#Property VIC

[conveyitnsw]

Conveyit

Phone: 0431151207

Address: 401-255 Castlereagh Street, Sydney, NSW 2000

Website: https://conveyit.net.au/

We provide Conveyancing legal services to property purchasers in Australia. We operate all over Australia.

[cyndrastic]

hey remember when i said i was drawing Vic Chaos as a milf?

alternates with different lighting (with and without words) and a time lapse under the cut! (btw the words on the cover all have to do with lore in my post covid au so send asks if you’re interested <3)

tw for nudity (without genitalia) in the time lapse cause i shaded the whole body before drawing the dress

[gloriousmonsters]

ah well fuck missed that i had a paper cut on my finger before applying my t gel. now it's in my damn bloodstream. farewell everyone i assume i will be mutating into some sort of Beast

[fazcinatingblog]

Damnnn embarrassing for Chloe Molloy's accountant that they give her a $20k tax bill lmao do better for our queen, assholes

[trulyhblue]

Media Duties (Pt 2 of Communication)

Kyra Cooney-Cross x Dutch! Arsenal! Reader

Warnings: fluff, REALLY bad translated Dutch, language barrier, suggestive if you squint really hard.

Masterlist

___________________

While your English was far from great, it was slowly improving.

You spent most of your time at training listening to the conversations around you, trying to match words to emotions and faces to sounds. Your Netherlands teammates had slowly integrated the second language into your Dutch conversations, and your Arsenal teammates urged you more and more out of your shell.

You were still very soft-spoken, ushering a few words here and there, smiling when the group set off into chuckles at something one of them — primarily Katie — had said.

After games and training, Vic and you would go out to dinner, listening to her order before doing so yourself. It was embarrassing at first and continued to be until you memorized the pronunciations entirely.

Viv often invited the two of you over for dinner. It became a sort of tradition after training on Mondays and Fridays; when neither of you were willing to cook. You would listen to Beth talk about everything because she regularly did so whenever she had the chance. Viv would tease her for talking too much, but you enjoyed the blonde’s bubbly personality.

Alessia would come over to yours when she wanted to, using the few Dutch phrases she knew to bond with you. The ex-united player was very giggly, and wouldn't stop giggling until someone had to physically restrain her. In your opinion, she had the easiest accent to read.

Kyra’s on the other hand, was not.

Kyra was stuck to your hip the moment you met. You weren't used to having someone as physically clingy as the Australian, but you didn't seem to mind it. She would bring you a chocolate every morning, cheekily popping her one in her mouth with a smile. She would give you her packet when you left yours in your cubby, and when the two of you were subbed off, she’d sing your ear off with the strangest songs you ever heard.

When she first slept over with you, Victoria and Alessia, she refused to play Monopoly if she wasn't the dog, and you had to remind her that she wasn't actually going into debt — she could've just mortgaged her properties — but she threw her hands up and claimed everyone was gaining up on her. She took the blankets all to herself when you went to sleep, and when you whinged about how you were cold, she curled both her arms around your waist and cuddled you like a teddy bear.

Unrecognizably, Kyra’s Dutch started to improve. Neither of you noticed it at first, having used Google Translate in the first few weeks of meeting each other, but ever so slowly, the Australian found herself talking small phrases to you in your native language.

It wasn't like she went home and practised them on Duolingo, no, she’d never…

“My jacket looks good on you,” Kyra said to your hunched figure. You don't look up at her, but from her tone, you can tell she is smug.

Today's game against Chelsea was a big one. The famous London Derby was well awaited, with the Emirates banking up to pretty much sell out by the morning of. You kept seeing the anticipation of the game on social media. Tweets on the starting eleven predictions and score prognosis were being thrown left and right, causing you to feel slightly displaced regarding the upcoming match.

You had sat next to Kyra on the bus, having done so for every game this season so far. The trip to the stadium wasn't far, yet the suspense of the crowds daunted you as your head leaned against Kyra’s shoulders.

You were a part of the starting eleven, meaning you’d be up against Jessie Fleming and Erin Cuthbert. The young Aussie beside you wasn't, which rattled you even more. The combination of you, Vic, Kyra and Katie in Midfield was unstoppable, but on the rare occasion that you were all on the field at once was rare. Vic and Lessi were sitting in front of you, making TikToks. Vic had gotten up early this morning, but you two still managed to nearly miss the bus. Alessia was wearing her usual multiple layers of clothing, while Vic was only in her kit.

