#I broke up this following set of pictures into two post because the details matter and 4 photos in one post wouldn’t do it justice

[teafrtwo]

[shotorozu]

hello!! i saw that your requests were open and wanted to ask if you could do single dad! atsumu suna and sakusa falling in love with reader, like it's sort of a meet cute (or not) but the reader falls for them and the kid and happiness lskfjsdfk have a great day!!

single dad! falling for reader

character(s) : miya atsumu, suna rintarou, sakusa kiyoomi (haikyuu!!)

legend : [Y/N = your name] they/them pronouns used, timeskip au! (because,, single dads.)

headcanon type : fluff, crack and angst if you squint (x reader)

warning(s) : mentions of the character’s ex wives, the ex-wives being jerks for multiple different reasons and ways (so,, be warned. for negligence, not very detailed hitting, and cheating, but not on reader)

note(s) : me, writing for haikyuu?? wow, a surprise! also, it’s been a while since i’ve written for haikyuu so if i don’t get the characterization correctly— ESPECIALLY FOR SAKUSA, i’m sorry in advance.

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miya atsumu

at first, his marriage was happy. miya atsumu— successful in his 20s, basically set for life, and with a head strong wife that gave him a wonderful daughter

he was elated when his son, genji came into this world. he wouldn’t swap him out for anyone else. and it was all good, really

until he started spotting marks on genji’s delicate skin, and he even found a large bruise on his shoulder when he was changing his shirt! he almost passed away seeing that

genji would also have a sudden fear of being alone in the house— even when his mother would stay behind to take care of him

but why though? genji’s only 4! what could’ve happened to him? he doesn’t recall hiring any babysitters.

he finally found the answer one day, when he found out that his head strong, intense wife— has been physical with him!

basically, all the love for his wife flew out the window, and he filed for a divorce— and of course, he won custody

and he assumed that his love life would stop at that— and it didn’t sound terrible. all that mattered was that his son was safe, and happy again

but this is where you come in

you work at a toy store, a small business toy store really, that sold the highest of quality only

and atsumu took genji to either replace, or fix the toy he broke a few days back. the place was recommended to him by shoyo— who also had a kid of his own

you’re just two years younger than him, eyes full of determination and care, practically the complete opposite of his ex-wife.

you put up a good conversation with him, while you fixed the toy— the two of you talking about the mutual friends, and that ‘this place should be a lot more popular.’

and also, his son did happen to take a liking to you. he seemed joyous in your presence— compared to how he was with his ex-wife

and from that moment on, the two of you would only become closer— especially when a bunch of his son’s toys started breaking magically

before atsumu knew it, he harbored something for you— the absolute angel you were to the both of them

“‘m sorry for the inconvenience,” the faux blond scratches the back of his next “didn’t know genji here was a ‘lil clumsy weasel,”

you laugh, and genji’s just staring at you with amusement, “it’s fine, genji could break his entire toy box— and i’d still fix it anyway.”

so this was the nerve wracking part, “to make up for it, would you like some coffee later? i could treat ‘ya.”

“is this yer way of askin’ Y/N—”

“shut yer mouth for a sec— uhm,” he looks at you, sheepishly

you laugh, “miya, i wouldn’t mind honestly. but i’d assume you’re busy as it is.”

“not at all!” atsumu replies, “i’ll just, drop off genji first. say yer thanks to Y/N,” atsumu looks at genji, encouraging him to say his thanks

“,,thanks for fixing my toys, Y/N.”

“no problem, genji.” you smile at the two of them when they move to leave the store, fixed toys in hand— as they wave at you before parting

“oh, Y/N?” atsumu calls out,

“yeah?”

“call me atsumu— from now on.” his cheeks are tinted pink, and he can feel genji’s eyes on him.

“oh, uhm. yeah! i’ll see you later, atsumu.”

so yeah— the two of you went out for some coffee, and before he even knew it, he was in love.

it might take him a few months to realize it though

suna rintarou

i can’t imagine him having kids for some reason 💀 but if he were to have any, he’d definitely have a daughter

rintarou himself, didn’t think he would have kids at at all, really. but the moment he was able to meet asuka— his lovely little daughter

he was hooked. he seemed a little awkward at first, not very used to caring for a child. but he was actually decent at his job

he’d sneak into his daughter’s room to hold her when she was upset— even when his wife was too knocked out to realize it, and he’d show her picture books

since she liked them a lot, even when she can’t coherently read a straight paragraph yet.

it started to concern him when he realized how little his wife was involved in the development of their daughter.

she started acting different, a little bit after she didn’t have to breastfeed asuka

and then, that’s when it happened.

“i literally can’t believe you,” he speaks when he’s packing his things, “we have a child together.”

his soon to be ex wife is on the floor, begging him to stay— but he doesn’t care. “look, the idea of you cheating wasn’t very surprising. i don’t care anymore, really. but the fact that you’ve been neglecting asuka for your selfish needs is low. i hope you’re ashamed of yourself.”

his words are so much different that his lenient, calm self. which only solidifies reality

so he leaves with asuka, not caring about the sobs that left his soon to be ex wife’s mouth.

and even though he was still angry at his wife for not being there, he’d never let it show to asuka

he’d still show her picture books, he’d still sit down and watch miraculous ladybug with her— even when she doesn’t understand it all completely

and speaking of picture books— he decided that he needed to buy more for her

so he took her to the bookstore, and he didn’t really know what he was doing. he bought all those previous books when asuka was still a newborn

now it’s a little fuzzy on what he should be looking for. colors, right? he needs a picture book that has plenty of colors.

and that’s where you come in. you’re youthful, despite looking not that far off his age, you’re humming to yourself as you fix the bookshelves

“uhm,” he calls out for your help, and you look at him in recognition “need any help? what are you looking for?”

there’s a helpful glint in your eyes, and it reminded him of what should’ve been in his ex wife’s eyes. “my daughter, likes picture books. and,, i don’t know what i’m doing.”

she’s basically a replica of him, same eye color, and same hair color. but her eyes are much more rounded, youthful.

“cute kid,” you smile when she coos at you, “the children books are this way, follow me!” you exclaim, moving to navigate your way to the children’s book isle

so it seems to be that you really know what you’re doing. most people would’ve recommended picture books with a lot of words, or just no words at all

but you’ve found the books that made asuka exclaim in happiness.

and although it’s not very obvious that rintarou’s caring to his child— he is, and you could tell. despite looking lost, and sometimes bored when you’re explaining the books.

so every 2 weeks, the father would return with his daughter, after he got back from volleyball— and you’d help them pick out on certain books.

rintarou assumed he’d never take a liking in anyone again, but,, here he is. and he doesn’t know how you’ll react to that.

but it’s worth a try— he’d try and get your number when he’d see you again

the next time you see him, the middle blocker’s alone. and he tells you that he needs more picture books for asuka, since she’s staying over at his volleyball friend’s house for a day

“Y/N,”

“yes?” you turn your head, meeting his stare. he looks well,, himself. like how he first sought out for your help a few weeks back

“,, could i get your number? y’know, just in case asuka wanted worded books in the future. you’ve helped a lot, so,,”

you smile, “is this your way of hitting on me?”

he didn’t think it was that obvious, “what?— i mean,” he fumbles to reason out, feeling a bit more awkward. because yes, he’s asking you out but,, he has the power to make things more laxed, y’know?

truthfully, you don’t know much about him. you know a lot about his daughter, sure! but you don’t know anything about her biological mother, or what happened, or why she’s not taking asuka to the bookstore

but you chose not to ask, out of respect. he’d tell you some other day. “i’m just teasing,” you smile, moving to get a small piece of paper— writing your digits on the paper, and placing it in his pocket

“i’d like to see you again,” you smile, “say hi to asuka for me.”

the middle blocker left the store in content, absolutely sure that asuka would love to see you again even when she can’t form proper sentences.

sakusa kiyoomi

didn’t think he’d be fit to be a father— but here he is

though he seems cold, he does take responsibility, and he does love and care for his child, seina

it’s not like he’ll be posting pictures of his child everywhere— i mean, even if he had a different personality, he still wouldn’t be posting his kid everywhere

but he does cherish seina, like his life depended on it. he’d still silently watch her cross out word puzzles in a messy matter, he’d silently listen to her talk about her favorite pastries

he loves her!

so that’s why it made him mad, when even after 4 years of seina being born, her mother made little to no effort in spending time with her

doesn’t matter if it was a simple gesture like tucking her in, or showing up to a birthday— she just,, never did.

it was almost as if she was ignoring seina, which causes some distraught on the child’s behalf— which passed on the negative feeling to him

like,, seina wasn’t an unbearable kid. sure, she acted up here and there, that’s an issue kiyoomi has been trying to fix on his own

but it was nothing too concerning, and it was containable. but his wife treated her like she was absolutely unbearable

and it was super strange because, she’d act normal around him, but would barely acknowledge her own daughter’s existence

so what did kiyoomi do? he confronted her, of course.

and no— his wife wasn’t cheating, and nothing tragic happened that would’ve caused her to be this way

she was just,, lazy

“so.. you gave birth and stopped caring for her? is that it?” furious was an understatement, considering that his wife forgot to make her daughter breakfast

which caused her to sneak out of the house, and ask for some breakfast from some nice neighbors.

“look, if you want nothing to do with her, just say that. i’m taking seina, and leaving.” so yeah now he’s a single father.

to say he didn’t love her was too quick, a part of him didn’t love the fact that his wife loved him, but didn’t show any sign of affection towards her daughter.

he knew it was going to fade away anyway. his feelings for his unofficial ex wife.

and i don’t think he’d plan on seeing new people, since now these days— people just like the idea of being with him

which meant that most people would’ve been scared away, or turned off if they really sat down in a conversation with him

besides the point, kiyoomi was taking his daughter to the bakery again— as she was craving new pastries, and wanted to go to the new bakery that just opened near by

and kiyoomi was like “why not ig” and took her there— but then, this is where he’d meet you for the first time

you were one of the bakers, and it’s not like he was going to pay attention to you— until you did something even HE couldn’t do

“papa, whyyyy” the whining sounding painful in his ears, as his daughter clung to the display of pastries “can’t we get moreeee??”

“seina,” he sighs, “no, we can’t.”

“but—”

“papa, you’re no fair!” her bottom lip trembles, and he could almost FEEL the judgmental stares of the other customers in the bakery

and this is where you come in, “is something the matter?”

“papa won’t.. get me more!” she stares at the selection of pastries, “i’ve been so nice but.. it’s no fair!” her eyes tear up

“don’t cry,” you bend down to blot her tears away with a tissue, “y’know, he probably has a reason, but you’re in luck— actually!” you maneuver behind the counter

you come out from behind, presenting a fresh batch of pastries— that were just right to his daughter’s liking, to the point that it shut her up entirely

“they’re on the house, today’s our opening day, so it’s the bakery’s treat!”you state in a warming matter, grabbing a paper bag to place the pastries in

kiyoomi stares at you, observing you quietly— you could feel his cold stare, even though he’s wearing a medical face mask, that covers about half of his face

you blink, not knowing what is going through his head, and you gesture to his daughter to take them

you clearly don’t know who he is— and that gives kiyoomi some sort of relief, compared to the other customers that are murmuring to each other “sakusa kiyoomi’s here with his daughter! is this what he does in his free time?”

kiyoomi takes the paper bag, giving some sort of non verbal acknowledgement, before he takes his daughter’s hand and leaves

“bye, kind person!” seina calls out to you, which catches you off guard— this causes your coworkers to coo at the girl’s words

“didn’t know sakusa’s daughter was so cute!”

and you’d assume that your interactions with the quiet stranger and his daughter would end at that, but no! life is full of surprises.

the tall masked father comes in again, a little bit before closing time— you were absolutely beat, your back feeling as if boulders were glued to the back, and your feet burning from all of the rush

“oh, what could i do for you?”

he stays quiet, but a small presence sticks behind him, and peers up to you. the face is familiar to you, so you wave “hi there! it’s nice to see you again.”

“i wanna say thanks.” her rounded eyes practically shimmer when they lay themselves on the pastries again, but she shakes her head “for the pastries! they’re very tasty.”

“i’m glad you like them, what was your favorite part of the pastry?”

“the filling! twas yummy!” she gives a toothy grin, “tell me, where ‘dya learn to bake like that?”

kiyoomi stares at the scene unfolding before him. it was.. new. unfamiliar— he hasn’t seen his daughter act like this with anyone else— besides him and his team mates. so, he simply watched.

seina babbled and babbled, much to the your amusement— and the other staff members. you listened to her with your full attention, your interest never wavering in the slightest

it’s a bit later, kiyoomi holds a tired seina in his arms— you expect him to leave the bakery, his daughter’s wishes been fulfilled, and he wouldn’t have a reason to stick around

but then he presents to you a large stack of cash “for the pastries. my,, daughter really liked them.”

your eyes widen, “sir! i told you, the pastries were on the house!” you shake your head, “either way, i can’t take this! it’s too much for some pastries!”

“no, seina insists. in fact, she’s entirely why i’m here.” his tone stays consistent, but even with the mask— you could tell that he’s smiling. “she’s well,, everything. if she’s set on something, then she’ll do everything to achieve her goal.”

you smile at the statement, “thanks for bringing her here sir..?”

kiyoomi hesitates to tell you his name for a moment, an unfamiliar, yet familiar pound in his chest rises— he chooses to not figure it out right now, considering that it would be too soon to pursue a romantic relationship.

but, if his daughter brought him here, then it must be for a reason. “kiyoomi.”

“right,” you smile, “thanks for coming here, kiyoomi. you can give me a call, if seina wants any more pastries.” you write your number on a piece of paper, and hand it to him

he doesn’t reply, but he does take the piece of paper anyway— keeping it in his pocket

and for once, he thinks that he doesn’t hate having to go to the bakery weekly., because there’ll be a warm presence there to greet him— and of course, seina.

likes and reblogs are appreciated, thanks for reading!

i do not own hq!! and it’s characters. haikyuu!! belongs to furudate haruichi, i only own the writing and i do not profit off of my hobby

do not plagiarize, reupload, translate, or use my works for audio readings without permission :))

[hb-writes]

We’re Alright

Summary: For the angst prompt “I miss being in your arms.” John and Lucy Watson keep in touch by email while he’s away for the war, but when Lucy’s latest missive goes unanswered for several weeks, she begins to worry about her brother.

Characters: John Watson & Lucy Watson (Watson!sister)

Content Warning: Angst (and comfort), War, Alcoholism

--

It was so quick, email.

The short span of time that passed from inception to send to received made it so Lucy Watson could connect with her brother in mere minutes, or half a minute if she typed quickly enough, almost no time at all in the scheme of things. She should have been more grateful for it, for the connection, for the ability to reach her brother when he was so far across the globe, unable to reach him or hear him. And she was grateful, even if it always left her wanting for a bit more.

It was much faster than dealing with the standard post. In theory, John received the messages as soon as they were sent. He had hypothetical access to her words at the very moment she hit the send button. He could write back the very same day, even.

These days, Lucy rarely felt closer to her brother than when a response made it back to her within the hour, a coincidentally timed missive full of what always seemed to be a detailed, thoughtful response to almost every word she'd sent his way, John's words swallowing her up like a hug, like an arm snaked around her shoulder while he asked after her day at school, like his careful hands addressing the careless wounds as he did in her childhood or his soothing voice calming her juvenile worries, the man chiding and commending and soothing her as appropriate, the perfect blend of stern and fun and proud. It sometimes amazed her how John managed to be all of those things in a matter of seconds, achieving it all through the medium of a simple email.

It was the knowledge of that very fact that brought Lucy Watson a bit of concern.

Her latest message had been sent almost two weeks before, cast off in the middle of the night, sometime after her older sister finally passed out, after her wife had left and Harry was exhausted from the booze and the fighting, tired from yelling at her wife and younger sister when the person she really wished to yell at was herself.

Harry and Lucy Watson had reconciled in the time since, the shouting and painful words that had passed between them a willingly forgotten piece of the past, something in Lucy almost wishing she hadn't sent the email to John that night, not at that alarmingly late hour when he'd be questioning her for being awake. Part of her would have been happy now to let the moment remain in the past, to allow it to become buried, to eventually be overshadowed, forgotten by the inevitable next time arrived, the encounters cushioned by the calm they were living in now.

It was a cycle Lucy was familiar with, the times of peace and war that passed through their household, its bounds determined by Harry’s drinking and the apologies, the unfilled promises and the feelings both sisters often left buried and untouched. They were back to peace now, back to their usual indifference, but the cycle was steady, predictable. 

Lucy knew they'd go around again soon enough.

She read through the email settled in her ‘sent’ box once again, the eleventh or so pass since she’d originally sent it, her eyes skipping over the introductory small talk about school assignments and the weather to the only thing that had brought her any comfort during her brother’s digital silence, the vague picture she’d painted for them, a small memory revisited, nothing more than a casual question to test his recollection. 

‘Remember when I was little and Harry’d chase me around the garden and when I grew tired, I’d run to you to keep me safe?’ 

The inquiry had originally been followed by ‘I miss being in your arms like that,’ a sentence Lucy deleted before sending the message into the ether, feeling too sentimental and obvious by it, too exposed even though it was only John on the other end of the message, or maybe feeling that way because it was John on the other side and he’d know the question truly meant something more, was hiding something more. 

Lucy hadn’t wanted to place that concern on her brother, had only hoped he’d take the same comfort in recalling the moment that she did. Or maybe she’d wanted him to know, to pry, to make her confess it all, comforted more by the prospect of that than the memory of simpler times ever could accomplish.

In John’s silence, the comfort any of it brought her was waning. The longer she waited for a response, Lucy thought more that this was one instance of ‘no news is good news’ that brought her little satisfaction, and even beyond the silence, beyond the need of confirmation that her brother was alright...and safe...and alive, Lucy simply needed her brother. She needed him to remember the moment, to bask in the inherent and nostalgic goodness of it, and though Lucy had made it difficult for John, made it more cryptic to decipher, she did want him to simply know that things weren’t quite right at home without her having to say it. She wanted him back. 

Lucy knew she couldn’t really have that, though. She couldn’t have him or his hugs or his smiles or the dry wit or the knowing looks he’d often dole out, a gentle scold offered with just his eyes, a message of doting care given with just a twitch of his lips as he tried to temper an insistent smile. Lucy had accepted that, accepted that she had to subsist on a more meager version of her brother’s comfort. His words. Imagined expressions. Memories.

Lucy spent more nights than anyone would have believed tucked away in bed with her older sister’s laptop, re-reading the messages she and John had passed back and forth since he’d gone away, imagining her brother’s voice as her eyes scanned over the screen, imaging his laughter and scoffs, imagining him fixing her with a look which said he knew precisely what she was leaving out, that he somehow knew that there was more there, more she wasn’t telling him. 

John always knew. He was well aware that Harry wasn’t the perfect caretaker for their Lucy, knew that the girls had their rubs, knew that Harry had her struggles with the drinking, but there hadn’t been another choice, and John had always been comforted by the fact that his sister’s wife was there, a source of stability and calm for Harry, and for Lucy, too, but there were still things that troubled him. 

Lucy read over her original message another time before pulling up the message she’d started drafting to her brother days ago. It was short and overly formal for the two of them, a brief ‘I hope you’re well. Please write me when you can,’ sandwiched between a sterilized greeting and send off. 

Lucy hovered over the send button, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath as she prepared herself to click, hoping beyond hope that John’s lack of reply was nothing more than a mistake, praying that his silence was due to a message gone incorrectly to the spam box or an instance of an unread email mistakenly set to read, willing herself to believe that the follow up message wouldn’t go unanswered.

Lucy’s finger continued to hover as the weary sort of silence that usually followed the woosh of a newly sent message prematurely settled within her. It was a terrible sort of vacuum that sucked everything along after it and she imagined all of her hope and wishing and patience would be sent off with the message itself, leaving her with very little left inside. She resigned herself to passing what little remained of the night, or the morning rather, with just that feeling for company, curled in her bed watching as the rising sun reached through her curtains to ease her into another day, but the chime of a new message came before she could bring herself to hit send and she moved to her inbox, pulling up the message from John, only two lines in length. 

The first chided for the time her previous email had been sent, but the second was a morsel that could feed her for a bit. It was just an overly casual ‘You can reach me here for now,’ the words accompanied by a phone number, one she recognized as originating from England, in London. 

The computer fell to the side as Lucy scrambled for her phone, fumbling with the keys as she dialed the number, her breath held as the rings continued on, a sob caught in her throat as a gruff throat clearing sounded from the other end of the line. 

“Hello?” 

“Joh—” Lucy swallowed down the lump in her throat. “John?”

John sighed at hearing his sister’s voice, the heightened pitch nearly catching, nearly breaking before she’d reached the end of his name. His sigh was heavy despite being such a small gesture, filled with exhaustion and impatience, and still yet an ounce of understanding and compassion and pity at the very same moment. 

“Lucy…”

She felt the lump in her throat thickening at hearing him say her name after so long, a few insistent tears spilling down her cheeks in the short moment of silence that engulfed them, her breath quietly hitching before John continued. 

“It’s rather late, sweethear—”

A sob broke from Lucy’s end of the phone line. How long had it been since Lucy Watson had heard that particular endearment directed her way? John hadn't even finished with the word and she'd already been pulled apart by it, years of feigned strength and composure at John's absence ripped entirely from the girl.

John sighed again, setting aside his incriminations about the hour, hoping the curtain pulled closed between him and the roommate he’d been assigned to just the morning before was enough not to disturb the man. He seemed to be snoring still, so it was either that or the sturdy painkillers he’d been prescribed keeping him asleep. 

“Alright, sweetheart,” John whispered into the phone, turning his body away from his neighbor best as he could with his limited range, shifting the borrowed laptop to safety. “It’s alright.” 

Lucy continued crying on the other end of the line, coughing over her sobs and gasping for breath, seeking more air to fuel the painful howling, her attempts at verbal response to her brother nearly incomprehensible. And the pain of hearing that, the ache of listening to his sister in such a state and not being able to do a thing to help, he could swear that was far worse than the residual pain in his knee, far worse than the gunshot itself or the surgery or the intensive physical therapy regimen he’d been enduring since. The sensation filled his entire body. He felt it in the dropping of his stomach, in the drying of his throat, in the persistent ache in his heart, but John pushed it all aside and cleared his throat firmly enough to speak over the growing lump. 

“It’s alright. Let it all out, sweetheart.” 

John lost track of how long it went on like that, with him simply listening to the sounds of his sister’s anguish, a few years of pent up frustration and grief and hurt coming out of her in waves as he listened on helplessly from his bed in the London rehab, wishing he was there to soothe a bit of her pain, but settling for uttering of a string of comforting words that Lucy latched onto like they were an embrace, clinging to it as if John was right there in her room tending to the passing of a nightmare, dulling her pain and cries until it all shifted and the sounds that came from her were no longer filled with anguish he hadn’t known her capable of holding. They both shared a bit of relief as the line grew quiet, nothing more than their cadenced breathing falling between them. 

Lucy sniffled and cleared her face. “You’re in London?”

“Yes,” he said.

“You’re home. You’re safe.”

John considered the allegations, considered the truth of her words even though there were parts of him that felt far from safe, parts of him that still felt kilometers and countries away, still in Afghanistan, still fighting, and a sound came from his mouth, the start of a shaky breath stifled almost as soon as he’d released it. 

“You’re alright,” Lucy offered. “We’re alright.”  

John cleared his throat, his grip tight on the phone receiver as he nodded to himself.

“Yeah, we are, sweetheart.”

Three or four deepened breaths passed between them then, the Watsons each staring out their respective windows at the dawning sky, the dark night slowly, but insistently turning to day. 

“Lucy?” 

“Yeah?”

“You’re alright?” 

“Better,” she mumbled. She wouldn’t be quite alright until she actually saw him, but hearing John’s voice had made her feel better and it would be enough to carry her through until she could have the real thing. “You?” 

“Better,” he confirmed, “but you should get to bed. You have school tomorrow.”

Lucy hummed as she smoothed her hand out across the quilt, reaching out to shut the laptop and set it away on the nightstand. “But I am already in bed, John.” 

John snorted, his sister’s cheek loosening a part of him that had become too stiff while he had been away, some small part of him thawing as he smiled into the receiver. 

“Better indeed,” John laughed. “Sleep well, sweetheart. Call me tomorrow.”

--

Sherlock BBC (Lucy Watson) Masterlist

500 Follower Celebration Masterlist 

[lastwagontrainhopper]

A guiding hand

Royai week day 2 - Serene (let’s collectively ignore how late I am posting this ok thaaaanks)

Summary:   “She expected Roy to follow up with a flirty comment or joke; that was usually how this type of conversation went. Instead, after a moment, he let out a sight. When he spoke again, his voice had a melancholic tone to it.

"That right there is the one sight that I really miss. ” ”

---

The Colonel and his Lieutenant share a late-night conversation. (Blind!Roy)

Words: 2489 

Tags: Blind Roy Mustang, Fluff and Angst, Late Night Conversations, Established Relationship, Canon Compliant

read on aot

“They had left their windows wide open, letting in a soft breeze to relieve them from the heavy summer heat. The curtains were rising and falling without a sound, fluttering in the air like ghosts. Even the streets around the house were quiet at that hour; the only thing that broke the stillness of the night was Riza's voice.

"As for Senator Harn's wife, she was wearing a very elegant apricot-colored dress. With her signature high hairdo, of course.”

Their blankets had long been kicked away to the bottom of the bed in a messy pile. Roy was lying on his back, facing to the ceiling, one hand playing idly with a lock of Riza's hair.

"Apricot?" His eyebrows furrowed slightly. "That's the yellow with a touch of pink, right?”

"That was pretty much it, yes." Riza was lying on her side, her head against her hand, elbow propped up on the pillow. The room was covered in shadows, but the flickering lights from the window on the street allowed her to see the outline of Roy's face.

"And you said Harn had a royal blue jacket...That must have made for an odd contrast.”

Riza smirked. "Yes, that's what several people seemed to think. It looked as if the General and his wife had not consulted with one another before coming to the gala.”

A sly smile spread across Roy’s face. "Ha! And you just know the rumors about their marriage are already flying high. It's sort of ironic, considering how Harn is constantly babbling to the Parliament about the “traditional family” and the “sanctity of marriage” and whatnot." His hand came to lightly circle Riza's wrist, his thumb tapping the back of her hand. "I’m sure you now understand how crucial fashion is in Central. It's not just a matter of taste: it's inherently political.”

"Sure," she answered, unconvinced. "Anyway. The Harns didn't capture the guests' attention that long, since the buffet was brought shortly after.”

Roy hummed appreciated. "And that was a good one. I've rarely tasted crab this delicious.”

"Yes, and they must have put as much effort into the presentation as in the cooking, because the set-up was magnificent. Everything was served on glittering silver plates, which reflected the glow of the chandeliers. On each table, the dishes were arranged in a sort of pyramid, culminating with the piece of meat or seafood. It looked extremely fragile, like...like some sort of house of cards, or crystal architecture, defying gravity - but they all stood the evening without crashing down. It was breathtaking.”

This had become the most constant part of their day. Almost every night, as they lay in bed before going to sleep, Riza would describe to Roy a long list of the things he hadn’t been able to see during the day. When they had first started this habit, as they were working on the the reconstruction of Ishval, Riza's descriptions had been much more pragmatic, like a mission report: which building seemed in need of repair? Which tribal leader looked unsatisfied during their morning meeting? She did her best to give him this information as the day went by, but there were always important details that she missed.

As the years had passed and the two had distanced themselves from the military, Riza's description had slowly become more lyrical. She began to tell him about beautiful sights that he was missing – a particularly colorful sunset, or the way the city lights looked at night. As time went by, she started to enjoy these conversations and more more, and they became increasingly long. It got to the point where, as Riza saw something pretty during the day, she found herself immediately thinking of the way she would describe it to Roy later at night.

"You should try to write a book," he had told her once. "You're so good at this - I can picture in my mind everything that you're telling me about like I was seeing it."

"It wouldn't be the same," she had answered, shaking her head. "I like hearing your reactions."

He had arched his eyebrows, smirking. "And yet you scold me every time I interrupt you.”

"Stop being overdramatic,” she had retorted. “Now let me continue." They had left it at that.

Sometimes Riza would rest her head on his chest as she went on with her stories. This was what Roy preferred.  Ever since losing his eyesight, he had grown much fonder of physical contact, even casual, with her - after all, it was the surest way he could know that she was by his side. But Riza liked to remain slightly further, just next to him, so that she would be able to observe him during their late-night conversation. His face would take on such a special expression at those times, almost peaceful, or...serene.

Serene. That would have been the last word anyone would have chosen to describe Roy under normal circumstances. Despite his reputation as a slacker, he was a man that was constantly busy thinking about one thing or another, pondering, planning his next ploy – or his next date with a certain Lieutenant. His eyes in particular had always betrayed the constant working of his mind: they were restless, always darting around the room to study the people they were talking to, noticing details in their postures, noting suspicious movements out of the corner of his eye.

And, Riza knew it well, even the moments of rest didn’t bring Roy much serenity. More often than not, his sleep was plagued by violent nightmares that would wake him screaming in the middle of the night - or at least, that tensed and distorted his expression as he slept.

This had not changed since the Promised Day. But since Roy’s fight in the underground of Central, his blind eyes had lost their piercing look and had taken on a milky appearance. In the first few weeks, Riza had hated meeting that blank stare - it reminded her too much of what his eyes used to look like, as well as symbolizing her failure as a bodyguard.

But eventually, she had come to see a certain beauty in them, and in the calmness they brought to Roy's expression. He was still as expressive as ever, with his trademark crooked smile and taunting eyebrows. But in the evening, when they were alone together, his face truly relaxed. As Riza described the day's events to him, he would focus entirely on her voice, letting his mind recreate the image she was painting. His eyebrows would loosen and his forehead became smooth, free of its usual furrow; his mouth would fall half-open. At this particular moment, Roy took on a serene expression that Riza had never seen on him before, and she never got tired of looking at it.

"I need to tell you, unfortunately," Riza broke the silence that had settled, "that you were not the best-dressed man at the reception.”

Roy propped himself up on his elbows, frowning with surprise. So much for serenity.

"What? Who was?”

“You’re not going to be happy about this,” Riza said, trying to hide the small smile in her voice. "But Colonel Birks made quite an impression. He wore a rather daring suit, made of a black  fabric from which red velvet patterns stood out.”

Roy huffed with indignation. "Velvet! Nonsense. He obviously can’t stop pushing the boundaries of extravagance – and of bad taste.”

"I don't know," Riza said evasively. “I thought it was pretty elegant…and I wasn't the only one.”

Roy ran a hand through his hair, ruffling it. "Outdressing the president should be considered insubordination," he muttered under his breath. "I'll call Ms. Zhao tomorrow. I need something more avant-garde for the next gala. Maybe with some silk mixed in with a cotton suit?”

He lay down again on the bed and raised his arm, inviting her to come closer. Riza moved to nestle up against him, putting her head on his shoulder, a hand on his chest. Roy wrapped an arm around her waist and buried his nose in her hair. Whenever he did that, his breaths would tickle Riza's neck, making her giggle; she would always pretend to be annoyed but it, but they both knew better.

After a moment, Roy tucked some of her hair away from her face. He brought his lips close to her ear. "Tell me again what you were wearing."

Riza felt a shiver go down her spine. That deep voice that Roy used when he whispered always got a reaction out of her, no matter what cliché or silly thing he would say.

A wry smile crossed her lips. "At this point, you know my wardrobe better than I do, Roy. ”

"I know," he answered, unabashed. "But I like hearing you describe it."

Riza chuckled. “Well,” she began, “I was wearing the flowy emerald green skirt that Rebecca got me for Christmas, a brown leather belt, and my white blouse. The one with the embroidery on the collar. ”

He hummed in appreciation. "With your golden high heels, I'm guessing."

"With my golden high heels," she nodded, "because even though my feet are killing by the end of the night when I wear them, they do really go well with that skirt." Her hand started to play with the ring that Roy wore as a necklace. "I didn't put much makeup on because of how humid the weather was. But I did wear my bright red lipstick."

She felt his cheeky smile even before he spoke. "I can recognize it by taste, now."

If they weren’t pressed so close together, she would have dug her elbow into his ribs. She rolled her eyes instead. "I also had my gold bracelet to go with the shoes, and the earrings you bought me to complete it all. What else...my hair was in a bun, and, of course, I had my necklace."

She expected Roy to follow up with a flirty comment or a joke; that was usually how this type of conversation went. Instead, after a moment, he let out a sight. When he spoke, his voice had a melancholic tone to it.

"That right there is the one sight that I really miss. ”

Riza felt her smile drop. A lump appeared in her throat. Roy rarely complained about his blindness; even in the months following the Promised Day, he had adapted to his new lifestyle with impressive resilience. At first, it seemed as if his disability had affected his Lieutenant, plagued by guilt, more than himself. Still, Riza knew that he must have carried a lot of silent regrets through the years. There was so much Roy had had to give up, so many compromises he had had to reluctantly accept on his plan to reform Amestris – and on his personal life.

Riza disentangled herself gently from his grasp and straighten up, half sitting, to observe him. One of his arms was folded under his head, and he still seemed to be looking at the ceiling - but of course, that was just an impression. She ran a hand through his hair, brushing them away from his face. He smiled slightly at her touch, but she didn't need to see the pupils of his eyes to know that his heart wasn't in it.

She didn't like seeing him like this. With thoses cloudy eyes, melancholy turned his serene expression into a confused one - like he was a child that got lost and couldn't look for his way home.

Riza laid down again and rested her head on the pillow, her face turned toward Roy. She started to gently stroke his arm. "At least, you can keep in your mind the image of what I – and you – looked like in the prime of our youth," she said after a moment in a playful tone, trying to comfort him. "You won't need to see us get all old and wrinkled.”

To her surprise, Roy's face saddened further.

"Don't say that. Beautiful women are like fine wine, they only get better with age - that's what Chris used to say. I always wanted to see how you would look as you grew old.”

Riza raised her eyebrow, surprised. "Really?" she answered in spite of herself.

He nodded. "Not everyone ages gracefully, of course. But I know that wrinkles would look flattering on you; you have such elegant features. And silvery hair never fails to give this distinguished look - at least on women," he added, running a hand through his hair, suddenly self-conscious. His eyebrows furrowed. "Do I already have grey hair?"

Riza felt her shoulders relax. "You're almost completely bald by now, Roy."

He winced. "Please don't joke with that. I don't know what I would do if this were to happen.

Riza simply smiled, and they fell back into a comfortable silence. She watched Roy’s chest rise and fall with his breathing, lulled by the calm rhythm.

"You know, I always wished I could see you grow old, also because it would have meant that we made it."

Riza felt her breath catch in her throat.

She reached up and placed her hand on his cheek, hoping her touch could tell him what her words couldn’t.

“We did make it, Roy.” Now of all time, she wished he could see her face.

"I know," he said. He took her hand and brought it to his lips, pressing a light kiss against her knuckles. "I know."

Riza propped herself up on her elbow. She close her fingers around his, and squeezed firmly.

"Listen. We'll just do like with everything else. When my hair turns grey, I'll describe it to you. And as for the wrinkles," she placed his hand on her face, "you can see that for yourself."

Roy made a small smile. For the first time, he turned to face her, placing the tip of his fingers on both sides of her face. That was something he never tired of doing. Before he had lost his sight, he had always been able to read her like a book, understanding the meaning behind even the most subtle of her facial expressions. Now, he could do it in a much more literal sense, by tracing the surface of her body, reading the lines on her skin as if they were words written in braille.

"And when my face is so wrinkled it's unrecognizable,” she continued, "you will know the story behind each one of them.” She injected a smile into her voice. “The ones I already have on my forehead, for example, come from the stress of having spent so many years asking you to do your paperwork.”

His fingers brushed her forehead, and he smiled, abashed. "And you're all the more beautiful for it, my dear." He reached toward her and, guided by his hands, placed a light kiss on her head. “I can’t wait to see the rest.” ”

[captainkirbypunch]

My love has left tumblr once again.

As many of you may know, the account under the name MDZADR, has left tumblr. They felt unsafe in their fandom, and as such have deleted their tumblr and AO3 account due to the bad memories linked to them.

As a part of their departure, they have asked me to post something in their name, as follows.

If you want more details about how I came to this realization, continue to read. If not, here is your summary:

TL;DR: For the safety and health of this fandom, I wanted to spread the word that Mooping-10 is filled with people who absolutely cannot be trusted, creating a very hazardous environment for the zadr community, and MelodyoftheVoid is connected to all of those people, living a double life amongst those of us that don’t “ship zadr correctly.” She has plenty of friends her inner circle knows nothing about, and nobody on either side knows who she really is. 

Full story below.

I’m sorry I didn’t say goodbye. Nobody did anything to me today, but this just wasn’t worth it.

My AO3 and tumblr are both gone. I didn’t say goodbye because I didn’t want to look like an attention seeker.

Here’s the thing. I wasn’t going to name drop, but you guys need to know the truth. I’m instructing my boyfriend (hi y’all) to turn asks off for his own safety after this because this is going to be a nightmare, but... allow me to tell you the full story. I’ll try to break up the text so it’s less difficult to read, but this is important. I’m sorry to air discourse so publicly, but please... I need you to listen to me.

I’ll start from the beginning, without being vague anymore about who “she” is. I request that you please read the whole thing and not skip parts of it. The whole story matters.

I finally returned to the fandom about two months or so ago. As I’ve mentioned, I don’t do well in my thoughts while left alone too long, so I posted saying I would stop messaging people I knew because I didn’t want to bother them. There were only two people I was talking to at the time, but one of them is famous so I didn’t want to message her directly saying that. Doing so would have put her in a position of feeling obligated to say “you’re not bothering me” rather than just simply being able to sigh with relief from no longer being contacted. 

But the first person to contact me was the famous person, and she asked if I was okay, and told me she liked talking to me.

God, I actually cried.

But, that’s just her. Melodyofthevoid is the type of person to talk to people in the fandom, totally unaware of her demigod status. She comments on stories, interacts on posts, messages first... a pillar of kindness, so it seemed.

But let the story continue.

Over time, we were talking more often. 

Mostly sending memes (cause everyone I knew, myself included, aren’t exactly great at holding conversations. No shade. Memes are a love language). I was still in the hero worship stage of our relationship, so my view of her was that that was perfect.

Now, let me bridge a connection with a new story idea I got around December 28th or so, and my thinking she was perfect.

I had recently finished watching Madoka and questioned “If I had magical powers, what would they be?” It then turned into its own story idea, basing creators’ powers around the strengths and weaknesses in creations. I actually realized “oh fuck. My stuff is incoherent. My friends’ works aren’t too different...”

Thus spawned the name “Incoherent” for the project.

What does that have to do with this? Well, here’s the thing that really fucked everything up quickly. 

This was not on purpose, because originally the project (which I had told nobody of yet at the time) was all about improving your works, making platonic friends, dressing our personas in cute outfits, and writing fun magic.

While listening to music and thinking of the story one day, my brain accidentally shipped my persona with hers, and I couldn’t unsee it. And I’m lousy at keeping my own secrets (other’s are different) so she found out on probably day one or two about my weird crush because of an ask meme of all things. 

She didn’t try to put me off any, which was another problem for future things to come, and so I decided that since Incoherent was finally making me feel alive again and feeling the euphoric feelings of love wouldn’t hurt anything (I figured they’d mellow out on their own eventually because that’s how infatuation works) since they helped fuel my inspiration, and then we would just continue from friends to better friends one day and this part of our lives would be over.

Besides, the forbidden is attractive somehow, and makes stories more entertaining. She’s aro/ace, so I had no chance anyway. Someone safe to crush on, in her own way.

This isn’t a story of a love betrayal however. There was no such thing. But it’s important to the story because Incoherent is where my mistakes were made, and hers brought to light.

By this time, I had a handful of people I was talking to, and I created a discord server for the project. Only my boyfriend (hi!) and I were in it at the time. I was not-so-subtly asking my friends what they’d look like if they were a magical person, what their names would be... I thought I would have had to lure Melody in to make her want to join us, but I managed to get her in very easily. Everyone was happy and excited! It was a no obligation, no time limit thing for us to enjoy, a little sandbox to play around in. 

Sure there were plans to make it bigger and I was working on art to the best of my ability, but it was gonna be a fun thing mostly. No pressure on anyone.

And how things started becoming a problem was that the rest of us posted publicly about the project and interacted with each other’s posts relating to the story, but she had started to interact publicly less and less with our things, and everyone noticed it.

It wasn’t because we were greedy and wanted the popular girl to reblog our things. It’s because we had a feeling she was ashamed of being seen publicly with us. The reason we were worried before then and started making that connection was because I mentioned I was going to ask another user if they were interested in joining Incoherent. Melody was the only one that seemed uncomfortable, and I messaged her asking about it. We agreed I wouldn’t invite that person but I knew things were off about it.

That person is like me. How long until Melody didn’t want to talk to me anymore? A few days ago, the other shoe finally dropped. A member of our little group and I were talking and (let’s call them Friend for simplicity. They asked to not be name dropped here) Friend was worried they had made Melody upset by tagging her in a meme picture they drew of her persona, and the two had agreed that Friend remove the tag. This spawned an anxiety-filled conversation where Friend and I expressed our concerns about Melody not interacting with the project, or us.

So since I wanted reassurance that that wasn’t the case, I messaged Melody with my concerns. I told her I had the feeling she was ashamed of being seen in public with us because of her friends, and she didn’t refute me. She simply told me to go get some rest. I messaged back with “I’m right.”

I deleted Discord off my phone for hours and nearly deleted my Tumblr, AO3, and the server after my boyfriend helped pass messages between us. Melody confessed that was the case because her friends expressed discomfort with my works, and she was playing both sides.

Her words, not mine.

Melody told me she would be withdrawing from the Incoherent project because it wasn’t fair to us if her heart wasn’t in it.

She didn’t stand up on my behalf when they said things about me. Her friends are the type who talk behind creators’ backs for shipping zadr “incorrectly.” Worse than antis because they actually participate in the “pro-shipping” side of the fandom. I broke that day and messaged her at 3 am.

We finally spoke at 3pm. We both missed each other. I tried to understand more. I wanted it to be more like a conversation rather than an interrogation. It was only one-sided however, and she never opened up further. And I made some mistakes and poor choices of words, and we ended up parting ways permanently right there. 

I nearly deleted everything, but much like a coma patient attached to many machines on a hospital bed, my blog was kept alive a little longer by people sending kind words in droves. I was briefly fuelled by spite, wishing to watch the world burn by making everyone on the "correct" side of the fandom upset by posting the worst, most vile content this fandom has ever seen.

I was also welcomed with open arms by a very kind server with fellow degenerates, all of them screaming and crying and partying when they managed to get me in their server. It was so heartwarming...

But as I spoke to others about my situation, I realized something. A disturbing pattern.

People telling me horror stories about how Mooping-10 was cult-like. How the people running it were antis. I was even told once that they have a secondary server where they go to have their talks and do their work, likely the place where the real bashing is held.

The server itself has rules against such behavior, but I suppose it's different when they do it.

One person (and this is the most unnerving part for me, personally) told me Melody actually set off alarm bells in their head without having even done anything yet, and the most disturbing part of the story was that one of the moderators was afraid and upset because they got Covid, and received basically no moral support at all. Only getting told "spoiler that. Sorry you got Covid".

I was horrified. That server has 100 people in it. How many of them are the same? They act like popular kids in school who picked up an unpopular main character and then bash others, and the main character joined in because they don't want to be left behind by their new "friends".

To put it short, back to my point:

TL;DR: I simply only wanted to spread the word that: Mooping-10 is filled with people who absolutely cannot be trusted, creating a very hazardous environment for the zadr community, and Melodyofthevoid is connected to all of those people, living a double life amongst those of us that don't "ship zadr correctly". She has plenty of friends her inner circle knows nothing about, and nobody on either side knows who she really is.

[the-girl-in-the-box]

Not Today XXI

A/N: So, I wrote the end of this chapter in April. I had... next to no idea when I was going to get to use it, because all I knew was it would come while they were on the Silk Road, and I don't have a chapter plan for this fic. This chapter ended up being a bit long again, but with the ending scene... I really think it's worth it. I really look forward to seeing what y'all think of this chapter, I personally am very happy with it. I might make a more detailed post about what the ending of this chapter means. Until then, enjoy the update! Skål!

Summary:  When Ivar takes the throne of Kattegat, Lagertha flees to Wessex along with Björn, Ubbe, Torvi, and the Bishop Heahmund. There, they seek the aid of King Alfred. This aid comes in the form of his sister, Aethelind, who agrees to travel to Kattegat and try to reason Ivar, who she spent some time with during their youth, when her grandfather King Ecbert hosted Ragnar Lothbrok in their castle. Now, she is the only hope for Lagertha and her supporters to retake Kattegat from Ivar the Boneless.

Masterlist

--

While Aethelind and Ivar were sitting on the rock, their paths were crossed by a man with a cart, who was making his way down the road. He stopped when he saw them, noticing how the man on the ground was leaning against the rock, his head laid in the woman's lap. Ivar had fallen asleep there, while she was messing with his hair, and she hadn't stopped once he had. They both deserved some peace, she thought, and a little bit of rest. They were far enough along that his brothers wouldn't find them there, not just yet.

When the man stopped, Aethelind looked up at him. He noticed her gaze, and so he asked, "Do you two need help?"

Aethelind shrugged, smiling a little. "We've stopped to rest," she answered. "He has a hurt leg, it was bothering him. We'll be alright."

