera, sweetheart.” Finally letting you lower your legs back to the mattress. And, before you could answer back, his tongue was in your mouth and you were surrendering to him all over again.

END NOTES : I know it's late to be posting a Christmas chapter but I had it written and I thought it was pretty cute (albeit in a smutty fucked up way) and I enjoyed writing it so, here we are. Normal posting schedule will start again on Friday!

Thanks for reading and sticking with all the ups, downs, and dirty parts of this fic!

If you want adding/removing from the tag list let me know (I know some people are having issues with the tags? think you might need to enable tagging on your end of things? IDK tumblr is weird)

TAG LIST

@lincerad @sweetserendipity65 @rafaelakelley @slayerofthevampire @rensolodriver @lovelydoveval @doloreschanal @damagelove @danzer8705 @unlikelystarlightcowboy @schlotzshewrote @bisexualbith @uncontainedsmiles @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @lilliesofmay @billyrussoslut @readingabouthim

[theloveoftoms]

one hell of a pilot - maverick x reader

summary: after a recent breakup, your long-time friend goose suggests you join him and the others at a bar off base. maverick and you forge a meaningful connection <3

a/n: hello babes, guess who's back from her far too long hiatus, this girl! I started writing this a few weeks ago, and I finally finished it. I hope you all enjoy, I know writing it was a blast! I have my poetry final today, so wish me luck lolz. have a great day :)) - xoxo mac

wordcount: 4.3k

warnings: alcohol consumption, shitty ex-boyfriend, language ;0

Today had been a rough day. Training at Top Gun had increased to a new level of difficulty. With each new assignment and flight training demanding a new level of grit and determination to accomplish. And it certainly didn’t help that your heart was still in the process of mending from the pain caused by your most recent boyfriend, well, now I suppose, ex-boyfriend. 

The day at Top Gun was finally over, and the thought of coming home to your single-unit pleased you in the moment, but you knew damn well, that the second you got back to your apartment, the dread of it all would sink in. 

So, after a shower, and a luke-warm beer that you had forgotten to put in the refrigerator, you found yourself perched on the arm of your living room couch, fiddling with the remote that never seemed to work, but probably just needed batteries. You found some shitty action movie on tv and ate a plate of strawberries as the sound of fast cars and men with Floridan accents became a comforting lull in the background.

Your night, or at least how you had planned it, would consist of, 1) the second half of this shitty movie 2) the leftover chicken quesadilla you had waiting for you in the refrigerator and 3) the cheap thriller novel that you had found at the drugstore last week. What you didn’t anticipate happening, was the doorbell ringing promptly at nine, just after you had finished your dinner.

So, you pulled yourself up from the couch, and on the way to the door, when you passed a glimpse of your reflection in the hallway mirror, you debated grabbing a cardigan or a blanket or something to cover up your sloppy look. You were wearing a navy-branded t-shirt (courtesy of your days at the academy), and pair of biker shorts that appeared to be non-existent as they hid beneath the excess material of the mens tripple-XL shirt. But the closer you got to the door, the further that thought was in your mind, and you decided, that whoever was on the other side of the door would just have to deal with your post-work image.

“y/l/n,” Goose stated confidently, a hand resting on his hip, “you busy tonight?”

Your posture relaxed when you realized who it was; the man you practically grew up with. 

You deadpanned and gestured to yourself, “does it look like I’m busy Bradshaw?”

Goose shrugged, not entirely sure how to reply to that retort of yours.

“What do you need Goose?” You asked nonchalantly, both wanting and not-wanting to get back inside to the comforts of your sofa.

“A couple of the guys and I are going to grab drinks at the Duke and I was wondering if you wanted to tag along?”

You gestured to yourself again, “Does it look like I’m fit to go to a bar Nick?”

“It looks like you need a pair of fuckin pants,” he said jokingly, which earned a slap to his bicep.

“I know things haven’t been great for you lately y/n,” Goose said, “with Brett and all.” 

Brett. Just hearing his name brought an unwanted surge of pain through your chest. Specifically, the surge of pain that you had been trying to push away for the past couple of weeks. You didn’t cry about him anymore, in the daytime that is. But at night, when you would lie in bed beneath the darkness of the moon, missing the presence of having someone to curl into, the tears would come, and they would temporarily make an impression on your pillowcase. But as you slept it off, the tears would dry, and you would wake up the next morning feeling mostly okayish.

“And I think,” Goose said, bringing you back into reality from the facade of memories that you had been reminiscing upon within your mind just then, “if you came out with us tonight, you’d have more fun than you would here,” he said, gesturing to your townhome, “spilling a tub of ice cream all over yourself while you sit alone with the lights off.”

Way harsh Goose, you thought to yourself. But he did have a point. You hadn’t been out in forever. The last time you actually went and got drinks like a proper twenty-something-year-old was with your parents when you relocated to San Diego for your position in Top Gun. And that was just at some locally owned Mexican restaurant that happened to have a bar inside. Maybe it would be good to get back out there?

You rolled your eyes, “Give me ten minutes and I’ll be ready.”

So, as Goose, your childhood best friend stood in your kitchen, washing the plate you had used to eat your chicken quesadilla, you were busy in your room getting yourself ready for the evening. You dressed yourself in a lacey black tank top that looked only slightly like lingerie, but didn’t if you wore it tucked into a pair of straight-cut jeans and wore it alongside a pair of low beige heels. As you ran a comb through your wavy hair, you couldn’t help but stare at yourself in the mirror.

Sure, it was a pretty typical outfit that other young women of your age wore when they went out for drinks, but it was cute. And it did provide you with the security of looking  just like every other woman. Thats exactly what you wanted to appear to be; just like every other woman. Brett had dumped you because you weren’t ready to settle down with him. You weren’t ready to move in, you weren’t ready for marriage, and you sure as hell weren’t ready for children. Brett wanted you to finish up Top Gun and then lie low for a while, putting your career aside. “Be realistic,” Brett had said, “This pilot shit can’t last forever. Maybe look at getting a different job, one thats more feminine?” 

Your career was very important to you. You had worked so hard to climb the latter that that is the United States Navy. Your career was the highlight of your life. It was everything you had ever worked towards. And you weren’t going to give that up. And as much as you hated to admit, the reason of your recent break-up, had been affecting your ego ever so slightly.

So tonight, as you admired your curves in the mirror, and put on some mascara, you told yourself that you were just like every other woman.

…

“This better be worth it,” you grumbled, shutting the door to Goose’s Bronco, scanning the beach-side dive bar with your eyes.

Off in the distance, the evening tangerine hue was beginning to creep up and onto the horizon, putting the day to sleep in preparation for the night. And alongside the dimming of the evening, the neon lights of the dive bar became more welcoming.

The Duke, the off-base bar that Goose had insisted you join him and the others at, was the kind of place that had charm, but only if you knew where to look for it. It was the kind of place with neon lights and drinks that were both cheap and good. It was the kind of place that people came to forget about the day they had just had. Thats what you wanted. And the aura of the loud music coming from the bar would sure help with that. 

“Trust me, y/n,” Goose reassured you, responding to your question, “it will be.”

You wanted to believe Goose, you really did. And the moment you saw the table of guys that you’ve began to come to know as your group of friends, the night already seemed better. 

“Look who made it!” Iceman said as you approached the table, making you feel welcome, “Its good to see you Cobra,” he said, calling you by your call sign.

You smiled and as you took a seat at one of the empty chairs, saying your ‘hellos’ to the other classmates that were here. And at the end of the table was no other than Pete ‘Maverick’ Mitchell – perhaps, your greatest competitor – sitting laxly with a beer in his hands and his regular leather jacket draped around his chair.

Damn he had nice arms.

“Evening Cobra,” he said to you, leaning back ever so slightly in a way that seemed to be slightly too confident.

“Maverick,” you offered as a form of pleasantry.

Slider, who was busy looking at the drink menu slapped it down on the counter, pointing to one item in particular. “Now this,” he said, his finger drawn to a platter of five tequila shots, “this is what we need to get things going.”

So, as soon as a one of the circulating waitresses happened to be walking by your table, she wrote down, and then brought over the collective order of your table, the night certainly got a whole lot more exciting.

“Alright,” Goose said, handing you your stalky shot glass of 100% pure tequila, complete with a rim of salt and an accompanying lime, “To good times,” he said nodding.

“Good times,” you repeated along with the others, before drawing the glass to your mouth, tasting the dryness of the salt right before proceeding to take the shot.

The warmth of the alcohol tricked down your throat as you swallowed, and you forgot just how strong shots could be. You weren’t sure if swallowing it as quickly as possible made the uncomfortable sensation better or worse, but as soon as the clear liquid was all emptied from your glass, you jammed the lime into your mouth and squinted your eyes shut as a way to combat the sensation. You weren’t the only one. It seemed everyone at your table, was just to realizing how strong Slider’s chosen shots were.

“Shit,” Goose groaned, setting his glass down on the table, “And you enjoy these Slider?”

Slider shrugged, grinning, “Its awful right now, but hey, come ten minutes, you’ll feel real great.”

Opening one of the beers on the table, you rolled your eyes Sliders comment, “It’ll take more than that,” you sarcastically groaned to Goose who was seated beside you.

“What was that y/n?” Iceman asked.

You shook your head, “Ah, it was nothing.”

“Do I hear you wanting to go for a round two?”

Now, a sensible you would have said no. But since it was Friday night, you wouldn’t have to get up early tomorrow for class. And its not like you had any other plans for the day besides catching up on some paperwork and going on your usual walk. So for once in your life, you threw caution to the wind and agreed, “You got it Ice.”

So, naturally, when your platter of shots arrived, you passed them out, handing each one of the guys their respective glasses with a smirk.

“Maverick,” you said charmingly – gee, thanks alcohol – and you tried to avoid the warm feeling in your chest when your slender fingers skimmed against Maverick’s as you handed him the glass.

“Three, two, one,” you counted down, giving yourself, and possibly the rest of your group, the mental preparation prior to that same burning sensation that would wreak havoc in your mouth prior to swallowing and quickly placing the lime in your mouth.

There was a collective groan from your table as the five shot glasses returned to their small cedar serving plank. 

You laughed, washing down the remaining remnants of the uncomfortable taste with the beer you had ordered. “I am not doing that again.”

So, for the next while, as the effects of the alcohol began to make itself present in your body, you sat at the table, just chatting and hanging out with your classmates, sharing stories from your lives before the navy. And while the five of you talked, you couldn’t help but stare at the opposite end of the table where Maverick was seated.

Sure, naturally, prior to this evening, you had realized that Maverick was attractive, but being in a relationship with someone didn’t really allow you to fully appreciate his beauty. With his dark hair, carelessly brushed in an effortlessly windswept way atop of his head, and his oceanic eyes, that in some lights appeared green, and in others, appeared to be almost blue.

Physically, he was gorgeous, but your past interactions with him intrigued you to what it would be like to know him. He had an ego, one that was strong and unaffected, but there was something about his drive, about his reach, about the passion he put into everything he did. You couldn’t help but wonder if one knew him intimately, if he would pursue them with the same passion and drive.

The thought cleared from your mind when his eyes met yours, making you look away, and ultimately force yourself to think of something other than the man that is Maverick.

You hadn’t noticed, but with the loss of your collective sobriety that each one of you can your friends had came in with, the music in the dive bar began to form a sound for itself. The radio collection, of rock, and pop, and some hard core groovy songs had elevated in loudness, so much so, that in a section of the bar a cluster of people had begun to dance among the cleared spot in the building.

“Do you guys see that?” Slider asked, his face drawn in a grin. 

You turned in your chair, studying the dancers with your eyes, then turning back to face the table, “What?” You asked.

“That blonde over there,” Slider said, “She’s giving me some serious fuck me eyes.”

Hearing those words come out of your classmates mouth nearly made you choke on your beer, you weren’t expecting that.

“Wanna join me Ice?” Slider asked, “She’s got friends.”