You matched Kyra’s silence for most of the ride, her small conversation being met with your distant hums. She could tell you were nervous, you didn't know how, but she knew.

“Domme meid.” Silly girl. She muttered. This nickname wasn't new to you. In fact, it was used quite frequently by your Netherlands teammates. Nonetheless, the quip made you look up, meeting the Aussie’s beady, brown eyes and childish smirk.

“I am not silly.” You retorted. “You are.”

“I am what?”

“Silly.”

Kyra shook her head, running her hand through her hair, her smile brighter. “Je stress te veel.” You stress too much.

“Ik niet. Je bent te relaxed. Ik benadruk omdat ik het goed wil doen.” I do not. You are too laid back. I stress because I want to do well. Your voice was pointed, the glare from your eyes making your point known.

But your gaze softened upon seeing Kyra’s eyes widen, her nose twitching as her lips fell into a frown. She didn't understand.

“Sorry.” You sighed, smoothing your shorts out with your hands. “I am… I am stressed… I want to…”

“Do well?”

You nodded, her face smoothing over. “Yes.”

“You are a very good player.” Without much thought, Kyra took your hand, her thumb drawing patterns over your palm. The blush that fell over your cheeks was noticeable. You could tell by Kyra’s smile. “You play very well.”

You could tell Kyra was struggling to find the right words to say. She bit her lip in thought, pulling out her phone. You knew what she was doing right away.

When she finished typing, the familiar voice rang out.

“Je zult niet begrijpen wat ik zeg als ik Engels spreek. Je moet je vandaag geen zorgen maken, want je bent een van de beste middenvelders die ik ken. Je hebt ongelooflijke vaardigheden. Je verdient het om trots te zijn op wat je kunt doen.” You won't understand what I’m saying if I speak in English. You shouldn't worry about today because you are one of the best Midfielders I know. You have incredible abilities. You deserve to feel proud of what you can do.

Your cheeks were very red by this point, your grip on Kyra’s hand tightening as you listened to the voice pour out of her phone.

“I want you to… play.”

“I might come on. You never know.”

You shook your head, telling her you didn't understand. She started typing up a storm once more, and you watched in adoration as a concentrated crease formed between her eyebrows.

“Als je je nerveus voelt, kijk dan rond en tel hoeveel mensen je trui dragen. Elke week zie ik hoop. Dat zal je laten zien hoeveel mensen in je geloven, zelfs als je dat niet doet.” If you are feeling nervous out there, look around and count how many people are wearing your jersey. Every week I see heaps. That’ll show you how many people believe in you, even if you don't.

You beamed, moving closer to Kyra by hugging her waist, using one of your arms to push underneath the hem of her shirt. You fiddled with the fabric to whole way there, feeling a wave of calm and peace flow over you.

***

Not once had you interacted with a reporter throughout your time at Arsenal. Never once did you find yourself in the awful situation of being caught out after a game.

Until now.

The game went incredibly well for the Gunner, coming away with a four-one win against the top of the ladder in front of nearly 70,000 people. You played the whole game, assisting one of the goals, and receiving player of the match.

This was your first time accepting an award at Arsenal. Kyra got the fan’s Player of the Month in November, which was definitely well deserved. At first, you had thought Alessia wouldn't obtain today’s award, but you were pleasantly surprised when Kyra came running up to you with the trophy, probably snatching it off someone so that she could be the first to hold it.

“Look at you go, Y/n/n.” She spoke, slipping her arms around your waist, spinning you around. “So proud of you.” This was a very special moment for you. You were trying awfully hard in your new club, and it felt like all of the tough work was paying off.

You were about to answer Kyra, praising her on the game she had, being subbed on in the second half, when you felt a presence come up behind you, alongside several cameras.

This was not your first time in front of the media, being known for your charismatic media presence back at AFC Ajax. You noticed fans loved the challenges you did with your old teammates and the joy you’d bring to the videos that would gain so many more views than all the others. You’d been tagged in all these tweets begging you to be in an Arsenal video, but you knew it wouldn't be the same.