The man noticed the crutch then, and he nodded slowly. He had no way of knowing that this wasn't the full truth, that a 'hurt leg' was really two legs which wouldn't well support Ivar's weight. But, he knew that someone who was injured wouldn't be able to easily travel along the road. That was just common sense.

"Where are you two going?" he questioned then, and Aethelind kept her smile warm. Ivar was beginning to stir due to the conversation.

"We're just wanderers," she said vaguely. "So... wherever the road and the gods take us, I suppose." Ivar gave a little hum as his eyes opened, and he looked up at her. She made a quick decision, to keep their identities secret. "Hello, sleepyhead," she said sweetly to Ivar, and leaned down to kiss his forehead affectionately. The look he gave her was very confused, but the man couldn't see his expression, fortunately. Before he could ask anything, she said, "I was just telling this man here about our travels, how we've turned ourselves over to the gods to see where they'll take us."

Ivar was quick, thankfully, and he nodded. "Ah, of course," he said. "And what else have you been discussing?" In other words, Catch me up, so I know what not to say.

"I told him how you've hurt your leg," she answered. She looked back up at the newcomer, and easily said, "I don't know if you're married, but finding my husband lying there with a broken leg just about broke my heart."

Ivar wanted to look at her with the extreme What?! he'd thought, but he merely hummed and gave her a tight smile.

"Well, if you're just wandering," the man said. "I'm on my way to the Silk Road. I've got some trading to do along it, but I could give you two a ride, if you'd like. Don't want to make a hurt man walk more than he needs."

Immediately, Ivar felt like protesting. But Aethelind saw the opportunity this presented, and so she grinned, nodding eagerly. "You're truly a blessing from the gods, sir," she said. "Thank you." With that, she stood up, and Ivar let out a little sound of protest as if he wanted her to come back. She took his crutch and offered it to him, so he could get to his feet. He wasn't wearing any of his braces, though, and so he gave her a look as if to ask, What do you want me to do with that?

Aethelind grimaced as she realised this, and looked to the leg braces, still abandoned at the river. He'd risk really breaking a leg, if he stood right now. So, she went and grabbed his arm braces, and brought those to him. While he put those on, she collected his leg braces and put them on the cart.

"What are those?" the man questioned curiously, and Aethelind chuckled softly.

"Oh, these? We stopped back in Kattegat and had them made to help his leg," she lied. "They've done wonders for his mobility while he's hurt, but..." She gave a shrug. "They can only do so much before we still need to rest, hm?"

Ivar blinked a few times as he heard her effortlessly crafting this cover story. She was brilliant, and he wondered where exactly she learned to cover so well. Perhaps it was at court. After all, he'd heard that the English courts had a tendency to be rather... complicated, he supposed one could say. She must have gotten good at covering for her absences, or other various infractions while there.

Once his arm braces were on, Ivar flipped himself over, and crawled up to the cart, which he managed to pull himself up onto with a little of her help in stabilizing the thing. Just to sell the story that he was her husband, she rubbed his leg affectionately, and gave him a little kiss on the cheek. The man gave a small nod, and went to his horse to start her off again. "What are your names?" the man called back.

And, here was the part Aethelind wasn't sure of. The only Norse names she knew were those which would surely be recognized. Ivar, however, was quick to answer the man. "My name is Erik," he said. "My wife is Ingrid." Thankful for the quick thinking on his part, Aethelind reached over and took his hand, giving it a grateful squeeze. He smiled at her a little, prompting her to smile in return.

"Erik and Ingrid," the man said. "My name is Gunnar."

"It's good to meet you, Gunnar," Aethelind replied, and settled in against Ivar. He wrapped his arm around her instinctively, then, which earned a smile from the Shieldmaiden.

For a few weeks, they travelled with Gunnar, who was quite a kind man they both realized. He was older than them both by quite a few years, closer in age perhaps to Ivar's parents. Any question he asked, they were able to come up with an answer for easily between themselves, and so it never came to be suspicious to him, their background.

Each night, the small group would stop, have dinner together- some sort of stew usually prepared off of what they could find around. Aethelind and Gunnar would hunt, and Ivar would get a fire started. They’d come back, put it together with some of the rations Gunnar had brought, and share the meal amongst themselves.

After they would eat, they’d all settle in to sleep, and according to the tale they told, Aethelind would sleep very near to Ivar. As the nights grew colder, Ivar’s legs began to ache more, and it became harder for him to sleep. One night, as he laid there trying to get comfortable- failing to do so- he noticed something different.

Aethelind was shaking in her sleep, the cold seeping into her just as it was him. He chanced a glance down at Gunnar, noticed the man was sleeping still, and so he flipped onto his stomach and crawled to her. Putting his hand over her mouth, he shook her gently, and whispered her name to wake her.

The Shieldmaiden woke with a start, looking at him with wide eyes before she recognized him, and relaxed. “What is it?” she whispered to him. He gestured with his hand for her to follow him, and he crawled back to where he had been laying. She did as he said, and when he laid down, with one arm out, she gave him a confused look.

“You were shaking,” he answered her as softly as he could. “It is cold, and you should not freeze here.”

She smiled softly and nodded, before lying beside him. Ivar wrapped an arm around her, and she gave a soft hum as she settled in. “Thank you,” she whispered, looking up at him in the dark. “For noticing.”

Ivar gave the sort of noncommittal shrug which spoke of his reluctance to accept the gratitude. “I was also cold,” he said, and she chuckled softly.

“Of course,” she teased. “Well, then I’m very glad I was able to assist you.”

He rolled his eyes in an amused sort of way, and reached with his free arm to grab his cloak, covering them both with it. “Go to sleep, Shieldmaiden,” he said. “We have long travels ahead.”

“Very well, Boneless,” she whispered in response. She let her hand come up to cup his cheek briefly. “Sleep well.” Her hand moved down to rest on his chest as she closed her eyes and settled in to sleep, unaware entirely of how that little action had made him stay up, deep in thought, the rest of the night.

Gunnar made no comment about the pair the next morning, about having woken to find them lying together for the first time on their trip. Truthfully, he had been a bit surprised when they slept apart each night, seeing as they were husband and wife. Or, so they said.

He hadn’t told them that he had come from Kattegat. Gunnar was a trader, had meant to set up there, and had arrived mere hours after the battle. Seeing there was no market set up, he left some supplies for the wounded, and moved along. The rest Ivar and Aethelind had taken gave him enough time to catch them, though he hadn’t meant to.

News in the city had been that Ivar the Boneless was on the move, with his Prophet at his side. Gunnar hadn’t ever seen Ivar or the Prophet with his own eyes, but finding a man who had to crawl, or walk with braces on his leg and a crutch, with a woman at his side… He was nearly certain he had stumbled upon Ivar the Boneless and his Prophet.

If he ignored the warning signs of the truth of this matter, pictured the pair as a loving wife with her injured husband, he could lull himself into a false sense of security, and so that was what he tried to do. Most times, it worked. But every once in a while, something would happen to break that illusion. Something such as the pair not sleeping side by side, as a Viking man likely would do with his wife, regardless of company.

As they travelled the next day, something happened which made him unable to pretend any longer.

‘Erik’ and ‘Ingrid’ were sitting on the back of his cart as usual as they went along the Silk Road, and he saw the excitement in the former’s eyes as he looked around at all he saw. They’d stopped at one stand, and the merchant had let a bird walk up his arm. The woman who called herself Ingrid had grinned, told the man who was probably Ivar that he looked quite handsome with that bird on his shoulder, and he had teasingly asked her if that meant he was not normally handsome.

All had been well for a while, until they’d finally come to a stretch of land where there were no merchants, no markets for quite a few miles. Ivar had fallen quiet, and Aethelind noticed this. Taking his hand, she whispered to him, “What’s on your mind, love?”

He gave her hand a small squeeze and looked up at the horizon they seemed to be travelling ever away from. “Freydis would have liked that bird, I think,” he commented.

Aethelind swallowed at the mention of her. “She would have,” she agreed. “Do you remember that blue dress she wore? With the red in it?” Ivar nodded. “Its colors reminded me of that dress.”

Ivar gave a tight lipped smile, and nodded with a quiet, “Hm.”

Things were quiet for a few moments, and Aethelind finally whispered, “Do you think things would have been different if I had come in a few moments sooner?”

At this point, Gunnar was certain they had fought in Kattegat. Whether that meant they were Ivar and the Prophet, he didn’t know just yet. It was possible ‘Erik’s leg had been broken in the battle, and they’d fought for Ivar, and so run from Björn Ironside before the battle ended. Hearing them speak now of a ‘Freydis’, which he knew had been the name of Ivar’s queen, had him certain at least that they’d been on the Boneless King’s side.

“You might have changed nothing,” Ivar said, holding her hand a little tighter. “You’d have had to have gone instead of me.”

She sighed. “Wish I had. I’d rather he separated from her by choice, rather than by death.”

Ivar gave a sigh. “It is by choice,” he said. “We all made choices that have led us to where we are. She chose to betray the King. You chose to let me go to her instead, and she chose to confess to me. I chose to spare her the humiliation of being tried for treason.”

Aethelind huffed at his answer. “You could have chosen to spare her entirely,” she said. His brows lifted as he looked at her, and noticed for the first time the hardness of anger in her eyes.

“You know I loved her,” he began. She laughed bitterly and released his hand, dropping off the still moving cart so she could walk alongside it. Surprise showed on his face. “What? Are you angry with me now, hm?”

She laughed a little louder. “Of course I am angry!” she confirmed. “You didn’t have to do what you did! I chose to save you because I care for you, and because I could not save her. But I loved her too. I sat behind her when she delivered Baldur, I cared for her when he passed. Did you never notice how, some mornings, she and I would appear together? Those were the mornings after the nights she would forego her bed, and come to me.”

Ivar realized she had mentioned the name of his son, of the son of Ivar the Boneless, in addition to them both freely saying Freydis’s name. He hissed out her false name, trying to get her attention, to warn her, as they walked along. But she took this as him trying to silence her, and so she snapped, “No! No, I get to be angry about this! I spent my nights after Baldur’s death with Freydis in my bed, holding her and comforting her because you could not accept what had happened!”

“Ingrid,” he tried again, his eyes widened and stressed. The cart had stopped moving, and she had simply stopped with it, still continuing to fume.

“I had no idea of what she intended to do,” Aethelind continued on, ignoring his warning once more. “But I do understand why she did it. Instead of coming along beside her, you turned against her and blamed her for his death! I saved you because I couldn’t take losing one more person, but that doesn’t mean I’m blind to your role in her death, Iv-”

“You’re Ivar the Boneless.”

Aethelind froze in the middle of her words, holding Ivar’s gaze for a moment as she suddenly realized what he’d been trying to tell her. His eyes closed and his jaw tensed, and she turned to face Gunnar.

“And you’re the one they call the Prophet,” he said.

She swallowed hard, eyes narrowing. “And if we are?” she questioned. Her hand was on her sword now, in case he caused trouble.

“You are,” Gunnar said. “I had my suspicions when I first picked you up, but my suspicions were weak enough, filled with enough doubt, that I couldn’t be certain. I am now, though.”

Almost in the blink of an eye, Aethelind had drawn her sword and grabbed Gunnar, holding the sword to his throat. “If you breathe a word of this, you’re a dead man,” she hissed. “We’ve come too far now to let a merchant be our downfall.”

Gunnar swallowed hard as he looked down at her sword, and then into her eyes. “I won’t tell,” he promised. Her eyes stared back into his, debating on what he said.

“Ivar,” she called, without turning. “Do you believe this man?”

Ivar hummed from his place on the back of the cart, having turned to see what was happening. Gunnar looked to him, fear evident in his eyes, and Ivar chuckled darkly.

“I believe him for now,” he said. “And there is no one here for him to tell, anyway. Let him live.”

Aethelind pulled her sword away, and sheathed it. “We continue on,” she told Gunnar. 

He nodded and, heart pounding, moved to guide his horse once more. Aethelind returned to her place sitting at Ivar’s side.

“I tried to warn you,” he said.

She replied, “Shut up.”

The first and only warning to Gunnar came that night, as the three were eating dinner as they always did. Aethelind had asked where the nearest town was, acting as if she were merely curious, or hoping to get some better supplies then. Gunnar had, out of fear of what would happen if he lied, answered her honestly.

They finished their meals and settled in for the night, with Aethelind curling up against Ivar’s side as had become habit for the pair.

Once Gunnar had fallen asleep, Ivar turned to whisper to Aethelind, “We need to break off from him. He is a risk now that we cannot take.”

She nodded a little, and rolled up so she was looking down at Ivar. If Gunnar woke, so long as she spoke quietly, it would appear to him that they were merely sharing a moment, that perhaps Ivar and his Prophet had… more than a strictly professional relationship.

“I agree,” she replied. “I’m going to get your braces. Put them on, and get ready to leave with your crutch. We’ll get rid of him and take his money. We can use it for something in the next town.”

Ivar nodded to agree with her plan, though secretly, he was concerned about her willingness to do something like this. Gunnar had never been unkind to them- quite the opposite, in fact. He was a kind man, one who didn’t deserve what was happening to him. But that was the tragedy, wasn’t it? Aethelind hadn’t deserved to lose her closest friend, at his hands.

With his approval, Aethelind silently got up, brought his crutch and the lighter of the braces, and then returned with the heavier. He began to put them on as he watched her go to Gunnar, and kneel beside him. He was sleeping on his back, blissfully unaware, and she swallowed.

Ignoring the twisting in her heart, Aethelind prayed silently for forgiveness before she unsheathed her sword, and slit his throat. His death was mercifully quick, and would have been painless for the most part, assuming he never woke.

She searched his body for money, and found some, which she tucked away on her person before going to his cart. Finding the rest of the money he had stashed away, she put that on the horse, and released the cart from her.

The sound of Ivar’s crutch approaching told her everything she needed to know, and she turned to see him approaching her, on his feet once more. Admittedly, she was glad to see him walking again. It felt good to see.

“Why are you taking the horse?” he asked her, and she answered,

“We’ll sell her. The more money we have, the better.”

Ivar nodded, and they set off down the road once more.

As it turned out, Gunnar’s directions to the next town had been entirely accurate, and once there they easily sold his horse to the first stable they found, and collected quite a large amount for her.

There was an inn in that little town, and so Ivar and Aethelind chose to stop in there for the night. They got warm meals and a cup of ale each with some of the money, but their presence had drawn attention. Even if news of the events in Kattegat hadn’t yet reached this far, people knew who Ivar the Boneless was, knew how to recognize him by the braces he wore on his legs, and the crutch he required to walk. Like Gunnar, they couldn’t be certain of the man in this inn’s identity, but they could have their suspicions, and they could discuss them as such.

Aethelind bought them a room for the night, keeping to the story that they had initially given Gunnar, and they were provided the key along with their meals. She noticed the gazes of many people on them, but one particular group of people caught her eye. It was a group of men, all armed, and they were almost unnerving. Not enough for her to heed Ivar’s warnings not to approach them, but enough to actually make her feel the need to do so.

“So, what are you lot, then?” she asked, stopping at their table and leaning on it. The men sitting there chuckled a little as they looked up at her.

“I can be a king if that’s what you want, sweetheart,” one of them answered, but the glare from her shut him up quickly.

“Met kings. Fought kings. Titles don’t impress,” she said sharply. “I asked what you are, not what you could be. Are you lot sellswords?”

“We are,” one confirmed, and she looked to him then. “You looking to buy?”

Without so much as a word, she put the coin purse she’d pulled from Gunnar’s body on the table, and watched them all look at it.

“Meet me back here in the morning,” she said. “I’ll tell you what we need, and if you choose to let us hire you, I’ll give you half the rest then. The full amount will be paid upon completion of service.”

“See you in the morning then, Princess,” the one who seemed to be their leader almost sneered. Her own sword was pulled and pointed at his throat in a flash.

“Call me that again, and you don’t live to see a coin more,” she threatened, and then returned to Ivar. “Erik, let’s go.”

Ivar got up and followed her to their room, shooting a glare at the man who’d attempted twice to flirt with Aethelind. He took her hand with his free one to make a point.

Finally getting to shave off the beard he’d grown on this journey was something Ivar hadn’t realised he’d looked so forward to, but he really had. He’d done it while Aethelind was getting into bed, so when he came and got in beside her, she laughed and ran her fingers over the freshly smoothed skin.

“Ivar the Boneless,” she quipped. “Welcome back.”

The next morning, they met the sellswords and struck an agreement. They would travel to the end of the Silk Road with Ivar and his Prophet, which Aethelind and Ivar had elected to confirm for them were their identities, and ensure they arrived safely. It ended up being the fame of having served Ivar the Boneless which won them over, and so they set out.

Using some of the money they had left, Aethelind bought something of a rolling seat for Ivar’s use, which they attached to one of the horses the sellswords had. Settled in, they continued their journey north.

One night, as Ivar and Aethelind laid how they always did, he found himself unable to sleep. The past months were replaying in his mind again and again, along with the argument he and Aethelind had had.

He didn’t realise she was awake, when he first began to speak to her. Her face wasn’t visible with the way he was holding her, his chin resting on the top of her head. They hadn’t been this far north yet in their travels, and he was glad for the extra warmth she provided. Unknown to him, she was also glad for the extra warmth he provided.

Aethelind thought, perhaps, he had unknowingly saved her. She hadn’t brought any of her furs from Kattegat, any of the thick dresses she had gained while there. Only her sword hung at her side, and as they travelled, his cloak wrapped around her shoulders. He’d given it to her to wear after the first night they’d shared its warmth. And so throughout the day, it was as if his warmth protected her from falling to the cold. And at night, she knew it may as well have only been his warmth which saved her.

But, it was also her warmth which saved him. The way her eyes had pleaded with him to go, to escape from the longhouse, and to escape Kattegat before his brothers came, was incredible. He had always remembered the softness in her eyes when she said goodbye to him, when they were still children in Wessex. This was the first time he had seen such softness reflected in her eyes again. That day, she had promised to miss him. And then, years later, she promised not to lose him.

Ivar couldn’t understand why. She had seen the worst of him, as King of Kattegat. Everything he did there, those he killed for no purpose, those he’d had killed, what he’d done to his own son…

He swallowed hard as he tried to shut out the memories of Baldur’s quiet cries in the forest, and later still the dead silence when his cries of hunger and thirst finally ceased, until it was broken by Freydis’s sobs at the loss of their son.

As if the closeness to her could chase these thoughts away, Ivar pressed his face into her hair, before taking a deep breath. The way she shifted, as if to accommodate his movement, made him swallow hard.

It was so like her to silently accommodate, to do what needed doing without a word, and it was just the right thing to push Ivar over the edge.

Silent tears rolled down his cheeks as he held her tighter to himself, and he would never know the way her heart ached as she felt him let out that first sob. Nor would he know how she hated the pain in the words that spilled from his lips.

“Why did you do this?” His words were barely a whisper, and yet so clear to her, as clear as ice. “After all I have done, why do you stay, hm? I killed your closest friend. She died by my hands, her blood stains my hands, and yet you choose to follow me into the cold and dark?” His voice was rough, and cracking, under the emotion, and just slightly irritated, as if he felt weak for the display. She knew his voice well enough now, just as well as she knew him, to know he was not angry with her, but himself, at the regret in his chest.

He continued, “I cannot understand you. You came to me disheveled, having struggled to be at my side, after the pain I caused you. You think I missed the betrayal in your eyes, when you came to my side. So why do you stay? I called you a prophet, but I begin to believe you truly must be so. What do you know that has not yet come to pass? What have you seen?” She swallowed back the tears that wanted to fall at his broken pleas for answers, the strangled confessions that only barely escaped.

“Why do you gift me with your loyalty? I don’t deserve it… I don’t deserve you, my sweet Shieldmaiden. My Asta, I don’t deserve you.”

That one word, Aethelind had not yet learned. Asta. Her mind pondered its meaning even as Ivar fell asleep beneath her finally, until the steady rise and fall of his chest eventually lulled her to sleep as well. But until then, no thought filled her mind other than what that word might have meant, and why he had called her by it.

Asta- from the Old Norse ást (n.) meaning, “love”.

--

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[stuckinapatriarchalbullshitland]

Lauren’s Attunement/// The Catharsis of the Dark Diary (Long ass post)

Ah ... I really don't know how much I could say about this Attunement that I decided to separate into two parts and notice that I am going to deviate a bit from my original intention to make some clear points because there is a lot to get out of what Lauren has said. With that in mind I hope it is not too confusing to read.

First part: Cancellation Culture

I think our moonchild has been perfectly clear on this point. "We are living in a very sick world" "In a world in great need of healing and that will not do so through the culture of cancellation." Cancellation culture sucks, folks. A twisted idea of ​​exposing things from the past of people who have not been good and that people have become accustomed to criticizing as if all those who criticize were a mirror of virtue and perfection when nobody is perfect and Lauren also mentions that in your Attunement. Lauren also mentions that we cannot hold people accountable for their mistakes because it is the most important part of the process. And it is a truth like a cathedral. People who make mistakes need to take responsibility for their actions so that they don't make them again. It is necessary to learn from it and improve as people and heal. In the part where Lauren mentions that she would never publicly embarrass the people she loves, she reminded me of Camila. I did not want to mention Camila in this because we know that Lauren has also been humiliated but if we talk about the cancellation culture that part goes to Camila. Camila has been a victim of the culture of cancellation long before leaving the band and they have made Twitter threads, blaming her with a racist past for which she has apologized many times but still drag her to hell, no matter what. Camila has haters who love to fuck her and Lauren knows it too. She has known it forever and a clear example is (I'm not going to put a screenshot because it would distract me) the tweet where someone calls Camila ugly and Lauren responds to that hater saying: "Hello, can you show me a picture of you? " It is these details that make us understand that everything she sees on the internet in relation to her and her loved ones affects her a lot and what she says when she talks about the online world where we are all the time, is bullshit. She says that it's not that you can't do what makes you beautiful, that she's fine with it, but also the people who are watching don't know that shit is fake and that people aren't happy with who they are. "That when they look in the mirror they don't love themselves." And I think she hit the spot there too, folks. She has perfectly outlined a hater's profile. The lack of love of those people who have found an escape route to their frustrations, to what is wrong with their lives, that makes them what they are. Because as she says, we live in a screwed up world, it's true but the point is, how the hell have we got to this point? How do we get to this point where the human being has lost humanity and has become shadows of hatred and rejection that lives by making Twitter threads and canceling people to feel better about themselves? And then Lauren talks about Trump. She mentions Trump as a symptom of lack of love. And again she is not wrong. Donald Trump's life was never very happy. With an authoritarian father who always preferred his eldest son to follow the legacy of his family and perpetuate the name of it, when this son did not want that pressure, the father banished the eldest son and all the shit fell on Trump. The only other male in the family. Trump is that man's mirror. From that egomaniac, controlling, arrogant, undoubtedly macho and racist father because he has really shown it. Trump lives on appearances. To demonstrate something that is not and to hide its shortcomings in a marked narcissism.

Another thing that strikes me about what she has said and another truth is also that we no longer love each other because we do not know where we are standing. And that is also true, we do not know who we are because others dictate who we are. They dictate what to say, what to eat, what music to listen to, what television series to watch until we become cattle. We have lost our ability as individual beings to fit the mold of livestock just to give us the feeling of feeling connected, as if we were part of something. Part of a whole that is still controlled. From this part Lauren begins to talk about what she has written in her diary so I will continue with the second part, but to close this one, I can only say that many of the things she mentions are a reflection of what we are doing living, of what we are suffering and our own fragility as a human species.

Second part: Black Diary and Amy's Shadow

I think we have a concept of great artists as broken human beings, wrapped in dramas and additions that actually "help" perfectly in their art. Where, the more chaos there is in their lives, the more geniuses they become. And I think Amy can be an example of that. And talking about her, because I'm going to start by talking about her and then I'm going to express my thoughts about Lauren. I remember responding to an ask yesterday saying that I was terrified when Lauren said she felt identified with her because their lives were a kind of parallel. And then I thought better of it and realized that yes, both lives have that parallel but with a difference, Lauren has what Amy never had. An emotional support network. Good friends. Amy's life was marked by rejection, mockery, the circus that was her life where her art was in the background and her voice was shattered to make way for the addicted, alcoholic Amy, where her greatest achievement was to climb to a drugged and drunk stage, with glasses of wine that she drank live and her show was to demonstrate her weakness so that others made fun of her. Her parents perpetuated that shit because it gave them money, and as long as she made money, at the cost of her own physical and mental health, nothing else mattered. Being an artist is not only knowing how to sing, dance, write, paint and be good at all kinds of artistic expression, but it is much more than that. Being an artist is breaking yourself into pieces and giving them to your fans to do with those pieces what they want. It is giving more than what nobody will give you in return. And Amy got broken. They broke her into thousands of pieces and they all jumped like vultures wanting a piece of her until she ceased to exist because they never gave her a chance to rebuild herself. They never gave her a chance to learn to love herself to be able to heal because they didn't want a healthy Amy because that didn't sell. They were only served by her pain because she filled their bank accounts, those of her friends, those of her managers, those of the entertainment tabloids. Those of her boyfriends. The ones from her own fucking parents. And so far we can draw parallels with Lauren. It is possible that our moonchild has had or is having her problems with her mother, or with her record label, or with whatever she is having problems and is dealing with right now, but at least she does not have a family that just supports her and is there for the money she may or may not earn. And yes, she mentioned many fears at first before reading the newspaper, but at least she has had a chance to regroup when she needs to. Lauren has the ability to heal herself, her own will thanks to her own strength. Because even if you are afraid of breaking or feeling pain, you have to feel it. You have to hit rock bottom to learn how to get out of there. You have to go to the extreme of falling enough to know that your own will, your own inner strength is so great that it helps you to rise not only once, but a thousand times if necessary. And she has that ability. I believe and have always said it, you already know it. That the real problem, or part of it, is not Lauren's fragility because that is bullshit. Lauren is a strong girl but at the same time she has this angel, this kind of kindness that really does not go well in an environment as rotten and toxic as the industry. Lauren Jauregui does not fit molds. She cannot follow rules if she considers that they are not fair and that people in the industry do not like because they lose their ability to manipulate it. There is a reason that her song Toy has disappeared, folks. Lauren is still an artist and of course she too falls into the concept of what it means to be an artist, breaking herself into pieces and giving those pieces to us who are her fans. And since we have a piece of it, perhaps we create ourselves with the right to demand more from her because we are not satisfied with what she gives us and we criticize her for it. The worst fans are capable of fucking her and haters are able to write Twitter threads exposing what they hate about her.

That would scare anyone, folks. Even if you are not an artist. There is a Lauren Gif that I posted on the blog as part of a set of images related to Camren. In that gif Lauren looks at the audience with such a raw expression on her face saying something like: "You who are there screaming like crazy, with your perfect lives while I am being pressured to the point of breaking and you just want more" (I put the only screenshot because I don't have the GiF image at hand)

This GiF is something that always caught my attention and since I have known Lauren she knew that there was something else with her. I met her as the bad girl, the bitch one. That image that appeared to conform to Tyren. And then her smile disappeared. I remember when I joined the fandom where one of my first posts about PR circuses was to ask myself: Why do girls look so fucked up? Why is Lauren so sad or why has her smile disappeared? And then there were those weird videos where she seemed like "haunted", like outside of herself and that agreed with the time that she had to stunt for Tyren and always seemed to be the same dynamic with her. And then it was not only me who realized that Lauren was not well, but also other mutuals and we kept repeating the same thing to the bastards on her team: "Lauren is not well, please take care of her " That was something that we repeated a thousand times with Lauren and then also with Camila because it always caught my attention that the two of them were equally fucked at the same time. Before I knew that Lauren had her problems with her family, I also noticed that separation. I think I received a bit of shit after expressing my thoughts but in the end, I was never wrong because Lauren herself has expressed it and I think if I had been in the fandom long before 2018 I would have noticed it too. This has been a very emotional Attunement on Lauren's part and I told her in a tweet, as her fan has been a privilege to have witnessed that. It is a privilege to be a fan of a girl with a huge heart who has flaws that make her more human than other people and who has grown enough to know that she can continue to do so. With this post I have tried to be respectful and say that, although I do not know her, we connect in a special way because we have almost the same way of thinking in many aspects (although I do not agree in many others) and I think that still does most important to me. About the newspaper. It reminded me of the lost diary topic, but apparently she has more than one. Who knows. I remember my period of having diaries in my teens and I appreciate that because it made me realize that writing would be an important part of my life. If there is one way I am good at expressing myself it is writing, and no, not in English so I apologize for the mistakes. There is one last detail of Lauren's Attunement that goes a bit more on the personal side. When she says: "To be a real one, is to be an emotional one". I have always had a conflict with being emotional. Starting with my zodiac sign (yes, I know it's a bit silly to believe in that but it amuses me). As a Pisces, I am an emotional being. As a physically disabled person I have my limitations and although these limitations do not define me, I have always had a fierce fight with my vulnerable side. I hate depending on others, physically and emotionally. I also hate getting sick and others having to take care of me when I'm unable to do it on my own, that's why I don't get along with my emotional side. Excessively emotional and I prefer to be more cerebral in many aspects (I think you have noticed that my favorite word this year has been brainless people, right) and dependency is something that I can't stand on myself. That they depend on me does not matter, I am always for those who need me but being dependent is something I tend to avoid like pests. Relying on others to do things for you, depending on the affection of other people ... my family (except my mother) was never very affectionate to say, it was not impulsively hugging you or public displays of affection and I learned to be the same . But I also learned to give what others did not give me. And it cost me. That of leaving the mold of a family that is there and that sometimes worries but that others can leave you and not know what you are doing on any given day. A family that demands expectations. At least some of my uncles. I think that in that part I feel identified with Lauren and it is curious because I am adopted but she is not. And still I feel identified with Lauren and at the same time with Camila and the relationship that she has with her mother, which is almost an exact copy of the relationship that I had with my mother throughout my childhood and adolescence. I guess that's why I follow them both, apart from because I love the music of both. The last detail and I already stop talking about me because this post is about Lauren. What she talks about the industry, the molds, how female artists within the industry are treated. That was also an important aspect because here we are, always complaining about the fact that female artists are undervalued and punished twice as much as a male artist because the music industry is misogynous and macho. That's true.

Society tends to forgive the mistakes of male artists who sometimes do more reprehensible things than female artists and all the mistakes of those female artists (Leigh-Ann of LM throwing shade at Camila) come to light more times and they are more hated. That is a part of the industry that I have always hated and that makes me sad at the same time because it always affects our girls. And I don't know what else I have left to say that I haven't already said, I hope I wasn't too confused with my ideas but it was something I had to write about and I've taken my time to do that. I don't know if Lauren is ever going to read this, but I wanted to thank her. Thanks moonchild. Thank you for giving us that piece of you that makes you vulnerable so that we know it. Thank you for being yourself, for teaching us that we can heal and continue to grow. Thank you for that beautiful mind of yours that has so much to express and deliver to this screwed up world. Don't stop being real, mija. Don't let that light you have go out. I love you so much moonchild ...

sorry for the long reading, folks but it was something I needed to said.

[frostsinth]

Royal Flush - Pt. 10

Part 1|2|3|4|5|6|7|8|9 - MasterList - Art - Art - Art - Art - Art - Art - Art - Art (so much Art...)

This chapter brought to you in part by Morgana; Also, every additional part. She’s demanded to be co-director. There’s no way to say “No”. I’m sorry.

I was GOING to wait until tomorrow to post this. But I just finished the cliff hanger at the next chapter, and... just... really wanted to post this part.

I’m thinking that... it might end up being a 12 parter... I’m not sure if there’s anything more than part 12. I’ll know by the time I post part 11, and I’ll let you guys know. The end is in sight, and I do hope that’s ok with everyone... But buckle in. It won’t be an easy ride.

Check out my MasterList above for more stories. Want your own, or some art? DM me for details! Check out the #Royal Flush for more notes/art/blurbs about these two bumbling fools.

“Excuse me…umm, sir goblin.”

A momentary pause, followed by a polite if hesitant; “Yes, My Lady?”

“I beg your pardon, but you are the King, yes?”

My heart skipped like a smooth stone across still waters. I eased down the last few steps, walking lightly to stand at the corner. Peering around it. Grier stood with his back to me, and Morgana before him with her hands on her hips. She wasn’t much shorter than him, but still had to tilt her chin up to meet his gaze. I started to round the corner, eager to tell both of them the good news and pleased they were in the same place. But curiosity stilled my feet, something about the determination set into her youthful face, and I lingered momentarily. Not quite hidden… that wouldn’t be very Princely. But they would have to look particularly hard to make me out behind the marble pillars...

“That I am.” I could hear the tiny smile in Grier’s voice. “... Can I be of service?”

“I demand an audience then, Your Majesty.” I almost groaned at her abruptness, and studied her little face for a moment. Intelligent and fierce…. I couldn’t deny it warmed my heart.

Grier hesitated again, but then offered her a small bow. “But of course, Princess. I am at your service… Shall we sit?”

“You know who I am?” She sounded a little surprised, causing her to lose focus momentarily as she followed him to the benches lining the courtyard with a skipping step. I paced a few feet closer. From this angle I could make out both their faces from the side, as long as they were looking forward. But only Morgana’s when they looked at each other.

“Yes… Your brother speaks of you all the time.”

I saw her bottom little lip come out into that stubborn pout of hers. “You mean to say Prince Nikostratus, Your Majesty.” She corrected him, tossing her head slightly so that her soft cloud of curls bounced around her. “You must be more specific. I have two brothers, you know.”

“Yes, forgive me, Princess. I do mean Nikostratus.” I could hear the smirk in his voice.

“Prince Nikostratus.” She corrected again. “You should always use titles, Your Majesty.”

He shrugged his shoulders lightly. “Should I? I’ve never much cared for them.”

I saw another flash of surprise on her face. “... Goblins don’t have titles?”

“We have them.” He replied. “But I think they sound silly to say every time you speak to someone. Takes a lot of extra time that could be spent doing something more fun.”

She thought that over for a second. “... Oh... “ She tilted her head to the side. “I didn’t know Kings liked to have fun... So… What do I call you?”

He chuckled. “I most certainly do, at least. And Grier is fine.” His head tilted to the side. “That is my name, after all. Not ‘King’. Not ‘Your Majesty’.” The goblin looked briefly around the courtyard while she chewed that thought over. Then turned back to her. “And what may I call you?” 

“I am Princess Morgana Delarosa Marie of Geriveria.” She declared, sounding a little proud and puffing up her tiny chest. But then she hesitated, looking up at him thoughtfully. “... But you can call me Morgana, I suppose.”

“Alright then, Morgana,” He replied, and I could hear that his smile had returned to his lips, “What did you want to talk to me about?”

“...Your teeth are all pointy.”

“This is true.”

“Are all goblin teeth pointy?”

“Yes, they are.”

“Do you bite your tongue a lot? Is it hard to chew?” I could hear the curiosity in her voice building. It made me smile.

“Not more often than you might, I would suppose. And no, I can chew quite well. I rather find I enjoy eating.” He cocked his head to the side, amusement lacing his voice. “Is that all you wanted to ask me?”

“No…” She glanced down at her feet, kicking them back and forth for a moment where they dangled off the edge of the bench. “... You’re supposed to marry Niko… right?”

I felt myself stiffen, and my breath caught in my throat as I saw Grier’s head bob slightly in a small nod. “If he’ll have me, yes… Is that alright with you?”

A sudden scowl formed on her lips, and she crossed her little arms over her chest. “No. It’s not.”

I almost broke from my hiding spot at her words. But to my surprise, Grier bowed his head, placing one hand lightly over his heart.

“Forgive me. I am sorry to hear that.” He raised his head slightly. “May I ask why?”

Her scowl deepened. “Because he’s my brother. And I don’t know you! How do I know if he’ll like you? How do I know you’re not going to be mean to him?”

“Well, that is a very good point.” He mused, nodding slightly. “Perhaps if you knew me better, I might be able to earn your permission to marry him. Yes?”

She seemed to think that over for a moment. “... Yeah. That makes sense.”

“What would you like to ask first then, Princess?”

“... I can ask you questions? You don’t mind?”

“Of course! How else do you get to know someone?”

She didn’t even think about that for more than a moment. “You watch them. You listen to what they say, especially if it's not to you, and how they act. You see how they treat people who can’t give them anything.”

“That’s… very astute of you.” Grier sounded surprised.

“A tute?”

“Oh… Astute.” He cleared his throat, chuckling lightly.  “It means… wise. Observant.”

She shuffled her skirts, tilting her head to the side. “You can’t ask questions at court.” Her voice had a practiced patience to it, as if she were the one speaking to a child, and not the other way around. “You can’t say what you’re thinking. People are... mean about it.” Morgana looked up at him through her lashes. “I’m not ever allowed to speak; father says because I’m a Princess… And Val says because I’m still a little girl... But Niko taught me how to learn about people, even if you can’t talk to them.” She kicked her feet back and forth. “Niko says that I should always ask questions. Even if I’m told not to ask them out loud.” She smiled. “He says that if you have a question, you should find the answer, especially if you aren’t allowed to ask the question. He says it must be important, otherwise you wouldn’t have the question in the first place!”

There was silence for a moment, and I wondered what Grier’s face looked like. I could picture it, in my mind’s eye. Long pointed nose, heavy brow. Scarlet eyes and thin lips. But I couldn’t tell what shape his sharp features were forming. No matter how much I stared at the back of his head.

“Then your brother is… very wise.” His voice sounded warm, and my heart fluttered.

“Very a-tute?”

Grier snorted, amused. “Yes, a very astute Prince… But you can ask me questions if you want to. I promise I’ll answer them.”

I heard her soft ‘hmmm’ and almost smiled, leaning against the marble pillar as I listened quietly. I felt a little guilty, not announcing myself. Overhearing such a private conversation. But my curiosity was just too great to resist.

“Do goblins eat people?”

Grier laughed loudly at that. “Of course not! Who told you they did?”

She shrugged her little shoulders. “My old nanny told me that once. But Niko didn’t like her much. I think he dismissed her, but he won’t tell me.” She looked back at Grier. “Do you live in a castle? Will Niko have to live with you?”

He nodded. “I do live in a castle, built into the side of a mountain. And yes… I would very much like for Nikostratus to live with me.”

“Do you have any children?”

“No, I do not.”

“How about sisters? Or brothers?” He shook his head. “If you’re King, does that mean your parents are dead? My father’s parents are dead, and the court says Val won’t be King until my father dies too.”

I would have groaned had I not been making such an effort to remain unseen. Grier gave a quiet chuckle. “My father passed away when I was little, but my mother is still alive.”

“She is?” Her voice sounded curious again, then she fell quiet for a moment. “... My mother died when I was a baby.”

“I am sorry. That must be hard.”

She shrugged again. “I don’t remember her. And Niko doesn’t talk about her much… I think she makes him sad. But I don’t know why.”

“Sometimes, when you love someone, even though they make you happy, not being able to see them makes you sad.” He explained softly. “Sometimes we don’t want to talk about them, because we don’t want to be reminded that we miss them.”

Morgana nodded, kicking her legs again. “... Not seeing Niko makes me sad…” She mumbled quietly, and I felt my heart stop a little at her words. “... I don’t want him to move away forever.”

“I don’t want to take him away from you… But…” He hesitated, and I saw her glance back up at him. “... Being away from him makes me sad too.”

She thought about that. “Does that mean you love him?”

“Yes, I do.” I flushed hot at his words, at his confidence, and shifted restlessly. “... Do you think maybe we can share him?”

“Hmmm.” She looked at him out the side of her eyes. “... Do you like to read?”

He nodded. “Yes. I like to read stories and epic sagas.” He grinned. “If I can sit still long enough to finish them.”

A small smile flicked over her lips briefly. “I like to read too… Do you like to fight? What weapon do you use?”

“Well, I wouldn’t say I like to fight, but I can hold my own.” He replied, leaning back on his hands. “And I like to fight with a rapier. What about you?”

“Father says Princesses shouldn’t be fighting. Princesses should be learning to dance and play instruments and other fine things.” She said, as if reciting from a book. Then she leaned closer conspiratorially. “But Niko taught me to wrestle. And Val is showing me how to use a bow.” She told him in a low whisper.

He chuckled. “Very wise of your brothers. Everyone should be allowed to learn about whatever they want. No matter if they are Princes, or Princesses... Or goblins.” She giggled, smiling up at him. “What else do you like to do?”

“I like to explore. I know every corner of this castle! And I like to climb.” She told him excitedly. “I know how to climb down from my bedroom window and over the castle wall without anyone seeing me!” She stopped suddenly, and hesitated, as if worried he would scold her.

“Well now,” He exclaimed, smirking, and her smile returned, “That is quite mischievous. Are you certain you are not a goblin?” She giggled again. “You would fit right in.”

“... What do goblins like to do for fun?”

He shrugged slightly. “It depends on the goblin, I suppose, just like it depends on the human you ask.”

“What about you, then?”

“I like to talk.” She grinned at him, and I could hear the smile in his voice and imagined he must be making a silly expression based upon the way her eyes lit up. “I like meeting new people. I like holding grand parties and learning about new places. I like to collect exotic and colorful things.”

“Have you been many places?” Her curiosity had completely flooded her face and voice now, and she leaned towards him eagerly.

“A fair few. I can tell you about them sometime, if you’d like.” He returned, then I saw his wild hair shift as he cocked his head to one side. “So? How am I doing?” She shifted, pursing her little lips again as if she just remembered she was supposed to be scowling. “... Do you think I might be good enough for your brother?”

Morgana thought about that for a second, tapping the bench with her fingertips. “I don’t know… Niko doesn’t really like any of those things.” She grinned. “He hates meeting new people.”

Grier laughed again. “I have seen that… Well, you’ve known him longer than me. What does he like?”

Her smile returned. “He likes to read, like me. He hides in the library when he wants to be alone. I think he likes it when it’s quiet, but he never seems to mind when I’m there too.” She seemed to bounce in her seat, getting more excited with every word. “And he likes riding, and fighting. The generals all hate him because he can beat them all up. He also likes playing chess. He always beats me at chess.” She tilted her head to the side, thinking. “I don’t know if he likes to, but I like when he hums. He knows a lot of songs.”

“Does he now?” I didn’t like the conspiratorial tone he took, and felt a cold wave wash through me as I wondered how the goblin might use that particular tidbit against me. “I hope I get to hear that someday.”

“He only does it when he thinks he’s alone.” She told him. “When he’s happy, and sometimes when he’s trying to do something very difficult.” Her smile nearly ate up her face. “He says it helps him think sometimes.”

“Well, I don’t believe I’ve ever heard a more sound logic.” His amusement had my face growing hot. I thought about slipping away then. Maybe going around the outside of the courtyard to the other side and pretending I hadn’t heard all this.

“...He doesn’t hum anymore.”

“...No?” 

She shook her head sadly. “He used to hum a lot when I was littler. At least when no one was around. Then he… well… He went away for a while. And when he came back, he stopped humming…”

“Where did he go?” I stiffened at his words, and the quiet sadness in them, shaking my head. I didn’t want to hear this. Didn’t want to be reminded. I gritted my teeth and started to make my quiet escape.

“No one will tell me. But father was very mad when he came back… Val says maybe when I’m older... Niko doesn’t talk about it.”

“I am sorry… It must not have been a very nice place.” I was nearly back to the base of the stairs. “But maybe we can make him happy again, yes? ...Do you think maybe... I could make him happy enough to start humming again?”

I froze in my retreat, my heart thudding. Morgana was studying him thoughtfully when I checked back over my shoulder at them. “... Yeah. You seem nice… I think Niko would like you.” Her grin returned. “But if you want to make him really happy, you have to make him cookies.”

“Cookies?” He echoed in surprise.

She nodded. “Yeah. Niko loves fresh baked lemon cookies. And knives! Get him lots of pretty knives.” Morgana jumped up to her feet, bouncing up and down lightly. “He also likes lilies.” She skipped over to the patch by the wall, pointing them out. “Like these. Though he always says that flowers are supposed to be enjoyed where they live…” She dropped off, her lips pursing as a thought suddenly seemed to occur to her. “I think maybe he told me that so I would stop picking flowers in the Royal Gardens… He seems not to mind when I bring him wildflowers.”

“My dear Morgana, you have given me lots of good advice.” I flushed again at the grin in his voice, and could almost picture it on his lips. “I look forward to utilizing it. I should take your counsel more often. I don’t think anyone knows how to make Nikostratus happier than you.”

“Yeah well…” She slowly walked back over, sitting upon the bench once more, “... I think Niko already likes you a lot… I saw the way he looked at you in the throne room.”

“What do you mean?” He sounded surprised again, and I flushed darker, silently begging Morgana into silence. “He looked… ah… very serious.”

She scoffed, obviously not having heard my prayer. “Well, of course! You can’t let anyone know what you’re thinking; it’s like a game, but it’s not very fun. You have to put on a fake face, and then you keep that face up, until you leave. Niko’s very good at it.” She put her hands on her hips, puffing up her chest. “But I know Niko. I can see through his fake face.”

“... And what did you see?” He sounded curious despite himself.

She drooped a bit, looking up at him. She brought up a finger to bite at the nail. “When he was worried about something, he would look at you. And he took attacks meant for you, and stood in front of you when... when someone looked like they might try to be mean.” She dropped her hand. “That’s what he does for me. So that must mean he likes you. Cuz I know he loves me.”

“I see…” I couldn’t quite fathom the tone he replied with, but it made my heart flutter. I swallowed hard. There was not much more I could take of this. “So… does that mean you’ll share your brother with me?”

“I guess I have to, huh? Since he seems to like you… But you seem fun, so that’s ok...” Morgana stopped suddenly, looking down at her hands in her lap. “... Can I come with you to your castle?”