You rolled your eyes as the two of them as they both threw themselves out of their seats and leisurely sauntered over to the dance floor. 

“Anything to get laid,” Goose muttered jokingly when the two men began to sway to the beat of the music not quite beside, but very much near the two women. 

“You could probably meet someone out there Cobra,” Goose said, more directly to you.

You scanned the crowd again, “I’m not too sure if I want to,” you gestured to the men, “they all look like their mothers still pick out their clothes for them.”

Maverick snorted from his spot over across the table, “She’s got a point Nick.”

You turned to face Maverick and flashed him a grin, “see, someone gets me!”

Goose shook his head, trying to hide his smile before saying, “I’m going to go give Carol a call, I promised I’d call her tonight. You two try and stay out of trouble,” he said, lecturing the two of you like children.

Seemingly the moment Goose left the table, Maverick’s gaze met yours. You were usually fine with eye connate, but there was something about the way that Maverick’s enchanting green eyes were staring into your own that made you feel both nervous and calm at the same time. You weren’t too sure what to say, or what the two of you could talk about, so as a way of diverting the imminence of your conversation, you took another drink of your beer, which only provided a moment relief where you weren’t required to think of what to say.

“You dance?” He asked you, the comment coming out of nowhere.

You shook your head, “I can sort-of dance, but I don’t that often,” you told him unsure of why you chose to tell him that. “And you?” You asked him back.

Maverick shook his head grinning, “not really my thing either.”

And then from across the room you heard a voice of familiarity, and right away you knew who it belonged to. Brett. Your ex-boyfriend Brett. The man who broke your heart Brett. 

As much as you didn’t want to turn around, and face the man who had told you to take a step down from your career, your suspicions got the best of you, and as much as you didn’t wish to see him, there was some sort of burning panic in your chest that wouldn’t be fulfilled if you didn’t turn in your seat. 

There he was. Standing tall, with his sandy hair, and well sculpted physique, whispering tiny inaudible thoughts into the ear of a woman with bleach blonde hair. Your eyes met his, and suddenly you wanted to leave. You wanted a sinkhole to come up into the bar and swallow you whole. And the moment Brett flashed you a grin, one that said, this is my new woman, you jealous? You felt the desire, no, the need to get out of the bar. You weren’t ready to face all of this just yet.

But time doesn’t always work in your favour. And so the moment Brett walked over to your table, his arm linked tightly around the slender waist of the bleach blonde woman, you weren’t too sure what to do. 

Brett smiled in the kind of way that reminded you of what it was like to know him, before spewing out pleasantries and introducing the woman known as Crystal who was joined at his hip. “Its good to see you out y/n,” he said coyly, and in that moment, a ping of hatred found its way through your heart, how had you ever been with this man.

But instead of telling him off, as much as you wanted to, you smiled bluntly, your eyes revealing your true nature, “And its good to see you indulging in pleasures other than morning runs and cheap beer from the gas station.”

As Crystal gave you a dirty look, Maverick snorted before walking over to your end of the table and putting an arm around your chair, “I think its time for you to be on your way man,” he said to Brett. 

Brett shrugged, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jeans, “I was just coming by to say hello,” before he walked away, his hand moving down from Crystals waist circulating above her ass. Good riddance Brett!

You turned to Maverick, flashing him a gentle smile, “thanks for that Mav,” before pausing and looking to the door, “if you don’t mind, I think I just need some air.”

And without protest, you pushed yourself up from your seat, and tried to compose yourself as the night time air hit your face. You felt warm – thanks to the alcohol – but the coldness felt lovely on your skin. You felt refreshed, cleansed almost.

On the opposite side of the Duke, was the sandy beach leading up to the ocean, which now, in the dark of night, was illumined by nearby houses and buildings, and the light of the moon reflected calmly on the waters. You decided to walk onto the sand, removing your heels from your feet and letting the now-cold sand wiggle around your toes as you walked, until you found a spot within the sand to take a seat.

Gosh, the one person you didn’t want to see tonight was Brett, and surely enough, he was there. You hated that you saw him, and you hated that you weren’t quite over him yet. Naturally, things would take time, you just wanted to get through that as quick as you could.

Behind you, you heard the sound of someone clearing their throat, which made you turn, your awareness of your surroundings coming into a fuller passage.

It was Maverick, waking slowly towards you through the sand. “Mind if I sit?” He asked.

You gestured to the available ground beside yourself, “by all means, be my guest.”

You didn’t really feel like you wanted company, but then again, it was Maverick, only Maverick, and you didn’t want to turn him away after he had stood up for you back there.

And as soon as Maverick sat down beside you, the warmth and familiarity of his scent filed your way through the air, a blend of sandalwood and citrus, and cedar, and near-summer nights, you found yourself relax a bit in his presence.

For a while, the two of you just sat there beneath the moonlight in one another's company, just listening to the sound of the waves upon the shore. It was peaceful.

“So that was him?” He finally asked you. 

You nodded, turning your face ever so slightly to face him, “that was Brett, the Marine.”

Maverick nodded, “Goose told me about him,” he paused, “he seems like an ass.”

You chuckled, not too sure why, “you’re right about that.”

You weren't too sure how much of your failed relationship you wanted to share with your friend. You and Maverick weren't particularly close, but the two of you obviously cared about one another.

“I just hate,” you sighed, “I hate how when I was with him, I didn’t even realize how big of a dick he could be.”

Maverick looked over to you, as if he knew you were going to say more.

“He told me to give up my career after I’m done at Top Gun,” you said, feeling a sense of relief by telling someone else about the matter, “He wanted to get married, and have kids, and he wanted me to follow him wherever he went.”

Maverick scoffed.

“And its not that I even hate that that’s what he wanted, I hate that part of me, a very, very, small part of me, considered it. And sometimes, all I can do if worry about if I made the right decision, and walked away from him, from that life for the one Ive worked so hard for.”

Maverick shook his head, and in a more quiet tone, he turned to face you, “don't ever doubt yourself like that. Ever.”

You looked away from him, feeling some warm sensation in your chest, but when Maverick resumed to speak, you had no other choice but to turn back to face the brunette. 

“You’re a pilot,” he said, “Its in your blood, its in your veins, its who you are. And you’re damn good at it. Hell, somedays I wish I was nearly as good as you. You fly with so much precision and drive and when you're up there, I only wish I could have a fraction of whatever it is that you do, because you are just so so good at it.”

You looked back to Maverick, noticing the soften in his usual expression. His moonlight eyes were on you, and only you.

“And if you ever think you would be better off with some dick like Brett, you’re wrong, because someone who loves you, shouldn’t hold you back from your potential, they should push you, they should inspire you to do better, to be better, to become better.”

For a while, the two of you just sat in silence, absorbing the pure intimacy of one another's gaze. You hadn’t realized how cold it was beginning to get because you were too busy thinking about what Maverick had just said. You didn’t realize the trail of goosebumps that had found their way across both of your arms, the cool night time air that brushed against them. But Maverick did. 

Maverick slipped his arms out of his leather jacket, and draped it around your shoulders, a peaceful expression on his face. “Here,” he said, dawning the jacket, the very one that smelt so much like him it made you relax, “Its not super warm, but its better than nothing.”

When the warmth returned to your arms, almost the minute you gathered the material around yourself, your thoughts were finally gathered back into your head. You turned to Maverick, your knee brushing up against his faintly, but just enough that you were aware of its presence, and the way in which the faint warmth radiated through the fabric of both his jeans and yours, until you became hyperaware of its presence, and gave him a soft smile. “Thank you,” you told him.

“For the jacket,” you said, pulling the leather closer to your chest, “and for what you said. No one has ever told me that before.” You paused a moment, “it means a lot.”

Maverick’s expression softened and he looked at you contently, “its the truth,” he said softly.

You leaned into him, your head now resting on his shoulder, you felt a sense of peace, a sense of relief, you felt relaxed in Maverick’s presence. And when he leant his head, gently atop of yours, you knew that what Maverick had said was genuine.

And so, like you had initially thought, when Goose suggested the idea of going to a bar, you thought you would have maybe made one or two bad decisions, maybe choosing to kiss a man with far too much tongue, or follow him home. But what had ended up amounting from the evening was far better. You made a real connection, with someone who you would later find out, would become well worth you time. 

That was the night you had met Maverick for the second time. The night when the two of you forged a connection one that even time wouldn’t be able to take away. 

[elinoracia]

🌹Your heart // Garreth Weasley x f!reader🌹

~ Hogwarts Legacy fanfic ~

Warnings: hurt/comfort, fluff, mention of blood, fighting, not proofread. Total of words: 2.8K

More informations: - All characters are aged up to 18 y.o. or more; 7th year - Y/N = Your name - My first language is not english, sorry in advance - Feel free to request anything!

Context: After everything that happened during 5th year, you needed some calm. You needed a friendship where you could forget about your problems, your dangerous adventures and difficult days. Luckily, Garreth was that person. He brought you that calm and that light-hearted and carefree fun that you desperately craved. But with your precarious lifesyle, always out fighting poachers or evil forces, you were scared to let yourself feel more for him.

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

You just got back from one of your many adventures with Sebastian. You had to fight poachers. You were tired and you could not wait to go back to your dorm to clean yourself and sleep. On your way, in the hallways, you came across Garreth.

Garreth: *he walks towards you, staring at you* Are you trying a new look? *he chuckles, obviously very proud of his teasing* Y/N: *you chuckle weakly* Do I really look that dreadful? Garreth: Well...the whole "tired" look really suits you! *he chuckles and looks back at you* But really, what happened? Who did you fight this time? *he said with a slightly worried look on his face* Y/N: Poachers. Sebastian really wanted to beat them all. He has way more energy than I do. *you give him a faint smile* Garreth: *he frowns at your comment* I don't think your adventures with Sallow are really healthy for you and your body. Why don't you let him do those kind of things alone? Y/N: *You look at him, trying to formulate an answer* I...I don't want him to get hurt. I know I can't stop him from going, so I can at least follow him to cover his back.

But Garreth was right and you knew it. You could not keep up with Sebastian's reckless behavior for too much longer. You had important exams coming up and you were exhausted. But you feared Sebastian was going to get badly injured if you were not here to help him. You couldn't loose more people you loved, you had to protect him, even from himself.

Garreth: *now he was really worried about you. He looked as if he was about to scold you for trying to save Sebastian from his incautious battles, but he didn't* Listen, you can't keep doing that. That's all I'm saying. Y/N: *you sigh deeply* I know. I'm sorry Garreth. I didn't mean to worry you. Garreth: Just don't do anything too reckless. That's for the Gryffindors to do! *he says proudly* Y/N: *You giggle at his joke. You feel a little better after talking to him. He always makes you feel better after a hard time* Thank you Garreth. I think I needed to talk about it. I promise I'll be more careful! Goodnight!

As you went back to your dorm, your heart felt lighter. You knew you could always come to Garreth to talk to him about anything and he would always crack some jokes and make you feel brand new.

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

The next day, Sebastian came to ask you to go on a special mission with him. He wanted to explore a cave he found. You thought about what Garreth told you but you could not let Sebastian do that alone. You told yourself it was the last time you agreed to do that for him.

You went after lunch to see what cave Sebastian was talking about. Far into the Forbidden Forest, you see a huge hole on the side of a mountain. Sebastian was explaining to you how he discovered that place but you almost couldn't hear him. It's like everything about that place was begging you to leave.

You should have listened to your insincts.

When you got out of that cave, the sky was dark and starry. Sebastian was almost carrying you. You came across poachers, trolls, dark mages and giant spiders. You did everything you could to not let them hurt Sebastian. But you let them hurt you instead. You just wanted to go back to Hogwarts. You just...wanted him to comfort you.

Garreth.

What will he think? Maybe he'll hate you for getting hurt and acting recklessely. Maybe he'll finally be done with your behavior. You can't tell him what happened. You can't but...you feel so helpless, so alone. You feel like you have to protect everyone but nobody wants to protect you.