You’d stutter, unable to find the right words you were thinking of in Dutch. Your humour wouldn't be as quick and witty in English. While you had grown an uncanny friendship with all of the Arsenal girls over these last months, you had known your Ajax teammates for four years, some even longer if you played with them at youth level.

“Y/n, congratulations on the game today and, of course, on Player of The Match, how would you describe this moment?”

The reporter was quick to point her microphone at you, waiting as you stood there speechless at her words. You only caught onto snippets of her speech. You hadn't heard the first part of her question, being too caught up in your moment with Kyra.

The Aussie was standing next to you, her arms still wrapped around your waist. She must've caught onto your stunned disposition since she swiftly moved you from side to side, stalling the moment by dancing with you cheekily.

The reporter laughed at the interaction, the cameraman panning to catch Kyra’s cunning smile and your flushing cheeks. She took the trophy from your hands, holding it up like Simba from The Lion King. You were giggling at the sight, and the camera caught Kyra’s beaming, proud response to your reaction.

“Well, I think this moment speaks for itself. Kyra, do you think Y/n’s commendation was well deserved?”

Kyra took her arm and swung it over your shoulder, giving you the trophy back with a toothy grin. “Who else would they give it to?”

“Lessi.” You suggested, modest in your attempt to calm the hyper state Kyra was in. The reporter laughed as Kyra gasped.

“You’re just being humble. She's a stress head, y’know, always worrying about the game. But look,” She pointed at the trophy, specifically your engraved name. “The amount of jerseys with her name on it says enough.”

“How are you going to celebrate now?” The woman asked, the microphone now between the two of you.

“Play a game of Monopoly.” Kyra smirked, watching you scoff.

“No.”

________________________

victoriapelova

Liked by leahwilliamson, and 32,363 others

victoriapelova — disgusting, the two of them 🤢

Tagged : yourusername, kyracooneyx

comments :

bethmead_ — let them be!!!

user1 — I wonder what they’re smiling at 🤔

^ yourusername — google translate 💗

^ user2 — SHE’S SO UNIRONICALLY FUNNY LMAO

^ user3 — IKR LIKE THE HEART SHES SO CUTE

alessiarusso99 — I'm already motion sick! Don't need that 🤧

^ victoriapelova — AGREED

^ kyracooneyx — your TikToks make us sick. Keep them in drafts, no one wants to see them ‼️

user4 — my two pookies 💞

* liked by kyracooneyx

katie_mccabe15 — @ yourusername where is my cuddles?! 😡

^ kyracooneyx — why cuddle you when she's got me?

^ charligrant — your cuddles are lethal, Kyra. I've nearly been suffocated to death.

^ alessiarusso99 — blink if you need help.

User12 — THEM IN THE INTERVIEW TOGETHER UGH THEY WERE SO CUTE

^ User15 — THE WAY KY DANCED WITH Y/N/N CAUSE SHE WAS NERVOUS OMG

yourusername — Vivi in the back 🤣

^ viviannemiedema — I was sleeping, shush.

^ user5 — looks like she's manifesting a win

^ viviannemiedema — I was.

user7 — they are so dating

^ user8 — they literally met like four months ago I doubt it

^ user9 — call me delulu, but they are trululu

^ user10 — no one can tell me otherwise after her POTM interview

^ user11 — THE WAY KYRA LOOKED SO PLEASED WITH HERSELF WHEN Y/N STARTED GIGGLING

^user10 — “who else would they give it to” “lessi” LIKE AWWWW SHES SO HUMBLE

(pretend its the Arsenal jerseys hahahaha)

kyracooneyx

kyracooneyx — Domme Meid

*comments are limited*

yourusername — silly girl 💗

alessiarusso — cute ig

*liked by victoriapelova

___________________________

[hometoursandotherstuff]

This is insane! A couple, David & Yuge Bromley of Bromley & Co., turned an 1861 jail in Castlemaine, Vic, Australia into an estate. It's completely filled with their magnificent art collection (The diverse collection, also available for sale, spans 40 years, including Egyptian artefacts, Japanese ceramics, mid-century furniture, and over 100 artists' works). It has 11bds, 2ba, and is priced at $5M. You gotta see this one-of-a-kind property.

I'm not sure if this is the same entrance.

Can you believe all this stuff?