He hesitated, shifting in his seat. “... What did Nikostratus say?”

She sighed. “Last time I asked he said ‘when I’m older’. But I was thinking about it, and I am older now than when he told me that.”

Grier rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, we would both love to have you come to the castle with us… But we’d need to ask your father.”

Morgana groaned, dropping her head back. “I thought you were a King too! Why can’t you just order them to let me come with you?”

“I may be King, but that doesn’t mean I always get to do whatever I want.”

“It doesn’t?”

He shook his head. “No. It means I have a big responsibility. To protect my people. To always do what’s right for them. I have the power to make the world a better place. I can’t use that power to be selfish all the time.” He nudged her foot with his. “Otherwise I wouldn’t be a very good King, or a very good person.” I heard his smile returning. “And if I’m not a good person, I can’t marry Nikostratus…. Which I very much want to do.”

Morgana fell silent, thinking about that. “... Niko is a Prince, you know... and he’s a very good Prince.” She told Grier quietly. “But… Sometimes I think he’s too good. Sometimes…” She hesitated, and I saw his head bob to encourage her on. “... Sometimes I think everything he does … is just to make other people happy. He doesn’t do things to make himself happy…” She kicked her feet back and forth again, looking down at her once polished shoes, now scuffed with dirt. “I thought… Maybe if he wasn’t a Prince anymore… if he was just a regular adult… He might get to be happy.” She looked up at him. “Or I thought maybe… since you are a King, he could be a King. And then he could finally do what he wants…” She smiled sadly. “And I think he wants me to come stay with him. But he can’t. Because a good Prince doesn’t disobey his King…”

My heart ached, and I looked down at my feet. Feeling heavy for having laid such worries on the shoulders of my precious little sister. I had thought I was hiding it well from her. Thought I was keeping her safe, and happy… I should have known she was far too perceptive to believe those little white lies I told her all along. Though honestly… perhaps they had always been more for my benefit than hers. I rubbed at the back of my neck, swallowing hard.

“You are the light of your brother’s life,” Grier assured her, his voice soft but firm, “He told me himself. He wants you to come back with us. To stay with us…” He sighed. “The fact that he must choose between you and me is the only weight on my own happiness right now… I wish he did not. And if it were up to me… I would tell him to choose you. Because no one makes him happier than you do. And you’re right… he doesn’t do the things he should to make himself happy.”

“I’d tell him to choose you!” She argued, putting her hands on her hips. “Because I think you can make him happy too. I’ve seen it! And I’ll be a grown up soon, and I’ll go off and fight dragons and see far off places…” She looked up at him through her dark lashes, seeming far older than her nine years in that moment. “But you’ll stay with him. And make him happy when I’m gone.”

I could take no more, and composed myself. Kicking the gravel beneath my boots loudly to announce my presence.

“And where, praytell, little chickadee, do you think you are going?” I asked, my voice stern, stepping out from behind the pillars and striding forward as if I had just come down the stairs. “And what’s this about ‘dragons’ I hear?”

“Niko!” She nearly squeaked, bounding from the bench and sprinting over.

I scooped her up in my arms, hardly breaking stride. Giving her the proper hug I had longed to give her since I had first seen her at court... All the tighter for having overheard them. My heart was heavy, and my head swirled with their words. But I couldn’t keep the small smile from my face as she wrapped her arms about my neck, squeezing so tightly I had to reach up a hand to loosen her death grip in order to breathe properly. Grier stood more slowly, and I saw a small smile on his own face as he turned towards us. I walked over to him, my smile suddenly fading into a shy shadow of its former self as I remembered my last words to him. My eyes dropped to our feet, and I swallowed nervously.

“... I hope you aren’t telling the goblin King all my secrets, little chickadee?” I intoned, my voice as light as I could manage it given the circumstances. I stepped out into the courtyard proper and watched Grier sidle a few steps closer. “Though... I am glad you two have been able to make each other’s acquaintance.”

I hoped he noticed the softness of my tone. The words I didn’t have the strength to speak. I hoped the weight of my guilty conscience didn’t leak into my voice. I chanced a peek at him through my dark lashes.

“Oh, just a few dark secrets.” Grier scoffed, teasing with a wave of his hand, and I felt a little tension leave my shoulders at it. “Nothing important, I’m sure.”

Morgana giggled at the exchange, finally leaning back to look at me properly. “I like him, Niko. He’s fun, and he’s nice. Just like you said he was in your letters.”

My face flushed darker.  “W-well, if you like him, I-I suppose that is the highest accolade he can receive.” I replied, trying to pretend Grier wasn’t now grinning like a fool at my elbow. “... What was this I heard about a ‘dragon’?” Pretending that was all I had overheard.

“The Princess was just regaling me with her plans to go on adventures to far off lands.” Grier recapped, placing his hands on his hips.

“Is that so?” I looked at her and she smiled, nodding eagerly. “Hmmm. Do you think you could postpone them for a bit?” My small smile twitched with my excitement. “That is... if you still want to come back with us to the goblin castle of course.”

Her eyes went wide, and then her own lips broke into a bright toothed grin. Her responding squeal was so loud it hurt my ear drums and I winced. I would have said something, but had to instead gasp for air as she flung herself back at me, wrapping her little arms tightly around my neck. I glanced over at Grier as she bounced and wiggled in her excitement, and I saw surprise in his own face.

“You mean it, Niko?? I can come?? Father said yes??” She cried.

I had to pry her loose again in order to have enough air for a response. “Valerianus is sending for your things as we speak.” I told her, and glanced at Grier to see if he caught my wording. I saw his lips purse slightly, and my heart skipped. But then he nodded. “We can leave now, if you’re ready.” I breathed with relief, though I wasn’t exactly sure which of them I was asking.

Morgana was of course the one to answer. “YES! YES!” She squealed. “COME ON THEN! Let’s go! Ohmygosh I’m SO EXCITED!!”

I managed a quiet laugh, despite my anxiousness. She wriggled and bounced even more in my arms, but I suddenly felt afraid to put her down. As if she might dart off, or alert the wrong person to our plans. I glanced at Grier again, and he placed his hand on my elbow briefly. As much as he dared while we were here. I was surprised to find an ache forming at the thought of the goblin restraining himself. As I had learned to do. Again I found myself filled with an eagerness to leave. Be gone from these walls before they suffocated the brightness in his scarlet eyes and chiseled him into stone like me. I clutched my sister closer to me, hoping it wasn’t too late to keep the same fate from befalling her, nodding to him again.

I led the way out of the courtyard and back to the main gates. I was pleased to see the goblins appear, as if out of thin air, lining the path and following us back. I knew they must have been guarding and watching their King, perhaps even me, from the shadows. Now they emerged, their small bodies surrounding us… it made me feel a little safer. I wondered briefly how long Lord Tipp had lasted as Grier’s host, as he was of course no where to be seen, but decided that would be a question for another time. Morgana babbled a thousand questions of her own, endlessly bouncing and twisting in my arms. I still didn’t dare put her down, and tried my best to respond to her as much as I was able, as I was still consumed with worry. Afraid that my hopes would be crushed, and the light of my life would be ripped from my arms before we could whisk her away to safety.

I caught sight of Valerianus as we approached the carriage, squaring off with Damjan. I swallowed hard, my heart skipping a beat. But when he glanced over at us, he merely nodded. I felt my knees quiver a little as I slowly and reluctantly placed Morgana back on the ground. She bounded over to our older brother, beaming widely and dancing from foot to foot. My ears were far too full of my pounding heart to hear their quiet exchange. Morgana jumped up to hug Valerianus, wrapping her arms as far around his waist as they would go. His mask twitched at the edges for a moment, and he looked surprised. Then his face softened, ever so slightly, and his big hand gently stroked her head.

His eyes met mine again as she broke away, skipping over to the carriage door. I vaguely heard Damjan’s boisterous laugh, presumably in response to something Morgana must have said to him. But my eyes were focused on my brother as I approached him, Grier at my side. I stopped in front of him, mask back in place. Shoulders squared. I bowed my head in deference to him, and he snapped his heels together. Dipping into a bow as well.

“Your Majesty,” He addressed Grier, as was to be expected, “There are no words in our language that would fully express our gratitude for your aid. However, know that you are most welcome in our halls anytime.”

Grier dipped his head slightly, placing one hand over his heart. “Thank you, Prince Valerianus. I do appreciate that.” He nodded to the outer wall of the castle. “Though we must take our leave, my people will stay, until the last of your citizens have been seen to. I shall make sure one comes to see to yourself, as well as any willing members of Court.”

 The Crown Prince nodded, murmuring another quiet exchange of thanks. There was a pause, and I could see Valerianus hesitating. I peeked up at him, a little surprised, but kept my head bowed. Looking at him from just the corners of my eyes. Grier seemed to notice his pause as well, and raised a slender eyebrow. 

“Speak your mind, Your Highness. I assure you I will take no insult.”

Valerianus cleared his throat as he slowly straightened, tucking his hands behind his back lightly. Peering down his nose at the goblin with a stern expression. “I hope you will pardon my belatedness on the matter…” He started, then hesitated again briefly. “... However, I feel it is my responsibility as the elder brother to warn you to treat Prince Nikostratus well-” My ears suddenly flamed hot “-Should you fail to do so, I shall not hesitate to use all resources at my disposal to avenge any unkindness you have shown him.”

Grier’s grin was nearly unbearable, and I saw my brother shift slightly in light of it. “Your Highness, allow me to reassure you that I will do everything in my power to make sure Prince Nikostratus is treated as he deserves. You need never fear this.” He dipped his head again, and his tone became more serious. “It is my solemn vow... and my greatest wish... to see him happy.”

Valerianus nodded, his mask returning, and he bowed deeply at the waist. “Thank you, Your Majesty. For that, I am in your eternal debt.” His eyes broke protocol, flicking over to me. 

He cleared his throat again, straightening slowly. I felt my cue to rise, and did so slowly. Almost afraid to look up at him. Not sure how to feel in that moment, and feeling my entire face in an absolute blaze of heat despite my otherwise masked emotions. Valerianus nodded to me, then dipped his head.

“I shall send word when the… situation has changed, and it is safe for Morgana to return.” He told me. “And I can rest easy knowing there is no safer place for her in the wide world than in your care… brother.” I dipped my head in response, still flushed in the wake of the most tender platitudes he had ever offered me, and we exchanged a soft farewell. Then the Crown Prince gave a final formal bow, turned on heel once more, and marched back to the castle.

“You know,” I jumped at Grier’s voice as he returned to his place at my side and we watched my brother’s departure, “I’ve decided I rather like that man after all.”

My tongue felt heavy in my mouth, but I offered a slow nod. “... Me too.”

I jumped again as his hands curled around my elbow. “You’re still my favorite Prince though.” He assured me, grinning up at me like a fool. My flush renewed and my lips worked uselessly at the air for a moment.

“NIKO!” Came Morgana’s impatient shout, breaking the moment. I turned to see her standing in the doorway of the carriage. She stomped her foot for emphasis. “Let’s go, Niko! I wanna see the castle!”

I almost groaned, but settled for a small shake of my head as Grier laughed beside me. He tugged my arm, jerking his own head towards the carriage and leading the way. Damjan smirked at me as we passed him by.

“‘Niko’ is it, Your Highness?” He mused. I shot him a sour look out the corner of my eye, and he laughed as well, closing the carriage door behind us and taking up position at the rear.

Once we were settled inside, Morgana darted from window to window and seat to seat as the carriage bounced us out of the city. More than once she clambered over my lap, and I was pretty sure she stepped on Grier’s toes at least twice in her eagerness. But he merely laughed again, his scarlet eyes full of light. I wondered at that for a time. Wondered if everything that had passed since the last time we had sat in this carriage negated the lingering uncertainty I felt. Wondered if he had already forgotten how I had hurt him in that moment… I finally started to relax as the castle slowly faded into the distance, and felt a bit of the stone drop away from me as I watched my sister bound about in her excitement.

It took nearly two hours for her to settle, and another hour after that for her questions to slow. It was after sunset as we approached the walls of the goblin city, and Morgana had finally fallen into a quiet doze. Resting against my shoulder, her fingers and legs still twitching every now and then. I stroked her hair back out of her face, stifling a deep sigh.

“You can relax, my young Prince.” The King mused, leaning back against his seat.

I glanced at him, surprised. “I beg your pardon?”

He smiled, almost timidly, but no less warm. “... We’re back in our own kingdom now. You can relax. We’re safe amid our people… and Morgana is safe with us.”

I looked down at her, and felt my features soften. I pushed her hair out of her face again, and my lips twitched. “... It feels like a dream… I wasn’t sure it would ever be possible.”

“I’m certainly looking forward to seeing that more.”

Again, I looked at him in surprise. “... Seeing what?”

He pointed, his own lips curling into another warm shape. “That. Your smile… it lights up your whole face.” The goblin leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Now that Morgana is here… I hope that you can be happy… truly happy. Without the weight of her absence on you. I did promise your brother, after all.”

I peeked up at him through my dark lashes, feeling my face flush again. “O-oh. Yes… I-I mean… I mean that… th-that yes… of course I… I-I…” I stammered uselessly.

He chuckled, and his lips split to bare his sharp teeth mischievously. “I see I have you all flustered again.” His head cocked to the side. “I’ll take that as a good sign.”

The carriage came to a halt, and I quickly used it as an excuse to scoop Morgana up in my arms to avoid further discussion. Grier led the way out, and as I stepped out into the cool night I felt her stirring in my arms.

“Are we there?” She asked, blinking up at me sleepily and rubbing at one eye with her fist. “Are we at the castle?”

“Yes, but it’s late.” I told her. “We should get you to bed. You can see the castle tomorrow.”

“Nooo!” She whined softly. “I want to see-” She was halted by a wide mouthed yawn, and I shifted her in my grip.

“You’ll have plenty of time to explore. After you get some sleep.” I told her, and my voice left no room for argument.

Morgana sighed, settling back into my arms without further protest. Grier smirked, then led the way through the halls up to the tower chambers. I felt her turning her head about as we went, her eyes wide and curious despite their sleepy edges. An attendant followed alongside us with a light, and her head twitched back and forth as she tried to take in as much as she could while we walked. Even going so far as to clamber up and dangle over the back of my shoulder.

“She can stay with me tonight,” I told Grier, adjusting easily to her antics, “We’ll get her proper rooms in the morning... if that’s alright.”

He nodded. “But of course.”

“Is it a big castle?” She asked, twisting to look at the goblin King. “Are there lots of rooms? Can I have a window that looks at the city? Will I have a goblin lady to help me?”

“Chickadee,” I sighed patiently, shaking my head, “Haven’t you asked enough questions for today?”

“No.”

Grier laughed at that, pausing at the door to my chambers to glance over his shoulder at us. “It is a very big castle.” He told her, pushing open the door and stepping aside to let us pass. “I have a few young noble ladies in mind who would be pleased to be your lady in waiting. You can meet them tomorrow. And I’m afraid I can’t get you rooms that overlook the city… as most of it is under our feet.”

She gasped with delight, and craned herself to look at our feet as I carried her through the foyer. As if she could see through the stone beneath us. Seoc appeared, lighting a few candles and opening the curtains to let the moonlight in. I nodded to him appreciatively, and he gave me a cheery grin before disappearing back into the hall.

“These are your rooms Niko?” She asked, looking around as I brought her over to the bed. She frowned. “Why are they so empty? Where’s all your stuff?” She didn’t wait for me to answer, spinning to look at Grier. “Where are your rooms?” She bounded back up to her knees even as I put her down on the bed. “Are they nearby? Did you move your stuff to his room? Is that why it’s empty here? Do you sleep together?”

There was a loud CLONK as my head hit the side of the bedpost when I jerked sharply at her words. I sputtered uselessly as my face flushed and I struggled to keep my balance, rubbing at the back of my head. Over my shoulder, Grier had started laughing so hard he had doubled over. I shot him a look that he didn’t see, as he was too busy wiping tears from his eyes.

“What’s so funny??” Morgana demanded, obviously wanting in on the joke she thought she was missing. “You told me you were getting married, Niko. Married people have the same bed, don’t they?” She cocked her head to the side. “Are you sure you’re getting married? I haven’t seen you guys kiss or anything. Don’t married people kiss? Is it because you’re boys? Do boys not kiss? I thought you liked him? Niko, why is your face all red? Niko-”

“AL-ALRIGHT, that’s it!” I managed to sputter out finally, then clenched my jaw. I spun, pointing one stern finger at Grier, still bent in half in stitches. “YOU, out.” Then set my point on Morgana. “YOU, bed.”

Now it was the goblin’s turn to sputter. “Well, hold on just a moment, I’m the King here, you cannot…” He stopped short in his objection at the look I shot him. Clamping his mouth shut. After a breath, he gave me a small, sheepish grin. “I’ll just… wait outside for a minute, shall I?”

“But Niiiko!” came Morgana’s responding whine as Grier left the room, “I’m not tired at all!”

Her efforts of denial were sabotaged by another wide yawn, and I smirked a little through my flush as I removed her shoes and stockings. Placing them neatly on the ground by the side of the bed. She sighed, relenting without further fight, and fell back into the pillow. Luckily, the girl never wore anything remotely restricting, so I didn’t feel too bad about her sleeping in her current attire. I would be sure to get her a proper nightgown for the next evening, if one hadn’t been packed for her. I pushed her hair back out of her face, running my thumb by her eye. She smiled up at me, snuggling herself down into the blankets.

“Would you like me to tell you a story?” I asked her, my voice soft.

She scoffed, rolling her eyes. “I told you, Niko, I’m not a baby. I don’t need you to tell me stories anymore... Are you going to sleep too?” A little frown twitched across her lips. “Do goblins sleep? Does the King even have a bed? Do-”

“Please, little chickadee,” I interrupted her exasperatedly, giving her head a gentle squeeze beneath my oversized palm, “Enough questions for now.”

“But-”

“Tell you what,” I stopped her again, “You go ahead and make a list, up here-” I tapped her temple “-And I’ll answer every single one of them in the morning. And any new ones you think of by then.” I smirked. “It’ll be like counting sheep. Ok?”

She thought about that for a moment, pushing my hand away. “... Ok.”

She snuggled deeper into the blankets, seeming to think things over. I watched her eyes start to droop, and she yawned again. I started to stroke her hair. Sending all my gratitude to every possible listening patron or god for letting me have that moment. I didn’t care who took credit. I was just so thankful, I needed the universe to know. 

“... Niko?”

I resisted the urge to sigh. “Yes, chickadee?”

“... You like Grier, right?” She looked up at me through her dark lashes, then yawned again. “You’re not just marrying him because it’ll make people happy, right?”

I stiffened, and my hands slowed. I thought about that for a quiet moment. And about what she had said in the courtyard to the goblin. I wasn’t sure I had ever been so clearly forced to recognize that aspect of myself before. I wanted to deny it, but... My heart ached a little, and I felt my head swirl… Did I like him? Or was it merely just the first time I had allowed myself to like someone? I knew he made my heart race, and I couldn’t fully deny the presence of a warm feeling that was beyond just a physical attraction. I had been suppressing the latter for so long; I knew it for what it was. I had never acted upon it before, or even remotely felt the opportunity to. Save for once, and it had blown up in my face… But… Did that mean I liked him?... Certainly, he was a good person… I didn’t dislike him in any way, I knew that… And I knew that was not what she meant, either.

I adjusted my jaw, realizing I had left her question hanging for far too long. So I ran my thumb lightly along her temple. And answered as honestly as I could.

 “...Yeah, chickadee… I think I do like him.”

She smirked. “I knew it... But I wanted to make sure you did too.”

I shook my head, releasing the heavy sigh I had withheld before. She giggled, then yawned again. I sat by her side, stroking her hair, until her eyes drifted closed and her breathing deepened. It didn’t take long. I moved carefully to stand, so as to not wake her, and snuck out of the room. Grier stood against the wall by the door in the foyer, fidgeting with his usual impatience. I glanced at him warily, then back over my shoulder, before jerking my head to gesture for him to follow me.

I didn’t dare go very far, but hoped standing in the doorway of the next room would be enough to keep our voices from waking her. Grier crossed his arms, leaning on the door frame and craning his neck back to look up at me.

“All settled then?” He asked quietly.

I sighed tiredly, glancing back over to the door of my bedroom. “If she ever is.” He chuckled at that, and I returned my attention to him. Reaching up and rubbing at the back of my neck. “... I’ll be staying here tonight.” I mumbled, uncertain if I needed to tell him, or what I was implying might have been the alternative had I not, and my face flushed again as I did.

He grinned, but nodded. “I assumed as much. I don’t mind of course.” He tilted his head to the side and his smile grew a little more. “I just hope the castle is still in one piece by the time I wake up tomorrow.”

I scoffed quietly, glancing back over to the bedroom. “No guarantees on that.”

“You know…” I started slightly at his hand as it came up to brush my neck. “... A little bird told me that you might like me...” 

His voice was only enriched by his light teasing tones, but I still flushed a little darker at his words. So he had been listening... I looked down at him shyly, and felt that strange surge of warmth in my chest at the sight of his scarlet eyes. I hesitated, unable to resist shuffling a little as he skimmed his thumb along my jaw.

“... A-about earlier…I mean… This morning...” I started to mumble, more than a little distracted by his hand. “In the carriage. I-”

“I understand…” He interrupted. “And I’m not mad, or upset with you... I’m…” The goblin paused, chewing over his words for a moment. “... We can talk more later, when we’ve both gotten a good night’s sleep. But… I’m glad you… I’m just glad you’re here.”

“W-well...I want t-to… to say ‘thank you’…” I stammered, my voice soft, “For-”

“Stop.” He told me, his voice equally soft. “You never need to thank me for doing things to make you happy… You never need to feel guilty for being happy, either.”

I hesitated, glancing down at the floor. Uncertain how to reply. I remembered what I had overheard in the courtyard earlier, and tried to decide how I would’ve acted had I not over heard it...  I tried hard not to stiffen, or hide behind a mask. I tried to let my guard down, reminding myself of all the times I had managed to do so before with him. And how it had always seemed to work out. Tried to forget the trials of the day, and just… enjoy that moment. If I could. His arm was extended as far as it could be to reach me, and his other came up to catch my hands wringing in front of me. I stopped, having not even noticed I was wringing them until his fingers touched mine. I peeked at him, and saw his eyes watching me quietly. Perhaps trying to read the chaos of emotions currently fighting for dominance on my face.

“It’s been a long and difficult day.” He murmured finally. “I’ll let you get some rest… But I would like to speak more about…” He stopped, and I saw him adjust himself momentarily before continuing. “...About everything…” He squeezed my hands, giving me a coy smile. “Though I suppose we have a lifetime for that.”

“Gods willing.” I agreed, almost automatically, then somehow flushed darker.

His smile grew slightly, and he stretched up even further to slide his hand towards the back of my head. I hesitated only briefly before I curled down to accommodate him, and felt my skin tingle as his fingers brushed over it. He paused, his face lingering only a short distance away from mine. I saw his eyes flick to my lips, and couldn’t help sneaking my own glance at his. The memory of our last similar encounter it the private audience room filtered to the forefront of my thoughts and had my breath hitching. I swallowed nervously. He inched a little closer, standing on his tiptoes, then stopped. Leaving me with his warm breath splashing across my face. Leaving me with the option to pull away...

But for me, there was only one option. I closed the gap, bending down to press our mouths together as carefully as I could manage. I even dared to go so far as to take a step closer to him, backing him against the doorframe and letting him rock onto his heels as my hands came to his waist and my shoulders bowed around him. His arms came up, wrapping around my neck as he deepened our kiss, and I almost shivered beneath his touch. His body melted against mine, and my eyes fluttered closed, forgetting myself for a minute. His tongue slipped between my lips, and I twirled mine lightly around it. I could taste his sigh, and felt my heart skip as he ran one hand over the back of my head.

A giggle had me startled, and quickly jerked my head up just in time to catch the tail end of a skirt flashing in the bedroom doorway. Instantly my face blazed hot, and I broke away from his embrace clumsily, staggering back a step. Setting us both off balance. Fuckfuckfuckfuck, FUCK! I thought to myself, suddenly in an absolute panic as one of my worst nightmares was realized. Then made even worse than I had ever imagined. I shook myself, reaching up to cover my face with both hands. Absolutely mortified. I wanted nothing more than to dissolve into thin air. Disappear and hide away until everyone forgot my name. My legs itched to launch me into a full on sprint and carry me away…

 But I didn’t flee, even though I wanted to. Instead, I let out a quiet, mortified groan, and bent over the goblin’s smaller form in front of me to bang my head lightly against the doorframe above his. Hands still cupped to shield my burning face. Maybe it was all a dream. And I would wake up now. For his part, Grier merely laughed, and I felt his arms wrap around my middle. I was surprised that instead of feeling more embarrassed…. My tension eased a little with his touch.

“I suppose she got her answer in the end anyways.” He teased, and I banged my head lightly against the frame again in response. He chuckled, more softly this time, tucking himself into my chest briefly in a gentle hug before he stepped back. “I should be going; I have to say… I’m rather tired.”

I eased back, peeking at him through my fingers. “Ah-a… S-ssorry…”

He reached up, catching one hand and gently pulling it away. “Don’t be. I know now you are a shy person...” His grin became sly, “... I find it absolutely endearing.” He stretched up, placing a quick peck on my lips before I could react. “Have a good evening, my young Prince… I’ll see you tomorrow… And ah… We’ll talk then.”

With that he ducked under my elbow and made his way over to the door. Casting me a final wink as he stepped out into the hall. I sighed quietly, leaning against the frame for a moment. Trying to compose myself. I heard another soft giggle, and looked up to see one mischievous hazel eye poking out from the bedroom. I shook my head, trying my best to put on a scowl, but failing miserably.

“I swear, little chickadee,” I growled, “If you say one word, you’re sleeping on the floor.”

My face flushed again as I heard a muffled laugh from the hallway.

...

UPDATE: Part Eleven HERE

[fanfics4all]

Painless

Request: Yes / No 

Requests are closed <3 Have a nice day/night

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Word count: 3200

Warnings: SCHOOL BOMBING, CURSING, it’s criminal minds so read at your own risk! 

Y/N: Your Name 

PLEASE DO NOT STEAL MY WORK, I WORK HARD ON MY FICS AND IT’S NOT COOL TO STEAL SOMEONE ELSE’S WORK! 

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Masterlist 

(Not my photo, credit to whoever made it!)

Another day at work. Another day of someone dead. I thought as I walked into the office. I saw everyone was already in the round table room and sighed. Another case. I put my stuff down at my desk and walked into the room. I took my seat next to my boyfriend Spencer and gave a smile at everyone. 

“Does anyone remember this picture?” Garcia asked, bringing up a picture of a man and a girl looking distressed. 

“Hotch and I were there. That’s Principal Doug Gavens. We had to drag him to safety.” Rossi said, making everyone look at him. 

“High school bombing in Boise, right?” Emily asked. 

“School shooter and school bomber.” JJ said and it triggered my memory. 

“A kid named Randy Slade shot three students and then set off an I.E.D. in the cafeteria via cell phone, killing himself and thirteen kids total, but not before posting all his plans online.” I said and Garcia nodded. 

“It was one of those “Where were you?” events. My whole campus was glued to the T.V..” JJ said. 

“Last night, Principal Givens was killed by a bomb modeled exactly like the old one.” Garcia said. 

“It feels like the unsub wants to attack the man who kept the school together after the bombing. It’s a pretty symbolic target.” Morgan said. 

“And this week is the tenth anniversary of the massacre.” Hotch said. 

“And today is the first day of a four day event to commemorate the bombing at the school.” Garcia said. 

“Except commemorating it isn’t enough for this unsub.” Emily said. 

“No. He wants to relive it.” Hotch said. We gathered our things and got on the plane. We were all sitting down and going over the case files. 

“Perpetrators of school violence are often sophisticated with their weapons. Randy Slade carried his bomb in his backpack. This guy hid his in Givens’ clock radio.” Spencer said. 

“Yeah, and progressive. Each one tries to top the body count of the one previous.”  

“And they’re loners by default, not by choice. They try to join various social groups, but they get shut out.” JJ said. 

“Randy Slade wasn’t a loner at all.” Hotch said. 

“The family cooperated fully with us. He was a high-functioning psychopath, straight-A student, varsity wrestler, lots of girlfriends.” Rossi said. 

“With an above-average intelligence that made him incredibly resourceful. His explosive of choice was Semtex.” I said looking at the files. 

“It’s found at demolition sites, but it’s held under lock and key.” Spencer said. 

“Which made us consider the possibility of a partner. Never found one.” Rossi said. 

“Slade was too much of a narcissist to share credit. But he was also an impulsive teen, which is what bothers me about this unsub.” Hotch said. 

“His sense of control?” Emily asked. 

“And the end game that he’s working toward.” Hotch answered with a nod. 

“Slade’s pathology revolved around the big kill. This unsub could have done the same if he’d waited for the candlelight vigil.” Hotch added. 

“Which means there’s no blaze of glory fantasy here. This unsub has more bombs made, and he’s savoring the anticipation of his next attack.” Rossi said. After we talked everyone moved to their own spots to think and relax before we had the hard work to do. I sat next to Spencer and smiled at him. 

“This poor town.” I said and he sighed. 

“I know, but the odds are against them in this situation.” He said and I nodded. 

“I know, but that doesn’t mean it sucks any less.” I said and he nodded. 

“It’s a hard thing to deal with.” He said. 

“Yeah…” I sighed. We tried to keep our minds on things that would help us, instead of how much people were hurting right now. 

As soon as we landed we dropped our stuff off at our hotel then split up. Hotch and Rossi went to the station with Emily and Morgan. Spencer, JJ and I went to the crime scene. We walked inside and it was a mess, not shocking though considering what happened. 

“Okay, so the unsub has to be tied to the school somehow, right?” JJ asked. 

“Current student, alumni, family member who lost someone…” I listed off. 

“It could be Slade groupies celebrating his hero. He taped nails to the exterior of the bomb, specifically to rip open flesh. That’s a sadistic detail of Slade’s the unsub copied.” Spencer said. 

“Except he tricked Givens into blowing himself up. A groupie probably wouldn’t show that much self-control.” JJ said. 

“But someone with an ax to grind against the principal would. Maybe he’s a surrogate for the tomenters in high school he can’t punish.” Spencer said. 

“Who were yours?” He asked us. 

“I don’t even remember.” JJ answered. 

“You don’t even remember? Wait, were you one of those mean girls?” Spencer questioned. 

“No.” JJ said. 

“Valedictorian, soccer scholarship, corn-fed, but still a size zero. I think that you might have been a mean girl.” Spencer said. 

“Spence.” I said. 

“I was actually one of the nice girls, even to guys like you.” JJ answered and I shook my head. There was no stopping this now. 

“Guys like me? I’ll have you know that my social standing increased once I started winning at basketball.” Spencer said, I always forget that he coached basketball. 

“Oh yeah? You played basketball?” JJ asked. 

“Actually he coached it.” I answered. 

“You coached it?” She asked. 

“Yeah, I broke down the opposing team’s shooting strategy.” He said. 

“Is that why Morgan kicked you two out of the pool last week?” She asked. 

“Yeah, it took him three rounds to realize we were hustling him.” I answered with a laugh. 

“Huh.” She said and we went back to looking at the crime scene. As soon as we were done looking we got a call about another murder. So we made our way there. The three of us looked around and JJ decided to call Hotch and tell him.

“You’re on speaker JJ.” Hotch answered. 

“So, we might have another one.” She said. 

“Might?” He asked. 

“One of the North Valley alumni was killed in her motel room.” She answered. 

“No bomb or gun this time. Looks like he used his bare hands.” I added. 

“You got a name?” Hotch asked. 

“Chelsea Grant.” Spencer answered. 

The next day Spencer and I returned to the crime scene with Hotch. It was good to come back and look at it with fresh eyes. 

“The unsub crushed Chelsea’s throat so she couldn’t scream, then he pulverized her ribs, sending fragments of bone into her heart.” Spencer said. 

“Principal Givens was high-profile. Chelsea wasn’t. Right now the only thing connecting them is they’re both on the kill list.” Hotch said. 

“A list that Brandon kept secret for ten years, but he was in custody when this happened. So the question is, how did the unsub get the exact same list?” I asked. 

“Well, we ruled out a partner, but not conclusively.” Hotch said. 

“Slade made every part of his plan public. It doesn’t make sense that he would hide a partner.” Spencer said. 

“He didn’t want to share the credit. And this weekend is the partner’s best chance to claim it.” Hotch said. 

“Let’s go back to the station, we have a profile to deliver.” He said and we followed him. 

When we got back to the station we gathered everyone up and we were ready to deliver the profile. 

“Partners of dominant psychopaths are usually submissive, but that doesn’t mean that they can’t be intelligent or that they’re physically weak.” Hotch said. 

“This unsub laid low after the bombing and successfully evaded police and FBI. That took cunning and patience, which he’s exhibiting now with his current murders.” Morgan said. 

“We think he fits the loner profile Slade debunked. He grew up in an abusive home, which kept him from forming the normal social bonds in high school.” JJ said. 

“We interviewed all the outcasts from back then. How did this guy slip through?” Chief Cole asked. 

“Even outcasts eventually form friendships. But this unsub was the outcast the outcasts rejected.” Spencer said. 

“Exactly, he won’t stand out in any capacity, and as a matter of fact, most of his fellow students probably won’t even remember graduating with him.” I said. 

“And that invisibility is what made him attractive to Slade. This partner wouldn’t steal the spotlight.” Rossi said. 

“Slade targeted the cafeteria because most of the names on his list ate there together during fifth period.” Spencer said. 

“So his hatred festered when the names on the list emerged from the cafeteria as media heroes. And now he wants to finish the job that Randy started.” Morgan said. 

“Emotionally, this weekend is more a high school reunion to him than a memorial. We go to reunions to show who we grew up to be. Often that means changing everything about who we were.” Rossi said. 

“Consciously or not, Randy Slade revealed clues as to his partner’s identity when he detonated his bomb. Agent Prentiss will be conducting cognitive interviews to see what the survivors might remember.” Hotch said. We answered a few questions the cops had then went on to try and work out who this guy could be. Emily was with the survivors now working on them. 

“So, as you can see from your board there, this kill list is weirdly similar to high school. 

“Group on is like the popular kids, prom court, football team, dean’s list. The Heathers, if you will.” Garcia said. 

“Kids in Slade’s social circle.” Hotch said. 

“What about number two?” JJ asked. 

“Uh, mmhmm, that would be the kids from the other side of the tracks, 180-degree difference, kids this close to getting kicked out, Stoners, burnouts, mental cases. Chelsea Grant is on this list.” Garcia said. 

“Maybe Slade targeted them because they disgusted him?” JJ asked while Spencer’s phone was ringing. We have been doing a lot of that since we got here. 

“But they didn’t threaten Slade’s sense of superiority. He wouldn’t have even cared about them.” Hotch said as we ignored Spencer’s phone. 

“So maybe the partner put them on the list. They’d be closer to his social status than Slade’s.” I said as Spencer’s phone stopped ringing. 

“Why would the-” Spencer was cut off by his phone ringing again. 

“I’m so sorry.” He said, taking his phone out and hung up. 

“Why would the unsub list kids that he fit in with?” Spencer asked, putting his phone away again. 

“Apparently that’s how this clique worked. The kids in it were meaner to each other than kids on the outside. Garcia, separate out all the kids who got into trouble regularly. Then eliminate the names that the partner put on the list. Now, who’s left that came to the memorial?” Hotch asked. 

“Right. Whoever made the list wouldn’t put their name on it. Uh… sir, I think- I think I’ve got him. His name is Lewis Ramsey.” Garcia said. 

“Where is he?” Hotch asked. 

“Uhh… According to his cell phone he’s at a local bar.” She answered. 

“Send it to Morgan’s phone.” Hotch ordered and called him. Morgan brought him in and him and Hotch started interviewing him. Once they were done they told the rest of us. 

“You buy it?” Emily asked. 

“He fits the profile, and the evidence points to him, but he seems sincere.” Hotch said. 

“He’s not the unsub. He was the partner, but look at how Slade added “All the losers in this Godforsaken school.” This capitalization isn’t an accident. Look.” Spencer said and wrote it on the white board. 

“L-S-R, Lewis Stuart Ramsey.” He said. 

“So Slade named his own partner.” I said. 

“Ironically, Lewis’ marijuana addiction saved his life.” He said with a nod. 

“Well, that puts us back to our original problem. If the unsub isn’t the partner, how did he get his hands on a list that Slade and Lewis kept to themselves?” I asked. 

“The only answer is that part of the profile is wrong. The unsub’s vendetta has nothing to do with the list. Did you get anything from Jerry Holtz?” Hotch asked Emily. 

“Only that he mixed up the cell phones that Slade used. It felt like he was making the story up, but I only had a hunch.” Emily said. 

“We need to find him now. There’s a connection to the victimology that we’re missing. Whatever he’s holding back might be the key.” Hotch said. We found Jerry, but he was dead. He was killed at the school. We made our way there and Emily met us there. 

“Jerry Holtz? How long?” She asked. 

“Less than an hour. Security guard heard the commotion, but the unsub was already gone.” JJ answered. 

“The only people who knew we were doing the cognitive interviews were the other survivors. The unsub must be part of that group.” Emily said. 

“Well, we don’t know that for a fact. He could have been lying in wait.” I said. 

“Look, Hotch wants me to go through the victims’ lives and find the overlaps. We can compare their histories with the unsub’s.” JJ said. 

“What else do we have to go on?” Emily asked, looking at Spencer and I. 

“Spence said the unsub would have broken his hand beating Chelsea to death. Did you notice anyone with a cast on their hand, someone who seemed hurt?” JJ asked. 

“No.” Emily shook her head. 

“I might know why.” Spencer said and we all looked at him. 

“This unsub doesn’t feel pain.” He said. 

“You mean he has pain asymbolia?” I asked and he nodded.

“We need to get back to the station. Spencer told them about his theorie and no one understood what he was saying.  

“In english for the other people in the room.” Morgan asked. 

“There’s a medical condition called pain asymbolia, where patients register harmful stimuli without being bothered by it. They’ve been documented holding their hand over an open flame because their brain doesn’t send pain signals to the central nervous system.” Spencer explained. 

“Sounds pretty rare. You sure the unsub has it?” Rossi asked. 

“The crime scenes prove it. Once Spencer said it, everything clicked. He displayed an unusual level of savagery towards his victims. And consider this, he smashed through a glass display case, but there were no cuts on Jerry. That means he most likely punched through it as a show of force.” I said. 

“Now, the only way the human body could withstand that level of pain is if he couldn’t feel it at all.” Spencer added. 

“It must take a major toll on someone’s emotional development.” Rossi said and Spencer’s phone rang… again. 

“A significant contributor to our sense of empathy is the way we personally experience pain.” Morgan said and Spencer silenced his phone again. 

“And the unsub didn’t develop his sense of empathy because it was cut off. Does every person with Asymbolia have this?” Hotch asked. 

“Actually, most feel empathy just fine, which makes me think the rest of our profile is still accurate. Loner, invisible, outcast, boiling rage- Son of a bitch!” Spencer said, pulling out his ringing cell phone and answered it. I notice Morgan trying to hide a smirk. 

“Hi! This is Dr. Spencer Reid. I actually can come to the phone right now with a very special message that your mother is-” 

“Reid.” Hotch cut him off and he hung up. 

“I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. I don’t know what got into me. Where were we?” He asked, putting his phone away. 

“I’m going to have Garcia check medical records. Uh, what causes Asymbolia?” Hotch asked. 

“Ssss- Severe trauma produces lesions on the insular cortex, usually after a stroke but this unsub’s so young, it’s most likely caused by an external factor.” Spencer said looking at Morgan the whole time. 

“Like a bomb going off next to him?” Rossi asked. 

“Yeah, like a bomb going off next to him.” He repeated at Morgan. Morgan just smirked and Hotch walked off to talk to Garcia. 

“I will crush you.” Spencer whispered. 

“What?” Morgan asked. 

“What?” Spencer repeated and walked off. I looked at Rossi and shook my head with a smirk. 

“You two are seriously pranking each other while on a case?” I asked and Morgan just smiled. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He said and I shook my head again. I swear these two… 

JJ and Emily came by a little later with some new information. JJ was rearranging some pictures on the board. We looked on with confusion. 

“Recognize the top ten?” JJ asked. 

“No.” Hotch answered. 

“They were the students that went in front of the cameras after the bombing.” She answered. 

“I thought all the surviving students were interviewed?” I asked.

“After the initial aftermath, yes, but these are the kids that went on talk shows, traveled to other schools. My guess is that they didn’t self-select who made the cut.” JJ said. 

“Principal Givens did.” Hotch said. 

“That’s why the unsub killed him first. He was an outcast who wanted to fit in. Being a survivor should have been his golden ticket.” She said. 

“But he was excluded again, and that’s why he’s killing them.” I said. 

“Yeah. The rules of high school never changed, not even after a tragedy.” JJ said. Hotch’s phone rang and he put it on speaker. 

“Go ahead, Garcia.” He said. 

“Hey, listen up. I crossed-referenced student files with medical records. Now, there were six kids that were knocked unconscious in that blast, but only one fit the outcast profile. His name is Robert Adams, and he just used his credit card at a local restaurant, the address of which I just sent you right now.” She said. 

“I’m on my way.” Hotch said looking at us. Hotch gathered everyone up and JJ and I stayed back. When they came back Robert wasn’t with them. Hotch had to shoot him, there was no other way this was going to end. Once we got everything sorted we got on the plane to go home. I was sitting next to Spencer, who was resting his head on my shoulder while I read a book. We were sitting across from Morgan and Emily, Morgan was listening to music and Emily was reading a paper. He took his headphones off and we heard Spencer screaming from them. 

“Okay, kid, that was cute. But that’s all you got?” Morgan asked him, he was very clearly pretending to be asleep. Morgan’s cell ran and he answered it. 

“Hey baby girl-” He was cut off by Spencer screaming coming through his phone. Spencer had a smile on his face and Rossi held up a white napkin. 

“Uh-uh. Alright, Reid, it’s on. Just know that paybacks are a bitch.” Morgan said. Spencer just responded with snoring. I shook my head at the two of them. 

“You started this Morgan, it’s your own fault.” I said with a slight laugh. 

“Of course you’re taking his side, Y/N.” He rolled his eyes. 

“Well I am dating him, so yes I’m taking his side.” I said and Rossi chuckled. 

Tag list: @les-bio-lie @tashy-bear @ashwarren32 @hollie-blogs @schisbro87 @lover-of-books-and-teas @nerdygaloresposts @teenwolfbitches2 @genius2050 @drw0301bieber @softgamerking @lady-of-lies @simonsbluee @ravenmoore14 @maynardqueen101 @pettyjayy​ @reidssmile​ @currentfangirl-futuremedexaminer 

[the-blind-assassin-12]

Core Drive - Clean 1.05

A/N: Wow this one has been in the works for far too long. Apologies all around. Logan’s time in rehab is coming to an end, and he has to make some decisions about what life looks like for him going forward. What does he want from his second chance at life? And who is he going to include in it? There is one more part of this section to come before this story really kicks into gear and I cannot wait. 

Warning: depression, drug use and addiction, trauma, abandonment, death 

Word Count: 7,371

On Miguel’s last day at the inpatient rehab facility, he asked Logan to join him for a walk down by the water. The weather wasn’t great for it, but Logan could sense that the man was looking for more than a pleasant stroll. The gray clouds filled the sky, blotting out the sun and cooling the air temperature, but Logan followed his friend out into it without questioning it, neither of them speaking until they’d reached the railing that ran parallel to the beach, Logan stopping after Miguel, waiting for him to say something. 

“You know I’m outta here tomorrow.” It wasn’t a question, and Logan wasn’t sure what the point was. Yeah, of course I know that. Miguel swallowed, the muscles of his throat working under his skin before he let out a laugh. “I mean, yeah obviously.” 

“Miguel,” Logan shook his head, the longer strands of his hair falling into his eyes. “What…” 

“Look I know we talked about...a lotta shit, right?” We sure fuckin’ have. There were few people aside from you and Ezekiel that he’d shared as many details about himself with. But there’s still a lot he doesn’t know.  “But...I just thought maybe we take one last chance to… talk about…” He sniffed and looked over at Logan. “About what we...what got us here.” 

Logan’s eyes widened then as a pair of wild horses galloped into his vision along the shoreline, their hoofprints forcing flashes of a very different horse running through very different sand. Fuck...this is how he wants to spend his last… He sighed heavily though, knowing that Miguel’s suggestion was likely for the best. It was good, having an ally, someone like Miguel who was intimately familiar with the type of struggle that Logan was fighting to free himself of, and he knew that part of having an ally meant letting them know your weakest parts. “Yeah,” he breathed the word, barely audible over the waves. “Yeah that’s...we should.” 

The two men had leaned against the rail then, Miguel prompting Logan to begin, asking him to tell him more about the trip to the park that had set everything in motion. “I know you said...in group once, you said something happened, that your brother in law did something to you on that trip… is that… did that have something to do with you usin’?” 

Before long, Logan had launched into the grittier details that had played out in his nightmares for the better part of the last nine months. He skipped over the things that he knew Miguel already knew- that the trip was supposed to be a bonding experience for him and his sister’s future husband, that the man had lost his sense of reality and snapped, that he’d abandoned Logan in the park and manipulated his family upon their return. He elaborated on the parts that Miguel didn’t know- the extent of his injuries both physical and mental, and how his time alone in the desert broke him. 