Sebastian brings you back to your dorm but you were almost frozen in front of the door. Your wounds were hurting but not as bad as that pain in your heart.

You just want to feel Garreth next to you. You just want him near. But you're a danger to yourself...and to him. Suddenly, you hear footsteps behind you. When you turn around, you see in the dark the shadow of a person.

Y/N: Garreth, is that you? *your voice almost cracking* Garreth: Y/N! Where were you? I've been looking for you all day! You- *he suddenly stops as he notices blood on your shirt and robe. He then noticed the wounds on you* What happened?! Are you alright? Y/N: *You couldn't look at him. You couldn't bear to see the look on his face* I'm fine. Garreth: Please Y/N... let me help you at least. You're bleeding on your clothes. Y/N: It's not my blood...mostly. *your hands started shaking* I'm very sorry. *your words were muffled and you felt tears running down your face* I'm...so terribly sorry Garreth... *you let out a sob and you finally look at him* I just wanted to protect him...And I just want to protect you. But I always end up being just a burden to you.

Without realizing it, Garreth took you in his arms. He was careful not to hug you too tightly. As you were hugging him, you could hear his heart beating a little faster.

Garreth: *He seemed clearly taken aback by what you said* That couldn't be further from the truth! You're never a burden. I just want you to be safe. *he pauses for a moment* Do you really think you are a burden to me? Y/N: I make you worry all the time and I feel like I only bring you bad things. And...*you sniffle* it's so unfair to you because you're bringing me so much peace and warmth. Garreth: Y/N look at me. *he gently lift your chin to make you look at him* I can live with the worry. But I can't live without you. You're my best friend and being with you makes me happy. Now stop the Hufflepuff tears. *hegently wipes some tears off your face* Y/N: I don't what what I would do without you Garreth. *you smile at him, feeling a little better already* And those are not Hufflepuff tears! *you chuckle at his teasing* Garreth: Honestly, I think I'll need to have a friendly little chat with Sallow. Don't worry, I won't fight him...unless he tries to! Y/N: Please don't fight with him. And I can talk to him myself. He will understand. Garreth: Now you're no fun!

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

Following this night, you had time to think about what you were going to say to Sebastian. It was not going to be easy but you had to tell him you couldn't come with him anymore.

The next day, you waited for Sebastian after your second class of the day to talk to him. You knew you both had a free period after that. It was the perfect time to tell him.

Y/N: Seb! Hi! What did you think of our History of Magic class? *you giggle, knowing he fell asleep during that class* Sebastian: I wish I could tell you but I can only remember what I dreamt about. *he said jokingly* Did you want to tell me something? Y/N: Y-yes! *you feel a rush of anxiety inside your chest* I...Well...You know how last time, our little "adventure" ended up really dangerous? Sebastian: Merlin's beard! Are you still hurt? *he cups your cheeks with his hand, a worried look on his face* Did it leave any nasty scars? Y/N: *the sudden contact make you stutter* I-I...no! Don't worry! I'm fine, really! Sebastian: Good! What a relief! I think I would have died if you weren't there. *he chuckles, not knowing the impact of his words* Y/N: Y-yeah...probably...

You instantaneously feel remorse about letting him do those things alone. You just can't. He needs you. You can handle being badly injured, as long if it's not him who's hurt. But you keep thinking about Garreth. He also needs you safe. Your heart is torn between these two choices.

Sebastian: Y/N? Are you sure you're okay? You look troubled. *he says, still cupping your cheeks with his hands* What was it you wanted to say to me? Y/N: I...I'm not sure that...I can keep doing that with you. I'm sorry... *you said, almost whispering. You were scared about what his answer would be* Sebastian: *He pauses to think and then takes both of your hands in his* Y/N...I can't do it alone. Don't give up on me. Y/N: I...

You didn't how to respond to that. He was right but...you have to do what's right.

But as you were about to answer Sebastian, you suddenly feel his hands leaving yours abruptly. You feel pushed towards something.

Garreth: You can't take "no" for an answer Sallow? Leave her alone. *he frowns. You never saw that side of Garreth before* You don't deserve her.

Sebastian looks at him, he seemed really annoyed by Garreth's presence. You were in shook. What was Garreth doing here? Was he watching you talking to Sebastian?

Sebastian: What are you talking about Weasley? I know her better than you. I know that she and I make the best team. Garreth: Do you? Do you really know her? Do you even know in how much distress you left her the last time you took her on your stupid escapade? You don't! *he takes a deep breath to calm himself down* You may know her for longer than I do but I know her heart. I worry about her. I want her to be safe. It looks like you don't even care how she might feel!

Garreth was holding you close to him. His breath was heavy. You couldn't believe what was happening in front of your eyes. But you couldn't seem to say anything. The words were stuck in your thoat.

Sebastian then takes your wrist and pull you away from Garreth.

Sebastian: *he then holds Garreth by the collar, enraged by what he just said* You don't know her like I do! We help eachother, we need eachother! Y/N: Okay now that's enough! What has gotten into you Sebastian?!

You put you hand on Sebastian's shoulder to try and calm him down. You knew how he could be. Always acting on his feelings and thinking about it later.

Y/N: I just don't want to carry the responsability of your safety everytime Sebastian. But it doesn't mean we're not friends anymore. You're still one of my dearest friends. But you have to be more careful. If not for you then please, I'm begging you, do it for me. *you look at him, hoping he would understand* Sebastian: *he sighs and let go of Garreth* I promise you I'll be more careful. I had no idea you felt that way. Garreth: Maybe if you were looking outside of yourself for once, you would have noticed. Y/N: Garreth, you've done enough. *you look at him with a piercing gaze* We have to talk. *you look back at Sebastian* See you later Sebastian.

You take Garreth's hand to lead him somewhere quiet, somewhere empty and unoccupied.

Y/N: Garreth, did I not tell you I could handle this by myself? *you frown, obviously angry* Garreth: Sorry, my Gryffindor heroic nature took over. *he chuckles* Y/N: That is really not funny at all! Why did you feel the need to intervene?

A moment of silence fell as you watched Garreth carefully. You could not believe he didn't trust you to tell your decision yourself to Sebastian. Then you hear him take a deep breath before answering your question.

Garreth: I feel like Sebastian has that power over you. He just has to look you in the eyes and take your hand to convince you to do something for him. Something that's only profitable to him and him only. I hated...*he stops for a moment* I hated the way he touched you. And I despised the way he tried to convince you. He has no right to do that. Y/N: What? Why do you care if he touches me or if he tries to convince me? I know what I want Garreth. And I told him I would never try to do anything dangerous with him again. Don't you trust me? Garreth: I trust you! But I don't trust him. You went through enough because of him. *he then looks at you with a look you can't exactly describe* And I care because...you're my best friend. Y/N: Garreth... *you sigh and calm down. He was right, he knew how to calm you down* You're right. I'm sorry. Garreth: And instead of going on dangerous adventures with him, you could spend more time with your best friend who's really handsome and funny. I heard he is also very entertaining and fun to be around. I wonder who this gentleman could be? *he chuckles and winks at you* Y/N: He is also very humble. A typical Gryffindor trait. *you laugh and look at him* But more seriously, you're amazing. I don't know how you can still tolerate me. I'm such a mess. Garreth: And how on earth do you still put up with me?! *he throws the question back at you, grinning mischievously* And I don't "tolerate" you Y/N. I adore you. If you're a mess then you are my kind of mess. And it doesn't hurt that I have plenty of patience. *he adds with a hint of a chuckle to his voice* Y/N: Very modest of you. *you giggle* And I adore you too.

At this moment, you felt something you tried to repress for so long. You couldn't stop looking at him, looking at his beautiful features. He was so much taller than you. You just loved his ginger curls and his beautiful freckles. You also love the way he is always there to lift your mood.

You...love him.

The sudden realisation made your cheeks redden. Is that how you felt for all this time? You started to become nervous. Oh Merlin! He could not know! You don't want to ruin your friendship. Just suck it up!

Garreth: Then I guess we've got ourselves some pretty good reasons for not driving each other mad!*he says with another laugh*

Then, Garreth takes a few steps closer to you and kisses your forehead. Your face immediately became bright red. Garreth took notice of that.

Garreth: What's the matter pretty lady? Do you need to cool down a little? *he said teasingly, grinning at you* Y/N: Stop teasing me Garreth! *you say with your face burning up* Garreth: I can't help it! Seeing you blush and all flustered is just... so cute. I love that I can have that effect on you. *he says playfully, a smirk on his face* Y/N: You...don't know the effect you have on me. Garreth: *he grins wider* Then enlighten me, Y/N. How exactly does your best bud have an effect on you? *He teased, putting on a cocky grin as he wrapped an arm around your waist and pull you a little bit closer to him* Y/N: *Your heart was beating so fast. You were trying to give him an answer without stumbling over your words* W-well...I think I might have...feelings for you. *you could feel your heart jumping in your throat* Garreth: *Your words sent a shock like a bolt through his body. His jaw dropped, and for a moment, he was entirely at a loss for words. He was looking at you with wide eyes, as if I've never really seen you properly before.* Wait... seriously? *he asks, his voice a breathless whisper, and a grin spreading across his face* Y/N: *you nod in response* Mh mh...

Your answer gave him all the courage he needed. Without another second of hesitation, he leans in and kisses you full on the lips. He holds the kiss just for a moment and then I pull back with a grin, blushing profusely.

Garreth: Being friends is nice but...do you think you'd want more? *he asks, still holding you against him* Y/N: Y-yes...I want us to be more. *You said with your flushed face and your panting breath* Garreth: Well, it's official then! You're mine! *he gins* Now I have a good reason for Sallow to not put his dirty filthy hands on you. Y/N: You're such a dork. *you said, a chuckle in your voice* Garreth: I'm your dork! Y/N: *you sigh* I love you.

The End

This fanfic is dedicated to @sallowslytherin, my little Garreth lover ˋ( ° ▽、° )

[wallwriterstuff]

Paint Over The Cracks ||FosterDad!John Price x Teen!Simon Riley|| Part 4

Warnings: A lot of swearing. Implicit mentions of child abuse. Brief description of murder. Descriptions of PTSD and trauma. Discussions of the foster care system. Mentions of sibling separation.

Words: 3383

Summary: Simon is grappling with much more than he lets anyone see, so much so he feels like he's splitting at the seams. John meets him with the same calm kindness he always has, and Simon struggles to figure out his motivations for it.

<-Part 3: Dirty Laundry Part 5: Fault Lines ->

Nothing here was right.

The old man was though.

You’re a stain, shitbag that’s exploded and left his stench behind.

No. No? Shut up. God shut up.

If there was a way to turn down the voice in his head Simon would have muted the thing years ago. It’s gruff and cracked from the abuse the vocal chords have suffered, inhaling too much crap and not enough air. It spews poison in his brain and he knows it’s all rubbish, a hallucinogen, a serpent in his Garden, but god if it isn’t convincing. He wants to peel of his skin, drain the blood from his veins, and refill it with someone else’s. It’s got to be genetic right? The black spot of old that got pirates quaking has to be branded into his DNA by cigarette butts the same way the life lessons are beaten into his skin, a colourful array of reminders that blare like sirens when he presses one just right to feel something other than the overwhelming dread of just existing as himself.  He can count each one and he knows the meaning of them all.

Worthless.

Vile.

Stupid.

Disappointing.

Coward.

God it’s hot. It’s boiling in this stupid hoodie. It’s got burn marks for ventilation and the sweat it soaks up only makes it smell worse as he pours himself out just trying to keep it all in. Cover the marks. Keep your voice hidden. Don’t tell a soul. Protect mom. Protect Tommy. Fuck, she looked like his mom. Well, the mom he knew before his old man beat her down anyway. No one deserved to look how she looked at the end. Fuck was that – no, no a splash of paint, it was paint, just paint. That bloody awful portrait in the doctor’s office was too close to her head. He never knew blood could arch that far until he watched his old man pull the hammer back. It’s all so confusing. Simon doesn’t honestly know if he’s here or there or somewhere in-between but there’s sun in his eyes and a paper bag in hand with his name on and an address printed underneath that he doesn’t call his own.