This entrance hall with the mezzanine doesn't look like a jail.

Love these chandeliers.

It's a massive home, but it's also a museum and tourist attraction.

I wonder how much this art collection is worth. It has to be millions.

How cool is this? Individual displays in the cells.

This would be the upper tier of cells. Art is everywhere.

Why would they want to sell this place and move all of this art. It must've taken a lot of work to convert it.

This looks a little dungeon-y.

I bet it takes a lot to maintain this place.

This looks like a snack bar.

Commercial industrial kitchen.

I wonder where the living quarters are. It has 11 bedrooms.

Must be a gift shop.

They made gardens with statuary.

More art to see on the grounds.

This is a nice entrance.

Maybe this is the residence garden. I'm disappointed that they don't show the residence.

The observatory tower.

It's a massive property. I'm actually surprised that it's not more than $5M.

It's about 4.27 acres.

https://www.realestate.com.au/property-house-vic-castlemaine-144562536

[transforming]

For those requesting to see my stories from my previous tumblr account as reference for commissions, I'll be posting them here now!

To start off, here's one of my favorite stories of mine, which I wrote for Thanksgiving three years ago...

The House on Oak Street

There’s been some rumors spreading about the old grey house at the end of Oak Street. Built in the Victorian style of architecture, it’s been left in ruins for, say, 50 years? The deed to the house was never given up by the family who used to live in there, though the house has been for sale for some time. Apparently, it couldn’t be sold to anyone after what had happened to their friends, relatives, even the robbers or strangers that ever set foot inside…

Finn was tired. He’s at his breaking point. University is stressful enough, but add jocks and frats into it made it even worse. He was just walking home from class with his friends Peter and Ned, the three of them happen sharing an apartment far from campus since they couldn’t afford to stay in the dorms.They all shared the same interests - their studies, D&D, and architecture, all of them studying in the field.

The trio of friends were trying to avoid the Pi Kappa Alpha house, which was on the route they frequently took, when they passed by Oak Street that fateful day. As they passed by the line of houses, Finn stopped at one - an abandoned Victorian.

“Guys, look!” Finn said, pointing towards the empty house, intrigued.

“Finneas, it’s just an abandoned house,” Peter responded painfully, looking down at his shiny black school shoes.

“Not just any abandoned house Peter, it’s the Creepy Vic of Oak Street,” Ned added as he adjusted his thick glasses.

The three eighteen-year-olds looked at each other. According to urban legend, this very house on Oak Street had a reputation of endless trespassers, all of whom never reappeared once they entered the front door, some say having been pulled into another dimension or being eaten alive by a monster. 

“But those are just silly rumors, right? Does anyone actually believe that?” Finn asked as he took a step towards the porch.

“I do, Finneas. Do you want to disappear? And it’s just basic morals to never trespass someone else’s property,” Ned asked concerned.

Finneas nodded, and followed his friends, but something caught his eye, something he didn’t notice there before. A FOR SALE sign posted at the front of the yard. Finneas felt a connection with the house, but he couldn’t place a finger on it, so he quickly took a picture of the sign, making sure to get the realtor’s number, and sped towards Ned and Pete.

From the corner of the street, the trio could hear the speeding vroom of a sports car. 

“Yo, ‘Lex, Chad! it’s the poor faggy nerd trio!” Leo jeered from the driver’s seat.

“Park the car, dude!” Alex said grinning, getting off and standing toe-to-toe with Finn.

“What do you want, Alex?” Ned replied angrily.

Chad pushed him to the ground. “No one talks to us like that that, lil’ pussy ass dweeb. Why’re you here, anyway? Didn’t wanna get your asses kicked?”

Peter helped Ned up and pulled Finn close to them.

“Leave us alone, don’t you guys have trainings to go to?” Peter retorted.

The jocks chuckled as they harrassed the three students, punching their faces and breaking Peter’s glasses.

“I’m bored, bro, let’s just go, they got nothing today,” Leo chuckled. The three frat jocks jumped into the Maserati and sped away, while the three nerds trudged home. They dropped their bags and headed for the kitchen, starving. Ned took out a box of corn flakes and poured milk into a bowl first.

“Milk first, Ned?” Peter asked, shocked.

“What? I’m hungry,” he replied frustrated.