“Everything- the… the vultures, the bison, the fuckin jackrabbits, the,” he nodded towards the foamy surf where a strong, chestnut colored banker stepped confidently up to a white and brown filly. “The horses. It’s all fake. None of it’s real.” There was no way that live animals could be safely and humanely used in the parks. They, like the Hosts, had been built, their actions simulated and determined by a few lines of what he was told was simple code. “For me it was always…” Logan leaned against the weathered wooden post, arms crossed, his right hand squeezing his left bicep just above his elbow. He narrowed his eyes, focused on the arch of the darker horse’s mane as the animal tossed its head. “It was easy to keep...to remind myself that it was just a game. You know?” 

Logan saw Miguel’s shrug out of the corner of his eye. “Nah, I mean,” he laughed, folding his arms over the railing. “I never been to Westworld or, what’s one of the other ones you got?” He smacked the splintered wood, flakes of dried paint chipping off. “Shogun World?” He laughed again and shook his head. “Shit man, I’ve never even been to goddamn Disneyworld, so…” He shrugged again and even Logan had to let out a snort of laughter. I sound like an entitled fuckin prick right now. “So when it comes to your fancy as fuck vacations? Assume I don’t know nothin.” Miguel used the back of one hand to slap Logan on the arm. “I don’t assume you know shit about the Bronx right?” 

You sure don’t. “That’s fair.” Logan turned to look down at Miguel with a smirk. He shook his head and let the smirk fade as he sighed, eyes going back to the pair of horses, their tails flicking as they trotted along beside one another. “So,” he gestured with one hand, waving it before letting it fall back to its original position. “They… all the Hosts in the parks, they’re all characters in a storyline.” He blew out a sharp breath. “They’re all fuckin clichés. The town drunk, the sheriff, the-“ he felt his top lip twitch in disgust. “The rancher’s daughter, and it’s all… well for fuckin sane people, it’s all easy enough to remind yourself thats it’s not real. They’re just fuckin robots and it’s not…” He sniffed as he recalled the way that Dolores’s programmed painful screams did nothing to him but pierce his ears. “Even watchin’ ‘em die it just… it was a game. Didn’t matter.” 

The white and brown horse nudged her companion and then both horses broke into a gallop, their hooves splashing through the shallow water as it receded around their ankles. Logan heard Miguel’s whispered damn and he silently agreed. “The horses there though…” Logan kept his eyes on the pair down on the beach, but in his mind he saw a very different beast. “It’s harder to forget that they’re…” he flinched. “When the Hosts die it’s… it’s dramatic. And realistic and...satisfying in a sick fuckin way. ‘Cause it’s what you go there for. But the horses it’s… watchin’ them die it’s different.”

He curled his fingers into fists and he could feel the fine filament strands of the robotic horse’s faux mane.  

“That damn horse he had me on?  Shit, they must’ve programmed it to just go. Y’know? Not stop until the rider told it to or,” he inhaled through his nose, “or the narrative demanded it or whatever. But at that point I was so… I was out of it. I couldn’t tell it to stop, I had no fuckin… I had no clue where I even was.” He flinched, top lip curling. “It kept fuckin’ going and I… well I guess figured that I was better off on it than trying to wander around alone, but fuck, I…” He looked over at his friend then as the two Banker horses they’d been watching got closer. “I wasn’t ready for how it was gonna fuck me up when that thing died. It just…” 

He closed his eyes then and he saw himself crawling away from the collapsed horse, raw sobs emanating from his chest as the sun scorched his bare skin. When he opened his eyes again the corners were stinging with tears. Fuck. 

 “I remember bein’ on it, feelin’ it move and then...then it just went still, stopped movin’, it…” He swallowed as another set of tears fell from his eyes. “It dropped. I felt it’s muscles stop and I looked in it’s eye and it was done. It ran itself out and it didn’t even know it was comin’ because it wasn’t alive. 

“But you were.” Miguel spoke quietly, a soft damn following his words. 

Logan nodded. “Yeah. That...that was when I first thought I was gonna die and I...shit… It was the most scared I’ve ever been. Dyin’ alone? Without… anyone there.” Your name slipped into his mind. Without seein’ her again. “That’s when I realized I didn’t have my… the picture that I had with me? The one I brought to help keep myself grounded if I needed it.” Before that trip he hadn’t needed his emergency reminder in over a year. He’d only brought the photo of Juliet in case William needed it the one of you he’d brought purely because he wanted to. But when he found himself actually in need of a reminder that he wasn’t alone, not in the real world, he’d found himself without it. “Once I realied that I… I lost my shit. Went completely out of it, spent a couple days like that and…and started thinkin’ I shoulda died, that it’d be better.” 

“Fuck, man.” Miguel sniffed. “That’s…” Yeah. I know. 

Logan shook his head. I’m not… yeah it’s still there, but I’m not a mess about it anymore. At least not now. It actually… He blinked a few times, feeling strangely lighter. It actually feels good to talk about it. “Yeah, so-” 

“So you really… that girl really means something to you then.” Again, it wasn’t a question- not in the way Miguel had asked it, and not in the way that Logan felt about his answer. 

“She is.” She’s… 

“Then why don’t you write to her, man?” 

This again. Miguel had been on Logan’s ass about how important it was to try to reach out to the people in his life and let them know how he was doing, let them know that they mattered to him, and that they were still a part of who he was learning that he was. But I never see him writing any goddamn letters. 

 “It’s not that simple, Miguel, I can’t just…” he closed his eyes and saw the way that you looked at him when he told you that he didn’t want you to be waiting for him to finish treatment- when he told you that it was for the best if you left him in your past so that he could focus on a future that wouldn’t bury you both. He could still feel the way that your hot tears soaked his overgrown beard when you kissed him for the last time. Even though he knew that you were hurting, he watched you put your pain aside to tell him that he deserved to be happy. It was pain that he had caused by letting you get so close to him, by leaning so hard on you, and he wasn’t eager to resurrect that hurt for you. I could still fuck this up. “I can’t do that to her, not when I don’t know how long I’ll... “ Logan shook his head and opened his eyes in time to watch the two horses turn and bolt along the shoreline, a spray of sand and ocean foam flying from their hooves. “I can’t put her through it all again just to-”  

“You wanna know why I never write to anyone, Logan?” Miguel spoke quietly as he watched the waves cover the horses’ tracks and Logan snapped his attention towards the other man,  a lump moving down his throat as he swallowed. “Why I sit here and write shit to myself insteada reachin’ out to people I care about? People that care about me?”

Normally this was exactly the type of conversation that Logan would try to avoid- personal information, intimate truths, things that required a balance of trust to share. But Miguel had proven himself time and again to be someone that Logan could talk to, someone that wanted to help. He blinked as his friend turned to face him, deciding that it might just be time to return the favor and hear him out. “Why?” 

“I got no one to write to. Not anymore.” The flat tone he used for the last two words made Logan blink, his forehead creasing. What does that- Miguel cleared his throat, coughing into his fist as he returned his gaze back to the beach and leaned over the railing again. “Shay...my girl she… she’s gone, Logan. She ODed right in fronta me, right in my arms.” Damn. “She was… she and I we, we talked about the future a lot, talked about gettin’ clean together, gettin’ out of the shithole neighborhood we were livin’ in and... ” He took a breath and it didn’t matter that his hood was blocking the side of his face, Logan knew that the man was crying. ”And still, watchin’ that happen to her, it wasn’t enough to get me to stop. My brother, he died in prison, withdrawing.”

 A caustic, humorless sound came from Miguel’s lips as he blew out a breath. Jesus. Logan felt his grip on the railing tighten . “Got arrested ‘cause he passed out in a parking lot and the cops found stuff on him so instead of gettin’ him help they charged him with felony intent to sell.” Logan listened intently as the man he shared a room with for the last five months revealed a chunk of truth large enough to sink anyone. Jesus Christ, Miguel. “My brother never hurt anyone but himself. He wasn’t a dealer, didn’t have a gun, he had a problem, and he never got help for it, and then they just… in prison, they just let him fuckin’ die.” A tear fell from Miguel’s face as the younger man lifted his hand up to wipe harshly at his eyes. “Like he was nothin’, like he was...like he wasn’t even a person.” 

Logan cursed under his breath and softly kicked the post of the railing that they were leaning against. What do I even...that’s fucking horrible. For half a second he imagined Juliet getting that news about him- that he’d spent his last moments on the floor of a dirty cell, begging to be treated like a human being- and it caused him to shudder.  No one should have to...that’s… He tore his eyes from the coastline and the horses running along it and turned towards Miguel. No one deserves that. He didn’t know what to say, but Miguel’s pause ended with a sniff relieving him of the need to do anything but listen.  

“And the thing is? I know that what he did...what Shay did, me, you...all of us,” he gestured back at the building behind them. “I know it was illegal. But it shouldn’t be about fillin’ jails because that’s how you fill graves.” A weight fell into Logan’s stomach then as he pictured you standing in front of a stone, his name etched into it as clear and crisp as the pain that was etched into your face. No. Standing straight again, Miguel shifted his hands into the pocket of his sweatshirt. “Look, point is, you can’t beat yourself up about the decisions you made and the things you did when you were usin’. It’s a fucking disease, Logan, and you can’t punish yourself… or her, just because you survived it.”     

That’s not what I’m...I’m trying to protect her. She’s better off without me. It was what he’d told himself time and again to ease the ache he felt from missing you. She doesn’t deserve-  

“I almost died on her, Miguel. Twice. Twice, I… fuck, the second time? I stopped goddamn breathing I-” Logan shook his head, grip tightening on the railing. “Bein’ with me, that was punishment for h-“ 

“Do you love her, Logan?” It was as direct a question as Miguel had ever asked him, the young man’s tawny eyes suddenly seeming to hold at least double the wisdom that someone his age should be capable of. 

What? Logan blinked slowly as a fine mist started to fall. His mouth dropped open but he didn’t know what to say. He’d never allowed himself to use that word in regards to you, even if he knew the answer to Miguel’s question. I never told her that. I… He shook his head. “I never...we didn’t...that’s not what-” 

“Logan.” Miguel turned sideways, leaning his hip against the railing. “C’mon man, no bullshit.” Logan swallowed, turning as well so that he could face his friend. “I don’t care what you told her or didn’t tell her. I know she means a lot to you. I know you got a picture of her next to your bed.” 

The image of you smiling as you stood in front of the Golden Gate Bridge filled his mind. It was the same photo he’d brought with him to Westworld, the one he’d needed in the desert, the one that made even the worst nights during the past five months bearable. Like he did everytime he looked at it, he recalled the way he felt when you’d sent it to him, recalled the text you’d sent along with it. Wish you were here, Logan. He took a breath and closed his eyes, imagining the distinct weight of your hand on his chest, of your arms wound around his body, of your laughter and the warmth that came with it. I wish I was there too, but I… “She…” 

“From what you’ve told me about her?” Miguel narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest. “Shit man, I know that girl loves you.” Logan sucked in a breath. She… “So I’m askin’ you- Do you love her?”  

“I-” His throat tightened then as Logan was faced with the reality of speaking his true feelings about you aloud for the first time. Shit, I… He was terrified not only of how sure he felt about his answer, but also of how long he’d known it without acknowledging it. He swallowed the dry lump that threatened to choke him, then let out a ragged breath. “Yeah,” he finally said, staring at the wooden rail, voice thin and raspy. “Yeah, Miguel.” Logan looked up then, meeting Miguel’s knowing gaze. “I love her.” 

“Then you should reach out to her, man. Let her know how you’re doin’. She…” His hand came to Logan’s shoulder, clapping the top of it and squeezing once, and Logan watched a flicker of pain pass over Miguel’s face. “I’m sure hearin’ how well you’re doin’ will be...good for her.” He dropped his hand then, and cleared his throat, turning back to the beach, but the horses they’d been watching at the start of the conversation were gone now. 

He thought back to the brief interval between the night of Juliet’s wedding and the night that made him see that he needed to make a change, remembering the good days and how you were a part of every one of them. One morning in particular flooded his memory, and he turned his back to the waves to stare blankly at the building he’d called home for the last five months as it played out. 

..  ..  ..  ..  ..  ..  ..  ..  ..

“G’morning, Logan.” 

He felt your sleepy words vibrate against his cheek before you pressed your lips to the skin above his beard with a hum. Arms instantly tightening around you, he pulled you flush to his body as you let out a breath in the form of a warm laugh. Turning his face to find your lips with his, he kissed you before even opening his eyes. It was a habit he’d formed for the mornings when the sun had woken him instead of his nightmares, letting your smile as he kissed you be the first thing that he felt. It was a reminder to him that there were moments, days worth fighting for, and that you were there, fighting with him.  

“Mornin’.” He spoke without moving his lips, kissing you again the second that the word was out of his mouth. You sighed into it and one of his hands came up to the back of your head, fingers carding through your bed- disheveled hair. Your touch moved from his chest up to the side of his neck, fingertips tracing the curve of his ear before pinching the lobe lightly and pulling down. Damn, that feels… Logan groaned quietly as he pulled away, finally opening his eyes to drink you in. Goddamn. You were looking at him through your lashes, eyes still puffy from sleep, the golden sunlight coming in through the drapes falling on your hair, on your skin, casting shadows along your curves, and he couldn’t help but wish that every morning could begin exactly like this one. “How’d you sleep?” He leaned in to capture your lips in another kiss before letting you answer. 

You curled your fingers where they’d fallen at the base of his throat, humming your surprise as you kissed him back. “I slept well,” you answered, bringing your lips up to his nose before sliding yours along it. “Seems like you did too, huh?” 

He swallowed, fingers absently moving over your skin where his hands lay on your body as you tucked yourself back against his chest, your palm finding the center. “Yeah.” When was the last time I could say that? He rested his cheek on the top of your head, inhaling deeply through his nose, breathing in the scent of your hair. “Slept great.” 

You drew lazy patterns over his sternum before moving your fingers up to his collarbone, dropping your thumb in the dip where it met his rib cage. “Good.” He felt your breath hit his throat before your lips landed there and his eyes fell shut again. This. This is why I… what I have to hold on for. Mornings like this.   

They were still few and far between, mornings like this one, Logan knew that. He knew that you knew it, too. But moments like this made it hard to believe that only three weeks ago he’d woken up hooked to I.V.s, the medications working to bring him back from the brink that he’d sent himself to on the night of his sister’s wedding. It was hard to believe that only twenty-one mornings ago you’d tucked yourself against him just as you had now, only it had been in a narrow hospital bed and your cheeks had been wet with tears. Logan took another deep breath and flattened his hands to press you closer as he let it back out. Almost… but not there yet. Just… He ducked his head down to kiss your temple. Just have to keep trying, keep goin’. Then we can-

“You hungry? Think I saw some eggs in the fridge last night.” You pulled yourself back to look at him as you spoke and he blinked his eyes open once more, hands sliding down your sides as you propped yourself up on one elbow. “I’m not much of a cook, but I-” 

“Not yet.” He cut you off, sitting up and pulling you with him, flipping you beneath him as he reversed your position. You clutched his biceps, laughing as he dropped his weight down on top of you, one of your legs winding around one of his. “Wanna work up an appetite first.” He licked at the skin behind your ear before taking it gently between his teeth. You sucked in a breath, nails scratching lightly down his triceps. “And I think I know a good way to do that,” he released your earlobe and bit down on your shoulder, eliciting another hiss of pleasure and a roll of your hips into his. “What do you think?” 

..  ..  ..  ..  ..  ..  ..  

You had made him breakfast eventually, though by the time the two of you had gotten around to eating it was well into the afternoon. Logan could still taste the under-salted scrambled eggs you’d cooked. They were fuckin’ terrible, she was right. But it finally hit him that it was that morning- the lazy touches, the greedy kisses, the shitty eggs- that stood out from the others. It was that morning and moments like it that made him sure. I love her. And she… 

“I’ll be here for you, Logan...when you get back.” 

That’s what you had said to him the night before he’d left for the East Coast and the facility he stood in front of now. “I told her not to…” A far off rumble of thunder drowned out the rest of his words as he turned back towards the ocean. 

“Huh?” Miguel looked over, squinting through the steady drizzle that the mist had become. “You say somethin’?” He brought one hand up to pull the hood of his sweatshirt further over the top of his head, but neither man made a move to get out of the rain even as it picked up, soaking Logan’s hair. 

“Before I left, to come here?” Logan sniffed, nodding at the foamy surf as it rushed up the shore to swallow the hoofprints left by the Banker horses. “I told her not to wait for me.” The water receded, taking with it any evidence that anything, man or beast, had ever made its mark in the sand. If one wave could erase all of that, he had to wonder what six months would do. I told her to… He closed his eyes, letting the wind pelt him with wayward raindrops. I told her not to love me.  

Miguel blew air out through his nose in a dry laugh. What the hell is funny? “Shit, man.” Logan straightened up and drew himself up to his full height, looking Miguel in the eye. “You rich types. You all think just ‘cause you say somethin’ everybody’s gotta listen.” He let out another short burst of air. “You really think she just stopped carin’ about you, Logan? Just ‘cause you told her to?” He shook his head. “Nah, that ain’t how it works man.”

The idea that he might someday have you in his arms again- have you and be whole enough to keep you, whole enough to give himself to you- nearly made him dizzy. But that’s not… I can’t expect… “She...Miguel, I told her I didn’t want her around for all this.” Why would she- 

“Damn you got a thick head, you know that?” Logan pressed his lips together then, eyebrows high on his forehead. What? Miguel went on. “Lemme ask you somethin’. If it were the other way around, her tellin’ you to forget her, not to keep stickin’ around, is that all it’d take for you to just,” he shrugged, “forget about her? Outta sight, outta mind?” 

The answer came swiftly and with absolute certainty.  No. 

Logan stiffened, remembering the look in William’s eye when he’d tried to make him see reason; when he tried to make him see that Dolores wasn’t real, that the man had someone real waiting for him. His fingers curled around the wet wooden railing, squeezing as more of the peeling paint fell away in flakes. “Now you’re scheming to become part of the family.” His own words swam through his head, and he saw William’s blue eyes glaze over as he stared at the blonde haired Host. “Marrying my sister, whom incidentally you seemed to have completely fucking forgotten about!” Logan had pulled two photos from inside of his jacket then, flipping past yours to get to the one he’d taken of his sister in Times Square a few years earlier. “Her?” Tucking your photo back in its place inside the inner pocket, he waved Juliet’s smiling face in front of her soon to be husband. “Here, keep it.”  He leaned in then, shoving his sister’s photo into William’s pocket. “You apparently need the reminder.” 

“No.” The single syllable came out more loudly than he’d meant for it to, his top lip lifting, almost offended that Miguel had even asked the question. Swallowing, he shook his head and licked at his lips. “No,” he said again, “I could never forget about her.”  

“Well what the hell makes you think it's any different for her, huh?” Hands still in the front pocket of his sweatshirt, he elbowed Logan lightly as he challenged him. 

Logan shifted his weight, absorbing Miguel’s bony jab and regaining his balance. It’s different because… She’s… I’m… “Fuck, Miguel, it’s different, it should be different, because I’m a-” 

“Don’t fuckin’ blame this on you bein an addict.” Miguel’s tone suddenly turned serious, his eyes narrowing and his nostrils flaring. 

Logan felt his own eyes widen, his lips parting in surprise. But I-  

Miguel was quicker than Logan’s thoughts, waving one hand dismissively as though he could read them. “Nah. That’s  not…” He sniffed. “A? You’re five months clean, man. Five damn months, that’s fuckin’ something, and you worked hard for it. And B? Your girl knew, Logan. She knew you had a fuckin’ problem, and it wasn’t enough to…” He trailed off, cursing under his breath. “Look. You needed to take time to get right with yourself and that’s all good. You had to do what you had to do, but don’t twist it. She loved you, and if I had any damn money to put on it?” He finally let one side of his mouth lift in a small smirk, tone lightening again. “I’d bet she still does, man. Yeah. It’s been a while, and yeah, you leavin’ was probably just as hard on her as it was on you.” Logan winced at that but Miguel went on. “For different reasons, obviously, but…” But? “Shit, I know it woulda taken a fuck of a lot more than me tellin’ her not to wait to make Shay give up on me.”

Damn. The realization that his struggle didn’t negate your love for him hit him just as hard as the fact that he’d shared so much with Miguel over the last several months, and yet this was the first time the man had opened up to him as much as he did. He never told me about Shay… or his brother, I never… The waves were riding atop one another to combine and amplify their crashing, the rolling thunder becoming less distant as the storm that had chased the horses away came closer. 

The sound of the rain hitting the wooden boards that made up the walkway that the two men stood on grew heavier as the droplets themselves began to double in size. Miguel blinked up at the sky, a fat drop splashing on his cheek. “Hey, c’mon man, let’s get back inside, it’s-” 

But Logan didn’t let him finish, instead throwing his arms around the man in a tight but brief embrace. It wasn’t characteristic of him to show that he cared about people, at least not anyone that wasn’t you or his sister, but somehow through the course of their time together, Miguel had earned a place in that small circle. There were no words that Logan could come up with to thank the man for everything that he’d done for him since his very first night at the facility, so he didn’t try. Fuck. I’m gonna miss him. 

At first Miguel didn’t respond, standing frozen as four seconds turned to five, but then he returned the hug, clapping Logan twice on the back. “Yo, it’s all good man.” He pulled back and gave Logan one more clap to the side of his arm. “You don’t have to thank me for anything.” Yes I do, I- “No,” he read Logan’s furrowed brow and spoke before the thoughts could materialize. “You don’t.” He shook his head, the hood slipping down his back. One hand flew up to tug it back into place over his short curls before dropping again. “You know this was my second time through here,  right?” Logan nodded, still unsure where this was headed. “Yeah, well… Well I only got through it okay this time ‘cause I had you.” What? Me? How could I have- “You meet who you need to when you need to, right?” He laughed and looked back up at the sky, squinting one eye. “Somethin’ my mom always said.” He looked back at Logan then,  hands already back in his pocket. “Hey can I…call you? Once you’re outta here and back home and all… settled? I just…” He shrugged. “Hell, man, I ain’t tryin’a make it a three-peat an you’re-” 

“You fuckin’ better call me.” Logan cut him off. I mean it. His throat felt thick and he struggled to swallow down the unexpected emotions. 

Miguel just nodded, his features arranged in an uncharacteristically serious fashion, the two of them now soaked through to their tee shirts as the drizzle finally gave over to full-blown rain. “Alright.” He cleared his throat and tossed his chin in the direction of the building. “C’mon now, I don’t wanna spend my whole last night here dryin’ off.” With that he turned and started walking, the Atlantic Ocean to his back. Logan shook the shock of everything he was feeling and followed, his thoughts and heart racing, but Miguel swiveled back around and he stopped short. “And Logan? Write to your girl. Even if it’s just to tell her you’re headed in the right direction. I’m sure she…”

“Yeah.” Logan’s response was quick, his voice thin but sure. “Yeah, I will.” 

The two of them began walking, traversing the path back to the facility that had brought them together. He didn’t stop again, but another thought seemed to occur to Miguel and he swiveled his head towards Logan. “Hey one more thing.” 

Logan rolled his eyes sarcastically. “Goddamn, what else can you possibly have to fucking say?” 

Miguel’s face split into a shit eating grin then. “Just a reminder to be nice to your new roommate. He’s gonna be havin’ the shittiest damn day of his life and it’s gonna be your problem for at least 48 hours.” 

“Ah, shit.” Logan recalled his own first day there- the pitiful way he felt, the anger and confusion, the feeling that none of it mattered and it all hurt too much. He recalled thinking about smothering Miguel in his sleep because the man wouldn’t shut up with his positive bullshit. I wouldn’t have made it through that night without his bullshit. “I’m gonna get someone as bad as I was, aren’t I?” 

“Yup,” Miguel laughed. “That’s how it works man. But you never know if you’re who they need to meet, right?” 

..  ..  ..  ..  ..  ..  ..  ..  ..  

“I wanna go to Law School.” Logan sat down in the purple chair in Zeke’s office as he made his declaration. 

Zeke took his glasses from his face and pulled a small microfiber cloth from his pocket to wipe them with as he stepped around from the door to take his seat opposite Logan. “Okay. You wanna back up and tell me where this is coming from, Logan?” He flipped the small cloth to fold it and tucked it back away before perching the frames back on his nose. 

Logan twisted in his chair to face his counselor and the man he’d come to respect more than almost anyone he’d ever met. “You kiddin’ me, Zeke?” He turned his upper body back around as the other man sunk into his wheeled desk chair with a sigh. “This whole time you’ve been askin’ me what I’m plannin’ to do with myself after this place, what I want to change?” Zeke nodded and gestured with both hands for Logan to continue. “Well, I got three weeks left, and I know what I want to change. I want to change what happened to me, but I can’t. I know that now, and I know I can’t run from it or…or ignore it, either.” 

“No, that’s true, you can’t.” Ezekiel dropped his hands to the clutter-covered surface of his workspace.

“But I can change what happens next.” Logan leaned forward, elbows on his knees and pointer fingers steepled together to tap the edge of Zeke’s desk.

Zeke’s lips twitched slightly, eyes lighting with encouragement behind the lenses of his glasses. “Yeah, you can. You get to decide how your story goes from here.” He dropped his chin and drew his eyebrows together. “So, law school, huh?” 

Logan nodded slowly, taking a deep breath. “I want to figure out how to… what to do about Delos. I want...I need to protect the, my…” Zeke lifted one eyebrow but didn’t say anything. Slow down. He closed his eyes and blew out a breath. Opening his eyes again, he continued. “I can’t let William take control.” His lip curled involuntarily on the man’s name but he shook it off, moving his head from side to side. “It’s not even about what he did to me, it’s… He’s dangerous for the company.” And for Juliet, and probably a lot of other people. “But in the meantime? While I work on what to do about him? I want to…” Logan rubbed his fingertips over the sweaty centers of his palms. “Zeke, I wanna help people like...like us.”  

He released another breath then, eyes narrowed and focused on the man who still sat silently across from him. There. That’s my decision, that’s what I want to change. Logan licked at his dry lips and sat back in his seat, waiting to hear Zeke’s reaction. I don’t need his approval, I’m doin’ it, I just- 

“Damn.” Ezekiel blew out a burst of air through his nostrils. “Damn, Logan.” He smiled, eyes warming to a melted caramel. Despite the fact that he’d made up his mind regardless of what his counselor had to say about it, Logan sighed in relief and felt some of the tension ease out of his jaw. He thinks I can do it. “You really do go all in, don’t you?” I do. “Well I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t warn you that law, as a profession? The lifestyle isn’t exactly friendly to-” 

Logan laughed then, a genuine smile joining it. “All due respect here, Zeke?” He cocked his head to the side and Ezekiel gestured for him to go on. “I’ve been around lawyers my whole goddamn life. I know. Its a lotta pressure and a lotta them drink and…” he blinked, eyes refocusing. “They do a lotta shit. But I’m not… I won’t-”

“Logan.” It was Zeke’s turn to cut him off. “I know you won’t. I know you can keep fighting like you have been, and I know you’re only getting stronger. You’ll just have to… stay on top of it. That’s all.” He held up both hands. “But I think it’s a hell of a plan, and I think you’re gonna make a hell of a lawyer” 

“Thanks, I...that means…” Logan couldn’t help the small swell of pride that he felt knowing that Zeke was in his corner. “Thank you, Zeke.” 

He hadn’t told Miguel- but I will- but hearing his story, about what he and the people he loved had gone, helped push him towards his decision. I’m gonna figure out my shit...what to do about William, but… I’m gonna help other people with their shit, too. 

“This isn’t all you are, Logan, I promise you that.” You’d told him that one night after laying your lips to the faded but still present marks that lined the inside of his left forearm. He absently reached over and pressed his thumb into the bend in his arm. She was right.

In the back of his mind, an old, warped version of his own voice called out, desperate for attention. You serious? You won’t last two months. You’ll be back, you’ll- 

But he didn’t even answer it, choosing to let it fade entirely. Fuck you. 

..  ..  ..  ..  ..  ..  ..  ..  

Logan sat at the table in the common area, a pad of paper in front of him. He held a pen between his pointer and middle finger, tapping the end of it against his thumb. It was Monday on the second to last week that he’d be a patient in the rehab facility he’d checked himself into after his second overdose in only a few months had made him see that on his current course, his time was short and his options were limited. The last six months had been some of the hardest but most eye-opening and life changing that he’d ever experienced, and though in a way he felt more like himself than he had in far longer than he could say, he also felt like a completely new person; a different person than the man you’d known before he’d left. 

But that’s for the better. And I’m not… I’m still… He sighed. I’m still me, I’m just… what’d Zeke say? He tapped the pen again. Stronger. 

Your face filled his mind for the millionth time since last he’d seen it, and he heard Miguel telling him again to write to you, to let you know that he’d come up from the depths that he’d been drowning in. He’d been surprised to find that writing to his sister, though he had no idea if she’d read any of it, had been simple. He had so much history to call in with Juliet, so many memories to hang on to and to hope for, that all he had to do was tell her that he hoped he’d get the chance to have them back some day. 

With you it was harder, because there hadn’t been anything established between the two of you, not really. But that’s not really true, is it? He saw the way you smiled at him through a mouthful of barely edible eggs, legs crossed as you sat perched on his countertop, wearing his shirt. Goddamn. With her I had… everything, no matter what we never said. 

He wanted it back, craved it, and though he hadn’t spoken to you since you pulled your lips away from his cheek, he found himself wondering if you didn’t want it back, too. If anyone deserves to know I’m doin better, it’s her. Its… 

He’d sent his application in to Stanford earlier that week, and he wanted more than anything to tell you, to be able to call you over when the decision email came so that you’d be there with him when he found out if he was accepted or not. But I… I can’t just show back up in her life again, not after how I left. He frowned down at the paper, the blank lines staring back up at him. 

Finally, he brought the tip of the pen to the top of the pad, hand moving over it to reveal your name in dark black ink. I can’t just show back up but I can… I can start somewhere. 

Once he’d started his letter to you, Logan found that the words flowed more easily than he thought possible. He’d explained things he wouldn’t have been able to months earlier, acknowledged and thanked you for things that you’d done for him and ways that you’d helped him without even knowing it. He’d apologized for the ways that his addiction and the things that surrounded it had hurt you, and when all was said he’d written three pages, front and back, signing his name near the very bottom of the third page. Yours, Logan. 

Maybe one day I can be yours again. Before he could rip the paper to shreds, he shoved it in an envelope and scrawled the last address that he’d known for you, hoping that you still lived with your roommate in L.A. 

..  ..  ..  ..  ..  ..  ..  

Exactly seven weeks after sending in his application to Stanford School of Law, Logan sat at the counter in his kitchen. He blinked at the screen in front of him as it refreshed for a third time, reloading only to display the same message as before. Holy shit. His eyes widened as his breath left his lungs in a hurry. For a split second he thought about deleting it, the old ghosts that he’d fought so hard to rid himself of now screeching their last cries. Worthless. Junkie. Impetuous. Unstable. Embarrassing. They were all words that Logan was familiar with. But they all paled in comparison to the word that was in bold font in the email that was open on the laptop before him, the death rattles of the things that he once let define him silenced by that one, single word. 

Accepted.  

.

.

.

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[madpanda75]

“Taking Chances Part 8: A Case of the Ex”

Oh Sonny, what are we going to do with you? Actually I can certainly think of one or two things 😜 Anyways, welcome to Part 8 where we find out how the reader reacts when Sonny brought over his “mystery guest”  to dinner 👀 

Thanks for all the love with this series! You guys are amazing ❤️

This couldn’t be happening. This was a dream. Yes, a dream. You were simply having a nightmare. It was an illusion. A succession of images that usually occur involuntarily in the mind during certain stages of sleep. Any moment now you would wake up with Rafael’s limbs entangled around you like overgrown vines, heating your body. You swore that man was a walking furnace. From under the table you discreetly pinched your arm, wincing slightly when you felt the sharp pain from where your nails dug into your skin. Oh no. That proved it. This was real.

When you announced to your family that the engagement with Theo was off, you happened to leave out several important details such as coming home from work early one day to find him in bed with the flighty twenty-one year old who delivered your dry cleaning. Only your sisters knew the truth and you practically made them swear a blood oath that they wouldn’t tell a soul.

It’s not that you were a particularly private person. Being raised in the Carisi household, everyone was in each other’s business. But with Theo, it was different. He was your next door neighbor. You grew up together. You were the Mary to his Joseph in the Nativity play in the third grade. Your mom and his mom taught Catechism together. Breaking off your engagement left you heartbroken and you didn’t want to burden your family with the details. Your dad was recovering from a heart attack. Your mom had her hands full between caring for your father and worrying about her children. And then there was Sonny.  

Working with SVU over the years, you noticed a change in him. He was more quiet and cautious, even becoming a borderline realist—a stark contrast from the goofy, loveable, optimistic, older brother. You saw how Mike Dodd’s death affected him, even though Sonny tried to hide it from you. Then a year later during a night out at the bar, he drunkenly confessed that a perp by the name of Tom Cole had held him at gunpoint while he was trying to save a victim. You saw how his body trembled in fear, the tears in his eyes. Although you begged him to get therapy, he shrugged off your suggestion and told you to drop it. You never spoke of it again. The last thing you wanted to do was give him one more thing to worry about. Your life and all its troubles seemed to pale in comparison to the nightmare he had lived through.

Rafael glanced between you and the man who resembled an Italian Vogue model standing next to Sonny. “Is that who I think it is?” he mumbled. The tiniest nod of your head confirmed his suspicions.

So this was the infamous ex-fiancé. Theo was the very definition of tall, dark, and handsome: chocolate brown eyes, thick shiny mane, and a dazzling smile which Rafael could’ve sworn were caps. Not to mention, he was in your age bracket.

Rafael slumped down in his seat a bit, feeling self conscious. He had always thought he was a decent looking guy. Walking down the courthouse halls with his swagger and sharp suits, he noticed several women and men eyeing him. But compared to Theo, Rafael felt like the Hunchback of Notre Dame.

Gina narrowed her eyes. “What is he doin’ here?”

“Yeah,” Bella added. “Shouldn’t he be out getting his dry cleaning?”

“Girls,” Julia scolded although she was just as surprised to see your ex in her dining room.

The last time Theo visited your parents was about two years ago when you both were making a seating chart for your wedding. Then one Sunday you came to the house alone with your eyes red-rimmed and puffy, announcing the engagement was off. You had claimed the reason was because Theo was moving too fast and that you weren’t ready to settle down just yet. But something told Julia Carisi that there was more to the story than what you were letting on, call it a mother’s intuition. Regardless of your mysterious breakup, your mother was not about to be rude to her new guest. She could give Emily Post a lesson in being a good hostess. Getting up from the table, she smiled and pulled Theo into a hug. “Theo, sweetheart. It’s so nice to see you. How’re your parents?”

“Great to see you too, Julia. The folks are fine. I hope it’s ok I’m here.”

“Absolutely. We have plenty of food.” Julia turned towards her husband. “Dom, can you get another chair?” Your father didn’t respond, still in shock over the sudden reappearance of your ex. “Dom!” She clapped her hands to get her husband’s attention.

“Huh,” Dom said, snapping out of his trance. “Oh sure.”

As your father left to get a chair, Sonny smiled and patted Theo on the back. “Let me grab ya’ a plate and some silverware.”

While your parents and brother were busy making your guest comfortable, Theo caught your eye and immediately made a beeline towards you. “Hey stranger.” Before you could even react, he wrapped his arms around you, his one hand pressed into the small of your back. “You look beautiful,” he whispered, his lips grazing your ear. You stood there frozen with your arms at your sides. It took all your strength to quell the wave of nausea rising in your stomach.

In Rafael’s opinion, the hug lasted much longer than what society would deem to be acceptable. His fists slightly trembled. He could feel himself quickly transforming into the ugly green monster within. “Hi,” he said, a little too loudly. “I’m Rafael. Y/N’s boyfriend.”

Finally letting you go, Theo turned towards Rafael and laughed before focusing his attention back on you. “He’s kidding, right?”

You immediately reached for Rafael, finding comfort in his presence by your side. “Actually he’s quite serious. Do you find that amusing?”

Upon learning that you and Rafael were together, Theo’s lips curved into a smirk that left you feeling uneasy. “Well then, I suppose congratulations are in order,” he replied and extended his hand to Rafael. “You’re a lucky man. There’s nobody like Y/N.” He glanced your way with a glint in his eye. “Nobody.”

Dom and Sonny came out of the kitchen with an extra chair and a place setting. “Here ya’ go, pal,” Sonny said. Theo took the chair and placed it right next to yours, reaching across you to grab some of your mother’s lasagna.

He took a bite and moaned. “This is delicious, Julia. I’ve sure missed your cooking.” His foot slyly nudged yours under the table causing you to scooch your chair away.

Being smushed in between your boyfriend and your ex-fiance was some sort of cruel torture. You were seconds away from lunging across the table and punching your brother, but instead you stood up. “Sonny, I need your help getting some wine from the kitchen.”

“Now? But we have wine here.” Sonny motioned to the Amarone on the table.

“Yes, but there’s a nice Chianti in the kitchen and it’s on a shelf that I can’t reach.” You crossed your arms and gave your brother a threatening glare. “Now or I’ll eat your liver with some fava beans. I hear it pairs nicely with a Chianti.” Sonny sighed and followed you into the kitchen.

You gripped the edge of the sink and silently counted to 10 in order to calm yourself before addressing your brother.

“So where’s the Chianti or did ya’ just bring me in here to watch ya’ breath,” Sonny remarked.

You whipped your head around and narrowed your eyes. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Sonny innocently shrugged. “Havin’ lunch with my family.”

“Don’t be cute.” You tugged on your mom’s yellow kitchen gloves and began to furiously scour a greasy pan with a brillo pad, finding some sense of clarity in your angry cleaning. “I can’t believe you invited Theo. How dare you!”

“What’s wrong with that? Theo hasn’t been here in ages.”

“Yes and there’s a reason for it. We broke up or maybe you haven’t gotten that through your thick skull yet.”

Sonny pinched the bridge of his nose. “I don’t understand ya’, Y/N. First ya’ break off the engagement with Theo cause he’s movin’ way too fast even though you two grew up 6 feet away from each other for 18 years. But one month with Rafael and you’re ready for a colonial, 2.5 kids, and a collie?”

“My personal life is none of your business,” you growled.

Sonny scoffed. “Well actually it is my business since you are fuckin’ someone I work with.”

You dropped the dish you were cleaning with a violent clang, water splashing everywhere and took a few steps toward your brother. “Choose your next words wisely, Dominick Carisi, Jr.”

Sonny shook his head, his appearance akin to disappointment. It was hard for him to separate the woman you had become with the little girl you once were.  If he closed his eyes, he could picture you with your skinned knees and unruly hair coming out of your french braid, demanding piggyback rides from him. And even though that little girl was gone, you were still so young and naive about this world. There was so much you needed to learn.

“What happened to us, Y/N. I mean we used to be so close. I’m your big brother and I’m tryin’ to look out for ya’.” He tentatively put his hand on your shoulders, tilting his head lower to meet your gaze. “I’m doin’ this because I love ya’ and I want what’s best for ya’. I’ve worked with Barba for years. I know him and he’s not a good fit for ya’. You’re going to regret this.”

You fought back the sting of tears and tucked in your quivering bottom lip. You refused to cry in front of Sonny. Although you hated to admit it, his opinion mattered to you. It broke your heart that he didn’t approve of you and Rafael.

Just then the kitchen door swung opened, revealing your boyfriend’s handsome head poking in. “Everything ok in here?” He stepped into the kitchen. “Cause Gina is asking me when we’re gonna make her an aunt and that led to one of your nieces asking where babies come from and your mom is trying to eavesdrop on you both with a glass held up to the wall.”

“Why don’t ya’ mind your own business, Barba,” Sonny sneered. “I’m talkin’ to my sister.”

“Not anymore. We’re leaving.” You rushed past him and ran back out into the dining room, meeting the shocked faces of your family.

“Everything ok?” Julia asked. The shortness of breath in her voice indicated that she had just ran to her seat from her position near the wall.

“I’m sorry. We have to go,” you mumbled and made a mad dash to the foyer to grab yours and Rafael’s coats.

Your parents exchanged a worried glance and immediately followed you.  “Honey, are you sure? What about dessert? I made your favorite cheesecake. Please stay,” Julia pleaded

Your dad leaned forward and spoke softly, “Ya’ know if you’re upset about Sonny bringing that pretty boy punk over for lunch I can kick him out. For that matter, I can kick Rafael out too. Anything for my little patatina.” He grinned and booped you on the nose.

You faked a smile for your father. “That won’t be necessary, Pops.”

Julia smoothed down your hair. “Then sweetheart what’s wrong?”

The words were right there at the tip of your tongue. You wanted more than anything to confess everything then march over to Theo and crush his balls into powder. But one look at your family told you now was not the time, not when you were surrounded by your adorable albeit nosy nieces and nephews and your sisters who thought of family drama as a national sport.

So instead you hemmed and hawed, stammering over your words as you tried to think of a plausible reason for your sudden departure when Rafael spoke up behind you. “Actually it’s my fault,” he lied and wound his arm around you. “I’m so sorry. I got a call from work and I need to run over to the office for a few hours.”

Sonny followed Rafael into the foyer and arched a brow in suspicion, not falling for his excuse. “That’s funny. I never got a call from Liv about a case or anything.”

Rafael turned towards the detective and narrowed his eyes. “Oh don’t worry. I’ll be filling you in on the details later.”

“Well, let me pack up some food for you both. It’s the least I can do.” Julia gently cupped your face and patted Rafael on her way to the kitchen in search of tupperware but you stopped her.

“Some other time, Ma. We really have to go.” You kissed her and your dad and waved goodbye to the rest of your family.

“Thank you for a wonderful meal. It was nice to—” Rafael was unable to finish his farewell as you dragged him out the door.

“What the hell was that all about?” your dad asked Sonny once you had left.

Sonny ignored him and pushed past his parents to run out after you. “Y/N! Wait!”

You stopped in your tracks and turned towards your brother, slapping him hard across the face. Your entire body shook with rage, tears streamed down your cheeks. You felt completely and utterly betrayed by the one person you had relied on your entire life. “Stay out of my life,” you said in a shaky voice before getting in the car with Rafael and driving away.

You only made it one block when you had to pull over, your tears blinding your vision. Slumping over the steering wheel, your forehead connected with the horn causing the most pathetic little beep as you cried even harder. This was not how you intended the day to go. Rafael rubbed your back in soothing circles. “Shhh, it’ll be ok, hermosa. Everything’s going to work out,” he cooed.

“No it won’t,” you wailed and banged your head against the steering wheel several more times.

Rafael winced and tried to pull you away from the beeping horn, not wanting to create yet another scene. “Babe, stop. I don’t want someone from Neighborhood Watch to come out.”

You sat up and sniffled. “I’m so sorry about Theo and lunch.”

“I’ve experienced much worse during lunch. Trust me.” He handed you his handkerchief and ran his fingers through your hair. “Do you want me to drive?”

You loudly blew your nose and hiccupped. “Sure. Can you drive?”

“Of course I can drive. Now let’s trade.” Unbuckling your seatbelt, you got out of the car and swapped places. “Can I drive?” he mumbled, chuckling to himself. Of course he failed to mention that he only learned to drive a few years ago, never really seeing a need for it when he lived in Manhattan, one of the highest rated cities for public transportation. Once you were comfortable, he turned on the ignition and sped down the street, making his way back to the city.

*****

Sonny stood there, stunned, listening to the sound of your car screeching down the street. A laugh coming from the porch signaled his attention. “Ladies and gentlemen of Sycamore Avenue, behold the man who was just bitch slapped by his baby sister!” Bella announced.

Sonny rolled his eyes. “What are ya’ doin’ out here?”

“Ma wanted me to check on ya’.” She sat down on the front step and patted the spot next to her at which he begrudgingly obliged her request. She leaned forward and inspected the right side of his face. “Huh, interesting. I can make out a thumb print.”

“Stop it.” He crossed his arms and scooted away, trying to cover the one side of his face.

Bella shook her head. “Don’t get me wrong, you’re an amazing big brother and I’m grateful for all you’ve done, especially with Tommy. But when are ya’ gonna realize Y/N’s not a little girl anymore. She is the most level-headed out of all of us that includes you,” she said with a smirk and playfully nudged him. “She knows what she’s doing and Rafael is an incredible guy. Ya’ have to be deaf, dumb, and blind to not see that he adores her.”

“I just want what’s best for her and that’s not Rafael. You of all people should understand. Ya’ caught a glimpse of the world that Rafael and I live in during Tommy’s trial. I don’t want that for her. I don’t want that for any of ya.” Sonny sighed and rested his elbows on his knees, slouching as if he had the weight of the world on his shoulders

“Hey,” Bella softly said, flicking her brother’s ear to get his attention. “I know your job is tough. I mean I can’t imagine the things you face everyday but ya’  gotta stop this. You have to stop living for this job, it’s gonna eat you alive. We’re all worried about ya.”

Sonny scoffed. “I’m fine.”

“Oh yeah? Then tell me when was the last time ya’ went out on a date or ya’ didn’t wake up from a nightmare or ya’ took a vacation. Think about it.” She patted his knee and stood up to leave before turning back one last time. “Just don’t push people out of your life cause otherwise you’ll end up alone.”

Bella had hit the nose right on the head. He hated when she was right. Between law school and work, he hadn’t been living. When he wasn’t working, he was studying or taking a class or screaming in his sleep after having yet another nightmare of Tom Cole holding a gun to his forehead. In truth, there was someone who had caught his eye. Someone he had wanted to ask out from the moment he saw her and yet whenever he made an attempt, something stopped him.