No, that’s the address of the palace. It’s a place where the surfaces always smell of citrus bleach, where the walls are warm and straining to keep the bustle of the world out and the quiet of the house within. There’s no blood staining the bathroom here and there’s no desperate search for food through the haze of a burning joint that makes his head swim more than Michael Phelps ever has. No, no in this palace, there’s always food whenever he wants it. The fridge is a pantry stocked full in preparation for a grand feast three times a day, and there’s always spare food going about. He should throw out the apples he’d never gotten round to eating but the luxury of storing it all away beneath that one loose floorboard still hadn’t worn off because – God, was Tommy as lucky as he was? His stomach’s never been so full and yet so queasy. It’s exhausting keeping an eye on the Bearded Guy. He’ll snap eventually, they always do. He was surprised he hadn’t set him off when he saw the mattress.

The shame is still gnawing in his gut and reminding him what a disgusting stain he is on that palace. His fingerprints leave trails of blood and ichor behind. There were no monsters under the bed before he moved in. Those pristine white walls are tainted with smoke and filth and he’s just never quite clean enough. How much do you have to scrub a soul for the devil to want to barter for it again?

“Simon?”

Should have never fucking had you.

“Simon?”

You can join your fucking mum.

“Simon!”

The touch is light, unintrusive, but the flesh remembers what the mind wishes it could forget. Simon flinches from Price’s tap to his shoulder like the man’s burned him, and he has to give himself a good mental shake before he dares meet Price’s eyes. Shake it off. Head in the game. Protect Mom. Protect Tommy.

“Why the fuck are we at B&Q?” Simon blurts the question before he can stop himself. His thoughts feel a little too lose and it’s unhinged his mouth. He clamps it tightly shut once more and imagines the box; Pandora would be jealous of the horrors he hides in his, but the lock doesn’t feel quite so sturdy today. Price raises a brow at the language but doesn’t comment on it. Simon’s glad. He’s finding it increasingly hard to fight the Bearded Guy on anything when he’s always so calm about things. It’s a beguiling sense of security. They’re trying to coax something out of him but he still can’t tell what.

“Paint.” Price’s reply is simple, and yet it throws him completely for a loop. Paint? Why the hell do they need paint? His palace is glorious and in no need of renovations. It’s got everything he could ever want. Hell, he could die happy in the bathroom just to juxtapose his mum. The old man might call it poetic justice. Simon squints through the windshield, eyeing the bold orange letters with wary confusion. It feels like a trick, but his head’s too scrambled to really figure out the man’s mind games today so he has no choice but to bite the line and let him reel him in.

“Why?” he asks, letting his eyes drift back to Price. The man’s got eyes like ice and Simon isn’t sure he’ll ever know what lies in the murky depths of them, isn’t sure he wants to know. Price pulls up the handbrake and turns off the ignition. The silence in the air is charged and Simon’s muscles ache from all the tension in his body. The morning’s been a lot and he just wants to go to the closest thing he has to home, which is currently the bin liner in his room that’s rapidly losing the smell of Tommy and his Mum and he just…isn’t ready for it to go. He can’t handle the palace becoming his home, for their to be no trace of his mum or Tommy in it, for lemon scented cleaning products to replace stale cigarette fumes and the tang of blood that’s his only real connection to the last of his mother’s warmth as she spilled it onto his hands with her final breath. God he needs therapy, and he hates himself all the more for acknowledging it. 

Uh-oh. That looks never good on an adult. His lips have pursed and his eyes are searching. Simon won’t let him find a thing though, tilting his chin up just a little and narrowing his eyes the way he’s been taught. He’ll bare his teeth before he ever bares his throat.

“There have been certain things that have come to light, things that Mrs Laswell wants to come and talk to you about before she’ll talk to me about them, that mean you’ll be staying with me for a while,” Price is choosing his words as carefully as a bomb disposal expert picks which wires to cut, “So I thought…maybe you could choose a colour or two, make your room your own and decorate it a bit.” His words ricochet around his brain like bullets, but none of it’s a misfire. They hit so many open wounds it makes Simon suck in a sharp breath to keep from screaming out because it’s just not fair. He doesn’t want Price’s room, or his baskets, or his palace but nobody seems to care what he wants right now.

“How long? Is Tommy coming to live with you to?” Simon’s voice is sharp, too sharp, jagged edges bleeding raw and Price is seeing too much again. He can’t help it though and the white hot fury and panic is a deadly combination with the heavy grief that keeps trying to steal his breath. He’s a skeleton wrapped in a thin layer of flesh and there’s not enough room for all these feelings so into Pandora’s box they go to.

“No, Simon, he can’t.” Price is so calm about it all, as if Simon’s sanity isn’t hinging on the decisions these adults are making for him. “I’m sorry. I understand that feels unfair, and you might well be angry, maybe even anxious, sad. It’s okay to feel like that-“

“Fucking hell here we go.” He muttered, eyes rolling and head turning away. He’s agitated by the injustice of it all, a tempest incoming on a tranquil shore. Since when did they get to decide for him? Why do his choices never seem to matter?

“Okay. Okay. I see it’s not something you want to talk about. When you’re ready, I’m here to listen. Do you want to do this? Decorate your room a bit? Or should we go home?” He wants to yell and scream at the old man to get mad, to be mad on his behalf, to rebel against the stupid rules of the world that are keeping his brother away from him and just let him have him anyway. Tommy needs him. He always has. It’s the only thing he has left. But here Price is again, a gentle breeze on a summer’s day that gives fresh air in a humid and cloying place devoid of comfort. He just seems to know how to calm the fiery fury, flips switches in his brain like a train line manager switches tracks, easily diverting disaster because yes – yes, god, finally, something he can control.

“Whatever.” He grumbles, already opening the car door and leaving Prive to follow behind. Maybe he’ll get black. Or neon yellow. His thoughts are already spinning to see what colours might piss off Price the most. His feelings are all spiteful and petty little things that demand retribution for him in all its forms. You’re a stain. Alright then. He’ll taint this palace just as he’s tainted every other place he’s been. Yet, as Price leads him to the paint section and he faces rows and rows of colour swatches, he’s struck dumb by the amount of colour.

It’s the explosive reds that catch his eye first, his rage calling to those colours like their soulmates destined to cross the distance and meet, but then he spots a crimson too close to the shade of his mum on the bathroom floor and he’s forced to look away as grief swells and crushes any fight or resolve his spirit had. Perhaps blue is the better colour for him, but even that looks too happy. The feelings and thoughts battle in his head and Simon pulls the black mask from his pocket instinctively, slipping it over his ears and hearing the whisper of maniacal laughter rumble through his mind before it all falls quiet. Silent as the grave. He breathes a quiet sigh of relief.

Go on Simon, pick one, as a treat. Don’t tell your dad, okay? He so badly wishes his mother was here and it really was just as simple as picking a sweet treat at the bakery to sneakily share with her on the way home from school. How can he possibly pick a colour for his room in the palace? It’s too big a responsibility for his thin shoulders.

“Have you got a favourite colour?” Price’s question pulls him from the depths of his mind and Simon forces his eyes to move from the shades of red. The question seems innocuous enough that he feels inclined to answer.

“Blue.” Simon’s not really sure it’s the right answer, but he’s got to be the man of the house and blues a boys colour, or so he’s been taught.  He’s not entirely sure he likes any of the blues that Price pulls from the swatches to show him, though he’s sure he should. His brow crinkles slightly.

“You sure?” Price’s voice is gentle, probing. Simon’s eyes roam the swatches of colour and linger on the greens. There’s one like the shade of Tommy’s hoodie, and another like the grass in the field of the old industrial estate he could escape to when the house was too much. Some nice oranges to, like the sunsets that painted his mum in such a lovely light in summer, back when she could wear sundresses without worrying about who saw the bruises or cuts or emaciated bones beneath butterfly-wing flesh. He gravitates to them, craving the joy those memories bring. If he gets to control anything in this shitshow of a life he’s living, if he really gets to choose this, then god fucking dammit he wants to be the one to really choose. He gently slides the two colour strips from their snug spot in the line up and stares them down like the answers might just pop out at him.

“I want these.” The words are out before he can stop them, and his head snaps up because stupid stupid stupid you’re not allowed to want such unnecessary things. Be grateful for what you’ve got you little maggot.

“Well, we’ll need to narrow down a shade a bit more, but green and orange it is.” Price so easily gives in and Simon feels a spark of something warm. It’s the same kind of feeling he got when he saw them take his old man to the ground and cuff him like the criminal he was – satisfaction. It’s a feeling that grows when, between himself, Price, and a store employee, he narrows down the shades of paint he wants. Price loads them and two other cans he insists are necessary to make a proper paint job onto the trolley and they start weaving back through the aisle’s. B&Q isn’t a place Simon’s ever gone to before and for just a little while it’s nice to get lost in the wide and busy aisles, to let his eyes wander and dream of what a real home might look like. He can’t imagine ever really having a proper one, but dreams are nice, comforting, delusional.

With the paint purchased and stored safely in the boot of the car, Simon’s set to return to the palace and tries to steel himself for a torturous evening of stopping his mind from collapsing in on itself again when Price points out the nearby IKEA to.

“What about it? You know the meatballs are all horsemeat right?” Simon says. Price chuckles slightly at that. He’s relaxed back in his seat, making no effort to leave anytime soon. It set’s Simon on edge slightly, and he sits straighter. What sort of favour did he want in return for the paint then?

“I don’t want the meatballs. I wanted to know whether or not you’ve got enough storage for your things? We can get some more furniture if we need to.” Price says. Oh. Simon’s brow furrows, wondering when the other shoe will drop. He’ll surely want him to pay up for it somehow but he just can’t workout how or when or with what. He’s been shown how it works time and again. Maybe it’s a fistful of powder or his own beaten body, but somehow you always have to pay the piper.

“It’s fine.” He won’t get in anymore debt than he already has today. Price nods, takes him at his word, but still drives them there anyway.

“Well, I want to get a new desk chair for my office. We’ll go home after this and sort dinner, okay?” His words are a soothing balm to Simon whose more than ready to be home and out of the public eye. Being under Price’s watchful gaze is draining and he’s ready to hide back in his room again, imagine the paint on his walls, wallow in peace. They walk a good section of the store where Simon can’t stop the way his eyes turn and wheel over the items on display. It’s an abundance of luxury to him. None of this stuff is thrifted or upcycled from his neighbour’s garage, nor a hand-me-down from grandparents he never got to meet. He wonders aimlessly through the aisle’s as Price takes his sweet time choosing a chair.

As they pass through the kids section he gets the feeling he’s been doused by a bucket of cold water. It’s a monstrous thing, long and green with a yellow underbelly and this flicker of red felt for a tongue that’s in no way real but still sends a shiver down his spine.

You scared of Rocco, Simon?

Just having fun.

He can see the things bulbous head, hear the lapping of its tongue as it flicks to search for prey. He can feel the smoothness of scales on his lips still. It takes a lot of willpower to stop his hands from shaking in the pockets of his hoodie as he reminds himself the toys just that, a toy.

“You like snakes?” Price asks with genuine and innocent curiosity. Only Simon see’s the horrors in his head as he replays vivid memories of the nights his old man bought home the deadly beasts. It brings a cold sweat to his palms and his knee-jerk reaction is to keep the weakness hidden.

“No. It’s a stupid toy.” Simon scoffs, moving on quickly from the stuffed animals. He only pauses in his pursuit of an exit when they reach the final section of the store, just before the warehouse. It’s crammed full of portraits and mirrors and candles, house plants and rugs to. His head is buzzing still with the hiss of a snake but it’s slowly being drowned out by the gentle humming of his mum, his feet carrying him naturally to the plant he recalled her tending to so often. It infuriated his old man of course. He’d tossed the thing out of the window after accusing her of nourishing it more than her family. Simon had been the only one to witness her despair that day. He ran his fingers gently along the big leaves covering the soil in the pot, the same way his mum had done once as she hummed.