“I know, but that’s just weird!”

As they argued over how to eat cereal, Finn opened his phone and stared at the picture of the sign. A weird feeling of need came over him and he felt like the house was calling to him, though obviously a house has no such power. He typed up the number of the realtor, and pressed call.

“Mike Philipps for Century 21, how may I help?”

“Uh– hi, I… I wanted to inquire about the house for sale on Oak Street?”

“1324 Oak Street, the old Victorian?” Mike asked.

“Y-yes… it says it’s for sale?”

“Well, yes… but the family hasn’t been cooperative with our previous interested buyers.”

“How come?”

“Some weird rumors spreading about it, nothing of substance, really. How would you like to arrange an appointment to see the place?”

“Sure, sir! H-how’s…” Finn fumbled as he checked his calendar and schedule. “How’s tomorrow, Mr. Philipps?”

“Perfect. I’ll inform Mr. Thomas of your interest in the place.”

——–

After a few weeks of negotiating, and talking it out with Ned and Pete, the three friends somehow managed to buy the place at a real low price. Mr. Thomas was an odd man, for sure, and seemed interested in the boys. As the boys headed out of the tour, Alex, Leo and Chad harrassed them again, and Mr. Thomas watched silently. He may not have wanted what happened to the people in this house, but these three kids needed it.

Ned’s dad and his brother Colin came over to help renovate the place. New walls needed to be installed, new windows, new pipes (which Pete took care of with his uncle’s plumbing company), new roofing, all being supervised by Finn, who among the three was the best architect. The three painted the house and about a few months later, they moved in. 

“Can��t believe we got this place cheap,” Ned laughed as he carried his stash of comic books in. 

“Mind you, this being the Creepy Old Vic, it’s not so creepy now!” Pete added, starting the fire.

“Yeah, guys. We have a place now,” Finn said. 

Outside, the three douchebag jocks peered into the window. They’ve made some messes before, but this was gonna be the biggest prank they’ve pulled. Alex ran and switched off the house’s power. All the lights went out. The TV died. Silence and darkness, save the fire.

“Finn, what happened? I thought the electrical stuff was dealt with,” Peter shouted.

“They were-”

“Yo nerds! Need help?” shouted a voice, the sound of smug laughter coming from outside the front door.

“FUCK, it was them!” Ned whispered.

Finn cautiously unlocked and opened the door. Alex pushed him to the ground. 

“’Sup, nerd?” Alex grinned, “We wanna play!”

Ned and Pete hid, but they were pulled by the back of their t-shirts, their skinny frames revealed.

“LET US GO!” Peter screamed, trying to break free from Chad.

“What have WE ever done to YOU?” Ned squirmed in Leo’s arms.

“Oh, nothing,” Alex snapped, “Just being nerds is enough.”

As the trio of athletes tied and gagged the three trapped friends, the front door banged shut and locked itself.

“The fuck?” Chad said, running over and trying to open the door.

“We can go through the back bro,” Leo replied. He walked through the kitchen and tried to open the door as well, but it was bolted. 

“Bolted here as well?” he asked, as the curtains suddenly moved and closed. Pete spat out the cloth in his mouth.

“It’s the Creepy Old Vic. What did I tell you, Finn?!” he cried.

Finn’s eyes welled up, frightened. Ned was still moving about restlessly. As the three realized they could lose their lives, the fire died out, keeping them all in darkness. Suddenly, Chad felt a punch to the face as he fell to the floor, suddenly getting absorbed into the hardwood as if it were deep water. Leo heard Chad’s fall and ran towards the door, his phone’s torch on.

“Chad? Bro, where you…” his voice trailed off as he saw Chad’s hand sinking into the floor. Alex gasped in horror.

“Chad?”

“Alex–” Leo replied, but he was cut off. He felt the wall grab him, pulling him in, hands gagging his mouth as they dragged him in. The four college students could only stare as Chad’s eyes drowned in the blue concrete. Alex ran and pulled out a knife from the kitchen. 

“I’m not afraid of this house!” he shouted as he walked towards the living room, only to find the nerds he tied up missing, the rope and gags strewn around the room. 

Alex looked up and saw two green eyes. He was petrified.

“NO!” he screamed as the eyes formed a mouth and swallowed him whole, the three jocks never to be seen again.