Why couldn’t he just let everything go? Why couldn’t he live anymore? Sonny felt as if he was standing on the edge of a cliff, about to topple over the edge, about to leave everything and everyone he held near and dear to his heart. Sitting there on the porch, he shivered a bit in the early spring air, unsure what felt worse, the sting of your hand across his face or the words you last spoke to him.

@glimmerglittergirl @southern-magnolia @sweetcannolicarisi @delia26 @obfuscateyummy @sass-and-suspenders @eclecticminded @thatesqcrush @katmstanton @amirightcounsellor @beltzboys2015-blog​ @letty-o​ @sonnysdoll​ @lyssa1385​ @sweetsummertime99​ @burningsorr0ws​ @gibbs274​ @izzythefanfreak​ @babypink224221​ @livxrafa​ @esparza-army​ @obsessionprofessional​ @ottosuricato​ @melsquared79​ @dreila03​ @frenchiefoxy @tropes-and-tales​ @thecraziestcrayon​ @goodluckfindingone @scarlettsoldier​ @youreverycolor​ @yeah-boiiiiiiiiiii​ @imagine-all-the-imagines @imjustreallynosy​ @graniairish​ @ashley-chi​ @lolacolaempath @cocomel0613  @mysterioustrashadventures @that-girl-named-alex​ @scapricciatello @mrsrafaelbarba @zizzlekwum @katierpblogg

[snowdice]

Road Trips and Missing Persons (Part 2)

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Relationships: Patton & Virgil, Virgil & Deceit (more to be added)

Characters: Patton, Virgil, Deceit, Remus, Roman (more to be added)

Summary: Patton was just getting groceries. The next thing he knew, there was a knife at his throat and he was an unwilling uber driver. Virgil’s on the run after the murder of his dad, and it’s not just his paranoia that’s telling him he’s being chased down. He has to get somewhere safe, somewhere he can trust, and all he has is a couple of stories from his dad and a name: “Green Bellow Foods and Dispensary.”

Notes: Secret Agents AU, knives, carjacking, kidnapping, murder mentioned, guns mentioned, pepper spray, blood mentioned (more to be added)

This is a fic I’ve been writing on study breaks that you have probably all already seen at this point. I’ve affectionately named it the Goblin Brain Fic because it’s helping my brain actually get motivated for studying. I’ve slightly edited it for wording and grammar, but not for content from my previous posts. Feel free to send in asks to direct it because I’m not 100% sure where this is going and you can help decide if you feel so inclined! You can see the process I went through to build this at this link.

Part 1

It had always been a quaint little house that his little brother and the boy’s father had lived in. It was a little thing with two bedrooms, one bathroom, and a kitchen that faded into the living room/dining room situated in a little neighborhood with a small park and a medium sized grocery store. At one point in his life, Janus had wondered why his brother preferred to live in such a small space rather than in their mother’s much grander house that edged on a mansion, but as he’d grown, he’d come to understand.

Mom was a bitch.

And even more of one than he’d thought apparently. Really? The father of your child? The father of your 15-year-old child? He knew there wasn’t exactly any love between the two of them, but he’d hoped there was at least enough respect not to murder the man.

God. Virgil was going to be crushed when he found out.

He shook off the thought. There was no time for emotions. First thing first. He needed to get Virgil out of here before mother deigned to remember his existence. Then he’d deal with the emotional fallout.

“Virgil!” he called into the house. There was no answer.

Janus frowned. It’s fine. He was probably just listening to his music like the angsty teenager he was, right? Except… Janus was pretty good at picking up when something was amiss given his current career and something… seemed… amiss, though he couldn’t place what.

That in mind, he paused to listen. He couldn’t hear any sounds in the house, so he started to walk forward a bit. He ducked his head into the kitchen and froze. The window above the dinning room table had been broken, leaving glass shattered across the floor. Fuck.

Had mom remembered Virgil’s existence. He hadn’t thought she’d outright send someone to kill the boy, but what if she had?

Janus took a breath and then quickly set about investigating the rest of the house. Other than the broken window, most of the house looked normal until he got to the only room in the house with the lights still on: Virgil’s room. The purple and black spiderweb comforter usually on his bed had been flung to the floor across the room and both of his lamps had been knocked over along with some decorations. Also, there was some radio like device on the floor and a bottle of pepper spray which, judging by the smell, had recently been used.

There was also still drying blood on the carpet, though thankfully not enough to indicate there’d been a murder. Janus swallowed. Okay.

Maybe mom had sent someone after him, but that didn’t mean he was dead. He smoothed his face out even though no one was there to see it and took out his cell phone. He found his mother’s contact in his phone and pushed the call button.

“Yes?” she answered on the third ring, her tone already bordering on annoyed.

“Good evening mother,” Janus spoke smoothly even though he could feel the blood rushing in his ears. “I heard about the tragic,” he made a point to subtly color his tone with sarcasm, something he’d learned from her, “death of Remington Gates about half an hour ago.”

He could hear the single eyebrow raise even from over the phone. “Yes,” she replied, “and?”

“Well I was just wondering if I needed to clean out my room at the house or if there would be another solution for the man’s son?”

“Ah yes, well,” she said, “that has been a… frustration.”

“Frustration?” Janus asked. Curious tone. Not scared. Curious, not scared.

“I had sent one of my men over to pick him up and bring him to me shortly after Mr. Gates’ death. However, he apparently resisted going with a stranger.”

Janus shivered at the thought of what one of his mother’s people would do to a kid who fought him when he was trying to follow her orders, but at least he (probably) wasn’t dead. “So, he’s been taken by your man and is on his way to your house now?”

“No.”

“No?” and as much as he tried, just a bit of panic seeped into his tone. He wasn’t sure if she noticed.

“No,” she confirmed, with an angry tsk. “Honestly, I know he’s my blood, but one would think Kinsley could handle a 15-year-old child.”

“Wait… then, where is he?”

“That is the million-dollar question,” she scoffed, “The last I knew Kinsley was whining about washing pepper spray out of his eyes before he could track him down.”

“So… he’s on the run?” Janus asked. On one hand, good for Virgil. On the other hand… where the fuck was his baby brother?

“Unfortunately, yes.” The way she said ‘unfortunately’ made it clear that she was far more unhappy about her orders not being fulfilled immediately than worried about the fact that her teenage son was missing.

“Perhaps,” Janus hedged, keeping his voice level. “You should send someone more competent. I would be willing to step in if you believe it’s necessary. Not to mention, he knows me.”

“You’re volunteering?” she asked.

“If it would be of help to you,” he said smoothly.

“Very well,” mother said. “I’ll send you Kinsley’s information. You can work with him.”

Shit. “Must I?” he asked in a bored tone. “It sounds as though he is quite incompetent.” He waited with his breath held.

“At least meet up with him to get the information he has but then you can send him back or shoot him for all I care. He’s proven himself to be useless.”

“I will do as you instruct,” Janus replied, relieved.

“I know you will,” and then she hung up.

Janus collapsed on Virgil’s bed when he was sure the call was actually disconnected with a groan to wait for the information on Kinsley to come through. While he waited, he pulled out his second phone. He considered it, knee bouncing up and down and then opened the text app.

‘Virgil is missing. Help?’ he texted and sent his location before stuffing it into his pocket again.

A few second later, details about Kinsley popped up including his current location using the tracker on his phone. He was in the park down the street.

Janus didn’t know if he was following Virgil or guessing but getting him out of the way would be a good starting point either way.

He pushed himself to his feet and after a moment’s thought, grabbed the stuffed spider Remy had given Virgil when he was eight off the boy’s bed. He’d… probably want that wherever he ended up.

He shoved it into the inner pocket of his coat and then left the little quaint house behind to head to the park down the road.

He glanced at his phone and brought up a picture of Kinsley. In theory he could just text the man and ask where he was as he’d likely been informed someone else was coming to find him, but it would be much more satisfying to surprise bash his face in.

He needn’t have bothered looking at the picture though as Kinsley was fairly easy to spot seeing as he was the only grown man crying with his head in a water fountain.

Janus could help but let his lips curl in amusement. Serves the bastard right. He walked straight up to him and grabbed him by the back of the hair. He squealed as he was pulled back and tried to fight back blindly.

“I’m your replacement,” Janus said coolly, and the man froze at his tone. “Where’s the kid?”

“Fuck. I don’t know man. He ran off. I’ve been trying to check the park, but my eyes,” he whined.

“Oh, boo-hoo,” Janus growled. “Maybe you shouldn’t have let a 15-year old pepper spray you.”

“He was prepared somehow, alright. Already knew his daddy was dead and was ready to fight.” How the hell had he… didn’t matter right now.

“Tell me exactly what happened,” Janus demanded, yanking on his hair harder.

He made a pained sound. “I broke through the window and found the kid in the bedroom. He refused to go with me and said screw his mom because she killed his dad. I smacked him good to get him to cooperate, but that just seemed to piss the little bastard off because the next thing I knew he was pepper spraying me.”

“And then?” Janus asked calmly.

“Then he ran. I don’t know where. I’ve been trying to find him. Assumed he ran to the park. Kids like parks.”

“I see,” Janus said and then slammed his face into the edge of the water fountain. “You know,” he informed the unconscious body. “I was given the option to shoot you.”

“Before you do that,” a voice said casually. There was the unmistakable sound of a gun’s safety clicking off. “I’d like to have a word.”

Janus turned slowly to look in the direction of the voice and, at first, thought he recognized the man, but then realized he didn’t have a stupid mustache and also the man he was thinking of probably would have (maybe) had enough sense not to point a gun a Janus when his brother was missing.)

Great. It seemed the other side also sent people looking for his brother. He’d thank Logan, but actually, screw Logan. He eyed the man pointing a gun at him idly. “Do you even know how to use that thing?” he scoffed. The moment indignation flashed across his face, Janus ducked down and charged at him, twisting his arm behind his back and kicking the gun away when it fell.

Yet, as soon as the element of surprise was gone, it became clear that Janus was physically outmatched as they grappled with each other for an edge. He was brought to the ground but rolled out of the way and kicked him in the stomach. Yet that didn’t deter him. Instead he kept coming at Janus, grabbing his arm and twisting it. Janus clocked him in the face and drew blood.

“Fucker!” the man spat but didn’t retreat at all. They continued to wrestle on the ground a bit when they were interrupted by another voice.

“Ooo! A fight! I wanna join!” Then another body slammed into both of them knocking the wind out of Janus as Remus threw Roman off of him only to pin him himself. “Hi JJ!”

“Remus, get off of me!” Janus said, shoving.

Remus did not seem inclined to oblige. “Hey, Ro.”

“You two know each other?” Roman asked, wiping off the blood coming from the side of his mouth.

“We’re double secret partners,” Remus replied with a wink.

“Oh…” Roman said seeming to get what he was implying.

“Great,” Janus said. “Now will you get the fuck off of me?”

“I don’t know,” Remus said in a sing-song tone.

“Remus,” Janus said lowly.

Remus blinked at the sudden darkness of his tone and then his eyes widened as he remembered what was happening. He was off him in seconds. “Right,” Remus said. “Jay, this is Roman. Ro, this is Janus. His brother’s missing.”

Want to read more? Click below!

AO3 Part 3 My Master Post

[lambourngb]

Get me out of here - places to go when canon is complicated

It’s Day 3, time to celebrate those stories that I turn to when I can’t deal with canon, or when I don’t have the emotional energy to untangle all the emotions I have for what’s going on in canon. Alternative universes, the safe harbor for us. Below are a mix of rewrites of canon, remixes of canon, or out right not even set in Roswell- to fill every type distance you want from canon- from near to far.

The first story I’m reccing is a long one,- so pardon the very long review below.

my love is a life taker by @jocarthage (267,600) So one day, Jessi popped into discord to share a dream she had about timetravel and being able to save yourself in the past basically, particularly Alex getting to give his baby-self a hug, and we all went, “holy shit that’s a cool fic idea please write it!” and really reality sucks right now with quarantine and whatnot, so what better thing to do than follow a WIP? I can’t tell you how badly I needed to something to look forward to as I was staring down a milestone birthday with all my plans in tatters, and this story filled the void.

Okay- now about the actual story itself, the world building about time travel in this is incredible but easy to absorb. Jessi dumps you straight into the action in chapter 1 with Alex, at 28, assassinating an Iraqi intelligence agent in 2009 that averts a bomb that was planned on US forces. You learn so much about both the story-universe and Alex here- one, that even dressed in mask and killing someone, Alex is kind and uses morphine as an overdose and has arranged for his victim’s family to be compensated, you learn that time agents can only visit places they themselves have visited during that time, and Jesse Manes had dragged his son, who was ‘time aware’ to every place of war and ruin on the planet before he was 18 and that, Alex’s victim, even as he’s dying, recognizes what a shit childhood Alex had but that Alex doesn’t.

The next part is where Alex’s time crystal malfunctions, instead of returning him to 2018, it takes him to 1998 where an 8 year old Michael is getting beaten by his foster dad and Alex, out of his time line mysteriously, visible to only Michael, saves him, but only temporarily. We all know with abusers, until you’re out of the house, it’s just a matter of time before the next beating. However, with one act, Alex at 28 starts putting into action (even though he doesn’t recognize it at the time) the steps to save his own life as he works to save Michael from his childhood. Each mission, each jump through time, Alex meets Michael, always a year apart and only for 1000 seconds, or almost 17 minutes. Jessi takes you through some of the darkest points of US foreign policy, only as Alex takes control of his life, he also starts to change the missions, and change the world. The details of places, people, food, etc are authentic from the author’s experience, if you don’t click on the links at the end of the chapters and disappear down google-rabbit holes about the events in history, well- you’re made of stronger stuff than I am.  There are lots of heavy subjects discussed, but there’s always care and honesty behind the intent. The way Michael grows, the way Alex grows, and of course the journey to the present time when they could be together? It’s like pining on steroids but it’s so wonderful. I wish I could pull out one thing that I loved in particular in this story- but it’s impossible, only to say that I love that I could disappear completely within the confines of ‘my love is a life taker’ knowing that I would be kept safe by the author, that goodness prevails.


when I’m oceans away by @neapeaikea (28,000) this is a post-2008 shed canon-divergent AU where Alex Manes, after the best/worst night of his life bolts from Roswell and leaves Michael behind. 10 years later, on the hunt for a child conceived at Caulfield, Michael walks into a youth home in California and finds Alex. A few things, I love that this author writes an Alex who didn’t join the Air Force but still lost a leg, I don’t really enjoy disability erasure in modern AUs (I’m better at looking past that in historical or sci fi aus) . It’s pretty clear after five minutes that the connection between the two men is still there and strong despite anger, secrets and guilt. The teasing and flirting between them is great but so is the acceptance of baring their vulnerabilities. I loved the care they take with each other, and the tie in to an alien child is just so perfect.

Crucibles (series) @ninswhimsy (9,000)- I’m cheating and naming both here, but obviously nin had her finger on the pulse of fandom, by writing crusade-set queer stories before The Old Guard ever boomed into a fandom from the movie. I was lucky enough to trade DMs over the ideas of holiness and the body, and how Alex would have treated himself, certain of his doomed soul, and how Michael would have responded in turn. It’s no secret I love everything Nin writes, but this series stuck in my mind. I will be drifting off to sleep, and think about Alex walking through the ancient city of Aleppo, ready to be done with his burden and Michael there with soft palms and scented oil, and boom! I reach for my kindle to re-read it.

no regrets if we walk this new road by @andrea-lyn (97,000) This author has written so many amazing AUs, some quite far away from canon events like her Mummy AU or her Avengers AU, but I have to say, I have a very soft-spot for this rewrite of season 1 for a lot of reasons. I mean, it’s 2020, so my appetite for Cop!Max is definitely at an all-time low, so the idea of exchanging his job with Kyle’s was extremely appealing. At least Kyle is a POC holding the badge, not a white man like our canon. Anyway, politics aside, this story is special to me for the scorching good Isobel/Kyle relationship that develops, the way Isobel sharpens herself into a lawyer (not an event planner) and how Michael rounds his own edges off in turn by becoming a teacher (and being secretly married).  Each deviation from canon made complete sense once you alter the way Rosa’s death affects the pod squad, and how they covered it up ripples out toward Liz, Kyle, etc. 


Layer on layer, down on down by @dotsayers (9,440) I love sci-fi tropes, especially time-loops, but they are incredibly hard to write (I know, I abandoned mine a while ago) so this story stands out because of just how well done the execution is and also the angst. Michael in a time loop about Caulfield, like how great/agonizing is that? The plot is so good, how it ties into Caulfield and why it happens in the first place, like wow.  The care, and the hurt, and the fatigue that Michael has in this story, oh you just want to wrap him in a blanket. There’s a tiny throwaway line about how one of the first things Michael learned to do in foster care was to make himself heavy and unmovable- and you instantly picture kid!Michael not wanting to be removed from a house - like my heart broke! The structure of the story, with the background of his just how much he loves Alex but how badly it hurts to see him die, really makes this study of 1x12 special. Along with all the angst, there’s tiny gallows humor lines, so am I weird, that I laughed through a couple of these scenes even as Michael kept dying?

Petty pace by @aewriting (11,600) Aewriting has a couple of stellar AUs, so trying to pick just one was difficult, but I rather feel this story is sadly underappreciated it (mind the tags). It was a remix of @iwontbeyourmedicine ‘s fantastic ‘Freaky Friday’, where the humans and aliens swap roles. Alex in the role of Michael basically was something I had never pictured until Ly wrote that story, and now feel utterly changed by it, especially with this backstory- the idea of Jesse Manes bringing a foster child home? Incredibly well done because there’s an off the charts level of menace in this story. The way Jesse watches Alex, who at first mistakes it for how a pedophile might size up a victim, but then catches on quickly that it’s so much worse in a lot of ways. And Alex is such a loner in the beginning, even as he reconnects with his pod siblings Liz and Maria, he’s still planning on keeping his head down and leaving Roswell far behind. Like freedom is literally the only thing he can conceive of for himself, no real dreams outside of that until Michael slips under his defenses. I probably could have saved this story for angst day- because the second half of the story, if you don’t sob while you read it, then I dunno. It’s helpful to read Ly’s story right afterward as a reminder that things do get better for Alex ten years later. In a lot of ways this story is sadder than canon (though there’s no murder of Rosa/4th alien), I’m comforted that at least Alex has Liz in the aftermath, alike in heartache in a way that Michael didn’t have because of the pact he and Max made about Isobel in canon.

Unexpected tidings by @bestillmyslashyheart (24,800) Another rewrite of canon, that explores a couple of very interesting questions, like what would it look like if Michael never made it back to Roswell as a kid but met Alex by chance in 2008? Imagine the cornerstone of the Lost Decade love affair revolving around the mundane questions of a long distance relationship that wasn’t built on the pain of the shed or Rosa’s death? Marlo writes an amazing take on this, that is both real and deep with the normal couple problems, before introducing that spanner in the works of oh yeah, aliens are real. With Michael on the east coast, and Alex finishing off his service in Roswell, Project Shepherd still entangles Alex with Liz bringing him in on the secret in hopes that with his hacker skills he can track down the third alien child that Max and Iz remember so they can warn him. As interesting as the current plot was, I found myself absolutely revitted the slow piecemeal reveals that Marlo doled out about Alex and Michael’s relationship over time. (I also while rereading this recently got very nostaglic for season 1 Alex who didn’t trust Jesse as far as he could toss him.) 

Don’t Punish Me For What I Feel by @winged-fool (3,600) Tarsus IV AU - another wonderful author with a catalog of great AUs, both sci-fi and dark, and honestly it was difficult to narrow it down to one. This story, well in 2009 I was a hard core Trek movie fan, so when I saw a trek-fusion story appear, I knew I would love it just on that basis. The thing is, this gave me Michael as the Captain, a surprisingly rare role for these space fusions, even though genius level repeat offender Jim Kirk and genius level repeat offender Michael Guerin seems pretty married in my mind as a connection. As a Tarsus-like story, all the tags are well earned by the story that Alex finally shares with Michael. It hit on so many levels, the hurt/comfort level for sure, but also to have a story where Michael is this stalwart protector of Alex was really nice to find. 

this isn’t the ‘holiday best friends championship’ by @usbournejez (6,090) alright to leave this on a lighter note, my final AU rec is this masterpiece by Kieran that was part of Malex Secret Santa gift fics- and what a gift it was to all of us! The way she writes established Malex is first-rate, because she always includes their canon-levels of snark/sharpness but it’s never directed at each other and that’s something I love. Here we have Alex, where we learn in just a few short lines, is a huge control freak but has the extremely big emotional handicap, and that’s his love/fondness/deserve to caretake Michael. Emotional cactus Alex who is soft for Michael? Love it. There are small drops of angsty backstory peppered in this, but really that just fuels just how sweet and wonderful the main theme of the story- which is Alex might hate the whole world at large, he loves, protects and worships Michael (and vice versa). As someone who can bake cookies, but that’s about it, I was still enthralled with the baking details and this story has never failed to encourage me to eat dessert before dinner basically. 

[cakesunflower]

Room 304 [C.H. One Shot]

Summary: Hooking up with her half-brother’s ex-best friend probably wasn't the best idea. But no matter what Maeve told herself, it wasn’t entirely a bad idea, either.

Important Note: There’s, like, a 98% chance that this entire fic is not going to show up if you read it on a desktop. This fic is 29,440 words, written in 3 days, and it’s my baby. I can’t believe I finished writing all of this, but I’m hoping you guys enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. But, yeah, the entirety of the fic probably won't show up on desktop because it’s so fucking long, so if you want to read all of it ((which I assume you would)) please read it on your mobile Tumblr app. And please, please, please let me know what you think of this fic. I planned every bit of this fic down to the detail, and I would love to know what you think. Also, the cute little lyric edit in the middle of the mood board was made by the lovely @easiertostayy 

Without further ado..... Happy reading!

Day 1

Returning from the bathroom and settling on her seat, Maeve wasn’t surprised to see Lina taking a picture of her freshly arrived food before posting it to her social media, placing the napkin on her lap and eyeing her own grilled chicken sandwich. The Bryant Park Grill was one of Maeve’s favorite spots; the flowers they were surrounded by on the rooftop restaurant along with the string lights, tabled umbrellas and view of the park made for a great place to have lunch or dinner after a day in the city. So when Lily had told Maeve she’d booked a table, the blonde caught the next bus into the city and met up with her best friend, where the two of them sat with the sun setting behind the buildings that began to glitter with lights brightening their surroundings. Peaceful and much needed.

But before Maeve could even reach for her sandwich, her eyes caught sight of two familiar faces talking with the hostess, and Maeve realized in that moment that it had been damn near a year since she’d last seen Calum Hood. She couldn’t seem to pull her gaze away, taking in the way the black bomber jacket hugged his broad shoulders and dark curls subtly danced in the light breeze that blew by every few seconds. It was an instinctive reaction, to admire how good he looked, smiling at the hostess as she grabbed two menus and led him—and Michael, who Maeve realized was accompanying him—to an available table.

A table that was right by her and Lina, with an empty one right in between. Maeve didn’t miss the second Calum’s eyes landed on her, stopping right next to the hostess by the table as his dark eyes met her bluish-green, lips parting in too late realization of just who he was about to sit near.

Before either of them could say anything, could even acknowledge one another, it was Michael who broke the silence when he confusedly followed Calum’s gaping gaze, a startled laugh escaping the tattooed blonde. “Oh, shit, Maeve!” he exclaimed familiarly, voice loud and happy at the sight of her as he pulled his chair towards his table. “How’re you doing?” His green eyes shifted to the red head across from Maeve, nodding his head as he added just as sincerely, “Hey, Lina.”

While her best friend waved as she smiled around the straw she was sipping her Moscow mule from, Maeve managed to find her voice, returning Michael’s smile as she said, “I’m good, yeah.” Calum slowly sat down opposite of Michael, just to Maeve’s right, as she looked at him once more before adding almost gingerly, “Hey, Calum. Been a while.”

She wanted to instantly cringe as she said that last bit—of course it’s been a while. The last time she’d seen him, things had gone to hell a bit too fast, beyond anyone’s control, and she doubted anyone needed a reminder. But the memory was still there; Maeve could feel it in the awkwardness that pursed her lips, could sense it in the way Calum’s hands were fisted on his knees under the table. Briefly, she wondered if this was genuinely difficult for him—to be around the half-sister of the man who used to be one of his closest friends. A man who, the last time Calum saw him, had given him a busted lip and left with a broken friendship he had no intention of fixing.

The brunette man nodded with his gaze on the table in front of him before he finally forced himself to look at Maeve. God, it was awkward. They all knew it, could feel it. While Michael occasionally still hung out with Ashton, neither Maeve nor her half-brother had seen or heard from Calum for almost a year. It was like as soon as Ashton and Calum’s friendship had fallen apart, Maeve stuck by her brother and cut Calum out of her life, even if his role hadn’t been as significant as it was in Ashton’s. It could be blind loyalty, because to this day Maeve didn’t truly understand what exactly had happened between the two men, and it was no use asking Ashton because he was as stubborn as they come. He didn’t talk about it, and that was that.

“It has,” Calum agreed, voice carrying the familiar rasp and hint of lisp she hadn’t heard in a while. “How’s uh—how’re your parents?”

She wondered if he was about to ask about Ashton before stopping himself, wondered if he missed his once close friend and wished she knew if her brother felt the same way. Lightly clearing her throat, Maeve nodded as she answered, “Yeah, they’re good. All good. Yours?”

Calum rolled his lips into his mouth before offering a quick smile, like it almost pained him to do. “Everyone’s great,” he responded, grabbing the menu the hostess had left for them and turning his attention to it.

The conversation dissolved after that and Maeve tried not to focus on the air around them being tense or awkward as she ate her food, throwing a wide eyed, helpless look towards Lina. Her friend got the message, and Maeve gave Lina a relieved smile as her best friend started up a conversation with her, leaving the boys to decide on their meals. But still, Maeve couldn’t help the way her eyes would not so innocently glance over to Calum whenever she reached for her drink and sipped at it, looking at the tattooed man from the corner of her eye.

The topic of the Big Fight—capital B, capital F—was basically a taboo around Ashton. He never talked about it, and no one ever brought up Calum around him either, despite the two of them having many mutual friends. As she took in the sharp line of his jaw and silver rings on his fingers, Maeve wondered if it was the same for Calum, if he turned into a stubborn, hostile fool if her brother was brought up. Maeve listened to Lina talk, absently twisting her lips to the side. Boys were so ridiculous.

Despite the initial awkwardness, the rest of lunch wasn’t too bad. Michael often pulled the girls in for a conversation or two before they went back to their own discussions, and each time Calum and Maeve remained silent if the other spoke. Maeve couldn’t help but think Calum didn’t speak directly to her because of everything that happened, and so she stayed quiet in return. As if they had come to a silent agreement that speaking to one another wasn’t allowed—an agreement neither of them quite remembered signing off on.

By the time Maeve and Lina finished their food and paid the bill, the boys were halfway through theirs. Getting up, Maeve shouldered her purse and followed Lina around the table, and stopped at the guys’ table to say, “See you guys; it was good to see you.”

She purposefully locked her gaze with Calum’s as she said the last bit, hoping that he would see that she genuinely did mean it as a breeze had the ends of her short blonde hair tickling her collarbones. Maeve wasn’t entirely sure if her skin prickled from that or from Calum’s eyes intensely holding a gaze she initiated. He remained seated, relaxed in the chair and right arm rested on the table as he gripped his bottle of beer, expression so unreadable that it almost had Maeve bristling on the spot.

She was about to regret even saying anything until Calum finally offered a nod, subtly tipping the mouth of his bottle towards her as he stated, “You too, Maeve.”

Though it was just a three word response, it was one that left Maeve satisfied as she shot the boys one last smile before following Lina out. And when Maeve got home, after a bus ride and car drive to her neighborhood that was unwittingly spent thinking of a tattooed brunette she hadn’t seen in a year, she caught sight of her half-brother who happened to be over rather than at his own place, and the words spilled out of her mouth.

As she shut the door of the fridge after greeting Ashton, pulling out a bottle of water as he helped himself to the bag of veggie sticks in the cabinet, Maeve stated, “Guess who I ran into today.”

“Taylor Swift?” Ashton joked, grinning dimply at his own unfunny reply as he dug a hand into the bag he was holding, giving a shake of his head to move away the dark blonde strand of hair falling over his eye.

Maeve didn’t even grace him with a roll of her eyes as she swallowed the cold sip of water, coincidentally swallowing down the hesitance as she leaned back against the stainless steel fridge and responded, “Calum.”

The expected reaction was almost immediate in how Ashton’s expression instantly fell, features darkening at the mention of his old friend. Maeve watched him, head tilting ever so slightly, almost challengingly, as she noted the way Ashton thinned his lips. She even heard the crunch of the plastic bag he was holding, grip tightening at the sound of the name he hadn’t uttered in a year. All signs of joking vanished from Ashton’s features, bright eyes a darker shade of hazel and expression stoically grave.

It was palpable how heavy the tension in the room settled, all by a mention of Calum, reminding Maeve of the unforgettable fact that her brother was still pissed off at history. Still, Maeve bit the inside of her cheek before adding, “He was having lunch with Mic—”

“Didn’t fucking ask,” Ashton cut her off, harsh and unkind and final as he fisted the top of the bag of chips and walked out of the kitchen with powerful strides, the muscle in his jaw jumping and the veins in his arms threatening. Maeve watched him go, eyebrows raised, before hearing the sound of the television in the living room clicking on and Ashton raising the volume as a way of drowning out whatever she may have to say.

She gave a shake of her head at his absence and pettiness, scoffing softly as she looked the other way towards the window above the sink looking out into the backyard. Sure, she’d expected him to react as such at the mention of Calum, but it never failed to strike her as absurd. Was whatever happened between them really so bad that talking about it would only flare up Ashton’s already thinning temper on the matter, or was it truly so ludicrous and trivial that Ashton didn’t talk about it because he knew it would only paint him as someone holding onto a grudge that’d be better of letting go of? At this point, Maeve believed it could honestly go both ways.

Day 22

The door of the store thudded closed followed by the sound of footsteps, informing Maeve that someone had arrived rather than left, and she focused on finishing folding a men’s polo shirt while welcoming with the customary, “Hi, how are you?”

She looked up by the end of her greeting, polite smile turning into a surprised parting of lips as she looked at Calum. They both underwent a simultaneous moment of recognition, Calum recovering before her as the corners of his lips quirked into a small smile as he returned, “Hey, Maeve.” His dark eyes glanced around the store before landing on her once more. “I didn’t know you worked here.”

The blonde placed the folded shirt onto the appropriate stack, the table of polos separating her and Calum as he took the few steps towards her. The store wasn’t too busy, the music playing through the company playlist louder than the chatter of coworkers and few customers around, so Maeve busied herself by recovering the men’s section. The last person she expected to see was Calum walk in.

“Someone’s gotta pay for my makeup habit,” she responded lightly, a small joke to ease whatever tension that may remain between them since that evening of running into each other in New York. It had been almost three weeks since they first saw one another after everything, and Maeve hadn’t been entirely sure if she’d see Calum again, writing off that day as a fluke. Wasn’t really sure if his presence even called for the hours she had spent thinking about him, which was an unnerving fact on its own. Rubbing her hands down her jeans, she asked, “Can I help you with anything?”

He blinked, almost as if he was just then realizing that she’d offered to be the one to assist him if he needed it. Maeve considered if he would prefer it if someone else helped him should he require it, and couldn’t help herself from adding pointedly, “Unless you’d rather me get one of my coworkers?”

Calum’s dark eyes looked into her bluish-green, the color of her eyes never one he could ever figure out, before his eyebrows drew together ever so slightly. Like he was genuinely confused at her question. He responded to her inquiry with one of his own, “Why would I want that?”

Maeve almost wanted to laugh. She hoped he wasn’t being serious. She saw the question swimming in his eyes and her smile faltered slightly, suddenly filled with the same exasperation she felt towards Ashton when Calum and the Big Fight were involved. So Maeve shrugged, eyebrows raised challengingly, arms folded on top of the blue and yellow stacks of polos as she coolly responded, “You tell me.”

He was silent for a few moments, tongue pressing to the inside of his cheek as he accepted the fact that her statements were justified. Calum nodded to himself, dark curls dancing across his forehead, before he told her, “Dad’s birthday is coming up and apparently anythin’ I brought isn’t dressy enough.”

Maeve’s gaze dropped from Calum’s face, taking in the clothes he was wearing, aware that it was probably a sin for a shirt to fit someone that well and feeling the sudden urge to touch the silver chain necklace he wore along with the matching bracelet on his wrist. She appreciated the tattoos on his arm that were in view, and from some of the looks Calum was receiving upon his arrival, Maeve knew she wasn’t the only one who did. She bit back the urge to swallow, meeting his gaze once more and keeping the even tone as she mused, “Yeah, athletic shorts and Zeppelin tees don’t exactly scream formal wear.”

Calum’s chin dropped to his chest and Maeve didn’t miss the smile that quirked his lips as he let out a short chuckle, hands splaying by his sides before he slapped his thighs and said to her, “Kind of why I’m here.”

It was a cute sound, his breathy chuckle, and Maeve’s own mouth tilted at the sound of it before gesturing to her right. “Button downs are to the right, and if you want dress pants they’re towards the back.”

He was capable of picking out his own clothes, Maeve knew, not wanting to hold his hand through the process, and was only proven correct when she was running the fitting room. She was folding the go-backs when he walked in with two pairs of pants and a few button downs of different colors draped over his arm, and Maeve shot him that close mouthed smile she often shot customers while unlocking one of the fitting room doors for him, cringing when he walked in and shut the door. Her customer service smile was for customers, not Calum.

Maeve could vaguely hear Calum shuffling around in his stall over the music as she kept folding the small hill of clothes that were on the fitting room table left by customers. She thought of Calum, and of how she hadn’t seen him for a year and suddenly had seen him twice in the span of three weeks, wondering if there were any more run-ins with him she’d have to face. He was more of a presence in her life than he was in Ashton’s, even if it had been two interactions weeks apart, and that fact kind of saddened Maeve.

Ashton and Calum were so close, best friends, and to see Ashton grow so hostile over the mention of Calum and Calum to feel whatever level of awkwardness he may at the sight of her was just a reminder of how much things had changed. Obviously Maeve didn’t share Ashton’s dislike for Calum—she didn’t have enough information to given that the reason for the Big Fight was still unclear—but she wasn’t entirely sure where she stood with Calum. Granted, they weren’t as close as Ashton and Calum, but the latter had still been her friend, and Maeve had only abandoned him because of her loyalty to her half-brother.

And she’d never tell Ashton, but Maeve had kind of missed having Calum around. He’d always been the quietest of her brother’s friends, but the silence that followed once he was gone wasn’t the kind she was used to.

She heard the door open, and in the midst of folding a pair of jeans, Maeve glanced over to see Calum step out of the stall, one hand reached behind him to make sure the door didn’t close all the way through. His eyes instantly found Maeve, but she was too busy taking in the way the baby blue button down hugged his figure, the short sleeves wrapping around his biceps a bit too well. Calum smoothed it down with his hands, the shirt tucked into fitted black pants before running a hand through his hair, pushing the curls back and away from his face.

Maeve could feel her mouth dry at the sight of him, giving herself a moment to admire the man in front of her because the shock of seeing him the first time at the restaurant hadn’t given her the opportunity to do so. She could see the chain necklace peeking out just a bit from under the collar and Maeve wasn’t exactly sure when he started wearing that specific piece of jewelry but, shit, she was glad it was there.

“What do you think?” Calum asked, raising an eyebrow at her as he held his hands out as a way of presenting himself. “This good enough?”

Good enough didn’t do him justice. His curls were messy and the tattoos under the somewhat formal wear provided Calum with a boyishly handsome aura that Maeve actually felt herself tightening her grip on the jeans she was holding. She was deaf to the music playing throughout the store, all too aware of the quickened pace of her heart, wondering when exactly Calum Hood was able to have such a pulling effect on her.

“Uh, yeah, it is,” she quickly responded, not wanting to stand around just openly staring at him. The last thing she needed was to give Calum an open invitation to her betraying thoughts. Not when he was already watching her expectantly.

Calum looked down at himself, taking in the shade of the shirt before saying, “I like it, but ‘m gonna try another one too.”

He turned to head back into the fitting room, and right before the door shut, Maeve quickly recalled the various colors he’d taken inside and found herself blurting out, “Try the yellow.”

Calum paused at her unexpected suggestion, glancing at her over his shoulder, and Maeve forced herself to not visibly cringing at her spontaneous burst as Calum glanced away before meeting her gaze once more and nodding. She even saw the ghost of a smile tilt at his lips before he disappeared inside, and as soon as the door shut Maeve raised the folded jeans she held and pressed her forehead against the denim, squeezing her eyes shut so tightly that she could feel it in her temples and wondering what her damn issue was.

It wasn’t even a big deal but, God, her conscious wouldn’t stop telling her she probably just embarrassed herself. Over the color of a damn shirt.

But then the door opened a few moments later and Calum stepped out, and Maeve felt the air rushing out of her lungs at the sight of him in a sunny colored button down, not at all harsh on the eyes, looking absolutely golden against his inked brown skin. This time, when Calum’s expectant eyes met hers, Maeve could see the hint of mirth dancing in the dark brown irises, could hear the smirk in his voice as he quirked a knowing eyebrow and asked, “Better?”

She hugged the jeans to her chest, catching the smirk that actually did make an appearance on his full lips because he definitely caught the way she swallowed the lump in her throat before, almost enchantedly, breathing out, “Better.”

When Calum proceeded to leave the fitting room after changing back into his own clothes, offering to hang the shirts he didn’t want from where he’d picked them up so she didn’t have to, he surprised Maeve by stopping in the entrance of the fitting rooms. She raised an eyebrow at him as she folded a graphic tee, looking at him with a combination of expectation and confusion, especially when she noticed the furrow in his eyebrows like he was conflicted about something, the previous relaxed expression he wore nowhere in sight as his features tightened. Something had changed.

And when she noted the muscle in his jaw ticking, Maeve knew it couldn’t be good.

What he said only proved her correct. “You know, I understood when Ashton cut me out of his life. But, I gotta say Maeve—” Calum sucked his teeth, finally looking at her, and she felt herself tense up at the disappointment and hurt that was in his eyes, neither of which she had been expecting. “—I didn’t think ya had it in ya to drop someone like that so quickly.”

Maeve stopped what she was doing, Calum’s words freezing her in place as she gaped up at him with widened eyes and parted lips. One corner of his lips was curled in resignation, disillusionment, and Maeve found herself hating that she was on the receiving end of that look. The back of her neck started heating up, spreading to her cheeks at the unexpected confrontation, and Maeve began stammering as she tried to reason, “I—Ash’s my brother, Calum. I couldn’t—”

“Stay friends with the guy your big brother punched out? Yeah, clearly.” He scoffed, derisive and unimpressed, only serving to heat up her face more. Cutting off Calum when Ashton did had always been something Maeve had been iffy about, had told herself she didn’t need to stop being friends with someone just because Ashton had. But then again, Calum was Ashton’s friend before he ever was Maeve’s—he had been one of Ashton’s best friends. So what right did Maeve really have keeping Calum around?

She just never expected him to be upset about it.

With a shake of his head, Calum licked his lips and looked ahead, throat working as he continued in a voice that was gruffer than his usual rasp. “You have your loyalties, I get it. But things went to shit between me and Ashton—not me and you. The least you could’ve done was give me a heads up that I was losing two friends instead of one.”  

He walked away and Maeve was stunned into silence to do anything but watch him go, wondering if the heaviness in her chest was an inkling of what Calum must’ve felt a year ago.

Day 25

The music playing through Ainsworth was almost deafening, making it damn near impossible for Maeve to hear what her friend Audra was screaming into her ear. But Maeve was enjoying herself, nursing a margarita after two rounds of tequila shots, sticking to her drink for the most part. It was a Thursday night and after her shift she’d quickly gone home to change before meeting up with her friends in Hoboken, keeping company in the restaurant/bar by the water as she enjoyed her drink after splitting a mac and cheese burger with Lina.

Maeve was having a good time, she really was; the music was good and the food had her full and the two rounds of tequila shots had been free for her and her girl friends. And yet, she was alarmingly aware of the eyes that would ever so often find hers, dark yet glittering under the dim bar lights, and as much as she tried not to look his way, Maeve couldn’t stop herself from every so often locking gazes with Calum.

He was sat at the other end of the bar and as the bass of the music resonated through her chest, Maeve wondered what he was doing at a restaurant in Hoboken when he apparently lived in the city. The sight of Michael and a few of their old high school buddies answered her question, and Maeve did her best to focus on spending her time with her own friends rather than looking towards the man who had all but told her off just a few days ago.

It wasn’t until she was done with her margarita that she looked over, eyes locking with Calum’s, did she still on her seat on the barstool. Through the moving crowd between them, Maeve could see Calum watching her, couldn’t tell what he was thinking because of the stoic mask he wore on features too gorgeous not to admire as she looked right back.

But then Calum looked away, and Maeve’s heart sank with the beat drop of the song when she couldn’t figure out if Calum hadn’t found what he was looking for, or if he was just disappointed by what he did see. Her grip on the edge of the bar tightened, silently asking herself why she cared, why the weight of his gaze burned her skin in a fire she didn’t want to put out, and Maeve let out a breath.

She wasn’t anywhere near tipsy as she stood up, heels of her feet clacking against the wooden floor as she excused herself from her friends and began making her way to the bathroom with her purse in her hand. The breath of relief escaped her as soon as she stepped inside, the music from the bar muffled as the door shut, and Maeve approached the sink as she ran her fingers through short, wavy blonde strands. Looking at her reflection, at the flush of her cheeks and the pink lips she’d been nibbling on as soon as she caught sight of Calum, Maeve knew exactly what was going on.

Accepting it was just proving to be difficult.

There was a longing that coiled in the pit of her stomach, one that had begun to form the other day in the fitting room of the store and had only intensified the second Calum stepped foot into Ainsworth. Pressing her palms on the cold marble of the sink, Maeve dramatically wondered if this was God or the universe playing some kind of prank on her; as if her, without provocation or warning, being attracted to the one man her brother seemed to hate was the funniest joke anyone could come up with.

A huff escaped her pink lips as she glared at herself in the mirror; the only one to blame was herself, really. And maybe Calum for popping up in her life more in that past few days than he had in the past year.

Mostly the blame went to herself, though, and her eagerly relentless body’s equally relentless yearning of a touch only Calum could somehow satiate.

“Great,” Maeve muttered to herself, her little bathroom trip resolving nothing and only serving to add onto the tension in her muscles. She pulled open the door and began making her way back to where her friends were, the music once again loud and clear, and as Maeve looked ahead she found herself slowing to a stop, heart dropping at the sight of her brother and Calum standing a bit too close for comfort. Standing closer than they probably had in the past year.

Maeve caught sight of Lina, who even though she was tipsy, was fully aware of the situation and knew how badly it could go. Everyone seemed to sense the suffocating tension in the room, from their friends to the bartenders to any other customer around that wasn’t part of their group. Maeve noticed Michael and Luke hovering by Calum and Ashton respectively, standing tall and ready to interfere should things got out of hand—Maeve wished they’d step in right away before things even had the chance of escalating.

Hesitantly, she took a few steps closer, the click of her heels drowned by the music that was still playing, bluish-green eyes widened in alarm as she heard the deep baritone of Calum’s lowered voice say to Ashton, “If you’ve got somethin’ to say, say it to my face. Didn’t seem to have a problem doin’ it last time.”

His tone was chillingly cool, standing toe to toe with her half-brother, and Maeve’s dry throat tightened when she saw Ashton’s hazel eyes twitch into narrowing, never once taking his gaze off of the man who was once his closest confidante. While Maeve wasn’t one to get scared easily, her chest still tightened at the sight in front of her; the angered expression on her brother’s face wasn’t one she was fond of—especially not in this intensity—nor did she enjoy the rigidness of Calum’s back as he clenched his hands on either side of them.

God, what had happened to the two of them? If she didn’t believe it before, then Maeve definitely did now that the reasons for the Big Fight were probably some that were strong enough to damage a friendship like it did this one. She could just never see Ashton and Calum fighting over something enough to get them to where they were now, and she found herself hating that this was where they now stood: angered and dark and ready to throw a punch in the face of a man that each once considered a brother.

Ashton’s mouth shifted, as if he was trying to keep his lips pressed together to keep back the snarl from escaping, and Maeve’s heart beat a bit too quickly to keep in time with the music playing as everyone watched on with bated breath. Like it was some damn TV show happening right in front of them. Ashton then lifted his chin, eyes never leaving Calum’s, as he finally gave a single shake of his head and a dismissive scoff. “Not worth my time.”

He was turning away, something Maeve hadn’t expected him to do, but her relief was short lived when Calum released an unsurprised and mocking gibe, “Hate to break it to you, but your time isn’t something to be fuckin’ worthy of. Just ‘cause you’ve got your own head stuck up your ass, doesn’t mean everyone else does, too.”

The air rushed out of Maeve’s lungs, only being given a second to exasperatedly wonder why Calum would push Ashton like that—especially with a couple of those words being similar to those uttered on the night of the Big Fight—before her brother’s body jerked forward—not to hit Calum, she could tell, but to get in his face. Still, it wasn’t something anyone was keen on happening, so Luke and one of their other friends stepped in to hold Ashton back, the sudden movement of his body bringing forth a clamor among everyone, exclamations released in hopes of stopping a fight before it got started.

Maeve had gasped, taking a step back, but instead of watching her brother being calmed down by his friends, Maeve’s eyes slid over to Calum, who still stood where he had been. He gave a shake of his head, as if he was over the whole thing already, absently telling Michael and his other friends that he was fine, it was all good, nothing to worry about.