If the plant happened to slip into Price’s trolley then, well, neither of them needed to acknowledge it, did they?

Price let him be once he’d helped him put all the new things they’d bought into his room. Simon couldn’t bear to unwrap or move anything, suffocating in the weight of his own feelings of unworthiness for a while before he finally sucked it up and began to move the new belongings into place. He hurriedly threw the absorbent pad on the mattress atop a waterproof sheet, shame clouding his every thought as he prepares his bed and prays those tablets the doctor prescribed him would work so he wouldn’t have to make his bed like that ever again. Simon sets his plant up next, takes his time with it, ensures it’s in the best spot on his desk where the sunlight can hit it just right. He waters it, adds a little bit of plant food he’d insisted was necessary to buy and sets an alarm on his phone to remind himself to water it some more in a few days time.

He sits back on his bed and glances about the pristine quarters he’s been given in the palace, imagines them green and orange like the paint waiting to be used in the shed, and for the first time in weeks Simon feels a little of the weight ease from his shoulders. Maybe this place could be home; with a splash of orange there to reflect the sunsets and, oh maybe he could go half and half and…Tommy would likely never see it. Simon’s expression sours, bitter rage welling in his chest again until all he can do is bring his fist down on the pillow again and again and again and its never enough to close that raw, throbbing wound in his chest. Panting hard, he squeezes his eyes closed, but nothing helps to quell the rage.

Oh? You do have some balls on you after all!

Simon’s left helpless in the maelstrom of his life once more.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

All the books I reviewed in 2023 (Novels)

Next Tuesday (December 5), I'm at Flyleaf Books in Chapel Hill, NC, with my new solarpunk novel The Lost Cause, which 350.org's Bill McKibben called "The first great YIMBY novel: perceptive, scientifically sound, and extraordinarily hopeful."

It's that time of year again, when I round up all the books I reviewed for my newsletter in the previous year. I posted 21 reviews last year, covering 31 books (there are two series in there!). I also published three books of my own last year (two novels and one nonfiction). A busy year in books!

Every year, these roundups remind me that I did actually manager to get a lot of reading done, even if the list of extremely good books that I didn't read is much longer than the list of books I did read. I read many of these books while doing physiotherapy for my chronic pain, specifically as audiobooks I listened to on my underwater MP3 player while doing my daily laps at the public pool across the street from my house.

After many years of using generic Chinese waterproof MP3s players – whose quality steadily declined over a decade – I gave up and bought a brand-name player, a Shokz Openswim. So far, I have no complaints. Thanks to reader Abbas Halai for recommending this!

https://shokz.com/products/openswim

I load up this gadget with audiobook MP3s bought from Libro.fm, a fantastic, DRM-free alternative to Audible, which is both a monopolist and a prolific wage-thief with a documented history of stealing from writers:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/07/25/can-you-hear-me-now/#acx-ripoff

All right, enough with the process notes, on to the reviews!

NOVELS

I. Temeraire by Naomi Novik

One of the finest pleasures in life is to discover a complete series of novels as an adult, to devour them right through to the end, and to arrive at that ending to discover that, while you'd have happily inhabited the author's world for many more volumes, you are eminently satisfied with the series' conclusion.

I just had this experience and I am still basking in the warm glow of having had such a thoroughly fulfilling imaginary demi-life for half a year. I'm speaking of the nine volumes in Naomi Novik's Temeraire series, which reimagines the Napoleonic Wars in a world that humans share with enormous, powerful, intelligent dragons.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/01/08/temeraire/#but-i-am-napoleon

II. Destroyer of Worlds by Matt Ruff

The Destroyer of Worlds is a spectacular followup to Lovecraft Country that revisits the characters, setting, and supernatural dread of the original. Country was structured as a series of linked novellas, each one picking up where the previous left off, with a different focal characters. Destroyer is a much more traditional braided novel, moving swiftly amongst the characters and periodically jumping back in time to the era of American slavery, retelling the story of the settlement of the Great Dismal swamp by escaped slaves.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/21/the-horror-of-white-magic/#anti-lovecraftian

III. Scholomance by Naomi Novik

The wizards of the world live in constant peril from maleficaria – the magic monsters that prey on those born with magic, especially the children. In a state of nature, only one in ten wizard kids reaches adulthood. So the wizarding world built the Scholomance, a fully automated magical secondary school that exists in the void – a dimension beyond our world. The Scholomance is also an extremely dangerous place – three quarters of the wizard children who attend will die before graduation – but it is much safer than life on the outside.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/03/29/hobbeswarts/#the-chosen-one

IV. Tsalmoth by Steven Brust

Longrunning Brust hero Vlad Taltos has been convinced to recount the story of how he and Cawti came to fall in love, and how they planned their marriage. This is quite an adventure – it plays out against the backdrop of a gang-war within the Jhereg organization, with Vlad in severe mortal peril that he can only avoid by uncovering an intricate criminal caper of crosses, double-crosses, smuggling and sorcery. But while Vlad is dodging throwing knives and lethal spells (or not!), what's really going on is that he and Cawti are falling deeply, profoundly, irrevocably in love. The romance that plays out among the blades and magic is more magical still, a grand passion that expresses itself through Nick-and-Nora wordplay and Three Musketeers swordplay.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/05/27/mannerpunk/#ask-anyone

V. Hopeland by Ian McDonald

Seriously what the fuck is this amazing, uncategorizable, unsummarizable, weird, sprawling, hairball of a novel? How the hell do you research – much less write – a novel this ambitious and wide-ranging? Why did I find myself weeping uncontrollably on a train yesterday as I finished it, literally squeezing my chest over my heart as it broke and sang at the same moment? The stars of Hopeland are members of two ancient, secret societies. There's Raisa Hopeland, who belongs to a globe-spanning, mystical "family," that's one part mutual aid, one part dance music subculture, and one part sorcerer (some Hopelanders are electromancers, making strange, powerful magic with Tesla coils). Amon is a composer and DJ who specializes in making music for very small groups of people – preferably just one person – that is so perfect for them that they are transformed by hearing it.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/05/30/electromancy/#the-grace

VI. The World Wasn't Ready For You by Justin Key

These are horror stories, though some of them are science fiction too, and more to the point, they're Black horror stories. In his afterword, Key writes about his early fascination with horror, the catharsis he felt in watching nightmares unspool on screen or off the page. And then, he writes, came the dawning recognition that the Black characters in these stories were always there as cannon-fodder, often nameless, usually picked off early. "Black horror" isn't merely parables about racism. In the deft hands of these writers – and now, Key – the stories are horror in which Blackness is a fact, sometimes a central one, and that fact is ever a complication, limiting how the characters move through space, interact with authority, and relate to one another.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/19/justin-c-key/#clarion-west-2015

VII. The Future by Naomi Alderman

A cracking, multi-point-of-view adventure novel about billionaires prepping for the end of the world. Three billionaires, the lords of thinly veiled analogs to Facebook, Google and Amazon, each getting ready in their own way. Stumbling into their midst comes Lai Zhen, a prepper influencer vlogger with millions of followers.

When Zhen becomes romantically entangled with Martha Einkorn, the top aide and chief-of-prepping for one of these billionaires, she finds herself in possession of an AI chatbot that is devoted to protecting a very small number of people from incipient danger. This chatbot determines that Zhen is being stalked by an assassin at a mall in Singapore, and guides her to safety.

The chatbot is a closely held secret among the tech billionaire cabal. It is designed to monitor world events and predict when The Event is imminent, be it disease, war, or other cataclysmic disaster. With the chatbot's predictive powers and its superhuman guidance, the billionaires, their families, and their closest confidantes will be able to slip away before the shit hits the fan, fly by different private jets to one or another luxury bunker, and wait out the apocalypse. Once the fires raging without have died down to embers, the chatbot's billionaire charges will emerge to assume their places as wise and all-powerful leaders of the next human civilization.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/11/07/preppers-of-the-red-death/#the-event

VIII. Liberty's Daughter by Naomi Kritzer

There's so much sf about "competent men" running their families with entrepreneurial zeal, clarity of vision and a firm confident hand. But there's precious little fiction about how much being raised by a Heinlein dad would *suuuck*. But it would, and in *Liberty's Daughter*, we get a peek inside the nightmare.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/11/21/podkaynes-dad-was-a-dick/#age-of-consent

Like I said, this has been a good year in books for me, and it included three books of my own:

I. Red Team Blues (novel, Tor Books US, Head of Zeus UK)

Martin Hench is 67 years old, single, and successful in a career stretching back to the beginnings of Silicon Valley. He lives and roams California in a very comfortable fully-furnished touring bus, The Unsalted Hash, that he bought years ago from a fading rock star. He knows his way around good food and fine drink. He likes intelligent women, and they like him back often enough. Martin is a—contain your excitement—self-employed forensic accountant, a veteran of the long guerilla war between people who want to hide money, and people who want to find it. He knows computer hardware and software alike, including the ins and outs of high-end databases and the kinds of spreadsheets that are designed to conceal rather than reveal. He’s as comfortable with social media as people a quarter his age, and he’s a world-level expert on the kind of international money-laundering and shell-company chicanery used by Fortune 500 companies, mid-divorce billionaires, and international drug gangs alike. He also knows the Valley like the back of his hand, all the secret histories of charismatic company founders and Sand Hill Road VCs. Because he was there at all the beginnings. Now he’s been roped into a job that’s more dangerous than anything he’s ever agreed to before—and it will take every ounce of his skill to get out alive.

https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250865847/red-team-blues

II. The Internet Con: How to Seize the Means of Computation (nonfiction, Verso)

We can – we must – dismantle the tech platforms. We must to seize the means of computation by forcing Silicon Valley to do the thing it fears most: interoperate. Interoperability will tear down the walls between technologies, allowing users to leave platforms, remix their media, and reconfigure their devices without corporate permission. Interoperability is the only route to the rapid and enduring annihilation of the platforms. The Internet Con is the disassembly manual we need to take back our internet.

https://www.versobooks.com/products/3035-the-internet-con

III. The Lost Cause (novel, Tor Books US, Head of Zeus UK)

For young Americans a generation from now, climate change isn't controversial. It's just an overwhelming fact of life. And so are the great efforts to contain and mitigate it. Entire cities are being moved inland from the rising seas. Vast clean-energy projects are springing up everywhere. Disaster relief, the mitigation of floods and superstorms, has become a skill for which tens of millions of people are trained every year. The effort is global. It employs everyone who wants to work. Even when national politics oscillates back to right-wing leaders, the momentum is too great; these vast programs cannot be stopped in their tracks.

But there are still those Americans, mostly elderly, who cling to their red baseball caps, their grievances, their huge vehicles, their anger. To their "alternative" news sources that reassure them that their resentment is right and pure and that "climate change" is just a giant scam. And they're your grandfather, your uncle, your great-aunt. And they're not going anywhere. And they’re armed to the teeth. The Lost Cause asks: What do we do about people who cling to the belief that their own children are the enemy? When, in fact, they're often the elders that we love?

https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250865939/the-lost-cause

I wrote nine books during lockdown, and there's plenty more to come. The next one is The Bezzle, a followup to Red Team Blues, which comes out in February:

https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250865878/thebezzle

While you're waiting for that one, I hope the reviews above will help you connect with some excellent books. If you want more of my reviews, here's my annual roundup from 2022:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/12/01/bookishness/#2022-in-review

Here's my book reviews from 2021:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/12/08/required-ish-reading/#bibliography

And here's my book reviews from 2020:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/12/08/required-reading/#recommended-reading

It's EFF's Power Up Your Donation Week: this week, donations to the Electronic Frontier Foundation are matched 1:1, meaning your money goes twice as far. I've worked with EFF for 22 years now and I have always been - and remain - a major donor, because I've seen firsthand how effective, responsible and brilliant this organization is. Please join me in helping EFF continue its work!