Fuck, Maeve hadn’t even noticed Luke walking Ashton out of the bar, her gaze glued to Calum as he ran a hand down his face, rings glittering as his eyes met hers. Calum pursed his lips as Maeve’s buzzing phone in her hand went ignored, too busy watching Calum take in her alarmed reaction before he broke their gaze and looked away. As if he couldn’t stand to watch her look at him the way she was—dismayed and startled all in one.

Lina rushed over to her just as Maeve looked at the text she’d received from Ashton.

Luke and I are heading to Weehawken. I’m sorry for ruining your night, text me when you get home.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m good,” Maeve absently assured Lina as she texted Ashton back, pocketing her phone and looking up at her friend. Just as she did, her eyes went over Lina’s shoulder to catch sight of Calum stalking out of the bar, tall and looming over everyone else as he walked outside. She watched him go, moving with purpose, and Maeve’s eyebrows knitted together as she felt the impulse to follow after him.

Afterall, she needed to apologize.

What Calum had said to her at work the other day had stuck by Maeve, and it unsettled her. Sure, she had felt a sense of loyalty to her half-brother, but maybe just dropping Calum cold hadn’t been the best way to go about it. Like he had said, she could’ve given him some kind of heads up. Or. . . She could’ve just kept the friendship.

She knew that Luke still occasionally hung out with Calum, and knew Michael did the same with Ashton—even if those instances were exceedingly rare. It was kind of like Luke stayed with Ashton and Michael stuck with Calum during the divorce type situation, which made all of it sound more amusing than it ever was. So maybe Maeve could’ve kept the friendship she’d formed with Calum over the years. Ashton probably wouldn’t have liked it, Maeve may have felt some small semblance of guilt, but Calum had been her friend, too. And the way she just abandoned him. . . It wasn’t fair.

Leading Lina back to their small group of friends, Maeve quickly said to Audra, “Hey, keep an eye on her, huh?” to which her friend nodded as she put an arm around Lina before Maeve began making her way towards the exit.

It was kind of cold outside, the March air only getting chillier due to the body of water the restaurant was across from. The New York skyline glittered up ahead, the buildings in perfect view, but Maeve’s gaze was drawn to the spark of light to her left, releasing a silent breath as she watched Calum shove the lighter back in his pocket and grip the cigarette in his mouth between his two fingers. He was leaned against the brick wall, the light above the service door next to him glowing over him as he leaned his head back and released a cloud of grey smoke.

Maeve wasn’t entirely sure how to approach him, but as she began making her way over, she found herself lightly musing, “Looks like I owe you both my apology and Ashton’s.”

Not the best opener, but it’d have to do.

Calum opened his eyes, straightening his head as he watched her near him. The end of the cigarette glowed a bright ember before he pulled it out, exhaling the smoke through his nose as his expression remained professionally indifferent. How he internalized things, Maeve would never know. “If your brother wanted to apologize, he would’ve,” Calum replied throatily, free hand shoved into the pocket of his leather jacket. His left foot was propped against the wall behind him, bent at the knee. “What’re you apologizin’ for?”

Maeve pressed her tongue to the back of her bottom teeth as she looked at him. If she focused enough, she knew she’d be able to see the shadows of his eyelashes against his cheeks, but she also admired the way they hollowed when his lips wrapped around the cigarette. Calum looked so calm and collected, not at all like the man who was about to get into a fight just moments before.

Finding her voice, Maeve spoke up, “You were right ’bout what you said the other day.” She took a few steps closer, the distance between them minimal, as she absently played with her fingers. Calum watched her coolly, eyes never leaving her, as she added earnestly, “I shouldn’t have just dropped you the way I did. It was a shitty situation and I felt like I had to be on Ash’s side but—it wasn’t right and—and I’m sorry.”

She hoped he’d hear the genuine sincerity in her voice, would hear the apology she was trying to convey because she really did regret piling on more to an already awful situation. Maeve had a feeling that a friendship breakup hurt more than a relationship breakup, and while she hadn’t been as close to Calum as Ashton once was, the former had undergone two at the same time and Maeve resented that she had any part of it.

Another billow of smoke curled out of his lips, and Maeve stood silently under his gaze. The music from inside the bar, and from another one a few ways down, could still be heard along with the distant sounds of cars driving by. But otherwise it was silent between them and Maeve wrapped her arms around herself, the full sleeved fitted crop top not doing much to keep her warm in the chilly March night air. Still, she’d rather focus on the goosebumps raised because of the cold rather than the twist of her stomach in anticipation of how Calum would respond.

Eyes on her, Calum pushed against the wall, placing the cigarette in his mouth and surprising Maeve as he silently shrugged off his leather jacket. She watched his actions, tracking every movement, breath hitching when he stepped towards her, his looming figure taking up her personal space deliciously as she caught a whiff of the alluring woody and fresh cologne he wore. Her gaze lifted upwards, wanting it to be continuously locked with Calum’s darker ones, desperately wanting to figure out what exactly was swimming within his brown irises as he draped his jacket around her shoulders, the somewhat weighty material hanging off her frame.

Calum stood in front of her, so close that she could feel the warmth of his body sink into her skin, fingers itching to brush away the dark curls across his forehead as she peered up at him. She was embraced by the scent of him, only fueling her need for him, and Maeve was slowly starting to accept that it wasn’t something she could ignore. And, shit, it was a bad idea—a terrible one—but Calum’s figure towered over her and he was already beginning to overwhelm her senses, his presence only drawing her in like a magnet that could sense its other half.

Her gaze dangerously dropped to his lips, pink and full, as Calum responded raspily, “At least you own up to your mistakes.”

The near whisper of his voice sent a shiver down her spine, not having anything to do with the weather, and that familiar desirable twist of her stomach tightened considerably, nearly knocking the wind out of her lungs. If Calum was aware of the effect he so suddenly had on her, he expertly didn’t show it. To be able to hide his expressions so effortlessly. . . Maeve solemnly wondered just how much Calum had been hurt to be able to do so.

A regretful smile tilted Maeve’s lips, pressed together as she pulled the lapels of his jacket closer together. His scent clung to her readily as Maeve took a breath, light eyes meeting his darker ones as she spoke through a breathless tone, “If I could make it up to you. . .”

Something shifted in his eyes, alluring and magnetic, and for the first time Maeve saw something in his gaze that wasn’t hesitant wariness. She followed the motion of his tongue briefly poking out to wet his lower lip and the knots in the pit of Maeve’s stomach only tightened delightfully as his hummed, “I can think of a way.”

His right hand got rid of the cigarette, dropping it in the metal trash next to the restaurant before he cupped her face once he brushed the blonde strands away from her face. His touch sent a jolt through her body, inhaling a shaky breath through parted lips, unable to pull her blue eyes away from his brown, too lost in them to do anything but anticipate what she knew to be coming next.

Calum was close, so close, and Maeve’s heart was thundering in her chest quicker than the bass of the music playing in the bar, waiting, waiting, waiting for him to just close the gap between them. God, it was a bad idea, but Maeve was ready to throw caution to the wind, was ready to forget about the potential consequences of hooking up with the one guy her brother couldn’t stand. All she wanted to do was give in to the sensation of Calum’s body pulling hers in, give in to the unexpected need she found herself drowning in, that came like a slap to the face. The aftermath was meant to be thought about after.

She saw the mirth dance across his eyes, and suddenly Maeve was aware that Calum was waiting for her to make the next move both of them were aching for. So she let out a breath and with the help of the heels on her boots, tilted her chin up to close the distance, eyes shutting as soon as her lips met Calum’s.

They leaned into each other, Calum’s hand going from her cheek to the back of her head, fingers threading through the blonde strands to keep her close as their lips got to know one another in a slow yet eager dance. Maeve’s skin felt like it was on fire as Calum kissed her, tongue finding hers while she felt his free arm wrap around the exposed expanse of her waist under the jacket to pull her even closer.

Her own hands gripped the front of his shirt, sinking into him greedily as every single nerve in her body came to life by having him so close. Any thought not pertaining to this moment didn’t have a place in her mind; all Maeve could focus on was the feel of Calum’s fingers in her hair, arm keeping her close, and lips moving with hers. The music had drowned out and the chill of the night was replaced by the warmth Calum was providing, and she wanted more.

They parted, heavy breaths and pounding hearts with foreheads pressed together, and Maeve’s eyes remained closed because she already felt so dizzy as Calum quickly breathed out, “Wanna take you home.”

It would be embarrassing how badly she wanted that too, if she cared. Maeve shook her head, opening her eyes only to look at Calum’s lips; so kissed and pink. “Not an option,” she responded through a gentle gasp when she felt his fingers dig into her skin, cold rings only exciting her more. All she wanted to do was take Calum home, but that would be a risk given that Ashton had the habit of crashing there rather than his own apartment.

Calum let out a throaty chuckle, nose pressed against hers and lips only barely brushing across hers as he started, “Unless you wanna wait half an hour to get to my place—”

Oh, fuck no. No way was Maeve patient enough for that, and by the tight grip Calum had on her, she knew he wasn’t, either. “I’ve got an idea.”

Somehow, in their desperation for one another, both Calum and Maeve managed to escape their friends. She wasn’t sure, nor did she care, what Calum said to his buddies to excuse himself from the bar, but Maeve told Audra, “If anyone asks, I’m sleeping over your place,” in case Ashton ended up asking and while her friend eyed her questioningly, she agreed after Maeve promised to explain later. She didn’t care who knew, so long as it wasn’t Ashton or her parents or anyone who would run their mouth.

Soon enough, Maeve and Calum had left Ainsworth and walked down the streets of Hoboken, the destination Maeve had in mind not too far off—especially since everything in this small town was within walking distance. It was only a five minute walk, her heels clicking and his Doc Martens thudding against the pavement, and it was nice.

The city skyline was in continuous view as they went, and while the reason for them leaving the bar wasn’t lost on either of them, the anticipation and excitement still brewing, it didn’t stop the two from engaging in a conversation. Calum was quiet, that hadn’t changed in the past year Maeve hadn’t seen him, but he listened and he responded when it best fit. It didn’t feel awkward or forced; hell, it didn’t even feel like they were two people on their way to find a place to finish what they started. It felt good, and for the time being, Maeve tried not to dwell on the ominous thought of that not being the best thing.

Because this was someone her brother couldn’t stand to be in the same room as. This was someone who she already had a somewhat complicated history with. But it’d just be one night, right? One night of forgetting all of that and allowing herself to give into something that needed to be satiated. Maeve kept telling herself she’d never felt such an instant attraction to someone before, that it was about time she gave into her thoughts of finding Calum attractive for years now in this one night. That’s what she kept reassuring herself with, even though there was a mocking voice in the back of her mind telling her that she was betraying her brother—that there was no way this would only last one night.

Calum stopped, looking up at the pink and blue neon sign with its colors washing across his skin and dancing against his eyes. There were a few cars scattered around the parking lot, the lights in few of the rooms behind the curtains on and telling them they wouldn’t be the only occupants. Maeve saw the incredulous look he wore, head tilted up and a disbelieving scoff escaping him as he sounded, “You gotta be kidding me.” He turned his head to look down at Maeve, who was trying to suppress her own amused and somewhat sheepish smile as Calum raised an eyebrow at her. The smirk was threatening to tilt his lips. “A motel—really?”

She let out a laugh, shrugging her shoulders as she told him, “It’s the best we got,” through warming cheeks. Bringing Calum to a motel by the waterfront kind of made her feel like a two bit whore, which may be a harsh comparison, but frankly, she didn’t entirely care. Maybe it was desperate, but it was also the only place they had. It was either this, or take a train back into the city and either walk or take the subway to Calum’s apartment. Staying in New Jersey was safer—the Skyview Motel was safer.

When Calum looked at her, saw the way Maeve rolled her innocently smiling lips into her mouth and raised her eyebrows at him expectantly, he let out a huff of laughter and a shake of his head. Not so innocently, Maeve pulled the jacket closed by its lapels with one hand as she took a step back, the coyness slipping into her voice as she mused, “Hey, if you’re not up for it—”

He wasn’t about to let her go that easily. Calum’s hand reached out, grasping Maeve’s, and her grin widened as he started walking towards the small reception area with purposeful strides. “Come on.”

It was a quick check-in with Maeve sticking to Calum’s side and soaking in his warmth as he showed his I.D. and flashed his credit card, not even blinking at the $70 price for one night. Maeve offered to split it, but Calum merely gave her a look and she rolled her eyes; if he could afford living in the city without any roommates, he could afford a motel room by the water. And while the makeshift lobby was small, it was clean and not at all rundown, and it only gave Maeve hope that the room would portray the same kind of care.

The man behind the desk took a set of keys off a hook on the wall behind him, each key connected to a small ball as he handed it to Calum and said, “You’ll be in room 304.”

As soon as they received the key, it was like all bets were off.

They stumbled into the room, the impatience and desperation bubbling over, no slowness from their first kiss present, as the leather jacket dropped from around Maeve’s shoulders and right to the floor, Calum kicking the door shut while his lips never left Maeve’s. Heavy breaths could be heard and pounding hearts were felt within their chests as they moved towards the bed, so in sync as Maeve’s fingers expertly undid the front of Calum’s button down.

She got rid of his button down, fingers grabbing at the tank top he wore and roughly pushing it up, pulling it out from where it was tucked into his pants. Their kiss was interrupted only briefly so Calum could pull the black tank over his head, and Maeve breathed heavily as her eyes drank in the sight of his naked upper half. Calum’s tattoos were in her view, greedily taking him in, feeling the pit of her stomach tighten excitedly as she hooked a finger on the cool chain of his necklace and tugged him towards her once more, lips meeting in yet another bruising kiss.

They moved towards the bed together but before Calum pushed her onto the mattress, his fingers moved to the hem of her shirt, tugging her crop top up until it was off. She watched as his eyes drank her in, just as she had done so to him, and Maeve bit down on her lower lip as she felt his gaze burn into her skin. The action seemed to stir something in Calum, a low growl escaping him as his hands grabbed at the back of her thighs and lifted her up, and Maeve couldn’t help the giggle that escaped her as her ankles instinctively wrapped around Calum’s neck and lips met his once more. Fiery, impatient, needy.

Their next few movements were a blur. Clothes were torn off, thrown haphazardly around the room as they began losing themselves in one another. Maeve was pressed into the mattress, Calum’s body on top of hers, warm and lean and wonderful, as he kissed her. Her fingers tangled in his hair, keeping him close, loving the way his body fit between her legs.

He began moving lower, lips dragging away from hers as he kissed down her jaw and neck, lips burning her skin and scruff scratching her deliciously. Maeve closed her eyes, head tilted back and chest sinking as she released a heavy breath, her entire focus on the trail of electricity Calum’s lips were leaving in their wake as he kept moving. His lips wrapped around her right nipple, left hand paying attention to her other breast, her fingers still in his hair as he switched before he continued his downward path. He was getting closer and closer to where Maeve desperately needed him to be, the room filled with the sounds of her gentle gasps, transitioning into an appreciatie moan when Calum flattened his tongue against her core.

Calum wrapped his arms around her thighs, keeping her open for him as his fingers dug into her skin, working her entrance expertly with his lips and tongue. Maeve’s moans, every little sound that escaped her, only motivated Calum, reveling in the taste of her as his thumb circled her clit, sloppy and effective if the tightening of her grip on his hair was anything to go by. She sounded his name amongst a flurry of curses, pushing him into pushing her, bringing her closer and closer to the edge.

“Calum, Calum, Calum,” his name fell off her lips like a chant as she felt that familiar coil in the pit of her stomach, head tilted back and pressing into her pillow. Fuck, he found himself loving that sound, found himself wanting to hear her say his name in a breathless flurry of dizziness and pleasure over and over again.

Her release washed over her, and Calum sucked and licked her clean greedily as her body shuddered through the orgasm before lifting himself to hover over her once more. He licked his lips, grinning down at the breathless woman wickedly, and she tried to catch her breath as she looked up at him through hazy eyes. Curls a wild mess thanks to her hands, smirking lips begging to be kissed once more—which is exactly what she did as she pulled him down. “Do I get to return the favor?” she asked against his lips, nails scraping down his back that sent a shiver down Calum’s spine.

Fuck, Calum felt his cock twitch at the mere thought of her lips wrapped around him, but he had a feeling that if she did just that, he wouldn’t last long at all. “Next time,” he promised because, shit, there couldn’t not be a next time.

He grabbed the condom that was waiting on the bedside table, sitting back on his knees as he tore open the pack. His eyes met Maeve’s once he rolled it on, his own chest heaving as he looked down at her. Calum felt whatever air that was left in him rush out as he took in the sight of her; blonde hair like a halo and cheeks flushed and lips kissed, and Calum knew in that moment he’d never seen a sight more stunning. He committed it to his memory, heart thundering erratically in his chest because he couldn’t believe this was happening. She was so fucking gorgeous.

Calum hovered over her once more, holding himself up with his arms, suddenly his movements thoughtful and slow as opposed to the frenzied rush the two of them had been in before. His nose brushed against Maeve’s, the chain of his necklace dangling and his curls just barely brushing against her forehead, and his raspy voice asked, “Ready, sweetheart?”

Maeve answered him with a kiss, slow and savoring, and Calum swallowed her moan as he sank into her. He filled her, completely and deliciously, and Maeve’s nails dug into Calum’s shoulders as a way of telling him to move. Her heart was pounding, skin feeling as if it was on fire as Calum moved his hips at a dizzying pace until she grazed her teeth against his ear and begged, “Faster.”

He picked up his pace almost instantly, the sound of skin slapping against skin damn near echoing in the room, sinfully mixed with her moans and Calum’s grunts. The headboard could be heard hitting the wall with every movement, the bed creaking ever so slightly, but fuck it if either of them cared. Maeve’s nails scratched down his back, urging him on and on and on, both of them utterly lost in the way he slid in and out of her, groaning every time he buried himself in her.

Calum eventually moved his face to the crook of her neck, scruff scratching at her skin as Maeve tangled her fingers in the curls at the back of his head. She somehow managed to open her eyes, breathing labored as Calum brought her closer and closer to the edge once more. She stared up at the ceiling, biting down on her lower lip as she felt the cool chain of his necklace on her heated skin, his lips leaving sloppy yet welcomed kisses on her neck. This was such a bad idea. This was such a terrible idea.

But it felt too fucking good to stop, and Maeve knew Calum had ruined her. And she was okay with it.

Day 161

He was pulled out of his slumber by the mattress shifting beneath him, eyes remaining closed as he furrowed his eyebrows in a morning grump, burying his face into the pillow he rested upon. Calum could feel her shifting around to the right of him, a groan rumbling past his throat as he sleepily asked, “Wha’ time is it?”

“Nine,” came Maeve’s response, light and tired in her own right.

Calum moved to rest his cheek against the pillow, watching as she sat on the edge of the bed and was bending down, probably tying the laces of her Converse. The confused frown remained when he saw her already dressed, shoulder length hair tied into a haphazard bun with blonde strands sticking out. The motel room was already brightening due to the sun being up for a few hours now, the curtains on the windows not doing much to keep the light out since they hadn’t lowered the blinds the night before.

Cheek pressed on the pillow, Calum’s words came out sounding like a smushed drawl as he rasped, “I thought your shift wasn’t until eleven-thirty?”

Maeve straightened, looking down at Calum over her shoulder as she took in the sight in front of her she’d grown so used to during the past five months: dark curls messy from her fingers and sleep, brown eyes adorably sunken in and cheeks flushed—not to mention the several tattoos in view because he either slept in just his underwear or completely naked—the latter more often than not. And while the sight of a barely awake Calum practically glowing in whatever sunlight that seeped through the motel room window was one Maeve had grown familiar with, it still managed to catapult her heart into her throat and twist her stomach in knots only he was capable of loosening.

She shifted to sit sideways, one leg folded on the bed and body facing the headboard as she looked at Calum. “Yeah, but I’ve gotta head home and have breakfast before I get ready.”

Calum lifted his head, propping himself up with his right arm as a lazy smirk upturned his lips. The slyness shimmered in his dark eyes and coated his tone as he retorted, “We could have breakfast right now.”

 The cunning innuendo wasn’t lost on Maeve, Calum knew, by how she tried to stop the amused grin from spreading across her lips while shooting him a flat look. And though she tried to seem unimpressed, Calum could tell she didn’t think it was a half bad idea. Still, she leaned down, diminishing the gap between them until their noses just barely brushed together, and Calum’s eyes dropped to her lips as he yearned to taste the familiar strawberry chapstick he knew Maeve was wearing as she hummed teasingly, “You’re not slick.” And then she was sitting upright once more, much to his chagrin, and said, “I gotta go.”

The disappointment he felt wasn’t something Calum had learned to ignore, acknowledging its presence before trying to push it aside as he watched Maeve get up and grab her bag and anything else she needed. As they passed the five month mark of getting into this arrangement they had, Calum had yet to get used to watching her leave—the part that he hated most, because he completely went against the number one, albeit silent, rule.

He got fucking attached.

As Maeve walked to the door, Calum swallowed the tightness in his throat, an expert and pushing things aside, before calling out, “I’ll see you at Vick’s tonight.”

She stopped short, hand on the doorknob, and Calum’s eyes remained fixated on Maeve as she turned to look at him with a confused frown furrowing her perfectly done eyebrows. Even the puzzled pucker of her lips was adorable. “You’re going to Vick’s?”

He gave a nod, sitting up as the blanket pooled on his lap. He didn’t miss the way Maeve’s damn near translucent eyes took in his exposed chest, drinking him in the same primal way her lips had trailed across the expanse of his skin the night before. But instead of focusing on that, Calum’s attention was on the way she was looking at him—almost accusingly. “Yeah,” he responded, leaning back on one hand and pushing back the messy curls with the other. His tone remained even as he gave a single shrug. “She’s my friend, too; ’course I’m goin’ to her birthday.”

Calum could tell she was chewing on the inside of her cheek, a habit she had when she was thinking hard about something, her chest sinking as she let out a breath. “You didn’t tell me you were coming,” Maeve said, her tone light yet the resignment was ever present, and Calum didn’t like the fact that it was towards him. With a pointed raise of her eyebrows, she said, “You know Ash is gonna be there too, right?”

It was like she said it as a way of getting Calum to back out from going, and he would’ve laughed if it didn’t kind of irritate him. Calum wasn’t afraid of Ashton, far from it, and he didn’t give a shit if he was at the same party as him. He wanted to remind Maeve that it was her brother who had the temper issue, who instigated shit whenever the two of them happened to end up in the same place because while Calum minded his own business, Ashton didn’t seem to share the same sentiment.

Sometimes Calum thought Maeve didn’t get that—didn’t understand that it was Ashton who needed to be put on a damn leash. Because while Calum didn’t particularly enjoying seeing his former friend either, he wasn’t the one who demanded a fucking confrontation every time. He could actually control himself unless provoked. So why the fuck should Calum not go to a friend’s party just because Ashton was going to be there, too? Nah, fuck that.

But Calum kept his expression cool, lips pursing briefly as his eyes locked with Maeve’s when he said evenly, “Then I guess I’ll see you both there.”

She sighed, a heavy exhale through her nose as she looked towards the wall momentarily like she was already trying to mentally prepare herself for whatever may happen at the party. And for her sake, despite the mild irritation Calum felt, he still couldn’t help but hope that things didn’t go to shit.

Maeve gave a single nod, shooting him a brief smile that didn’t entirely reach her eyes as she said, “Yeah, guess you will,” before opening the door and leaving Calum naked and alone and a bit disappointed.

Not that it would be the first time.

“Alright, let me hear it—what’d Maeve do this time?”

Calum shot Michael an exasperated look, watching as his friend put away his AirPods and leaned back against the pillar. The two of them were at the train station, waiting for their Uber to take them to Vick’s car after just getting in from the city. Calum couldn’t seem to stand still, which of course told Michael that something was up because constantly shifting around was his thing.

“She didn’t do—” Calum cut himself off at the pointed look Michael was giving him, the look that told the brunette to not even try and bullshit his way out. Calum didn’t know why he even bothered to attempt to do so—he ended up telling Michael everything anyway. “I think she’s just bothered by me coming to Vick’s tonight. Because Ashton’s gonna be there.”

Michael’s face scrunched up, as if that was the most ridiculous thing he’s heard, and Calum was glad to see his best friend seemed to share his thoughts. “That’s dumb. Vick’s your friend and it’s not like you’re the one that tries looking for a fight. If Ash has an issue, that’s his problem. Not yours.”

“I know,” Calum huffed, scuffing the tip of his shoe as his eyes caught sight of a car pulling up in front of them. Double checking the license plate, Calum nodded, “That’s it.” He and Michael got in the back, greeting the driver, and once Calum settled he continued, “I get that she hates whenever Ashton and I get into it, and trust me—” he let out a huff of a dry laugh, “—I’ve got no problem keeping my distance from him, but why should I be the one to sit somethin’ out just because he can’t keep it together?”

“You shouldn’t,” Michael agreed, lifting off his hat and using his fingers to fix his blonde hair before he settled it back down as they drove down the streets, lamp posts they passed illuminating the car every few seconds. He sighed as he shifted, back against the door to look at Calum. “Listen, man, you knew this was gonna be kind of complicated when you got with her the first time. And then you started having feelings for her so now you’re just gonna be bothered whenever she seems like she’s only in it for the sex.” Michael gave a shake of his head, raising a dubious eyebrow. “You sure you thought this through?”

Calum pursed his lips, leaning his head back on the rest as his jaw tightened. Michael wasn’t wrong; Calum did have the tendency to grow aggravated whenever Maeve brushed off what they had as sex and nothing more. He wasn’t someone to force someone to have feelings, but there were so many times when it seemed as though she felt exactly how he did—he could see it in the way her light eyes glittered and how if she smiled big enough around him, it showed off the barest hints of dimples.

Sometimes he caught her looking at him when she didn’t think he knew; whether it was in the confines of their favorite motel room or if they decided to venture out in New York or, if they felt brave enough, in Hoboken. It’s not like they only hung out when either of them couldn’t stop thinking of the other’s lips or hands or bodies—they’d reclaimed their friendship that had been lost, got back to how they were and more, and Calum loved it. He loved spending time with her. He loved—

His teeth grinded together. Sometimes she tried so hard to make it seem as though she felt nowhere near as he did but—fuck, what if it really was all in his head? Hooking up with his former friend’s half-sister on a repeated occasion was a bad enough idea—actually falling for her was another level of stupid.

As soon as they walked into Vick and her fiancé’s house, Calum headed straight for the credenza where all the bottles were. He probably should’ve found the birthday girl to wish her first, but after making himself a gin and tonic once he saw all the ingredients out there for him, he easily found Vick and wished her before distracting himself by mingling with the people he knew.

The house was nearly full, people spilling out into the backyard as the music played through the speakers. Calum sipped at his drink, the alcohol running down smoothly as he stood near one corner of the living room talking to a few friends he’d went to high school with. And while he was having a good enough time, Calum couldn’t stop himself from letting his eyes wander, looking around the familiar and few unfamiliar faces in hopes of catching sight of Maeve. He didn’t even know if she was here yet, and still Calum’s eyes kept searching.

It was pathetic.

His grip on the plastic cup tightened, though Calum was mindful of not completely crushing it as he began sipping it. As he listened to J.D. talk about recent Yankees game he’d gone to while a Post Malone song played throughout the house, Calum looked over the rim of his cup to see the woman he’d been searching for finally enter through the front door.

Everything seemed to melt away as Maeve came into view, a smile on her face as she walked in with Lina and Ashton, but Calum’s focus was only on her. He watched her smile widen as she was greeted by someone she knew, hugging the other girl before pulling away and brushing back locks of soft blonde hair Calum could practically feel his fingers running through. She wore a pair of black shorts and a tight yellow tank tucked in and all Calum wanted to do was feel her in his arms, run his hands across her body like he’d done so a hundred times before.

But, man, her smile. Bright and happy and reflective in her light eyes, a sight that rendered him breathless enough to nearly choke on the sip of his drink. How he let a single woman have such a profound amount of control over him without even trying, Calum had no idea. In five short months she managed to take over his head, his fucking heart, and Calum often wondered if he was just pathetic or stupid. Maybe both.

Because Calum had always been careful with who he fell for. When it came to Maeve, though. . . He had no control.

As if she could feel the weight of his gaze, Maeve glanced over to where Calum stood, his blue eyes finding his brown, and he watched as she shot him a quick friendly smile before following Ashton and Lina further into the house. And that was it. That’s all he got.

For most of the party, that’s all he fucking got.

Maeve stuck with Lina most of the night, but somehow she was always nearby Ashton, whether it be playing beer pong in the backyard or doing shots with them and Luke. Calum didn’t want to start anything—he knew if he so much as approached Maeve, Ashton would have something to say about it. And Calum wished he didn’t care so much, wished that it didn’t bother him that Maeve was pretending as if he didn’t exist and instead was enjoying the party with her best friend and half-brother. Not even a hi was thrown his way, nor a look spared and Calum only knew that because his eyes didn’t seem to be able to leave her.

“Fuck this,” Calum muttered to himself after downing three vodka shots a couple of friends dragged him over to partake in. He was only just starting to feel the alcohol running through his veins, head just barely beginning to feel light as he made himself a cranberry vodka. The drinks weren’t doing much to ease his discontent, maybe only serving to disgruntle him more. It probably wasn’t healthy for him to feel this way, to be so hung up on a woman not paying him the time of day, but he couldn’t entirely help it.

So when he was in the hall that led towards the backyard and the bathroom door opened to have Maeve step out, Calum couldn’t help but announce, “We need to talk.”

Maeve stopped, looking to the left before catching sight of him to her right, leaned back against the wall and nursing his nearly empty drink. People passed by every now and then, moving to different parts of the house, and this was the closest Calum and Maeve had been the entire night. She looked at him, eyebrows furrowing together in surprised confusion before letting out a breath, glancing down the hall before asking through a breathless and disbelieving laugh, “About what?”

Calum scoffed, tilting his head slightly. “Seriously?” Did she truly not see the way she was acting around him? Or was he just being overdramatic? “Can’t even spare a second to say hi?”

Yeah, he knew what he sounded like, knew he sounded dramatic and pathetic and was giving away too much of himself than he ever would. But the alcohol was warm and made it easy for Calum to run his mouth, whether he liked it or not, and when it came to Maeve, he had a bit of a hard time keeping things to himself.

A flash of guilt passed across her face at his words, lips parting as she started, “Calum—”

“The hell is going on here?”

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

Calum exhaled sharply through his nose in hopes of calming himself down, but the snappish tone Ashton announced himself in grated at the brunette, not even bothering to grace Ashton with an acknowledging look as he made his way towards them. Instead, Calum kept his gaze on Maeve, who’d pressed her lips together before looking at her brother and easing, “Nothing, Ash. We were just saying hi.”

Calum couldn’t help the derisive snort that escaped him at her words. That was exactly what they were getting into—Maeve not saying hi to him. Her bluish-green eyes snapped over to him at the sound and he could see the warning in them, the pleading to not make this escalate. He ground his teeth together; Calum never initiated anything, and despite the urge to tell Ashton to fuck right off, he kept quiet. For Maeve. Always for her.

“Great,” Ashton said flatly through gritted teeth. Calum could feel his gaze burning a hole on the side of his face, but he didn’t give the hazel eyed man the satisfaction of looking at him. Instead, Calum pressed his tongue to the inside of his cheek, looking down at his drink as he swirled it in the cup some more. “Come on, Maeve, let’s play another round of pong.”

Before Maeve could reply, Calum scoffed, head tilted back against the wall, feeling the bass of the music thud against him as Ashton’s words caused him to go against what he’d silently promised Maeve when he lazily drawled, “Relax, buddy, ’m not someone you have to rescue your sister from.”

He could feel Ashton take a few steps towards him without even having to look. “No one was fucking talking to you. And I’m not your buddy.”

This time Calum looked at him, took in the icy glare glowering Ashton’s features and the tightness of his jaw. He’d always been temperamental, always had trouble controlling his temper and back when they were friends, Calum had thought Ashton used to do a good job in maintaining it. Until he didn’t. With obvious raised eyebrows, Calum mockingly narrowed his eyes as he reminded almost bitterly, “Yeah, you made quite sure of that, didn’t you?”

Ashton probably took that as a challenge, hands fisting at his side and the irritation across his face only intensifying as he took the last few threatening steps towards him all the while growling, “Listen, you’re the o—”

“Hey, hey, stop,” Maeve demanded as she swiftly slipped her body between the two men. Ashton stopped advancing just as Calum pushed himself off the wall, both men halting to look down at the shorter woman. She had one hand on Ashton’s chest and the other was held behind her as a readying way of keeping Calum back, looking back and forth at them. Her hair moved as her head did, a thin strand of blonde hair getting caught in her pink lip gloss and all Calum wanted to do was tell Ashton to fuck off and move the piece of hair. But he didn’t.

Letting out a breath, Maeve gave a shake of her head before saying to Ashton in a somewhat soothing voice, “Calm down, alright? You’re getting worked up over nothing. Don’t ruin the night by getting into some dumb fight—let’s go play pong.”

They had to pass by Calum to go out to the backyard, and Maeve made it a point to push along Ashton first. Calum’s eyes met his hazel ones as he went, hard and still lacking the warmth of friendship as they had been for the past year. And still, the awareness of losing a man who had once been such a good friend hit Calum heard, painfully so, as he tightened his jaw to keep it locked inside. Fuck, how things had changed.

And then went Maeve, following after her half brother, gaze lifting to meet Calum’s as she walked by. He saw the tiredness in her light eyes, looking completely over the situation between him and Ashton, and Calum had half a mind to open his mouth and spew out some half assed apology.

But then Maeve shook her head once more, released a dismayed scoff and kept walking, not even uttering a word to him as she stepped outside with Ashton. Calum stared after her, eyebrows drawing together ever so slightly, lips parting as his own disappointment washed over him because it was Ashton who’d once again tried to start something, and it was Ashton who Maeve was seemingly siding with. Not for the first time, Calum had to watch her walk away, twisting his heart and knotting his stomach tensely.

Calum downed the rest of his drink, reveling in the burn of the alcohol as his chest sank.

Brother or not, it fucking hurt.

Day 164

He caught her just as she walked out of the cafe, approaching her as she rummaged through her bag for her car keys. Calum hadn’t really planned on confronting Maeve; he’d only just left Shake Shack across the street after having lunch with Michael when he saw her leaving the cafe, and before he knew it, Calum was crossing over to get to her before she got in the car.

“Maeve,” he called just as she got her keys out, prompting her to look up and squint against the sunlight, one hand going to her forehead to shield her eyes. Calum got to her quickly once a car passed, watching as she looked at him in surprise, not expecting his arrival, as he said, “We gotta talk about the other night.”

She dropped her hand from her forehead, the sun making her eyes appear translucent and beautiful—as always—as she let out a breath. Fisting her keys in one hand, Maeve ran the other through her wavy hair, pushing it back as her gaze dropped to the ground when she shook her head and said, “Look, Cal, I’m sorry about Ashton. He’s—”

“’M not here to talk about Ashton—I couldn’t give a fuck ’bout him.” Maeve looked up at him, at the slight edge that had creeped into Calum’s smooth voice. He hated speaking to Maeve this way, hated that it even came to this. But for someone who had always been good at internalizing, at never bothering others with his issues, Calum couldn’t seem to keep this to himself. Maeve brought out a different side of him, for better or worse, and it made Calum want to deal with his problems—especially if they concerned her. What he felt for her embraced him with an overwhelming force, a tight grip that refused to let up. He’d fallen for her so fast, so hard, so blindly, and every time Maeve did something that seemed like an insult to his feelings, Calum felt hurt. And he was growing tired of it. “’M here to talk ’bout you and how you acted like it was my fault your brother got in my face.”

“I—” Maeve stopped, gaping up at Calum despite the sun burning down into her eyes. He suppressed a huff, shifting ever so slightly to the side so his shadow washed over her figure, effectively shielding her from the light. Her eyes relaxed a bit, but the incredulity over Calum’s accusation remained. In a reminding tone, Maeve continued, “You were provoking him, Calum. You know you were.”

Calum’s lips parted to let out a scoff, having to look away in disbelief before saying to the blonde, “I said two things to him—”

“And they were enough to set him off!” Maeve pointed out, her exasperation already bubbling over. With a tired huff of a laugh, she added, “You know how easily pissed off he gets, Calum. It would’ve been better if you just ignored him. Or, you know,” she paused, looking away and licking her lips before her eyes met Calum’s once more, “maybe not approach me when you know he’s around.”

His jaw tightened, the heat of the sun only adding onto his frustration. Right arm propped against the top of her car, Calum said to her, “You ignored me all night, Maeve. I’m not gonna apologize for bein’ bothered by it. That’s not the first time you’ve made me feel like an idiot.”

She shot him a frustrated, helpless look of her own, but Calum didn’t miss the hurt that flashed across her eyes at his words. “I didn’t—I would never want you to feel that way, Calum, come on.” She frowned, shaking her head once. “ But you know that’s how it has to be, Cal, if Ash is around. For his sake, I can’t be seen being all friendly with the guy he hates.”

Her words sent a sharp pain through Calum’s chest, hitting him harder than he would’ve liked. Of course he knew Ashton hated him, his own feelings for his former friend weren’t too far off, but when he actually heard it, it felt a bit more crushing each time. And for Maeve to say it so carelessly, whether she meant to or not, twisted Calum’s heart fiercely. Except Calum wasn’t sure what hurt more; the surface meaning behind her words, or the underlying one that had more to do with Maeve and Calum than Ashton and Calum.

He scoffed, almost defeated as he raised his eyebrows at her. “So brother over me, huh? Again?”

It wasn’t a fair shot, he knew, and Calum was probably setting himself up for heartbreak by asking that because Ashton was, after all, her brother. She sided with him the first time when she stopped speaking to Calum—maybe sleeping with him wasn’t really going to change much.

Maeve’s expression fell, and Calum wondered if his words hurt her. He didn’t want them to, would never want her to hurt, especially because of him. But things were going to shit and maybe this was unrequited, after all. Maybe he really was an idiot. “Stop looking for a double meaning in everything I say, Calum,” Maeve said, her voice firm yet not holding any true anger. She sounded more resigned, tired—over it, once again. Over him? The thought was almost nauseating. “It’s not that simple. This situation is complicated and I just—I don’t know what you want from me.”

Calum’s chest felt tight, heart squeezed up into his throat as he looked down at her. The sun had brought our her freckles, peppering over the bridge of her nose and the tops of her cheeks. She always made sure to let them show whenever she did her makeup, once upon a time telling Calum they were her favorite feature of herself when he one day, in the midst of the motel room sheets, told her he was going to count them all. There were so many things during so many occasions he felt for her, with her; frustration, happiness, companionship, disappointment, contentment, love. And every time he thought she may feel the same way, doubt and reality had him second guessing himself.

Calum’s arm dropped from her car, the disappointment and hurt tasting bitter in his mouth as he watched Maeve’s expression fall when she noted the defeat on his face. Calum smiled, wry and humorless. “I don’t know, either.”

Day 168

It was funny how the second Maeve stepped into the motel room, she felt as though she could finally breathe. She shut the door behind her, hands trapped between it and her lower back as she took in the familiar interior of room 304. The light purple bed covers were perfectly made, somehow matching nicely with the greyish blue walls, and the curtains were parted and the blinds were up to let the late afternoon sun stream in, the view of the city across the water a sight worth seeing.

The sunlight provided the room with a soft glow and Maeve didn’t want to turn on the lights to take away from the beauty of it. This room, complete with a TV, bathroom, and mini kitchen area had become more than just a place for her to meet up with Calum for sex—it had become an escape. A safe space, almost. The two of them sometimes found themselves meeting up at the Skyview not to do anything but just hang out, because it was the one place where they definitely would remain hidden from Ashton or anyone else. And right now, Maeve needed this place.

September had just started, which meant Maeve was back at school attending classes for her graduate degree. There was already so much reading involved, so much to do, not to mention she had work on top of it all and she found herself stressing out too much too early into the semester. Honestly, it had all only just begun—how was she supposed to last the school year? On top of it all, she had to deal with aggravating, rude customers at work and Maeve just felt drained.

She’d made it a point to finish whatever pressing assignments she had, and as soon as she did, Maeve found herself leaving campus and driving right to the Skyview Motel, spending money unnecessarily on the motel room she didn’t really need. But finding comfort and relaxation in another place wasn’t likely, she knew, so it was a small price to pay to lay down in the middle of the bed with a sigh of relief escaping her. She hadn’t been to the room in a few days, and the basic yet familiar vanilla scent that clung to the room was comforting as she closed her eyes and breathed it in.

Maeve wasn’t entirely sure how long she laid like that, but eventually she had to open her eyes when a Snapchat notification rung out. Letting out a breath, Maeve picked up her phone, using the popsocket to hold it over her face as she blinked at the notice. It was from Calum—who she hadn’t spoken to for about four days now. And yet, she felt her heart jump at the sight of his name. She knew he was mad at her, knew that he wasn’t happy with her over how she’d treated him at Vick’s party, and Maeve did feel guilty about it. And confused. And frustrated. God, it was messy.

He’d sent her a typed message, and she opened to see it read, You brought a new dude over to Skyview? I’m hurt.

A wry smile tugged at her lips, practically hearing the sarcastic, joking tone in which she heard him speak in. For a moment, Maeve wondered how he knew where she was, before remembering her location on the app was available for him, and a select few others—Ashton not included. Quickly, she typed back, Of course not. It’s just me in my lonesome.

She dropped her phone on the mattress, getting up with a gentle groan to shimmy off her jeans and pull out a pair of comfortable shorts she’d been smart enough to put into her backpack. Her stomach grumbled and Maeve pursed her lips, cursing herself for not picking up some food on the way. Her phone rung out again, and Maeve opened Calum’s message that read, Want some company?

She blinked, slightly surprised. Maeve didn’t think he’d want to hang out with her after what happened, given that they hadn’t spoken to each other since the day outside of the cafe. He was in the city, she was pretty sure; he really wanted to come down to see her?

For a second, Maeve wondered if he only wanted to have sex, and then she wondered why she was worried about that. Wasn’t that the arrangement, what they agreed upon when they started this? She had no reason to feel. . . Bothered. But she was, and she knew why, and still pushed that aside because it was a bad fucking idea.

Chewing on her lower lip, she typed back, Only if you bring some food.

Around thirty minutes later, there was a knock on the door, prompting Maeve to pause the episode of Peaky Blinders she was watching on her laptop since the motel room TV didn’t have a Netflix connection. She opened the door, feeling a smile tug at her lips at the sight of Calum standing with sunglasses covering his eyes in his favorite Sensation shirt tucked into his jeans, a to-go McDonalds bag in one hand and a cardboard tray of soda in the other.

“I come bearing gifts,” Calum greeted, smiling as Maeve stepped to the side to let him enter.

She let out a laugh, shutting the door as she teased, “My hero.”

He put down the food on the circular table in the small kitchen area, pulling out the Big Mac box for her and Filet-O-Fish for himself before taking out the fries. In a mutual silence, they moved over to the bed, bringing the napkins and food with them as they sat cross legged, side by side, and Maeve played the show as the two of them began digging into their food.

They did so in silence, the only sound uttering from the show, and Maeve wanted to believe all of it was a comforting one, that she couldn’t feel some of the tension that still existed between the two of them. But it was there, hanging over them like a dark cloud and weighing them down, and Maeve knew that it was her fault.

“I don’t know what you want from me.”

“I don’t know, either.”

Their words rang through her mind like a bitter reminder, making it hard to swallow the bite as she remembered the empty look she’d seen in Calum’s normally dark eyes—eyes she’d grown used to seeing so expressive. At least around her they were. But she’d shut him down, pushed him away—blamed him for something that wasn’t entirely, if at all, his fault and Maeve hated that she did that. She understood, in that moment, the stress she’d been feeling for school and work was also because of the silence she’d received from Calum, and it was no one’s fault but her own.

But, God, it got confusing. Sometimes she truly didn’t know what to do. Ashton was family and she’d stuck by him her entire life but that didn’t give her the excuse to be on his side when he was the one making things difficult. Maeve knew Calum only opened his mouth that day at the party because he was upset with her, because more often than not he never really provoked Ashton. He was an internalizer, he kept things to himself, and it had frustrated Maeve at first, when the two of them first got together. They’d had conversations about it until Calum learned to open up.

And now that he was, she was punishing him for it? She was getting upset that he was rightfully mad at her? She deserved it. After the way she blatantly and purposefully ignored him under the guise of keeping it all a secret from Ashton, Maeve deserved the silent treatment.

Still, Calum showed up, all the way from the city, with food nonetheless. It made her fall for him harder, faster, no matter the voice in the back of her head constantly reminding her how terrible of an idea that was. She didn’t even want to think of what Calum may possibly feel for her, if he did, since she couldn’t make sense of the mess going on in her own head and heart.

They finished their burgers in the continued silence, watching the show, her right knee pressed against his left as they remained cross legged, the denim of his jeans warm against her exposed knee. Calum shifted then, sitting back against the headboard as he let out a soft breath, eyes still on the laptop screen as Maeve debated with herself silently.

She glanced at him, dark curls handsomely messy and left arm raised to rest folded between his head and the headboard, tattoos in full glorious view against golden skin. He saw her admiring him, brown eyes meeting her blue, and before Calum could get a word in, Maeve blurted out, “I’m sorry.” He blinked, understandably surprised at her unexpected burst. Maeve worried her lower lip with her teeth, hunched over ever so slightly as she picked at her nails. Her back was still to him, only half facing him, as the show still played in the background. “I wasn’t being fair to you and—it’s just so complicated,” she said the last bit with a sigh, turning to face him a bit more as Calum listened to her, lips pressed together. “And I know I keep saying that and I know it doesn’t excuse it but I can’t give Ashton any reason to think that there’s more to you and I than he thinks—which is nothing—but still. Have to keep it that way.”

Calum’s throat worked, Adam’s apple bobbing as he brought his arm down only to cross both of them across his chest. The silver chain bracelet he wore rattled subtly at the movement, though they paid it no mind as Calum’s brown eyes kept locked with her lighter ones. “So, what, if we end up at the same place, we gotta pretend we don’t even know each other? That’s bullshit, Maeve. The issue is between me and Ashton, not me and you. How does that make sense?”

“How does any of this make sense, Calum?” Maeve retorted, a breathless and exasperated laugh escaping her as she fully turned, sitting on her knees to face him, the show long forgotten. “One day you two are friends and the next shit hits the fan and I have to be the loyal sister and stop being friends with you. It wasn’t fair and I hated that, and I’m sorry that I blindly followed whatever Ashton did. I am. But you have to know, at the end of the day, I don’t feel the same way he does.” The fight seemed to leave her, suddenly feeling nothing but helpless as she hoped Calum would see her honesty, would know that despite all the bullshit, despite her own stupid behavior, she still wants him in her life. In what capacity, even she wasn’t entirely sure yet.

Maeve rolled her lips into her mouth, licking them before she scooted closer to the brunette, watching Calum watch her as her hand reached out to grab one of his. He let her hold on, undoing his arms from where they were crossed, and Maeve reveled in the feel of his fingers interlocking with hers. It was those kinds of moments, where an innocent touch warmed her just as a greedy one would, when Maeve acknowledged that, yeah, it was more than sex between the two of them. She knew it. He knew it. And the only reason he stopped himself from truly saying anything was because he knew she was conflicted. Maeve wasn’t sure how long Calum would be willing to stick around for her indecisiveness, and she swallowed the lump in her throat and pushed that nauseating thought away as she squeezed his hand and offered him a sincere smile.

 “I don’t feel the same way Ashton does,” Maeve repeated, because she felt like she needed to, raising her eyebrows at Calum in hopes of understanding. “This is good, yeah? We’re good?”

Calum looked at her for a few seconds, eyes searching hers, and Maeve felt her heart pounding in anticipation until he smiled. Soft and gentle and warm, erupting the butterflies in her stomach as if she was a teenage girl with a crush. And still Calum was the only one to entice such a sensation in her. “Yeah,” he rasped, giving a nod. “We’re good.”

Flashback

“What the fuck did you say to me?”

Calum scoffed at Ashton, at the uncalled for rage simmering in his best friend’s voice as he glared him down. He could feel everyone around them staring, anticipating a fight even he could feel coming, waiting to see who would be the one to throw the first punch. Calum wished it wouldn’t escalate that far, but Ashton had been yelling at him for almost ten minutes, growing angrier by the minute and Calum himself wasn’t too far off from being pissed off. At the situation, at him, at all of it.

And he was over it. Enough was enough.

“I said you’re a shitty friend, Ash,” Calum repeated, strong and unapologetic, watching as his words caused Ashton to narrow his eyes threateningly. With a shrug, Calum added, “You have been for a couple of months now. I just didn’t say shit because you kept apologizing and I was enough of an idiot to believe you meant it. But you keep pullin’ the same shit over and over again so, yeah—you’re a shitty fuckin’ friend and it’s about time you got your head out of your ass to hear me say it.”

Yeah, he was pretty damn sick of it. Sick of Ashton ditching him, canceling on him, making plans with other people when he already had plans with him. He was sick of him trying to play the victim, to play innocent and apologizing and promising that he would try to be a better friend, only to go around and do it all over again. And it wasn’t like Calum hadn’t been patient, like he hadn’t given Ashton the benefit of the doubt because he was one of his closest friends. He didn’t care if Ashton went out to hang with his other friends—so long as he wasn’t kicking Calum to corner to do so. He deserved more respect than that—as a friend and as a human being.

And when Calum went off to hang out with other people? Of course that was a problem. Of course it would prompt Ashton to start talking shit about him behind his back, because that was the mature and appropriate reaction. Calum didn’t understand how things went badly for them so fast, how Ashton changed so quickly and started taking their friendship for granted, always being Calum would be there when he was bored. It wasn’t a friendship Calum had wanted to be a part of anymore—especially when he realized that it was only him that Ashton was doing this to. He was perfectly fine with everyone else. It was just their friendship that was rapidly sinking.

So Calum was done. He was over it. No matter how much it fucking hurt to lose his friend.

Though, the punch that Ashton delivered to his jaw was a close second.

Exclamations of surprise and protest sounded from around them, but Calum paid them no mind as he stumbled back from the unexpected hit, a sting of pain shooting up from his left jaw. He could feel someone’s arms catch him, keeping him upright, vaguely thinking it was Michael as he pressed a ginger hand to his jaw before his incredulous and deadly glare was directed at Ashton.

The dirty blonde stood where he had been, fist clenched and jaw set, completely ready for this to escalate. “Get off your fucking high horse—you’re not perfect, either.”

Calum pushed away from those behind him, hand dropping from his face as he slowly stalked towards Ashton. He could see and feel everyone watching him—Michael, Luke, Maeve, Lina—but Calum’s focus was on Ashton. The tension in the backyard of his house was palpable, Calum was sure everyone could feel it, and it weighed heavily upon them. “Never said I was,” Calum returned, the edge in his voice ever present, low and threatening as he shot Ashton a mocking smirk. “The only disillusioned one here is you.”

Ashton launched again, this time with a low growl that sounded vaguely like “motherfucker” to Calum’s ears, though he couldn’t be too sure given that he was dodging the next fist that flew his way, instead delivering an uppercut of his own. His knuckles connected with the bottom of Ashton’s chin, a heavy grunt escaping him as he stumbled back because of the hit, eyes squeezing shut automatically.

When Ashton recovered, he made a move to go after Calum again, but suddenly Luke was pulling him back and Calum was being yanked back by another pair of arms, glancing wildly over his shoulder to see Michael gripping him tightly, a hard look in his eyes. “Calm the fuck down,” he hissed in his ears, his hands on his shoulders firm and weighed.

“What the fuck is wrong with you two?” Luke demanded, taller figure coming to step between the two fighting men, left hand against Ashton’s chest to keep him back. He glanced back and forth between them, eyes wide and eyebrows drawn together in bewilderment. Things had escalated faster than anyone had anticipated.

“He doesn’t know when to keep his mouth fucking shut, man,” Ashton exclaimed, the anger ever present in his tone as he spoke to Luke, though his gaze was on Calum.

The brunette almost wanted to laugh at the irony of him saying that if it wasn’t for the pain in his jaw and hand. “And you don’t know how to be a decent fucking friend—you’re the one that started this shit, Ashton,” Calum retorted, speaking through the stinging pain of a bruised jaw, shaking Michael’s grip off of him once he showed him he wasn’t about to launch at Ashton again.

Ashton, in turn, slapped Luke’s hand away as he took a step forward, and Luke didn’t move as he watched him. “Yeah, and I’m gonna be the one to fucking end it, too. I’m done with you and your bullshit—get the fuck out of my house.”

Calum exhaled sharply through his nose, reality beginning to sink in as Ashton’s half-sister, Maeve, spoke up with an alarmed, “Ashton—”

He didn’t even look her way as he snapped, “Stay out of it, Maeve.” Tightening his jaw, Ashton took a few more steps towards Calum, everyone watching with bated breath and alarmed eyes as Ashton stopped in front of him. Calum saw the rage up close, the anger he knew his friend sometimes had trouble controlling, had never lost towards him until now. Ashton lowered his tone, dark and dangerous, as he repeated, “Get the fuck out.”

Calum wasn’t sure how his friendship with Ashton ended in less than ten minutes, but maybe that was it—maybe it hadn’t been ten minutes. Maybe it was months and months of them growing distant, of issues that just never got resolved that led to this. And it hurt Calum, more than his bruised jaw and knuckles, because he could tell this was it. There was no going back from this. His friendship with Ashton, in a few harsh words and rough punches, was over.

And it felt empty.  

Day 220

Something had gone wrong and it was eating away at Maeve. She thought they were good, that they were okay, but time and time again she was being proven wrong and as they neared the two month mark, she knew something had to be said or done. She’d let it go for a while, believed that he was busy with work because she knew she was busy with her own job as well as classes. Plus, it wasn’t ever like they saw each other every day, not with him living in the city and all. Maybe that was why Maeve, at first, didn’t think anything was wrong. She saw him if they were free, mostly at the motel and sometimes with her going into New York, and for the most part things were normal. They had been normal.

And it only had Maeve wondering when Calum had gotten good at keeping things from her.

She just didn’t understand where it went south; didn’t understand why suddenly his texts seemed clipped and he no longer wanted to meet up at their place—not just for sex but to hang out. Maeve had to hand it to Calum—he’d been smart about it. He’d come by every so often, but would make sure to sprinkle in some days where he had to reject her offer with some well thought out excuse, making it seem as though something really had come up and he genuinely wasn’t able to make it rather than not wanting to go in the first place.

For a while, Maeve told herself she was just making shit up, looking for something that wasn’t there. But something in her head—hell, even her chest and her damn gut—was telling her that things were off. That something was going on. And it didn’t help that she missed him—so much. She missed Calum’s presence once he really did start pulling away as of recently; she missed being able to talk to him, not just hold him or kiss him or feel him. They often spent hours talking, whether it was just something they wanted to do or when they were under the sheets, spent and satiated but still wanting each other’s company.

God, Maeve didn’t realize how much she craved being with him until she wasn’t.

She sat in her car in the parking deck of her campus, chewing on her lower lip as she looked down at her phone. A debate had been tossing around in her head, questioning whether or not she should send Calum a text, asking him to meet up. There was a genuine hesitation out of fear of him rejecting the offer, given that he’d been doing that for a while now, but this wasn’t a conversation Maeve wanted to have over the phone. And she wasn’t about to show up to his apartment in the city like some stalker. They needed to meet at their place. Their safe haven.

Taking a breath, Maeve unlocked her phone, quickly typing out, Hey, can we meet up, please? I need to talk to you about something—it’s important before hitting send and dropping her phone on the passenger seat with a squeal. She felt ridiculous, but she really thought the nerves would eat at her and prevent her from hitting send.

Maeve’s heart thudded as she waited for a response, fingers drumming on the bottom of the steering wheel as the music playing through her car did nothing to calm her down. The vehicle was still warming up, the early November cold already bitter, but Maeve knew her jittering had more to do with the anticipation of Calum’s response than the weather.

Her heart sank when five minutes passed without a response, throat drying as she tilted her head back and lips turned downwards in a defeated grimace. Though, before she could throw herself a pity party, Maeve’s phone let out a beep, and she scrambled to desperately grab it and let out a gasp of relief when she read Calum’s message of, Yeah, I’ll be there in forty.

Oh, he agreed. He was coming.

She knew she’d get there first, given than her campus was half an hour’s drive from the motel, and the entire time Maeve was acutely aware of her thundering heart. Worry twist and turned her stomach as she drove, swallowing her dry throat because she really didn’t know what she was walking into. Something was up with Calum and Maeve wanted to know, especially if she’d done something wrong, but she wasn’t entirely sure if she was ready to hear whatever it was. But she had to face the music. She missed Calum, and if she fucked up—again—she needed to fix it.  

Arriving at the motel, Maeve checked her phone to see if Calum had texted her while she was driving. She’d only just received a text, telling her he’d be there in ten minutes, and Maeve texted him back saying that she’d arrived and get the room.

It was a quick transaction at the reception, paying for the room for only two hours, making the price cheaper. But when she got to the door, room 304 for their taking, and inserted the key, Maeve blinked in surprise when she heard footsteps coming up the staircase a door away from her and Calum turned the corner. The door unlocked and Maeve opened it, shooting Calum an almost nervous smile as he returned it with a close mouthed one of his own while she greeted with a small, “Hey.”

“Hey,” Calum returned, coming to a stop next to her as his eyes flickered to the red door. “If you’d waited five minutes, I could’ve paid—”

“It’s fine,” Maeve quickly reassured, widening her smile a bit as she opened the door. She gestured towards the room, silently inviting him in as she entered the room, hearing Calum enter after her before shutting the door behind them. She played with her fingers, twisting at her rings, working up the courage to say what she wanted. His presence loomed behind her, waiting, and Maeve just needed to gather the words and—

“What’d you wanna talk about?”

Her train of thought screeched to a stop at his words, cutting right to the chase as Maeve licked her lips and turned to face him. He stood with his arms crossed and Maeve couldn’t help but note the defensive stance, as if he was protecting himself from something—her. It only reinvited the unease that loomed in the pit of her stomach, reminding Maeve of the reason why they were here in the first place. He’d been all but keeping his distance from her, slowly but surely, and Maeve needed to find out why.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” she started, hoping her tone didn’t hint at the nerves she was trying to fight off. “Why? What’s the issue?”

Calum blinked, something flashing across his dark eyes, before he furrowed his eyebrows and tried to play off an innocent frown. “No, I haven’t.”

A disbelieving laugh escaped her. “Don’t bullshit me, Cal,” Maeve said with a shake of her head, crossing her own arms. She didn’t want to play anymore games. “Seriously, I thought—I thought things were good between us. So what changed?”

“Nothing changed, Maeve—that’s the issue.” She gaped at Calum, not entirely expecting the burst from him as he threw his arms down. Maeve took in the defeat that took over his face, the helplessness he spoke in. Calum was angry and tired of whatever was bothering him, and Maeve only looked at him in bewilderment as he let out a dry, humorless chuckle with pulling his lower lip into his mouth. His eyes took in the room they stood in before shrugging. “We’ve been doing this, for what, six months? And shit hasn’t changed at all. It’s just getting worse.”

Maeve’s heart dropped at his words, confusion and worry making for an uneasy combination as she looked at him with wide, distressed eyes. Six months—had they really been doing this for half a year? Sneaking around, meeting up in this room, losing themselves in each other? It had flown by, and Maeve was kind of surprised no one they didn’t want to know hadn’t found out about them. They’d been doing the same thing for six months but hadn’t that been the plan?

“I—what?” Maeve asked, shaking her head in hopes of understanding what he was saying. “What’s getting worse?”

Calum shook his head, pressing his lips together at her inquiry. But he looked at her, dark eyes boring into her bluish-green ones, taking in the questioning look she was shooting him, begging to know what he was on about. Maeve waited, silent with a quickening heart rate, hoping he would answer, tell her the truth. She was sick of the silent treatment he had been giving her; she just wanted things to be normal.

And then finally, Calum responded, tired and defeated yet completely behind his words. “The fact that I’m in love with you and you keep reminding me how bad of an idea that is.”

Maeve wasn’t sure what struck her more—the fact that Calum felt that way about her, or the fact that she already knew and he’d finally said it. God, Maeve would have to be blind to not know how Calum felt about her and, okay, maybe she wasn’t aware he was in love with her—but she knew he felt more for her than someone would a fuck buddy. Still, her heart pounded at his revelation, inhaling a sharp yet quiet breath because up until this moment, it had always been a silent understanding. Something had always existed between them, he knew it and so did she, but neither of them ever said anything. Neither of them acknowledged it.

And now Calum was looking at her in defeat, in exhaustion over this whole thing, and Maeve had a sinking feeling that she wasn’t going to like where this was going.

“Calum—”

“I don’t wanna do this anymore, Maeve.” The words died in her throat, feeling it tighten as she looked at Calum with eyes widened ever so slightly in surprise. He stared right back, eyebrows pulled together as he forced out words she didn’t think he wanted to say, but had to. His words hung in the room heavily, settling like an unmovable weight upon her chest. He didn’t. . . Want to do this anymore. “I can’t do this, not with you. And ’m not gonna keep puttin’ myself in a situation that just. . . Doesn’t feel right anymore.”

It felt like a slap in the face, it really did, with the sting of his words springing tears into her eyes because he wanted to be done. Maeve reeled at his words, blinking as her arms slowly uncrossed in her state of surprised disbelief. It was falling apart, right in front of her; her relationship with Calum—this complicated, wonderful, dizzying relationship—was coming to an end and Maeve didn’t know how to stop it, no matter how desperately she wished to.

The way Calum was looking at her, lips pressed together and the muscle in his jaw ticking, eyes swimming with so much emotion that it was overwhelming for her—Maeve could tell he didn’t want to do this, but had to because it was something that was probably good for him. And she wanted to tell him that they could fix this, she wanted to tell him the words she knew would change everything, but would that just come off as her telling him what he wanted to hear? Would he see it as a manipulative tactic? Because even as Maeve thought about it, she could tell that it may come off as that.

Her anxious over thinking rendered her speechless, forcing her to keep the words she desperately wanted to say in her mouth, not letting them fall off the tip of her tongue where they rested. Maeve’s body felt hot with frustration, her heart hammering as her head screamed at her to say the words Calum needed to hear—that she needed to say.

But she didn’t. And Calum’s throat worked as he gave a shake of his head, disenchanted by her lack of response. “Right,” he breathed raspily, nodding to himself as he looked down at his feet, and Maeve’s features fell when she saw the way his own face scrunched up. Like he was willing himself not to let his own tears from falling. Maeve was quickly losing that battle, too. “I’ve gotta go.”

Calum didn’t wait for Maeve to respond, not looking up until he turned around and was heading towards the door. He didn’t stop, didn’t spare her another look as he opened the door and walked out.

He left, the room now smelling of its familiar vanilla mixed with the subtle scent of Calum’s cologne. It only made it easier for the tears to fall once he was gone.

Flashback

“Go to hell,” Maeve pouted, forcing herself not to toss the cards in Calum’s direction like a child, instead of slapping them down on the grass. The brunette merely snickered, satisfied with himself as he took the cards from her and put them in his small pile. “I didn’t show you this game for you to bankrupt me.”

Calum grinned, running his tongue across his lower lip as he looked down at his hand. “Monopoly takes no prisoners, sweetheart,” he hummed, brown eyes meeting her blue, unshielded as her sunglasses rested atop her head.

They were seated comfortably upon the grass in Bryant Park, the mid May weather making for a beautiful day to be out in the city. It was fairly busy at the park, understandably so, as someone seated a few feet away from them played music from their portable speaker, the sound mixing in with the hum of people talking amongst themselves as well as the traffic on the street in front of the park.

Maeve narrowed her eyes, leaning towards Calum as the cards not in their hands remained laid out between them. With her mock glare furrowing her brows, Maeve told him flatly, “You suck.”

Calum leaned forward as well, minimizing the distance between them, noses just barely brushing together as Maeve peered into his dark eyes, willing herself not to get lost in them. Two months since they started whatever this was and she knew she was losing that battle tremendously. A smirk tilted at Calum’s lips, boyish and lazy as he remarked arrogantly, “Isn’t that your job?”

Her jaw dropped, a startled laugh escaping her at his teasing words, only prompting Calum to laugh as well with mirth dancing in his dark eyes, cute crinkles at the corners. He wiggled his eyebrows, suggestive and not at all innocent, and Maeve shot him a mocking smile as she said, “You’re not funny.”

Calum scoffed with a roll of his eyes. “I’m hilarious,” he replied, though he barely got the words out because Maeve shut him up by placing her free hand to the back of his neck and pulling him in for a kiss. Calum hummed against her lips, earnestly returning the kiss as she felt his own hand cup her cheek, rings cool against her skin and fingers brushing into her hair. He tasted like the gum he’d been chewing, fresh and minty, and Maeve couldn’t stop herself from leaning in, completely intoxicated by the feel of his soft lips as they moved with hers so perfectly.

“You know, not everyone’s comfortable with so much PDA.”

Maeve pulled away from Calum at the new, familiar voice, pulling her lower lip into her mouth as she sat up and looked to see Michael standing over them. He stood, arms crossed and an amused smirk dancing on his lips as he looked down at them, raising his eyebrows. Calum huffed as he looked up at his best friend, pressing his lips together as he tasted the strawberry chapstick he’d kissed off Maeve’s lips. “What’re you doing here, Mike?”

The green eyed man snickered. “Interrupting you two, apparently.”

Maeve breathed out a laugh of her own, shuffling her few cards in her hands. She wasn’t bothered with Michael catching them, even if it was in a place as busy as New York. Her and Calum had been running around for two months now, doing whatever the hell it is they were doing, and she was well aware that Michael knew of their little arrangement—just like Lina knew, given that they were their best friends. The two of them needed to gossip with someone about this deal they had with one another.

Continuing after brushing the fringe out of his eye from under his cap, Michael said, “Nah, I’m just hanging out with—”

“Maeve? Calum?”

She froze at the new voice, eyes widening when her gaze shifted from Michael to the man that appeared at his side, heart dropping to the pit of her stomach when Luke came into view. Her brother’s best friend. Maeve stared up at him, shock coursing through her because she didn’t think Luke and Michael still hung out. More than that—she wasn’t entirely sure if Luke was going to mention to Ashton that he’d caught her hanging out with the guy he couldn’t stand.

The blue eyed blonde looked down at the two of them, confusion written across his face as he looked between them, raised eyebrows showing just how unexpected the sight was for him as it was for Maeve. He was slowly chewing a mouthful of roasted peanuts, taking in the way Maeve was gaping up at him because she was too speechless to actually say something.

“You two, uh, friends now?” Luke questioned, gesturing between her and Calum with a single ring clad finger.

“Somethin’ like that,” Calum answered, not as shaken at the blonde’s presence as Maeve was. He leaned back on his hands, looking up the two guys with ease. With an effortless grin, he added, “Don’t let us stop your date.”

Maeve pressed her lips together as Michael smirked. “I was gonna say the same to you,” he hummed, nudging Luke with his elbow as a way of telling him they should go. Looking back at the two seated people, Michael added, “Have fun, you two. Remember to keep the PDA to a minimum.”

Calum scoffed with a roll of his eyes. “Fuck outta here.”

Michael laughed as he offered a wave, and Luke bid goodbye with a simple, “See you two around,” before following Michael away.

Maeve stared after them, after him, lips parted and still feeling startled at seeing Luke. She felt the urge to go after him, to make him promise not to mention this to Ashton at all, but Maeve felt rooted in her spot. Whatever she had going on with Calum was still fairly new, but it was good and fun, and the thought of it coming to an end because of her brother had her stomach twisting uneasily.

“Hey,” she heard Calum say, a finger poking at her knee as she forced herself to face him once more. He furrowed his eyebrows at her pale expression. “You okay?”

“Do you think Luke will say anything?” she asked, eyebrows drawing together in worry. “To Ash?”

The crease in Calum’s forehead smoothed out at her question, understanding her sudden concern. He looked over her shoulder in the direction the other two boys went, curls dancing across his forehead with the light breeze that blew by. Calum stayed silent in quiet consideration for a moment as Maeve chewed her lower lip in worry. “No, I don’t think so,” he answered finally, with a firm shake of his head. “I doubt he’s gonna wanna purposefully piss Ashton off. He’ll keep his mouth shut.”

Maeve let out a gentle scoff, raising her eyebrows. “You sound so sure.”

“It’ll be fine, doll,” Calum assured before sitting up, picking up his cards and grinning, “Come on, I was kicking your ass.”

It wasn’t until later that day when Maeve finally got home, around five in the afternoon, that the worry she’d felt earlier came back in full swing. She entered the house, freezing almost instantly when she took a few steps in when she caught sight of who was sitting on the couch with her brother.

Maeve stood, gaping at Ashton and Luke in silent surprise, though her gaze seemed to be glued to the blue eyed man. He stared right back, eyebrows raised, as if silently asking her if everything was okay. Her heart was thundering in her chest, mind swirling with frantic questions, wondering if he’d told Ashton, wondering if he was going to if he hadn’t already. But he merely stared back, innocent and big blue eyed, as if he wasn’t aware of what could possibly be Maeve’s biggest secret. Her stomach turned uneasily, throat dry, unsure of what to say and wondering if she should say something.

“Can you move? You’re blocking the TV, Maeve,” Ashton spoke up, gesturing to her in annoyance with the remote in her hand. He eyed her with a frown, looking at her in bewilderment until she quickly moved, offering a brief apology before heading up the stairs to where her room was.

She barely shut the door, left ajar, as she tossed her purse on the bed and ran her fingers through her short hair. The worry brewed in the pit of her stomach as she sat down on the edge of her bed, nibbling on her nails—not that she really could. No way was she ruining a fifty dollar manicure.

But, fuck, she was kind of on the verge of having a bit of a meltdown. Maybe that was overdramatic, but things were going so well for her and Calum. They were having fun, enjoying each other’s company—and bodies—while also getting reacquainted with one another, and Maeve didn’t want any of that to come to an end so soon. Because she knew, if Ashton were to find out. . . Man, saying he’d be pissed off would be the understatement of the century.  

Maeve wasn’t sure how long she was sitting in her panic, changed into a pair of comfortable clothes and keeping herself busy on the word search app on her phone—though being so distracted because of her anxiety over today didn’t allow her to beat her personal record. But eventually, there was a knock on her door and she looked up to see Luke pushing it open and peeking his head in.

Their eyes met, and Luke took a step in as a dimpled grin spread across his face when he commented, “You should’ve seen the look on your face. Priceless.”

She licked her lips, dropping her phone and shifting to sit on the edge of her bed, hands on either side of her and shoulders up to her ears, trying and failing to ground herself. “Can you blame me? You and I both know what you saw earlier.”

The smile from Luke’s face slipped as he leaned against the wall by the door, hands behind his back as he let out a breath. They grew silent for a minute, Luke scratching his right eyebrow before asking, “Are you gonna tell Ash?”

Maeve let out a humorless chuckle, raising her eyebrows. “So he can kill Calum? Fuck no.” Luke exhaled sharply through his nose, and Maeve bit the inside of her lower lip as she stood up, taking a few steps towards him. “I know Ashton is your best friend and I would never want you to lie to him but I just—I need you to keep this to yourself, Luke, please. He can’t find out.”

Luke looked at her for a moment, searching her eyes for something, before letting out another breath and rubbing his hands down his face. “Of all the guys, Maeve, it had to be Calum?” he questioned with his hands still covering his face, words muffled but understandable before he dropped his hands to his sides.

She offered a sheepish, almost apologetic smile with a gentle shrug of her shoulders. “The universe works in mysterious ways?”

He let out a laugh, still in a state of disbelief. “Fuck off,” he grinned before pushing himself off the wall. Running his fingers through his hair, Luke looked down at her, his large body towering over hers easily. “I’ll keep your dirty little secret. I hope you know what you’re doing.”

Maeve scoffed lightly, relief washing over at his words. Knowing Luke was going to keep her secret, even from his best friend, eased many of Maeve’s worries. He was a good person and she hated that she was forcing him to keep something from Ashton, but she needed him to, and she was grateful. “So do I,” she breathed, smile widening as Luke pulled her in for a goodbye hug.

About fifteen minutes after Luke left, Maeve headed downstairs into the kitchen. Just as she grabbed a banana, Ashton entered the kitchen, stopping her when he asked, “What’s going on with you and Luke?”

Maeve shot him a frown, tilting her head slightly in confusion. His question caught her off guard, so did the way he asked it a bit too innocently, like there was some underlying motive. As she peeled the banana, Maeve gave a shake of her head and asked, “What do you mean?”

Gesturing towards the living room vaguely, Ashton said, “Well, you were acting weird earlier and then he actually went to your room to say bye.” His eyebrows twitched into a frown. “Something going on?”

Okay, Maeve was utterly bewildered. Her chewing of the banana slowed down as she stared at her half-brother, frown deepening as she choked out a laugh. What was he even talking about? She had an idea, she’d be dumb not to, but the fact that he was actually asking her if something was happening between her and Luke was kind of hilarious. “I—No, Ashton,” Maeve told him truthfully with a laugh. “I don’t—No, there’s nothing going on with me and Luke.” When he didn’t look entirely convinced, Maeve rolled her eyes, shoulders dropping. “What, do you think I have a crush on him? Because I don’t.”

He stared at her for a few more minutes, and Maeve widened her eyes pointedly, an incredulous smile still growing on her face because she’d been asking Luke to keep his mouth shut about her secret relationship/arrangement with Calum, and here Ashton was, thinking she had something going on with Luke.

“Okay, okay,” Ashton finally relented, letting out a sheepish chuckle. “Sorry, I just thought—anyway, uh, good.” He turned to walk out of the kitchen, stopping as he pointed at her with a finger, eyebrows raising as he added, “Stay away from my friends.”

She stared after him as he went, unable to entirely tell if he was joking or being serious. There was a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach that told her it was the latter, and suddenly Maeve’s appetite was gone.

Because if Ashton didn’t want her getting involved with his friends, God knows how he’d react if he found out she was getting involved with an ex-friend.

Day 243

He’d just left a bar, only allowing himself a few beers that he caught with a few guys from work, when his phone started vibrating incessantly. He was walking towards the subway as he pulled his phone out, stopping at a corner waiting to cross the street when he saw each text he received—about seven of them—were from Maeve. Calum’s eyebrows drew together as he read the messages, not one hundred percent coherent given the extra unnecessary letters and misspellings some of the words consisted of.

He rolled his lower lip into his mouth, biting down on it as he felt his chest constrict. He hadn’t seen her in, what, twenty days? More? Calum was, frankly, surprised he was able to keep his distance from her for that long, and he was also surprised that Maeve gave it to him, too, never calling or texting him. The disappointment that came with that was unjustified, given that it was he who told her he was done, but it was still present. And since that day at the motel where he finally told her how he felt, the weight hadn’t lifted from Calum’s shoulders. If anything, it felt heavier, pushing him down more and more. It was only a matter of time until he fell to his knees.

Calum had told her he loved her and then he walked away. He didn’t entirely blame Maeve for not reaching out, but he still found himself selfishly wishing that she did.

Fuck, he was never happy, was he?

No. He was. Despite the drama and the secrets, Calum had been happy when he was with Maeve. He could never lie about that.

Looking down at the texts, Calum’s jaw tightened when he saw that Maeve was begging for him to come to the motel, to their spot. From what he could make out, she was already there, waiting for him, alone and drunk, and the thought of her being there by herself was unsettling. Calum had half a mind to text Lina or Audra, asking one of the girls to check in on Maeve, but he knew he wouldn’t be satisfied unless he saw her with his own eyes.

People moved around him, crossing the street as he remained put, gaze lifting as he thoughtfully looked ahead of him. The buildings around him were glittered with lights, cars buzzing and honking as they drove past, and Calum debated if he should go. Debated if it was his place to check in on her. He wanted to keep his distance, that had been the plan, hadn’t it?

But, fuck, Calum would be lying if he said the past twenty-three days spent without any sort of contact from Maeve hadn’t been damn near agonizing. How the fuck had he lived his life before they ran into each other at the Bryant Park Grill?

So he texted her, promising to be there soon, and turned around to head to another subway down a few blocks that would take him to Penn Station. His mind was made up.

The half and hour journey seemed to drag on forever to the point where as soon as Calum reached Hoboken, he practically sprinted to the Skyview Motel. The air felt chilling in his lungs as he finally reached the motel, going up the stairs two at a time until he reached the third floor and the familiar door of room 304. Calum let out a breath, heart drumming in his chest as he knocked on the door, chewing on the inside of his lower lip as he impatiently waited, hoping Maeve hadn’t passed out during his journey over.

Calum turned his ear towards the door as he heard footsteps on the other side, the relief rushing the air out of his lungs as the door swung open to reveal Maeve, barefoot yet dressed in fitted leather pants and a laced red bodysuit, clearly finished with a fun night out.

“Calum!” she greeted, cheery and drunk with flushed cheeks and lips that no longer were painted red but he could tell at one point in the night, they had been. “You’re here,” she added with a giddy grin, both hands grabbing his left wrist and tugging him into the warmth of the room.

He let her pull him in, eyebrows raising because, yeah, she was drunk as he shut the door behind them. Her purse and jacket was tossed on the table, shoes on the floor. Her blonde hair was a bit messy but her makeup was perfect, and even if it wasn’t Calum knew she would still be effortlessly beautiful. “Yeah, I am, sweetheart,” he told her, the term of endearment slipping past his lips before he could stop it.

It seemed, even in her drunken state, Maeve noticed as her grin widened, standing in front of him as her hands gripped the lapels of his bomber jacket. She looked up at him, bluish-green eyes glittering and freckles standing out against her flushed cheeks as she softly hummed, “I love when you call me that.”

He looked down at her, lips pressing together and throat working because all he could see in her eyes, past the drunken haze and sleepiness, was honesty. She was smiling up at him, still smelling of her familiar fruity and cocoa butter perfume and lotion that Calum often found himself getting dizzy on, and he felt his chest tighten. Maeve had the remarkable ability of so easily enticing emotions from him, emotions he’d tried so hard to push aside where she was concerned because he knew he’d only end up hurt—which he did. But saying no to Maeve. . . Calum had accepted it wasn’t something he was good at. No matter how hard he tried.

“I know,” he told her softly, unable to stop his hand from reaching up and using his finger to brush some blonde hair away from her face. “Come on, Maeve,” Calum added, arm wrapping around her waist as he started moving them towards the bed, “You should get some sleep.”

“No,” Maeve whined, pushing away from Calum and stumbling on her feet. He grabbed her elbow gently, making sure she didn’t fall, as he eyed her with a mixture of surprise and worry. She faced him once more, pouting as she pointed a finger at him lazily. “If I go to sleep, then you’ll leave,” she said, her words a tired and drunken drawl. “You left me here last time. You’ll leave.”

Calum’s throat dried, lips parting as he looked at the woman who was looking at him sadly, complete with a frown on her eyebrows and lips. Despite being drunk, Calum could tell that Maeve was genuinely hurt, that him leaving her the way he had that day had really been eating away at her. And it wasn’t like Calum was trying to give her a taste of her own medicine—never in a million years because he wasn’t an asshole. He would never hurt someone he cared about—someone he loved—intentionally. Calum thought he was giving them both what they needed. Now he was realizing, after understanding how the days since he left her fucking sucked more than he thought, that distance wasn’t the answer. He couldn’t stay away from her, not even if he tried, and it was obvious she hadn’t fared well either.

“I won’t leave, doll,” Calum assured her, stepping towards her as his hands found her cheeks. Her throat worked, looking up at him with big, glassy eyes and he felt his chest tighten even more. He hated himself for hurting her. “I’ll be right here with you, yeah? I’ll spend the night.”

Maeve looked up at him, eyes narrowed in drunken suspicion. “Promise?”

She spoke softly, hopefully, and if there was any ounce of doubt or fight in Calum, it left immediately with the look she was giving him. How had he ever thought he could stay away from her? The thought was almost laughable now.

Not the first time Calum had been stupid where Maeve was concerned.

His thumbs rubbed on her cheeks, nodding his head and offering a smile. “Promise,” he responded breathily, the smile she returned warming him up.

They took a few minutes to make sure to let Maeve’s parents know that she was staying at a friend’s, and then Calum took her to the bathroom where she could wash off her makeup, all the while moaning and complaining about not having her wipes and hating that she only had water and soap before drying herself off.

He then brought her to the bed, pushing back the comforter and helping her into her designated side. Maeve settled down, though she didn’t lie down as she bagan unbuttoning her pants. “Can’t sleep in these,” she mumbled sleepily, frowning down at the pants she struggled to unbutton.

Calum pressed his lips together, watching her fingers stumble over themselves and fail to complete their task. He let out a breath, crouching down to his knees and gently swatting her fingers away and bringing his own ring clad ones to swiftly unbutton her pants. Maeve giggled sleepily, “At least take me out to dinner first.”

He suppressed the amused huff of laughter, undoing her pants and shimmying them down her legs before folding them and placing the pants at the end of the bed. Calum took a look at the bodysuit she was wearing as he stood up, figuring it probably wasn’t the most comfortable thing to sleep in, and shrugged off his jacket. As Maeve pulled the comforter up to her hips, Calum asked, “Want my shirt?”

Her eyes met his, wide but tired, as she responded almost timidly, “Please.”

Well fuck, melt his heart, why didn’t she.

He took the shirt off, leaving him shirtless as he handed it to Maeve before walking around the bed towards his side. Sitting on the edge of the bed, Calum felt the gentle shifting of the mattress as Maeve took off the bodysuit, and Calum stared at the wall in front of him. This wasn’t how he thought his night would go, sitting in the room that had become one of his favorite places over the months, with the woman that had honestly become one of his favorite people. He had no problem admitting that to himself, not when he’d already admitted his feelings to her.

Even when Calum had told Maeve that he couldn’t keep continuing whatever they were doing, he had a hard time believing his own words, which only presented more doubt of being able to follow through. And he should’ve known he wouldn’t be able to. Not when it came to her.

Calum felt a hand on his bare shoulder, pulling him out of his thoughts as Maeve tugged him back, silently getting him to lie down. He looked at her as she shifted downwards, looking a lot more calm and sober than when he first arrived, though Calum figured sleep was washing over her quickly. Smiling gently, Calum toed off his shoes and socks and lifted the comforter to slide in, unable to stop himself from thinking how adorable she looked swimming in his shirt.

“Come here,” he mumbled, laying down and lifting his right arm, allowing Maeve to scoot closer until she was pressed against his side and her cheek was resting against his chest, and he lowered his arm around her to keep her close. The warmth of her body against his was comforting, familiar, and a feeling Calum never wanted to deprive himself of ever again.

He heard and felt her hum against him, eyes fluttering closed as her hand rested on his chest as well. The smile that tugged on Calum’s lips wasn’t one he could stop, taking in the sweep of her lashes and the freckles dotting her skin. “Thanks for coming, Cal,” Maeve mumbled sleepily, her breath warm against his skin.

Calum’s fingers gently brushed her hair away from her shoulder, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head as he murmured back, “Anythin’ for you, sweetheart.”

She hummed happily, sleepily, and Calum thought she would drift away right then and there. But then she spoke up one last time, sending shockwaves through Calum’s body that would keep him up for the rest of the night. “G’night, Cal. Love you.”

Yeah. He was definitely not getting any sleep.

Day 246

As she pulled into the line of the Starbucks drive through, waiting for her turn to order, Maeve pulled out her phone, busying herself while she waited. She fooled around one some of the apps, lips twisting to the side as nothing seemed to particularly interest her, her finger accidentally slipping when she was on Snapchat as it took her to the map. And then she saw Calum’s location, right in the spot that was theirs, and her eyebrows raised as she saw that he was there right now. The drive through line creeped forward as Maeve messaged him a familiar quip, What chick are you sneaking there?

His response was almost instant, Just waiting for you to get the hint. My location is loud & clear.

Maeve let out a breathy laugh, telling him she’d be there soon as it was her turn to order. She ordered her own drink before deciding to get Calum his usual order as well and being on her way. As she drove, Maeve could feel her stomach twisting and turning in familiar knots, reminding herself that today was the day. Today, she was going to try and let go of her worries and concerns, because the drunk version of herself already had.

It had been three days since Maeve, in drunken and sleepy stupor, had told Calum she loved him, and it had been two days since she remembered the fact. And when she had suddenly recalled that memory, vague as it may be, Maeve knew it had happened, and she wasn’t sure if she was mortified that the first time she told Calum she loved him was when she was drunk, or worried over the fact that he never brought it up. Had she thought it was just something she said while she was drunk, therefore not really meaning it? Or because he had moved on?

She swallowed the discomfort at that thought. She hoped to God that wasn’t it.

But Maeve was done. She was finished with the constant pushing aside of her feelings, and she was done with ignoring Calum’s feelings for her—if he still had them. She was done with them dancing on their toes around each other, never really uttering how they felt until it was too late. God, hadn’t they wasted enough time already?

“Hey, my personal UberEats is here,” Calum grinned upon opening the door and catching sight of Maeve and the drinks she held. He looked good, as always, in a ripped up shirt tucked into his pants and his favorite black Doc Martens. He made Maeve’s heart race so damn easily.

A scoff escaped her, handing him his as she entered the room. “Anyone who gets Starbucks delivered is pathetic,” Maeve responded factually before taking a long sip of her drink, as if the frappuccino was going to grant her some courage to say what she wanted to. And as soon as she put the drink down on the table, Maeve blurted out, “How come you never said anything about what I told you the other night?”

She turned around just as she said, looking at Calum who was mid sip of his iced latte, eyebrows raised at her in surprise. “Uh,” he sounded, releasing the straw as his dark brows furrowed. “You’re gonna have to be more specific, doll.”

“No, I don’t,” she responded with a shake of her head. Maeve saw it in his eyes, in the recognition that flashed across them, and for a brief moment she was relieved that she was able to read him once again, so easily. Was relieved that he allowed her to. She took a few steps towards him, arms crossed. “You know exactly what I’m talking about, Cal. I doubt you forgot.”

Calum sighed, not even bothering to keep up the charade as he held the hand that held his drink out while he spoke. “Because you were drunk and half asleep, Maeve. I wasn’t—” he paused, exhaling through his nose as he pressed his lips together. His eyes met hers once more. “I guess I didn’t just wasn’t sure if you meant it or not.”

Her heart sank at that, and Maeve in that moment acknowledged that telling him that way was a complete idiot move on her part, even if she didn’t entirely have control over it. She looked at Calum, at the way he pressed his downward turned lips together, and her heart jumped into her throat. Maeve closed the distance between them, approaching the tall brunette as the closer she got to him, the higher her gaze lifted. Once she was in front of Calum, embraced by his familiar scent and cologne, she felt some of the tension in her muscles relax.

Lifting her hands, Maeve placed them on either side of his neck as Calum looked down at her, and she hoped he saw the honesty in her eyes and heard it in her voice when she said, “I hate that the first time I told you that was when I was drunk, but I mean it, Calum.” She saw his dark eyes looking back and forth between hers, could feel him holding his breath, and Maeve’s lips turned upwards in a smile she couldn’t contain. God, she could hear her heart thundering in her ears, but she knew Calum heard her loud and clear when she said, “I love you.”

It took him a few moments to process her words—words he wasn’t sure how long he’d been waiting for her to say. But once Maeve uttered them, they flew around in Calum’s head, settled deep within his chest and sent electricity through his veins and he was fucking finished.

He had half the mind to reach behind him to put the latte down on the bedside table before his arms wrapped around Maeve’s waist and crushed her into him, lips finding hers immediately in a kiss that was so different than the ones they’d shared. This one held nothing back; it was full and open and honest, pouring every single emotion into it with a stunning force that rendered both of them utterly breathless.

Maeve’s hands went from Calum’s neck to the back of his head, wrapping her arms around him as his tongue slid against hers, his own arms embracing her in a way that made her feel so safe—safer than their little motel room.

What they had, had been messy at the start, and despite being open about their feelings, both Maeve and Calum knew things were just as complicated—if not more. Hiding a friends with benefits situation wasn’t too difficult, but with the silent and mutual agreement of wanting to be together, they knew eventually, they’d have to come clean. Eventually, her brother would need to find out that she was dating the guy he couldn’t stand. Eventually, shit was going to hit the fan.

But for now, they were pretty damn content.

Day 274

“Can—you—let me—go?” Maeve could barely get the words out between her laughter and the fact that Calum’s lips never seemed to want to leave hers, her hands applying some pressure on his shoulders as a feeble attempt to push him off. Calum’s arms remained winded around her waist, his back pressed against the brick wall as he kept kissing her, a crinkly eyed grin on his face that Maeve couldn’t get enough of. She lightly slapped his shoulders, trying to pull away. “Come on, Cal, I have to pee.”

“Fine, fine,” Calum relented, reluctantly dropping his arms from around her. He remained leaned against the wall, pouting as she stepped back from him with an amused grin. “I’m gonna go out back for a smoke.”

She voiced her acknowledgement before disappearing into the ladies room, and Calum then made his way down the hall towards the main area of the bar, but instead of going to where his friends were, he opened the door that led to the back alley smoking spot. The door shut behind him as he pulled out his packet of cigarettes and lighter, placing one between his lips as he lit it. It sent a spark of warmth through him in the chilly night, the alley in between two bars dark and justifiably smelly as he saw the occasional car drive by on the street a few feet ahead.

But Calum barely got to enjoy two puffs of the cigarette, because suddenly the door he’d just come through burst open, slamming against the wall and startling Calum—though not as much as the man that stormed through.

Ashton’s eyes, wild with anger even in the dark of the night, caught Calum’s surprised ones as his hands tightened into fists as he stormed over. His footsteps thudded heavily on the concrete, and Calum watched as the vein in Ashton’s neck threatened to burst as he all but yelled out, “Stay the fuck away from my sister!”

Oh, fu—

Calum couldn’t even finish that dumbfounded thought because Ashton’s fist unforgivingly collided with his jaw, knocking the cigarette right out of his hand as he stumbled right back into the brick wall with a groan. He’d felt the dull force of Ashton’s knuckles as well as the metallic hit of the rings he wore, and Calum’s eyes squeezed shut as he tried to gather his bearings as quickly as he could.

It didn’t matter how Ashton found it. The point was, he knew, and Calum was in deep shit.

Ashton was right on him once again, fist connected with the same jaw, slamming Calum’s head into the wall as the brick scraped against his temple, and this time drawing blood as Calum tasted the copper on his tongue. “The fuck were you thinking, huh? Are you fucking stupid?”

For fuck’s sake. He blinked away the spots that were dancing in front of his eyes, the sudden burst of dizziness still present, but allowing Ashton to get two hits in was enough. Mustering up the energy and ignoring the thundering of his heart, Calum pushed Ashton away and delivered a punch of his own to keep him back for good measure, straightening as he spat the mouthful of blood. “I’m thinkin’ that your sister is a grown fuckin’ woman who can make her own decisions,” Calum snapped, his own anger letting loose as he took a somewhat shaky step forward, the sole of his shoes scraping against the ground. His head fucking hurt, and Calum knew that once the adrenaline wore off, it would probably be much worse. Calum could feel the blood trickling down his chin, could still taste it, as he all but taunted, “Who she fucks is none of your business.”