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/12/01/bookmaker/#2023-in-review

[starfall-spirit]

AN: So, what if my patience is fried and I decided to post a couple of days ahead of schedule. Again, Happy Holidays to those who celebrate, but especially to @eat0crow, my giftee for the @acotargiftexchange! I have been plotting this from the moment I was given a name and have been so excited to share this fic with everyone. To those of you who enjoy mythology as much as I do, here's chapter one of my ACOTAR Secret Santa submission, the embellished retelling of Perseus and Andromeda.

Just before we get started, thank you so much @thelovelymadone and @reverie-tales for being amazing betas and soothing my doubts about the fic. Y'all are the best! 💕

Read on Ao3

Ancient Myths Retold Masterlist

Summary: An irksome trip to the Summer Court on matters of business and assistance against a threat at sea takes an interesting turn when Rhys discovers the solution to Nostrus' problem no longer lies with his army, but a female sacrifice, bound at high tide in hope of appeasing the beast terrorizing Nostrus' shores. He certainly never predicted the rescue mission would result in an accepted mating bond.

Chapter I: The Damsel & the Serpent

Rhysand

Rhysand had never felt so close to falling asleep at a meeting, and growing up in his father’s Court of Nightmares, that was saying something. At least there, brutality kept things from being uneventful. But here in the Summer palace, there was nothing to turn his stomach but overseasoned trout and the High Lord’s too-sweet wine. It was times like these he truly dreaded his looming title and birthright.

Suppressing a sigh, he maintained his mask, nodding along and smiling when necessary whilst making the remarks expected to establish he cared about the nonsense Nostrus was set on arranging. Small talk and an offering of reward for the high demand the male was procrastinating. Forces from the strongest army on their continent to subdue the creature butchering his soldiers and citizens. There was no bravery or gall in cooperating with the cruel court from the north. The male was just covering his ass and calling it an alliance.

But then, wasn’t that the truth of most deals?

Still, his desperation was clear, if the setting around him was anything to go by. High quality tapestries hung from each pillar making up the veranda they dined in, Not the typical everyday decor of the court. The dining table was set for something much grander than a business dinner, when one considered the fine linen tablecloth, crystal glasses, and polished silver.

If his father were present, Rhys was certain he’d be so amused by the effort he’d spend the evening toying with his Summer counterpart.

“Rhysand, I suppose I can’t beat around the bush forever. Would you consider—” Nostrus paused in his inquiry, his attention diverted by a member of his inner circle approaching the edge of the veranda. There was a nervous glint in the captain’s eyes as he scurried over to whisper in his High Lord’s ear, his voice almost quiet enough for Rhys to miss the short message delivered. “The Archeron girl has been captured. High tide is less than two hours away.”

Something twisted in Rhys’ gut, his protective instincts rising as he watched the High Lord’s jaw tighten. Apparently they wouldn’t be discussing the looming topic of the aid Nostrus needed so desperately. “Thank you.” Clearing his throat, he swiped his napkin over his mouth before standing. “If you’ll excuse me, Rhysand, perhaps we can finish this discussion in the morning. I have something rather urgent to attend to.”

“Of course, Nostrus. Tomorrow.” The moment the Summer males turned their backs he was past the flimsy mental shield the captain maintained. One glimpse was all it took to explain the tension the message brought. As Nostrus had wined and dined him, his second in command was sending an innocent female to her death. Rhys didn’t recognize her, and he’d been bred to accept any and all brands of cruelty, yet he’d sooner slit his own throat than let them succeed in killing her. 

He winnowed back to the guest room he’d been shown to earlier that day, finding his brother snooping about, as he expected. “Uh oh, I know that face,” Cassian said, smirking. “Who do I get to punch?”

“No one yet. I only know half of what’s happening. First and foremost, this will be a rescue mission. The punching can come later.”

Cassian paused, setting the trinket he was fiddling with back on the dresser. “Rescue? Rescue who, Rhys? What happened at that dinner?”

“A girl they mean to drown at high tide, a little over an hour from now. I need you to create a distraction.”

He grinned wider than ever. “How big a distraction?”

“Big enough to drag a High Lord away from the female he intends to murder this fine evening. And get us home before he can think about retaliating or sending blood rubies for stealing her away.” 

Cassian nodded, and despite the utter glee he found on his brother’s face, he knew he was in the mindset of a general. That ability to flip from fool to soldier so seamlessly was what put him above the others he'd grown up with in Windhaven, and another reason he would be in a position of command when Rhys eventually filled his father's shoes. Cassian tapped the siphons he had put back on his hands, nodding sharply as the dark armor rolled over his body, better to hide his position in the late evening. “You go find your damsel, Rhys. I’ll handle the diversion. Give me twenty minutes.”

He appreciated the fact Cassian hadn’t pushed for more information, or tried to talk him out of this. It was certainly crossing lines, meddling in another court’s business, but he had seen too many innocent people die for those who consider themselves more powerful. He didn’t need any more information than what he gathered in that glimpse behind the captain’s shield. It was enough to know staying out of the equation would damn him more than any meddling would.

He’d grant the female sanctuary, if she wished, and he highly doubted Nostrus was strong or stupid enough to push any harder, water beast be damned. At least, he hoped.

He winnowed to where the waves would reach highest, pausing when he heard the familiar voice of the Summer Lord. "Has running ever done any good?" The female beside him clenched her jaw, holding the High Lord's gaze. A brazen thing, Rhys could already tell. One who didn't apologize for actions she deemed appropriate. She didn't appear to be one to beg, either, even as the cold iron clamped down over her wrists and ankles and the ocean tide lapped at her bare legs. Simple enough for Rhys to unlock with a little magic. "Did you really think you could free yourself of this?" Nostrus pried, trying to get under her skin.

"I think it's pathetic you resort to this, killing innocents rather than face the beast born of your selfishness."

The sea serpent sated by sacrifice, one Summer citizen at a time. Rhys didn't bother denying his curiosity any longer, slipping into the female's mind. Deep down she was terrified, understandably, but above that was simple frustration. Her attempt to best the beast herself had only intrigued the creature, and she'd been deemed the next offering. She had run, to her shame. But when the entirety of her potential was to be fed to a monster or married off to another sort, running had seemed like the best option. Rhys withdrew after that, his attention returning to Nostrus who had ignored the jab, watching the waters begin to rise and churn. "High tide draws near. Any last words, Lady Archeron?" She turned her face from his grasp. "Pity. Here I thought you the most clever of your family. Very well."

"I've got a few for you, Nostrus." The girl snapped her gaze over her shoulder and his breath caught. She was truly the most beautiful female he'd ever laid eyes on, blue eyes shining beneath the moon, her golden-brown hair curling with the sea mist. A soft, blooming pressure began to grow in his chest, building, morphing into a glowing thread of gold. Wide-eyed, lips parted, Rhys knew she had recognized him as well. Imagined the future they were one step from loosing. "Get your hands off of my mate."

~~~~~

Feyre

Mates. It seemed like a rather insignificant detail in a situation where she was chained up as a sacrifice, and yet it was all she could focus on. Lady Luck must truly hate her if this was her fate. Meeting the most stunning man she'd ever laid eyes on—who looked deliciously feral with the need to protect her—and yet she was set to die only moments later. And she thought marrying a High Lord's son was the cruelest challenge she'd face.

Nostrus gave her mate a pleased smile. "She is a citizen of Summer until she meets her betrothed at the altar. With her as such, I still have the authority to demand that she... aid her court when necessary. But I'll tell you what. If you can get those chains open before the hunt begins, I'll let you sweep her off to Night. You would of course be responsible for breaking the news to her parents and fiance, but that's really of no interest to me. Good luck."

Her mate let out a soft growl as Nostrus winnowed away, but quickly refocused himself to assess the aged metal binding her to the rock. "They're warded or charmed or something," she said softly. "I have simple magic, enough to unlock things. If it were that easy to escape, the serpent would never eat." 

"Hey." He gripped her chin, raising her eyes to meet his at last, the peculiar violet of his eyes made all the more beautiful in the dark of night. "Tell me your name."

"Feyre Archeron."

"Feyre." Gods, the way that rolled off his tongue. "Feyre darling, no matter what happens in these waters, you will not die today. I won't allow it." She scoffed. Well, one certainly couldn't deny his hubris. "We'll talk about my hubris when the beast is dead, love."

"How did you—daemati—I knew you couldn't be entirely perfect."

"Feyre darling, you wound me." Before either of them could resume their banter the sea began to churn, an otherworldly shriek piercing the air that had her wishing she could cover her ears. Her mate, still nameless, to her displeasure, raised his weapon just before the sea monster broke the surface, rows of razor-sharp teeth bared as it reared up, catching the scent of its next meal. "It's Rhys, if you must know!"

"Get out of my head!"

He chuckled, winnowing and lunging faster than she could blink, drawing another ear-rupturing cry from the serpent as his sword found a weakspot between a cluster of dark scales. By the Mother, she felt worthless here, not that a bow and arrow would do her much good against a creature like that. Iron seemed much more suitable in this fight. Rhys really was marvelous to watch, his pattern of winnowing and striking had originally been an effort to distract the creature from her vulnerable position, but he had actually started landing solid blows, the churning waters—now level with her breasts—stained pink as the beast's blood was diluted. The rest happened in bits and pieces, yet all at once.

Twin blurs of gray raced over the body of the water serpent and up to it's massive head, summoning another roar, claws sinking into the soft flesh of it's glowing eyes. Wounded and with only its scent and poor hearing, if her research promised anything, the serpent had lost its advantage. 

The spell of her rising hope was broken as slimy, webbed fingers closed around her arms. She screamed at the feeling, drawing Rhys' attention. An unaffordable error, as the tail of the beast whipped across its body, throwing Rhys several yards to the left and under the waves. Gods, if he'd hit his head they'd both drown. A moment later he broke the surface to her relief, his attention torn between Feyre and the recovering creature he meant to fight with his sword, and apparently, shadow magic.

"Our repayment, Lady Feyre," one wraith hissed. "For your kindness at the Tithe." Miraculously, the four cuffs fell open.

"Thank you."

"Our sister's debt is repaid."

"Swim to shore!" Rhys barked. 

"But—"

"You have no weapon and your mind is not clear. I won't be focused either knowing you're in danger. Find my brother, on land. He has Illyrian wings and bears red siphons. He will help you."

Knowing she would only be a hindrance in this state, she obeyed, even as guilt weighed heavier and heavier with each step. She'd just reached shore when the massive tower at the center of the city—their most ancient monument—rained down in a blast of stone and sand, a red wave of killing power the only culprit in sight. 

This Illyrian was a dead man walking. 

She watched, wide-eyed and fearful for him as he took flight, the towns-people still in chaos. Only a moment later he landed beside her, scattering sand in every direction as he smoothed his shoulder-length hair back. "Judging by the fact you look just washed up, I'm guessing you're Feyre. The bastard finally found his mate," he marveled. 

"Go help him." His eyes widened. "You have a weapon. Go help him kill that—" One last crash of the waves revealed the creature sinking beneath the water, presumably dead at last. "He actually killed it."

Seconds later, Rhys winnowed to shore, landing between them. "The city monument?" he blurted. "You realize you will never be welcome here again, don't you?"

The Illyrian smirked. "That's alright. Too warm for my tastes anyways. I much prefer the north."

Rhys shook his head, smirking right back. "Come on. Let's go home."

~~~~~

Taglist: @lulling-night-sky // @edgyellie // @shallyne // @the-lonelybarricade // @darling-archeron // @goddess-aelin // @the-lost-changeling // @faeriequeensuriel // @pandavelaris // @s-uppertime // @elentiya-whitethorn // @acotar-fanns // @jealousveronya // @acourtofwips // @reverie-tales // @gwynkyrie // @corcracrow // @thelovelymadone // @rosanna-writer

[bookofbolden]

TIMING: Current LOCATION: The Generic Store PARTIES: Syd ( @felinefrenzies ) & Eleanor SUMMARY: While grocery shopping Eleanor runs into Syd who is in the middle of an intense battle with the beast within. WARNINGS: None!

Groceries. It was a necessary evil that Eleanor had had the pleasure of forgetting about while she’d lived with her sister. She simply wrote on the chalkboard door of the pantry what she needed from the store and it appeared almost like magic. Now she had to get all of her things together, including her long list, and trudge to the store herself. Not that she could really complain, she didn’t want to be in the apartment for too much longer than absolutely necessary, it had been left a mess and somehow seemed even more so after her return.

Almost immediately after she’d walked into The Generic Store the cashier gave off some mildly irritated vibes but Eleanor could understand, she wouldn’t have wanted to be at work and miss out on whatever else was going on outside of the store, either. She smiled at the worker and continued on her way to the groceries as she took out her list. Only a few other people roamed the aisles and they were all either extremely calm or just a little bit anxious as they made sure they had gotten everything they’d come for. Because of the lack of strong emotions within the vicinity, the feeling of dread and distress was as noticeable to her as if the person had announced that they were feeling it.

Eleanor looked over her shoulder and offered a kind smile in hopes of calming the stranger. “Hello, I’m not in your way, am I?”

Syd leaned against the cereal aisle, gaze fixated on the stupid off brand Tony the Tiger. Their vision blurred ever so slightly, off brand Tony dancing in the corner of their eye as they looked away, as if mocking them. From one cat to another, it sang. Syd clenched their teeth and tried to focus on the ring of their heart in their ears, of the way it sounded, a rhythmic beat to the discussion and footfalls of shoppers in and around the store. They’d been through this time and time again, and they could do it again. There were faces they knew here, and they couldn’t risk the chance of shedding their skin, of hurting the very woman who had handed them their diploma several years back. 

They’d been so focused on controlling the shift, from keeping it at bay that they hadn’t noticed somebody was next to them now. Concern echoed in their voice and Syd tore their eyes away from a neighboring box of low sugar off brand Toucan– what the fuck was that bird’s name?  Their company stood only a few feet away, and the warnings that fell at the back of Syd’s throat were swallowed by the anxiety of possibly creating shreds out of the person in front of them. “No,” Syd stammered, tightening their grip on the shelf. The jaguar hummed, circling them as if prey. “Sorry, I’m–” They let out a soft laugh that came out as a hiss, unfurling into something of a growl. Quickly, Syd covered it up by coughing into their arm. “I think I left the house before the flu left me.” They gave a half-assed smile, tongue moving against teeth, against cheek– anything to keep them rooted. “Did you need…” They looked at the aisle they were in again, then to off brand Tony. “This?” 

Eleanor could tell that something awful brewed just below the surface but she didn’t want to call too much attention to it. Some people preferred to pretend that nothing was going on even if they were going through some of the worst moments of their life. “No need to apologize, I’m sorry that you’re not feeling well. I can bet that it must be miserable being sick in this weather. Have you been getting enough fluids? Have you tried chicken noodle soup? Whenever I haven’t been feeling my best I typically give it about a week and then if things aren’t getting better I go to the doctor.” She knew that she’d started to ramble so she stopped herself. “Not that you asked for any of my advice. I’m sorry, you're an adult, you know how to take care of yourself.” She blushed, but she had genuinely just wanted to offer some kind of help because it was obvious between the stuttering and the swirling dark cloud of emotions within them that things weren’t going well.

Although Eleanor hadn’t been in the market for the off brand cereal she nodded and took it anyhow, adding it to the small selection of items in her basket. “Sure, I appreciate it.” She looked them over one more time then turned as though she were going to leave. She’d gotten halfway down the aisle before she turned and went back, her heart unable to allow her to simply walk away. “I’m sorry, and please tell me to buzz off if I’m prying, but you don’t seem well. Is there anything I can do, someone I can call for you? You shouldn't be out if you’re feeling this terribly - what are you shopping for? I can grab it for you so you don’t have to be on your feet for too long.”

Most people would move on after being advised that the person they were speaking to had the flu, but the girl ahead of her stayed put, concern pulling over her features. Frustration flickered brightly at the center of Syd’s chest. They wanted to tell her to leave, that they didn’t need the suggestions. Because that much was true, they didn’t. They could take care of themself. The sound of the front door opening, a bell ringing– the till, the count of change, the exchanging of thank you’s, it hit Syd from every side. It was hard to ignore. On top of it all, the smiling brunette had the audacity to be kind. The longer Syd stood there, the more their irritation grew, and they felt horrible for directing it at somebody who was only trying to help. “Chicken noodle soup, no. Pozole.” Through clenched teeth, Syd continued, “you should try it sometime.” Maybe the brunette already had. It was easier to focus on the comfort of a warm meal than it was to focus on the tiles beneath their feet and how it might feel to press their face against them. They’d be cool to the touch, they were sure, and maybe it’d soothe the sweat that had begun to break out at the back of their neck. 

“S’okay,” Syd coughed out again, attempting to hide a pained whimper as the jaguar tugged at the corners of their mind, as if luring them inward in order to take total and complete control. “Appreciate it all the same, actually.” It was harder to speak now than it had been previously, and that wasn’t good. They knew that. Syd moved to the side slightly as the brunette reached for the box of cereal. A blur of colors danced in the corner of their vision as they kept their eyes on the shelf’s price display. They traced each number carefully, one breath in, one breath out. She was retreating, and Syd felt some minor relief that maybe she would leave the store before the jaguar split the seams of the individual standing there. Syd hoped so. Nobody that kind should be mauled in a grocery outlet. The footfalls stopped, and Syd let out a huff, ready to explain that yes, she was sticking her nose where it didn’t belong, all for the sake of ridding a victim from a soon to be crime scene. But instead, Syd refocused, staring at the toucan on the stupid cereal box. They memorized the colors, thought of them on human skin, the thrum of the tattoo gun in their hand. Grounding techniques, that was what their father had called them. Important, to beings like them. “Call? No, nobody to call.” Their parents were in Arizona, and it wasn’t like Meredith needed to be bothered, they were only just now reconnecting. “You’re really fucking nice and all, but look, I don’t– I would have asked for your help if I needed it, alright?” Frustration plucked at Syd’s vocal cords and their voice broke slightly at the end of the sentence. Agitation burrowed itself, dragging away the kindness that Syd had been born with. “Fuck, sorry, I just– it’s so fucking loud in here, right? So fucking loud.” 

There was a flash of frustration and Eleanor took another miniscule step back. Had she said something unkind, out of line? She didn’t think so, but not everyone received unsolicited advice well, perhaps that had been the other’s breaking point. She was sure that if she’d felt awful out in public and someone came along yapping about soup and doctors then surely she too would become irritated. But this was different, it had to be, it couldn’t have all been aimed at herself - the irritation, fear, anger… it was all too much to have occurred during their brief exchange of words. But still, they offered up another bit of conversation and she took it because she didn’t know what else to do in such a situation. “I have! It’s very good, one of my best friends makes it.” But her words sounded forced, scared. What could have caused such a storm within them? It wasn’t her place to get to the bottom of it, she needed to learn where to draw the line, but she also wouldn’t have forgiven herself if she were to just walk away and leave them in such a state.

Their response was exactly what Eleanor had expected so it didn’t hurt her feelings when they lashed out, she simply nodded and smiled sadly. Hadn’t she always done the same thing? Lashing out was a whole hell of a lot easier than trying to explain whatever was going on inside of her mind so no, she hadn’t been offended. But it did still worry her. “No need to apologize, I was just offering it. Whenever I see someone who might need a helping hand I offer, but you by no means have to accept it, I understand that you’re wanting your space.” She let out a breath and brought her palm to her forehead as though checking for a fever. The intensity of their emotions had started to create a headache. “Yes, it’s very loud in here, I agree. I hope that I’m not coming down with something myself.” Although the volume she was complaining about happened to be on a different wavelength, one she was sure they were unable to hear. “I’m Eleanor. I don’t think I’m supposed to give out my name freely, but I want you to know who I am just in case… you ever need anything? Whatever’s going on, flu or otherwise, it’ll all pass. I’m sure your family and friends would be more than willing to listen to anything you have to say about what might be going on, and if not then… I don’t know. I’m here, too. I’m no therapist, I don’t claim to be one, but I’m really good at listening despite my habit of always talking.” She didn’t want to leave, as much as being around them pained her, so she went further down the aisle as she had before but stopped to pretend to be very interested in the loaves of bread on the shelf.

It was at inopportune times like these that the jaguar had wanted to come out, desire to be freed from its vessel trumping any reason that Syd tried to make. The last thing they wanted to do was hurt anybody, and they knew that leaving sooner rather than later was probably their best bet at doing little to no harm. But it was hard to move– to put one foot in front of the other. They could barely focus on each and every breath that filled their lungs, a labor in its own right– defying the very spirit that lived within them, coaxing Syd to release any and all control. Their grip on the shelf tightened, and they leaned into it gently, careful to not put their full weight as they didn’t want tons of cereal boxes to come crashing down. It didn’t seem like the brunette was hurt by her words, which was a surprise in itself. Instead, it looked like she understood the aggression, tucking it away for further investigation. 

Syd tried their best to focus on her words, to allow them to carry them further from the tightening in their chest. It felt odd, being talked down so gently after misplaced cruelty stained their words. “No, it’s–” Another sharp inhale, another clench of the jaw. “Ah, fuck. Hope not. Sure it’s going around town, though.” Syd wasn’t actually sick with anything, so maybe the girl– now named Eleanor, was using empathy as a means to distract them. “Don’t worry, not gonna use your name against you. I don’t even use Facebook. Plus, I’m sure there’s loads of other Eleanors in town.” It hadn’t occurred to them that there was a deeper seated meaning to her words, but it was hard to focus on that. “You talk like a therapist. Not that it’s a bad thing.” The words came out raspy, a hollowed out version of Syd’s typical cadence. “Never been to a shrink, though.” Never had to, before now. Were there such things as balam shrinks? Would they be able to tap into the jaguar and coax a level of understanding? Maybe they should look into that. “My name is Syd.” If they focused on the conversation, then maybe it would pass. They could feel the feverish warmth at the back of their neck beginning to subside, a sign that perhaps the jaguar was relenting. “You do this a lot?” Syd asked after a moment of listening to the other noises from within the store, “talk people down who have the flu in the cereal aisle, I mean.” 

The comment about Facebook confused Eleanor for a moment and she wondered if they even understood what she had meant by the layered comment. Perhaps they really were sick and it wasn’t anything supernatural… that would be strange simply because it wasn’t strange. Everything that happened in this town had to be weird, right? It was the law or something. It just wasn’t feasible to Eleanor that this person was plainly sick with the common flu. She shrugged one shoulder and attempted a chuckle. “I’ve been to plenty of therapists, I know their lingo. Going to one isn’t a bad thing, it’s not admitting weakness or anything like that, sometimes you just need someone to talk to you, someone who doesn’t know a thing about you and can give everything a glance from the outside - it’s really helped me.” How they had moved from the subject of possibly catching a virus to her trying to coax them into therapy she wasn’t sure, but as long as they spoke with her the more she would continue as well. It seemed to work as a distraction, keeping them from completely toppling over.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Syd. Lovely name.” Eleanor wondered if it was short for Sydney but then decided that it was none of her business. Syd, as they had introduced themself, was all she needed to know. At their question she truly laughed. “I’m sorry, I’m not laughing at you, I'm laughing because… no, no I don’t talk people down from the flu in the cereal aisle often. But I give myself damn good pep talks in the bathroom mirror so I’m using all of my skills I’ve learned by doing that - is it working? Because if it is then I need to give myself a raise.” There was a gradual shift in the atmosphere that indicated that perhaps they had started to feel a tad bit better and Eleanor took that as a sign that she was doing well. It felt good to be the one to help someone else for a change. “What brought you out to the store with the flu, Syd? All of the DoorDashers busy?”