It was a poor, antagonizing choice of words, Calum was well aware, but he was fucking sick of it. Sick of the hiding, sick of sneaking around, all because Ashton had an issue with him. It was about damn time everyone got the fuck over it.

As expected, Ashton launched at him again, an angered, primal growl escaping him as he ran at Calum and crouched to push him against the wall by his stomach, slamming Calum against it once again. The brunette groaned as the bricks dug into his back, at Ashton’s vice like grip on him, but Calum lifted his right arm before jamming his elbow directly on Ashton’s upper back, which had him falling, only for Calum to swiftly bring his knee up and bury it harshly in Ashton’s chest.

He groaned, tumbling to the ground as the wind was knocked out of him, and Calum stood above, his breath uneven and quick. Looking down at him, Calum swallowed the tightness in his throat, the anger that was simmering. Fuck this. Calum moved to step around him, gingerly licking his lip and tasting the blood and wincing at the cut that was there. At least he hadn’t lost a tooth.

But just as he took another step, Ashton seemed to recover, grabbing Calum’s leg with a growl of, “Fucking son of a bitch,” and giving a harsh tug, sending Calum to the floor as he groaned when he landed on his front on the concrete. He struggled to get up, feeling Ashton’s hands force him to lay on his back as he got on top of him, and Calum caught sight of the rage in his darkened eyes. He was pissed off, beyond comprehension, and Calum couldn’t help but wonder how they’d come to this. Were they really so far into this, to the point of no return? Would there ever be any coming back from this?

Just before Ashton’s fist could descend, Calum vaguely heard the door slam open, followed by the sound of Maeve’s voice screaming, “Stop!”

And then Ashton was being pulled away, two pairs of arms grabbing him as he struggled against them, his weight no longer on top of Calum. He sat up, breathing labored, just as Maeve rushed to his side, crouching down with one hand wrapping around his arm and the other going around his waist to help him to his feet. For the moment, Calum ignored Ashton’s angry words to Luke and Michael about letting him the fuck go, instead choosing to look at Maeve, who’s light eyes were swimming with terror and concern as she eyed the blood on his face.

“Oh, my God, Calum—you’re—are you okay?” she asked, her voice breathy and rushed and thick with emotion. Her hand left his arm, gingerly touching his jaw as she looked at him, and Calum winced only when she drew her hand back and saw her skin stained with his blood.

Before he could say anything, though, Ashton’s hard voice cut through the air. “Get the fuck away from him, Maeve.”

If it didn’t hurt so damn much, the adrenaline quickly wearing off, Calum would clench his jaw at Ashton’s words. Instead, his eyes narrowed into a glare at the man who was already scowling at him, not entirely calmed down as Luke and Michael flanked him, ready to interfere once again if they had to. Maeve looked at her half-brother, her throat working. There was no blood on him, which she saw as a good sign, but it also angered her knowing that Calum was right next to her, bleeding.

“No, Ashton.” She gave a shake of her head, her arm around Calum’s waist tight as his arm laid around her shoulders. She couldn’t believe that this was how Ashton came to find out about her and Calum, couldn’t believe that she missed any opportunity to tell him in the past two months her and Calum had officially gotten together. Though, honestly, she wondered if his reaction would’ve been any different. “He’s my boyfriend, so no—I won’t get away from him.”

Her brother stared at her, her words widening his already angered eyes as he took a few steps towards them, Michael and Luke hastily following as Ashton snapped, “Your fucking what?” His eyes darted between the two of them, standing close with their arms around one another, before letting out a dry scoff. “Are you fucking serious? Maeve, what the hell—”

“Look, Ashton,” Maeve spoke up, finding her voice once again. She didn’t want to piss Ashton off anymore than he was, though she figured that was a little too late. But Maeve was done with all the hiding and being scared of him finding out—given that he knew now. It was out in the open, and seeing what Ashton did to Calum only gave her more of the strength to stand by her relationship. “I’m sorry you found out this way, but I’m not going to apologize for my relationship. Your issues with Calum have gone on long enough and it’s about time you either move on, or just get the hell over it.”

Ashton looked at her, the anger mixing with disbelief as he parted his lips. But Maeve stared right back, didn’t cower under his gaze as she kept Calum close. She felt him squeeze her shoulders encouragingly, saw Michael and Luke exchange knowing looks on either side of Ashton. A breathless scoff escaped Ashton as he subtly nodded to himself and raised an eyebrow. “You’re taking his side over mine?”

It always came down to sides, didn’t it?

Maeve looked at Calum, saw him already looking down at her with brown eyes that failed to hide his worry, the blood still trickling down his chin. She knew her answer as she looked back at Ashton. “Yeah. I am.”

Day 298

The house was filled with people, all Maeve’s closest friends and family, present for a brunch her parents threw for her twenty-fourth birthday. The early afternoon was filled with drinking mimosas, eating delicious food, and taking loads of pictures as Maeve enjoyed the company of her loved ones. Except that happiness dulled every so often when her eyes met those of her half-brother’s, hazel eyes void of any emotion save for what she achingly knew as betrayal. Maeve had a sinking feeling that Ashton was only present for her birthday because it was expected of him, because their parents told him to put aside whatever anger he had at Maeve and Calum’s relationship and to be there for his sister’s birthday.

The idea of him being forced to be here twisted at Maeve’s heart.

She was standing with Calum in the living room, the two of them chatting up with Maeve’s cousin Dawn when her eyes caught sight of Ashton heading up the stairs. Her eyebrows furrowed after him, biting the inside of her cheek before quickly looking at Calum and Dawn and saying, “I’ll be right back, guys.”

They nodded, Calum’s eyes meeting Maeve’s where she could see the silent concern. Calum was another target of Ashton’s anger, though what he was on the receiving end of a more violent type of rage. What she was getting was the silent, cold shoulder and dagger eyes that had her heart sinking in her chest each time. She hated that she upset him, but Maeve couldn’t be sorry for being with Calum. She had spent too long telling herself it was a bad idea when it wasn’t; how could it feel so good if it was?

After shooting Calum a reassuring smile, Maeve weaved through the people around her house and headed up the stairs quickly, hoping to catch Ashton before he locked himself in his old bedroom like a stubborn child.

“Ash,” she called, spotting him in the hall. He didn’t stop as he kept going, and Maeve let out a breath as she kept following him. “Come on, Ash, can we talk?”

“We’ve got nothing to talk about, Maeve,” Ashton said, turning to look at her blankly. “You’ve made your choice. Glad to know where I stand.”

She released an exhausted sigh, giving a desperate shake of her head. “Why does it have to be a choice in the first place? Why can’t you two just forgive and forget, huh? You got in a stupid fight for a stupid reason, Ashton—just let it go.”

Ashton tightened his jaw, lips pursed as he glared at her. “It’s not that simple.”

Maeve’s heart thudded. Was that some kind of hint he was willing to try at least? “It can be,” she told him, her tone turning soft as she took a few steps towards her half-brother. Offering a small smile, she said, “Something I learned over the past few months is that we just make shit harder for ourselves because we’re too stubborn to think it can be easy.” When Ashton scoffed, not entirely convinced, Maeve licked her lips and looked up at him with an apologetic, almost sad, expression. “I know I hurt you, Ash, and I’m so sorry for it. But asking me to be sorry for loving Calum would be like asking me to lock away a part of myself. And you had always been the one to tell me to never be afraid of being me.”

She saw some, not all, but some of the anger in his eyes melt away, face scrunching up in half hearted annoyance as he groaned, “Don’t use my words against me.”

Maeve braved another smile. “That’s another thing I’m not sorry for.” When he rolled his eyes, she grew serious once more. “You have every right to be mad, Ash, but doesn’t that get tiring? I know if you and Cal just talk it out, you’ll be able to get past this. You can’t tell me you don’t miss him.”

Ashton’s expression hardened a bit, tone warning as he started, “Maeve—”

“Please, Ashton,” she begged, hands grasping one of his. “You two are three of the most important men in my life, and since Dad doesn’t have any beef with Cal, I need you to at least consider what I said.”

He was silent for a few moments, looking down at her pleading eyes, until finally he let out a sigh with his gaze flickering to the ceiling and gave in with a muttered, “Fine.”

Whether he meant it or was just saying it to shut Maeve up, she wasn’t entirely sure, but for now, she took it. She grinned, happy for the moment, before pulling him in for a hug. Maeve relaxed when Ashton returned the hug, the relief flooding her because, God, she didn’t think he’d ever hug her again after all of this shit. And it felt good, to hug Ashton again after so many days of him giving her the complete silent treatment, of her feeling like she was going to lose her brother if she hadn’t already.

Things weren’t resolved, not by a long shot, but this was a start.

Day 304

“Hey, isn’t that. . .” Calum spoke up, eyebrows furrowing as they pulled into the parking lot of their favorite spot. Maeve followed his confused gaze, her eyebrows shooting up when she saw exactly what he was looking at. “Isn’t that Ashton’s car?”

It was. Maeve recognized the pick-up anywhere, exchanging a bewildered look with her boyfriend at the sight of the vehicle. What the hell was he doing here? Calum pulled into his usual parking spot and the two of them got out, hugging their jackets close to them in the cool November air as they both glanced around, trying to catch sight of her brother, though finding no sign of him anywhere. She looked at Calum, who was squinting in confusion before he shrugged at her, and the two of them headed towards the reception, though Maeve was still looking around for Ashton.

Calum quickly paid for the room—the receptionist, Ted, was on a first name basis with them at this point, and vice versa—and the two of them began making their way to their favorite room. “Seriously, though,” Maeve frowned as they headed up the first flight of stairs. “Why’s his car here? Where the hell is he?”

“Maybe he rented a room?” Calum guessed with a confused raise of his eyebrows, glancing back down at her given that he was a step ahead of her. He chuckled at the flat look Maeve shot him, before shrugging, “I don’t know, love.”

Maeve scrunched her face up as they continued, her curiosity not at all satisfied. When they got to the third floor, turning the corner, Maeve and Calum both stopped short when her questions were answered at the sight of her brother leaning against the wall right next to the door of their room. He stood, busy on his phone, only looking up when he heard their footsteps.

The two of them gaped at him, not expecting him in front of their room, as Ashton straightened and pocketed his phone. He shoved his hands in the pockets of his jacket, and Maeve could tell just how awkward and uncomfortable he looked, and all of her questions, as well as new ones, came to the forefront of her mind. “Uh,” Maeve sounded, glancing at Calum who looked just as bewildered, but still eyed Ashton warily. “Hey, Ash. . . What—what’re you doing here?”

“Um,” Ashton licked his lips, letting out a breath. “Lina told me you two would be here and I, uh, was hoping we could talk.”

Maeve pressed her lips together, not sure if she should curse or thank Lina for giving up the information. Even down to the room number. “S-Sure,” she told him, glancing at Calum to see if he was okay with it. His bruises from their fight had faded, and even though a potentially healing conversation is what Maeve wanted between them, she wanted to make sure no more punches were thrown.

Calum nodded silently and the two of them approached the door, and Maeve shot Ashton a small smile as Calum unlocked the room and the three of them walked inside. She wasn’t oblivious to the tension that settled upon all of them, and Maeve silently prayed things didn’t escalate between them. Luke and Michael weren’t around this time to interfere.

Calum and Maeve dropped their bags on the bed, turning to face Ashton who probably felt as out of place as he looked, hands still in his jacket pockets as his eyes took in the room around them. Maeve wondered if he was thinking it wasn’t as sleezy as he perhaps pictured it while he was waiting for them. “So what’s up?” Maeve questioned, trying to keep her tone light.

“I thought about what you said,” Ashton responded slowly after taking a breath. “And you were right. . . I am tired of being mad. And I’m. . .” His eyes met Calum’s and Maeve felt her boyfriend stiffen slightly, though her eyes remained on her brother as he finally said, “I’m sorry for being the shittiest friend—person—on the fucking planet.”  

Maeve’s eyes widened because, shit, she didn’t think she’d ever hear Ashton say that to Calum. She was holding her breath, his words hanging in the air as both she and Calum tried to register them. She was having a hard time processing—she wondered how Calum was faring.

When neither she nor Calum said anything, Ashton let out a breath as he pulled out a hand and rubbed it down his face. “Everything that’s happened between us—it’s my fault, man, and it’s about time I accepted that,” Ashton continued, his gaze still on Calum. “There’s no excuse for how I treated you, and you deserve better than someone taking you and your friendship for granted. I’m gonna—I’m going to work on this temper issue I have, alright? And I know this apology is, like, almost two years and a few punches too late but I am sorry. Really.”

His words had Maeve’s chest tightening, a smile threatening to spread across her face as she looked at Ashton. He looked genuinely apologetic for his actions, for everything that had happened between him and Calum, and she could hear it in his voice, too. And the fact that he actually sought Calum out to tell him face to face spoke volumes.

Glancing up at Calum, Maeve saw his throat working, the muscle in his jaw prominent which told her he was clenching it. His gaze remained on Ashton, processing his words, and he finally spoke up once he did. “If you came to me a year ago, I would’ve told you to fuck off.” Maeve held her breath at the words Calum spoke in his raspy voice. Calum lifted his chin and Maeve saw the ghost of a smirk tilting at his lips. “But I’m not the same person I was a year ago—and I can only thank Maeve for that. And I know you were hurt when you found out about us. So I’ll forgive you for all that shit, if you forgive me for hurting you, too—even if we weren’t friends when I did.”

Maeve rolled her lips into her mouth, feeling her heart launch into her throat as she looked between the two men. She felt like such a girl, getting so emotional at what was happening in front of her, but that wasn’t such a bad thing. They were finally, finally, finally making up, making things right—Maeve figured she had the right to get a bit choked up.

Especially when Ashton’s eyes met hers, saw just how emotional she was getting, and a dimpled smile tugged at his lips before he let out a breathless laugh and nodded at Calum. “Deal.”

And then the two of them were walking towards each other and Maeve watched, with the smile finally splitting across her face, as Calum and Ashton clasped each other’s hands and embraced in that one armed dude hug, slapping each other’s backs with their free hands, but staying in that position for a moment. Maeve would’ve totally photographed the sight in front of her if it didn’t ruin the moment, so instead, she just watched with a grin on her face and tears stupidly gathering in her eyes. But she didn’t care. They were finally okay. Maybe it would take them a while to go back to how things were before the Big Fight, but it was finally in the past. It wouldn’t loom over their heads anymore like a dark cloud; they would be okay. They’d be friends.

The two of them pulled away, smiles on their faces that Maeve knew they hadn’t given each other in almost two years, and Ashton’s eyes met hers as he said, “Alright, I’m gonna leave you two to it.” He walked backwards towards the door, adding in a joking tone, “I feel like I’m stepping on holy ground.”

Maeve finally let out a snicker, raising her eyebrows at him. “You are.”

Calum pressed his lips together to keep down the laugh that threatened to escape when Ashton shot her a disgusted look. “Gross,” he commented before opening the door. “You know you guys don’t have to sneak here anymore, right? Stop wasting money.”

Maeve rolled her eyes. “Bye, Ash,” she said in a sing-song tone, shooing him away with her hand. He chuckled, offering one last wave before he left. As soon as the door clicked shut behind him, Maeve turned to look at Calum. “He’s got a point though, you know. We don’t have to sneak around anymore.”

“I know,” Calum nodded, slowly sauntering over to where Maeve stood. “Which is why tonight’s our last night here.”

She raised her eyebrows, looking up at him once he stopped right in front of her. “It is?” she asked, narrowing her eyes when Calum nodded with a cute little mhm, something akin to mirth and delight dancing across his eyes. There was something he wasn’t telling her. “What’s so special about tonight?”

“Well,” Calum began, stretching the word out as he tilted his chin up, wrapping his arms around Maeve’s hips to pull her close before looking back down at her. His smile was soft across his face, a smile reserved especially for Maeve that always erupted butterflies in the pit of her stomach. She wrapped her own arms around him as she waited for him to continue. “Today, sweetheart, is the three hundred and fourth day since you and I ran into each other all those months ago in the Bryant Park Grill.”

Maeve blinked up at him, lips parting at the revelation. Her lips upturned into a grin, gentle and completely in love with him; 304. It was a silly little coincidence that related to the number of the very room they were standing in, the very room that had become their safe space to be with one another, but the fact that Calum actually counted the days since they saw each other for the first time at the restaurant had her heart bursting like she was in some damn cartoon. But she didn’t care; all she cared about was Calum.

“Three hundred and four, huh?” Maeve grinned, pressing her front against his as Calum mirrored her smile, looking just as entranced with her as she was with him. Sometimes she couldn’t believe they finally figured their shit out to be together. Maeve often wanted to punch herself for being so stubborn and not letting herself be with him sooner. “Is that our anniversary before our actual anniversary?”

“Yeah, why not?” Calum grinned, throwing her a quick wink. “Keeps things spicy.”

Maeve let out a laugh, which only widened Calum’s grin as she told him, “We rented a motel room every time we wanted to get together—that’s pretty spicy already.”

“You’re right,” Calum hummed, lowering his head to press his lips against Maeve’s. She instantly returned the kiss, leaning up into him as she stood on her toes, fingers tightening on the material of his jacket. His own hands shifted, going from her hips to her butt, digging into the pockets of her jeans and giving her a cheeky squeeze that had her grinning against his mouth. “I think the bed deserves one last round, don’t you?”

Maeve bit his lower lip, prompting him to tighten his grip on her as she coyly asked, “Just one?”

Calum groaned, shamelessly and completely crazy for her and the way she thought. “Fuck, I love you.”

She had no problem returning the sentiment during the next one, two, three rounds.

--

tags: @irwinkitten @glitterprincelu @softforcal @sweetcherrymike @valentinelrh @astroashtonio @meetashthere @hereforlukescruff @novacanecalum @captain-what-is-going-on @angelbbycal @singt0mecalum @hopelessxcynic @lfwallscouldtalk @bodhi-black @findingliam-o @softlrh @calntynes @calumsmermaid @dammitbands @flannelpunkcalum @erikamarie41 @quintodosuniversos @longlastingdaydream @babylon-corgis @lukehemmingsunflower @spideyseavey @imfuckin10plybud @livibii123 @pastelpapermoons @malumharmonies @conquerwhatliesahead92 @rotten-kandy @metangi @neigcthood @ohhmuke @old-zeppelin-shirt @5sos-and-hessa @trustmeimawhalebiologist @vxlentinecal @pettybassists @vaporshawn @lu-my-golden-boi @buggy-blogs @visualm3nte @isabella-mae13 @dontjinx-it @lifeakaharry @neonweeknds @antisocialbandmate @ixcantxdecidexwhosxmyxfave @calpalbby @grreatgooglymoogly @sunnysideblog @cocktail-calum @miahelizaaabeth @madelynerin @dramallamawithsparkles @aulxna @mermaiden004 @hoodskillerqueen @bitchinbabylon @empathycth @xhaileyreneex @inlovehoodx @calistheloml @aestheticrelated @bloodlinecal @sublimehood @madbomb @raabiac @britnicole11 @outofmylimitcal @fluffsshawn  

[harrystylesgoldencreature]

Baby, You’re Perfect

Chapter Three- Unwelcomed Surprises 

Harry

Things on tour had been going off without a hitch. They were just over a month in, and they still had quite a few months of shows lined up.

Harry had been on cloud nine. His passion had always been to bring happiness to others, and he loved that his job allowed him to do just that. He loved performing for his fans, and he loved the rush he got from it. He also loved being on the road with his band and crew. They had all become like a family to him, and he enjoyed each and every moment they spent together.

The tour had become a routine to him. He spent quite a while traveling to each venue, whether it be by bus or plane. Once there he would go over every single detail of how the stage would be set up, how the show would go, and how many fans were expected to be there.

It seemed like he was constantly going over his busy schedule with Jeff. It felt as if his entire life was being mapped out for him, which could get overwhelming at times. However, he found comfort in his work and especially in his friends. He also really enjoyed his daily flirtations with his lovely new photographer Layla. He found her to be both charming and extremely attractive. He loved her humor and especially her laugh. She could make him laugh all day long, and he felt like they would be the perfect match. Except he couldn't seem to get up the courage to ask her out on a date.

He didn't know why, but his nerves always got the better of him. No one had made him this nervous in a very long time, and it drove him mad. All he wanted was the confidence to just walk up to her and tell her how he felt.

He was currently roaming around backstage trying to find her, when he got an unwelcome surprise. Everyone was lounging around in what they called the blue room. They were relaxing a while, before they had to start getting ready for the show. Walking in, Harry scanned the room. He froze in his spot, when he saw an unfamiliar man talking to Layla. He seemed to be rather close to her and had his arm on her shoulder. She was smiling at him, but Harry noticed that it wasn't her normal smile. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but she seemed to be uncomfortable. Although she hid it rather well, behind her fake smile.

Walking over to where Sarah was standing, he grabbed a bottle of water.

“Hey, whose that?” He asked casually, pointing to the strange man.

“Ohh..” She said narrowing her eyes. “That would be Jackson. He's Layla's boyfriend.”

“Boyfriend?” He asked, choking on the water he had just put in his mouth. “I wasn't aware she had a boyfriend.”

“Umm.. I think they just got back together. She told me they had broken up just before she came to work for you, but he just showed up here not to long ago asking for her.”

“I see,” he said frowning.

“I'm sorry, dear.” She said hugging him tightly. “I know you have a thing for her.”

“Is it that obvious?”

“Well maybe not to her, but we've all known you a lot longer so we know the signs.”

He sighed. “Well I guess there's not much I can do about it now.”

“Just hang in there.” She said thoughtfully. “Just between me and you, I don't think they'll last.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Just look at him. He's bad news.”

“You see it to?” He asked. “I thought it was just my jealousy talking.”

“It's not just you Harry, we all care about Layla as well. She's a lovely girl, and she definitely deserves better than that creep.”

Harry and Sarah talked for a bit longer, before he started to grow uncomfortable. He walked out of the room, saddened. He couldn't believe that she was taken and not by him. He was kicking himself for not telling her how he felt sooner. He spent the rest of the day alone in his dressing room, until it was time for the show to begin.

Walking out of the room, and not paying attention, he ran right into Layla.

“Oh.” She said a bit startled. “Hey you! I feel like I haven't seen you all day. Where have you been hiding?” She asked in her teasing way.

Unlike before, she now had a genuine smile on her face. It confused him that much more.

“Oh.. You know.. I've just been writing a bit and keeping to myself.”

“I see,” she said frowning. “Is everything alright?”

“Just peachy,” he told her. He gave her his best fake smile.

Narrowing her eyes, he knew she wasn't buying it. Though they haven't know one another long, he knew she could already read him way to well. Rather than calling him on it, she just shook her head and stepped pass him.

It took everything in him not to run after her, as he watch her walk down the hallway. Reluctantly, he turned the other way and headed for the stage.

…..........

I could sense something was a mist. Harry had been acting strange for the past week now. I couldn't shake the feeling that he was doing his absolute best to avoid me at all costs. I wasn't sure what I had done wrong. I had asked him a million times what was bothering him, to which he would always reply 'Nothing'.

It was starting to really drive me insane. I knew it was crazy to even consider, but I was really beginning to think we had something special. Now I wasn't sure what to think at all. Maybe it was all in my head, and I was just over thinking it all. Or maybe I really was the problem.

It all seemed to start, when Jackson came back into the picture. Things had been going perfectly, up until that point. He showed up out of the blue, just before a show one night. It wasn't surprising that he had been following me. He wasn't exactly happy about the break up, so I knew it was just a matter of time.

We had been together for a little over two years, and it was a complete nightmare. It took me the longest time to find the courage to leave him, in the first place. Harry's tour had been the biggest blessing. I couldn't quite believe my luck, when I received the call and was offered the job. It was the answer to my prayers. I used the tour, as an excuse for the break-up. Jackson, however, didn't buy it. He knew me leaving was inevitable.

So it wasn't a surprise when he showed up. Not entirely anyways. The thought had been in the back off my mind every minute of everyday. I searched for his face in every crowd, and I constantly had to watch my back.

Now I wasn't sure what to do. Showing up, he made it clear that he wasn't going to let me go.

So I just went along with it, for now. Deep down, I knew this was the reason Harry had been acting so off. I knew he saw the two of us, and someone must have told him we were together. I wish I had the courage to tell him the truth of the matter, but I could never seem to find the right words.

The days seemed to grow longer, as his silence continued. It was torture, but I did my very best to stay distracted. I took more and more pictures, in order to stay busy. Harry's feeds were always filled with the most up to date photos. I could tell that he wasn't himself so it was hard to find the perfect pictures to post. It was definitely making things even harder.

I had been roaming around backstage, in order to pass the time, when I over heard a conversation I knew I wasn't meant to hear.

“I'm not sure what to do.” Harry said saddened.

His voice broke my heart even further. I could sense something was really bothering him, and I was surprised by how bad it seemed to hurt me. Carefully, I listened on.

“What do you mean?” Mitch asked him.

“Layla.. She has a boyfriend.” He said sadly. “I thought I could get over it. I thought that I could at least act normal around her, but I just can't. My feelings for her are unwavering, and I just don't know what to say to her anymore.”

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. My heart seemed to want to beat out of my chest. He has feelings for me? I thought I had been imagining the entire situation. Hesitantly, I listened on.

“That's a tough one mate.” Mitch sighed. “Maybe you should tell her how you feel. You will never know if she feels the same way if you don't.”

“I don't know, man. I care about her way too much to ruin things between her and him. If he's what makes her happy, then who am I to stand in the way.”

Having heard enough, I walked away. The last thing I wanted was to be caught eavesdropping. I knew I'd never be able to look him in the eyes, if I did. I had tears streaming down my face, as I headed for the exit. I needed some fresh air, and I had a lot to think about.

….......

It had been a few days, since I heard Harry's secret confession. Three long days filled with doubt and a million different questions. I had multiple arguments with myself on what I needed to do, yet I still had no earthly idea on what to do.

My heart felt like it had been shattered into a million different pieces. I had not realized how strong my feelings for Harry had been, until I heard his heartfelt confession. Harry was everything I had ever wanted in a man and so very much more. He was truly the perfect man. I just didn't know how he would, feel if he knew the entire truth. Would he still look at me in the same way?

On the other hand, there was Jackson. We had a ton of history together, but I knew he would never change. He wasn't the type, but I still didn't know how to get rid of him. He had a million issues and demons, and he always found a way to blame them on me. He had a way to make me feel a hundred times worse. We would constantly fight, and things would almost always get physical. I knew I deserved better, but I didn't know how to get out of the situation I was in.

Up until now, I had not pictured myself with anyone else. I couldn't bare to think about it, because I knew it would probably never happen. Now there was Harry, and I couldn't help but picture our lives together. It was never ending torture.

I couldn't help my feelings for Harry. From the moment we laid eyes on each other, I was hooked. He was just such an amazing person. He had a heart of gold, and I knew he would treat me like a queen. Just watching him interacting with his fans melted my heart. I don't think he had a mean bone in his body. He was a true gentleman.

I had been doing my best to avoid both men, as much as I possibly could. Jackson had been taking it the worst. I knew it was only a matter of time before he showed back up, and I had to explain things. Harry was another matter entirely. It was hard to avoid him, when it was my job to capture his memories. Life had gotten very complicated, in just a short amount of time.

Knowing I couldn't put it off any longer, I called Jackson. I knew what I needed to do, and I was beyond scared out of my mind. I asked him to meet me, just before I had to work on Harry's next show. I knew it needed to be public. He was less likely to lash out, if there were witnesses. I had a brief break, while the crew was setting up the stage, so it was the best time for the encounter.

My heart began to race, as I saw Jackson enter the arena. He didn't look happy, so I knew this was going to be bad. I met him close to the front of the entrance and took a seat in the empty audience. I didn't want anyone to over hear the conversation, but I also refused to be alone with him.

I sat quietly, trying to buy my time. Playing with my fingers, I thought through what I wanted to say.

“Just spit it out already. I'm sure, I know what you're going to say.” He spat out.

“I don't want to be with you.” I whispered, avoiding his hated stare.

“I don't think so.”

I continued to avoid his glare and remained silent.

“You're not doing this to us again. I let you throw your pity party before, but not again.”

“Pity party?” I asked, taken aback. “I'm not even going to justify that with a response. You know what you done, and I'm over it.”

“It's your word against mine.”

Rolling my eyes, I just shook my head. “Whatever Jackson. Say whatever you want. I really don't care anymore. We're not right for each other, and I refuse to let you ruin my life any longer.”

“Listen to me,” he started. His voice became cold and cause a shiver to run down my spine. “I'm not going anywhere.”

I started to get up from my chair. I knew him all to well, and I knew he wasn't going to leave without a scene.

“I have to go,” I told him. I tried my best to step around him.

Pushing me back down in the seat, he hovered over me. “I don't think I made myself clear enough.” He said coldly. Pulling his hand back, I closed my eyes. I knew what was coming so all I could do was prepare myself.

“I think the lady said to leave.” I heard Harry's raspy voice call out.

Looking up, I saw Harry holding back Jackson's hand. He seemed to come out of nowhere. He stood a foot taller than the boy, and stared at him with furious eyes. I had never seen Harry this angry.

“This doesn't concern you,” Jackson spat out.

“Actually, I believe it does. If you ever lay a hand on her again. I'll kill you.” Harry's voice was low, but the threat rang with sincerity.

Jackson laughed, “I'm not afraid of you.”

Without a warning, Harry reared back and hit Jackson square in the jaw. He hit him so hard that he knocked the boy flat on his back. Before Jackson could get back to his feet, Harry called security over.

“If you would, please escort this man off of the premises. Also, make sure to let the entire security team know not to let him back in.”

“Of course.” The two broad men said at once. They each grabbed one of Jackson's arms and dragged him away.

I sat there in stunned silence, as I watched the scene play out. Harry turned my way and looked at me shyly.

“Are you alright?” He asked softly.

He slowly knelt down in front of me, so that we were of equal eye level. Taking both my hands, he squeezed them gently.

“Yes,” I whispered. I had not realized I was crying, until Harry leaned over and wiped the tears from my cheek. “Thank you for that..”

Harry gave me a small smile, as he rose to his feet. Without another word, he walked back towards the stage. Before I realized what I was doing, I jumped up and ran after him. Putting my hand on his shoulder, I stopped him.

“Harry?”

He stopped but stood with his back to me. Taking his hand, I slowly spun him around so that we were face to face. Taking a deep steadying breath, I reached up and pulled him towards me. Softly I brought my lips to his and kissed him.

Pulling back, he looked down at me in utter shock and confusion. “No... This isn't right.” He mumbled, before walking away.

Staring after his retreating figure, I was dumbfounded.

[wrongwiredmind]

Before I start saying anything I'd like to warn that the content of this post is both gore and contains suicidal thoughts, if any of that triggers you, please do not read, I care about whoever is reading but I can't hold any responsibility for anything that might follow, stay safe, and remember that no matter what, what comes next in your life will be better, one way or another.

This post is rather long, but that's kinda the point of this page, here we go, then.

So, I had almost my weirdest dream to date, right now, and then I thought, to heck with it!! Let's share something!

So first of all, I need to set some points straight before writing so it might explain a few things, hopefully, without giving a lot away about my personality:

(I have no idea how to put them on order, so they're pretty much a mumbo jumbo. Ah~ My favourite type of writing~. Kidding, of course, I actually prefer reading well written stories and articles)

Anyhow:. 1- I have a really deep unexplainable fear of the vast beast called an ocean (or a sea, or really anytype of deep water), I still go to the beach and pools and whatever, but there's always some sort of an icy grip tightening around my non-existent heart.

2- I love IronMan! So so much, and I kinda adopted Tony Stark!! (no one tell him, please!).

3- my adoration of a certain supernatural series made me love batman! (well, not entirely true, I always loved him, but kinda from afar, you get me?)

4- want me to get hooked on something? Give me a fanfic of it!! (of course like a series or a book, not a substance, you bad bad people!!), that's how I loved Bilbo!! (imagine me saying it in my adorable voice, the one I use when I try to sound cute 😉)

5- I binge read a certain fanfic about those two amazing superheroes saving the world, and themselves!! (I refuse to give up the name since if you think this is me oversharing? You've got another thing coming, honey!) that had a cruise and another prototype of the IronMan suit (don't ask which mark it is but it's so fast it broke the sound barrier!!)

6- I'm a little bit under the weather, (not corona, folks!) and my throat is kinda itchy, to the point that I lost all my vocal prowess for a little more than 24 hours a few days ago, still kinda annoying, and my stomach rebelled so much yesterday (before and during sleeping) that I thought she should take the rebellion symbol from Mr. Che Jivara!! (with all due respect to him, I'm only joking, so please no one takes it seriously).

7- I'm a little bit of a spacetoon (and all that's good and beautiful in our childhood) encyclopedia, want a name of a cartoon or a song you can't remember? I'm usually your best bet, after the second mother, google, of course!!

8- this week is so dead that if you want to see zombies come to our lectures any time in it, seriously we're so under a lot of exams, thank God and the doctors for postponing our tasks and assignments' due-date.

9- if I was a little more of an extrovert I might not have had to write most of these strange snippets about me in a freaking post!!!

And finally, on with the dream! (another thing you probably know by now, that I kinda take you around and under and left and right before I say what I want to say).

So, it was an assignment to some sort of subject (don't ask me which, since as far as I know, not a single thing in our curriculum will make me do what I'm about to do here, or at least, I hope so!!!), we made some type of fall-body suit that needed analysing (who am I kidding, it was the IronMan suit!!), and guess who was picked as a pilot? That's right! Yours truly!!

Anyway, good thing to bad, we had to make the prototype test in the middle of the (as I said above) the vast beast! Mr. Oceanus (I know that that is a Mr. Titan, but who am I, the lowly mortal, to deny his decision to appear in my paragraphs? And no, he didn't show up in the dream, thank God! [ours, not any of the others]),

So, I was put in the cruise, in the middle of the ocean, with the IronMan suit, and a seriously sick stomach, can you guess where we're going with this? (I'm actually kinda enjoying writing this since it reminds me of a certain mad superhero/not superhero who finally joined the XMen!, of course he joined a few years ago but I only watch the second movie circa a month ago) no? let me tell you, a bit of dizziness, seasickness, and an already rebellious stomach? Not a good combination, and remember that I really, really fear the ocean (just remembering the dream and the images in my head is traumatising, let alone living it vividly for a few hours), so, I fell, and strangely enough, I was a good swimmer (ah~ I really count my blessings here since no matter who or when someone taught me to swim, I still can't manage), I was able to stay close to the ship, but couldn't really pull myself up, so all I could do was keep a good hold on a rope tied around the ship and keep my legs in a calculated, slow what feels like a walking-in-place exercise,, (I can still feel the water around me, and the gentle waves of the ocean, it was both a calming feeling and a horrible one) and then...

Something touched the soles of my feet, and it kinda hurt, and it continued to move under me till something hit my toes, it was a shark fin, that's right, a shark choose me as his next meal, how honoured I was!!! Kidding i was kinda terrified, but all that YouTube survival videos came to mind, I left the rope of the ship and kinda dipped under water (triple scare, here, yikes!) and I... pushed.. his muzzle?

Yeah, so not really what they taught you in the videos, my polite nature rears its ugly head again (politeness is not as good as it seems, people! actually once a stray dog entered our home and jumped on the couch, and I was asking nicely and politely if "Mr. Dog would pretty please leave us be", and no, I wasn't scared but mom told me not to touch it, and it kinda was a cute, if a mangy mutt)

I didn't really want to punch the shark, even if my life kinda depended on it here, for a few reasons and actually at least one of them was pretty reasonable, which is, my punch is pretty weak, guys!!

Anyway, of course since its skin kinda scratched my feet there was blood, so it didn't leave me alone, two things I concluded here, first, Mr. Shark was either a lazy guy since he was coming to me slowly as if he either was a giant cat coming for pets no matter how many times you push her, or he was playing with his food, aka, me.

The second thing I discovered was that I was really sick in real life since my imagination couldn't conjure another family member of my guest here (again with the small mercies, can you imagine being alone around all these carnivores? And I bet not all of them will be moving so leisurely!!)

So, I finally decided to be the champ of my cruise and punch the thing in the face, so I pulled up all the power I can in my fist and punched him in his snout!!!

And let me tell you, it's not as easy is they make it sound, first, his nose is actually pretty hard, not the sensitive area they led us to believe, second, my hand really hurt and his skin scratched my knuckles, and I believe it kinda broke a bone in my hand, third, and worse, it actually enraged the mister so much that it left me, J-squared again and this time, flew! in my direction and I swear I still feel his teeth sinking in the shin of my right leg, but before he tore it apart, I actually did the right thing to defend myself, I (and I apologise, Mr. Dream shark, but you really hurt both my leg and my feelings!!) poked his eyes, which made for a very awkward stretch to my body, but finally, I was left alone!! With a mangled leg, of course, but hey!! It's not real life, so let's be glad.

The saltwater stinging my feet, still sick, and more dizzy from blood loss, you have no idea how glad was I that I was still near the ship, a little bit more than a meter but still floating, and then, the bad became worse, I actually goT SWALLOWED WHOLE BY A WHALE!!!!!!!!, YUP!! THE WHALE IN THE PICTURE!!!

And then god with his mercies again, it swallowed the ship but opened his mouth for me to leave, neat, ain't it?

But let me tell you what happened in a little more details, I felt a ripple in the water beneath and around me, and the ship started to sway, and a faint sound of something between a roar and strange song-like-sound, feeling the rumble under me was what made me look, and lo and behold!! The mighty animal wanted the meal that the shark didn't get, bye bye world!! Bye bye the suit that I still didn't to get to wear! And bye bye the report I needed to write for this freaking assignment that because of it I might fail and my friends will rail me when they see me!!

The ship and I couldn't help but enter the mouth of the humongous fish, the sounds of the wood, metal, glass and whatever is the cruise was made of was deafening, so loud and cruel, and I got a more than a few bruises and abrasions, and the feel of his teeth behind my back, sharp and huge and bigger than my own size, was something I don't know how to describe, and suddenly between all the breaking and suffocating water and absolute darkness, something caught my eyes, the slits in the helmet of the suit were lit, I'm sure it was a malfunction because of all the destruction on Mark, but it took all my fear, as if sucking it from my own eyes, and as sudden as it glowed, it vanished, but the calm remained, I closed my eyes, since it didn't matter, and just stopped everything, even trying to hold my breath, but not breathing as well, as if all body functions just... Stopped.

And then my eyes flew open again, not because I woke up, but because of an almost crushing change in the water pressure, it just pushed me forward more inside the huge mouth, and when I thought that this is it, I found the whale mouth moving further away from me, taking the ship and Mark with it, and leaving me alone, in the middle of the ocean that I wanted to say "c'mon!! If you ate me it'll be a win-win situation!!!!" but the second I opened my mouth water rushed inside that I tried swimming up to breath (even though not knowing which way is up was problematic, since something similar happened in real life before I wasn't worried, but that's a story for another time), breaking the surface was a godsend, I tell you! But my misery wasn't in any way over, I was so thirsty I actually wanted to drink salt water a again (and then death, oh wow, how smart?), and once the adrenaline deserted me, my leg returned to trying to kill me, and I don't know if it was a real thing if it happened in real life but it actually stopped bleeding, which was both fantastic, since it means that I won't die of bloodloss, and horrifying since I'm not going to die because of bloodloss, at least then I would have been able to calculate an approximate time for my death, but no, I have to wait and see what kills me next, I almost wished that I just had my previous stomachache and be done with.

Anyway, moving was not really an option, and staying was not either, and the breeze was making me so cold my teeth almost broke from all the shattering they were doing, I wasn't really sure when the others might decide to check on me, and I'm not really sure if I was still in the place they left me at, and I really didn't know what to do, I was so helpless, and cold, and thirsty, in so much pain and so so tired.

I cursed the whale again for not ending my misery, and cursed the shark for being a coward and not finishing what he started and cursing the assignment for being so impossible yet important, and most of all cursing myself, though I don't know why, but my self-loathing decided that now is the time to remember how horrible I am.

As physics does, the water raised me till I was floating on my back, which made me feel even more cold but I didn't have any energy to do anything about it, and strangely, I fell into some sort of doze, not asleep yet not really awake and aware, my whole body half above half into the water, though my right, injured leg, was bend in the knee into the water, which made my pained scream when something took hold of it in its mouth the more agonizing since it made my upper body enter the water, and the thing holding my leg left it alone, and I was able to right myself and look around me for the next threat, the fear was immense that I thought I might get a heartattack, which, admittedly would be better than the pain going to be inflicted upon me any second now, looking around finally led me to what attacked me, and for a moment, with my blurry, and fear filled eyes looked like Mr. Shark has indeed returned to finish what he started, he even returned to his play-with-my-food attitude, but when my eyes finally focused they detected differences, from the lighter shade of colors, to the more smooth curves of the fin and snout, and the gentle, warm (even if it looked sleepy) strange brown tone of the mammels eyes,

The dolphin was about two meters away, and looking at me with intense, twinkling eyes (if they were blue and he wore glasses, or at least marking that looks like it, I would have thought that the dolphin was Dumbledore' animagus and I really wouldn't have hesitated this time to punch his already crocked nose.. err.. snout [which it isn't, the dolphin's snout was perfect] with my broken hand!!) and moved slowly towards me, he pushed me gently with his nose in my abdomen, swam back a few inches, then entered the water and moved towards my leg, not touching it, but he was close enough to feel with my already almost destroyed sensitive nerves, he did all of that while I'm standing/floating, stupefied, hardly even breathing, and then he left, and pushed me again with his snout on my back, this time with more pressure that my body couldn't help but move to the dolphin's right side to let him pass, with my hand just above his back, when my hand touched his prominent back fin, he pushed my hip gently, as if telling me something, and pushed his fin into my hand again, it felt like rubber, and I couldn't help but ask "you want me to hold you?" he made a strange clicking noise then kinda slapped the water with his side fin in the other side of me, and bizarrely, his actions made me feel as if he was saying "are you stupid? Why else would I offer you my magnificent dorsal?!!" I stared, flummoxed, at the creature and couldn't help but throw my head back and laugh, I'm certain that it was the tension, fear and hysteria that made me do it, but for me, the whole situation was so hilarious that it seemed like it made Mr. Dolphin look at me and think "alright, the pathetic, hurt, star-shaped blemish is, indeed, stupid and needs help from my majesty" and then, using his right fin, slapped me non-too-gently on the side of my left hip, squeaking something as well and pushed his dorsal in my left hand again, but when he noticed my wince, he actually kinda rubbed his slippery appendage on my thigh while honest-to-god cooed at me that I couldn't help but smile at him, "it's okay, big guy, and thanks; you know, you kinda remind me of flipper!" and then I petted him a couple of times (which he purred at, I think I need a cat! 🤔🤔) then grabbed his fin in a tight but non constricting grip, my right hand was swollen by now so my only hope was to keep holding using my left hand, after shaking his body a little as if to check my hold, he dove with me into the water!! I almost screamed in fright but then he broke the surface and jumped about three meters high into the air!!!

Hello, there, adrenaline, didn't see you since a few!!

He dove again into the water and this time gradually moved towards the surface, with the water flowing into my hair and pushing me from my saviour, my left leg moved on its own violation and moved around the body as if I was riding a horse,

"WOOHOO!!", I shouted once we were in the air again, it was exhilarating; cold, but thrilling, though the warm body beneath me was perfect, he took me in a straight if slightly curvy line, and when I noticed that, I also noticed that his right fin was not moving as his left, I even thought he was injured for a second, but then a sharp sting in my leg and a slight jerk from him made me understand, my injured leg was beneath his wing-like appendage, and he was being considerate, as a solution, I flattened myself on his back, kept my left leg dangling as if in the horse saddle, my right one, as gently as possible, bend on the knee above the dolphin's back, my left hand gripping the top fin with it touching my shoulder, and my broken right hand above Mr. Flipper's cousin head, and then I came into a a sudden realization!! "does that mean I'm Lopaka????" I asked Flipper the second, and he made a sound suspiciously almost like a snort, but my change of position made him move in a much more pronounced straight line; the speed decreased as I started to doze again, as if he was worried about dislodging me, though the annoying feeling of the salt crusting on my skin woke me up, no idea how much time had past, except that the sun was on either the verge of descending or rising, and finally, finally, I saw land and buildings and what not from afar, and I certainly moved to another continent all together, let alone another country, after reaching the area where I could stand comfortably on the ground beneath the water, people started to come to see what was happening, I ignored them for the sake of my silent companion, suddenly he actually stood on his tail fin, and kinda sort of awkwardly leaned on me without trying to put too much pressure, I didn't understand what was happening though it seemed sorta like a hug?

Anyway, I pat his back again, (and again with the weird purring noise), when he released me I felt buzzing in the back pocket of my jeans, I actually still have my phone!!!

Pulling it out and snorting that after everything that happened my phone was still working!! all I could say is "well, it seems like the time of a picture, Mr. Flipper, sir!" and after an awkward kneeling so I could put my injured arm around him and trying to stretch my bloody leg (both meanings are accurate here, tbh) so it wouldn't interfere with the selfie, I positioned my left hand.

And the last thing I remember is the picture of my (Lopaka the second 😂) wide mouth grin and an equally wonderful grin from Mr. Flipper the second!!!

The End.

It really was a dream I had, with all these details, the only thing that's not entirely true about this post, is saying that this is the weirdest dream I had.