Syd snorted. When leaving the campsite today, they hadn’t anticipated a minor panic attack in the cereal aisle of a store they had gone to since they were a child. Syd was positive that if their parents had service, Glenn, the manager of the place, would be calling them erratically asking what had gotten into Syd. Everyone knew each other here, it seemed. Except Syd knew that Wicked’s Rest wasn’t really that small of a place– it just so happened that they were a creature of habit, frequenting the same places that their parents had. 

“You should be a marketer for them.” Syd took another deep breath, gaze flashing up to the ceiling to seek out the patterns of the tiles above their heads. “Maybe I’ll look into it one day.” If balam therapists were a thing, they’d jump at the chance, no questions asked. They didn’t think they’d get that lucky. Maybe they’d have to find somebody else– a zombie therapist who understood what it was like to no longer be in control. There was a degree of separation, but Syd felt as though that was their best bet. “I’m glad it’s helped you, though. You seem to know what you’re talking about.” Eleanor’s voice was helping keep Syd’s mind off of the thrashing in their mind. It was a constant tug-o-war, keeping the jaguar at bay, silently pleading with it to give them a moment within their own body. 

Then again, like Syd normally did, Eleanor could be talking out of her ass. Syd, however, was incapable of dissecting the true meaning of the other’s words. “Ah, shit. No, you’re totally laughing at me. ‘S alright, I get it. I’m sick in the cereal aisle.” Not sick, but plagued with the spirit of something they should have been able to harmonize with. Syd finally tore their gaze from the ceiling. It landed back on Eleanor and they let out a laugh of their own, however it sounded congested and strained, as if being peeled from their lungs. “You should ask for a raise, deffo.” They gave a curt nod, pushing away from the shelf slightly, grip loosening. “I can be my own DoorDasher, y’know?” Their reasoning for why they looked violently ill was slipping. Realistically, nobody should go out when they were sick. Syd looked like they didn’t care about those around them, and they didn’t like that, but it was too late to fall back on the excuse now. “Thought it was over, then it fucked me up again is all. You know, false hope.” For somebody who engaged in therapeutic discussions, surely Eleanor wouldn’t be able to argue the topic of false hope. “Hope you don’t take this the wrong way, but you deserve a gold star. Not many people’d take a look at someone hunched against a shelf and ask if they were okay.” Syd’s voice was still strained, but the cloud of agitation was dissipating. 

It was Eleanor’s turn to scoff. “Perhaps if the whole writing thing doesn’t work out then I’ll definitely either become a therapist or a marketer for them. Maybe BetterHelp can sponsor my upcoming book.” She joked, glad to have gotten some amusement out of them. She shrugged and fiddled with the basket in her hands. “I just know how to sound like I know what I’m talking about. It’s a skill, really, one that I inherited from someone in the past.” One of her past foster fathers had been one of the best bullshitters she’d ever met in her life - she’d learned from him how to boost herself up in the best way possible but she only used it whenever necessary. She noticed that Syd had started to take deep breaths which was a good sign, it meant that they had at least started the process of calming down.

Eleanor bit her lip to keep from laughing again. “I swear that I’m not laughing at you but you have to admit that this kind of interaction isn’t necessarily… normal. Did you wake up planning to speak with a stranger next to colorful boxes of cereal because she refused to leave you alone while you were sick? I’m self aware enough to know that I’m a little annoying but, I don’t know, I think sometimes it pays off.” The gold star comment made another giggle rise out of her. She liked Syd, even if they did seem like they were going through a lot more than they were willing to disclose. She probably wouldn't have been comfortable laying everything out on the table, either. But she could tell from the emotions that flowed from them that a lot more was going on with them whether they’d admit it or not. “I’m a sucker for gold stars, the other kids in my class used to hate me because I’d do everything I could to get one added to my chart every day. I was that kid.” She allowed her smile to fade just a tad so that she looked more serious. “Are you sure you’re alright? I’ve asked that a million times but please, if there’s truly anything I can do let me know. Maybe I could help you out of this stupid aisle? I’m sure that tiger staring at you isn’t helping.”

“Yeah, who knows. Maybe they’ll jump at the chance.” Syd grimaced, knowing well enough that continuing to talk through things like it was all fine probably would have turned out not fine, and leaving was definitely the smarter thing to do, but Eleanor’s kindness was hard to turn down. “A book though, really? Yeah, I guess that tracks. You look like a writer.” In a way that books wrote about writers, but Syd wasn’t sure that Eleanor would take that as a compliment. Syd definitely meant it as one. Not that they read a whole lot, but still. “Oh, so you’re bullshitting me? Does therapy even really work?” They steeled themselves, knowing the joke probably didn’t hit the way they wanted it to given the fact that they were trying not to fall apart. “That was a joke.” Maybe that would help. 

“I think that I plan on that every day. It’s what keeps me going.” Syd tilted their head back, letting out another breath, pushing the jaguar out from the corners of their mind. It was still circling, a constant thing, claws ripping into her psyche, but she could handle it. Could coax it into submission, at least for the time being. Without really knowing if it was the death of Callum or the abnormality that had done this to her, she had no way of fixing it, but taking deep breaths did help, and so did having somebody to talk to about it, even if it wasn’t necessarily the truth, and instead just a simple distraction or two. As Eleanor went on to explain that she gained the most gold stars out of any other kid in her grade, Syd nodded. “Yeah, that also fucking tracks. You look like one of those kids who’d put it in a whole ass sticker book or something. It’s probably in a box somewhere, right?” Eleanor was making it easy to make fun of her, and Syd felt a little bad. “That was another joke, by the way, even if it’s kind of true?” They leaned away from the shelf finally, realigning their gaze with Eleanor’s, no longer tracing out the patterns of the ceiling. “The flu is a bitch, what can I say?” Syd wore a lopsided smile that looked more like a grimace, so she tried a little harder, pushing it to reach her eyes. “The tiger can’t do shit to me, but uh, I really– seriously, thanks for hanging out while I go through the ten stages of what the fuck is happening.” 

Although some might not have taken it as a compliment Eleanor was thrilled to hear that she “looked like a writer”. She had always been able to point out an author in any crowd simply by the way they dressed and handled themself and she wanted to give herself a pat on the back for being able to emulate such a presence. “I’ve spent years trying to perfect my wardrobe and even my hair - I think the new bangs are what really ties the whole look together. It’s even more evident whenever I wear my glasses - I see that as a compliment whenever someone is able to guess that I write for a living. What do you do, if I may ask?” She wanted to continue the conversation because it seemed that she and Syd had finally gotten to a place of friendliness. “Oh, it definitely works, I can assure you of that. I would be absolutely falling apart at the seams if not for my therapist. But I know a joke when I hear it.” She winked at them.

“Well in that case I need to start planning very strange and specific things to do in my day. This has been nice, getting to meet a lovely new person.” Eleanor liked Syd a lot and she hoped that maybe if they were to run into one another at a different time that it would be under better circumstances. She blushed but nodded to answer the other’s question. “Actually… I believe it’s in a box in my parents’ home. My mother is very sentimental about things like that. She wants to bring out all of my book reports and essays anytime someone speaks about my books - she wants the world to know how young I began writing but I find it a bit embarrassing.” She subconsciously mimicked Syd and took a deep breath, happy to see them finally standing up straight and making eye contact. “Talking is what I do best! I’m always happy whenever someone’s around who I can yap to so thank you for making my day better. I’m sorry that we couldn’t have met under better circumstances, maybe we’ll run into one another soon enough and we can have an actual conversation. I promise that I won’t completely talk your ear off, I’ll listen to any and everything you have to say since you’ve allowed me to get carried away this time.”

Syd couldn’t help but let out a chuckle as Eleanor went on to explain that she purposely dressed as a writer, hoping others would deduce as such. Yeah, maybe that was important– being proud of whatever you did. When Syd worked at the tattoo shop, it’d been a lot more obvious what they did for a living, but now that that was behind them, nobody ever really pointed at them and said campsite manager. Not unless they knew them from before, at least. “I run the three pines with my parents.” This time, as they spoke, it wasn’t said through gritted teeth. That was good, at least– a change in direction, a chance that the jaguar was beginning to settle down. They let out another chuckle, this time more strained, as Eleanor reassured them that therapy did in fact work. “Alright, you’ve got me. You therapized me here, I’m a believer now.” Not quite, but on the fringes of it. Eleanor had in fact helped them calm down considerably. 

Lovely was a stretch, but Syd made no move to correct her. Maybe in another life, they would’ve been lovely to meet, all toothy grins and an arm wrapped around her shoulder as they showed her to the seat where she’d get her first tattoo, because they definitely wouldn’t have met in the cereal aisle where Syd was having a meltdown. No way. That was definitely not the way Syd liked to meet people, nor the way they liked to leave a lasting impression. “Of fucking course you do.” This time it was a snort instead of a chuckle. “Cute, though. Sounds like a good mom.” Their mom was the same. Even if the first time they’d come home with a tattoo, they’d nearly been disowned. Over time, they accepted that the art Syd created wasn’t meant for a sketchbook, and rather for their skin, and that of their peers. “I feel like that should be the case, though. Pretty fucking important, to be proud of something like that. Not everyone just writes a book.” That wasn’t necessarily true, so Syd amended, “or is good at it.” They didn’t know if Eleanor’s books were good or not, but they made a mental note to at least find it on audio book. “Nah, you’re– you did more than enough.” Eleanor didn’t need to stop at all, and Syd was grateful she did, even if annoyance had transcended that feeling entirely during their first moments. “But uh, I’m good– flu is hitting the road or whatever.” 

The jaguar was still antagonistic, and it’d be good to go home and avoid any more uphill battles. “Not every day somebody stops and talks to somebody who’s bitching at them for being too loud.” Not that Syd had been yelling at Eleanor specifically, but it could’ve come across as that. “I appreciate you though, for real. Uh, keep… being a therapist to people in the streets. Or don’t, maybe not– maybe a bad idea.” Especially here. “Maybe only do it in public places?” They let out another short laugh. 

Laughter was a good sign and Eleanor once again gave herself a pat on the back for the progress Syd had made. She hadn’t been entirely sure that any of her efforts would affect them at all so to see such a change made her happy. “That sounds wonderful, I’m guessing you’re outside a lot? That’s the perfect time to just let loose and take a couple deep breaths in case you’re ever needing to calm yourself. It worked for me although I’m sure my neighbors believed me to be completely off my rocker after that time I went out into the rain to do some deep breathing. It couldn’t wait, I needed to do it then and there.” She wasn’t sure if Syd meant what they said about her convincing them that therapy worked, but since she’d accomplished her goal of calming them down that was all that mattered to her. “Good. I’m glad that I could be of assistance.”

Syd’s words encouraged Eleanor. She knew what a difficult road it was to write books, much less books that were welcomed with open arms by the public and did well, so it was nice to have some recognition. “I’m obviously not the best but my books do well enough for me to live off of what I make from them, that’s a huge deal in the writing community. I don’t like to sound like I’m bragging though, no one likes someone who talks about themself during the entire conversation, so back to you: I’m glad that you’re feeling better. I’m sure the flu probably just got annoyed with me and decided to abandon ship. It was my pleasure being able to be your makeshift therapist for a little while, but I certainly don’t think that I’ll be doing it too often. I got lucky running into someone who didn’t try to fight me or something because I was only trying to help. I hope you have a lovely rest of your day, you should definitely go home and rest so that you don't get sick again.” She shifted awkwardly onto the balls of her feet because she was unsure how to end the conversation. “Goodbye Syd, hopefully we’ll run into each other again when you’re feeling better.” She offered them one last smile then finally turned and actually continued on down the aisle to continue her shopping.