——–

The next morning, Ned woke up lying on the floor, in front of the front door. His body ached.

Meanwhile, Peter was in the attic experiencing the same as Ned. Muscles everywhere. 

“Woah,” he chuckled, pinching himself as if he was dreaming, but nothing. The muscle didn’t fade. 

“I’m a handsome muscular guy?” he mumbled in his… super sexy voice. He stepped out of the tub and admired himself in the mirror. He looked so different, as if he was mixed with Leo. He certainly felt different, and was surprised when he looked down and saw his new, way heftier package.

He grinned.

The bathroom door opened, and two other handsome, well-built guys stood, hands on their hips.

“N-Ned? Peter?”

“Dude, what happened to us?” Pete flexed his arms, smirking and posing the handsome devil he was.

“I dunno, bro, Ned?” Finn replied, and realized he just said bro as if he always said it.

“I told ya it’s the house!” Ned’s voice boomed. “Didn’t you guys see when Chad and Leo were just… absorbed by the house?”

The lights turned back on. The three boys, well, men now, felt a sharp pain in their heads as knowledge of sports, fitness, working out and eating healthily, along with some knowledge of sex and a boost of confidence, filled into their minds, not completely altering who they were, but adapting them to their new physiques.

As they looked at each other, grinning with their new confidence, screams came from the basement. Pete ran down to check what was going on, when he saw a hooded figure surrounding three skinny boys, who were crying for help until the hood transformed into a blanket and covered the trio, the blanket absorbing them into the ground below.

Chad and Finn watched from behind Pete, as he closed the door.

——–

a few days later…

“What now?” Pete asked

“We’re still the same… somewhat. Inside, at least,” Ned responed as he made his pecs dance.

“And our families and classmates?” Pete added.

Ned had an idea. “We need to change names.”

“True,” Pete replied, smiling. “I’m… now Alex.”

“And I’m guessing Ned’s now Chad?” Finn asked, smirking.

Ned nodded.

“Cool, bro, then I’m Leo now,” Finn chuckled. 

It felt weird, but it also felt right. Like this was their destiny. Finn’s connection to the house finally made sense, but he had another idea come into his mind too.

“Why don’t we… start our own frat?” Leo beamed.

“A frat?” the two studs looked surprised.

“I mean, why not? We’re hot now, and plus, the house helped us become this,” he smiled as he demonstrated with their bodies. “We could help others just like us.”

Alex nodded, “You’ve got a point, but what would we be called?”

Chad pondered for a moment, thinking through the Greek alphabet. “How about Delta Beta Alpha?”

“Delta Beta Alpha,” Leo repeated. “The change of betas, like who we were, into Alpha men, like who we are now?”

Chad smirked and nodded.

Leo and Alex grinned as well. The house was gonna make some more changes to others like them.

Mr Thomas would be pleased if he ever knew.

[exitrowiron]

Day 8: Pulgcerda to Vic Sau

87.4 miles, 6:36, 7,454' ascent

The morning air was crisp as the riders reluctantly departed the nicest hotel of the trip, most wore light jackets which they stowed at the start of the climb after leaving the city.

As we approached the first climb we could see clouds near the top and knew we'd be among them before too long.

The first climb was > 10 miles long but it wasn't too steep so we reached the summit relatively quickly. While stopping at the van to refuel we donned jackets for the speedy descent through the clouds.

Because today's ride is so long, the scale of the elevation map is compressed so tens of small climbs aren't discernible, but trust me they are there. Although the ride after the initial climb was a net descent, all the little climbs collectively exceeded the ascent of the first big climb.

The weather was quite warm, especially after lunch. My Garmin hit 122f, but I think that's because it was sitting in the sun.

The route required us to climb the last 10k to the hotel, but we were rewarded with a good property with working AC and WiFi. All the riders are anxious to see the ocean tomorrow.

[joelswritingmistress]

Last Halloween: Chapter 23

Summary: After a tragedy involving Joel happened on Halloween one year prior, the town now shuns him while ignoring the details of the now closed case. You are seemingly the only one to offer empathy to a man the town is making out to be a monster.

Joel Miller x f!reader

Nightmares prevented you from getting a good night's sleep at the hospital. The events of the past few days had your head spinning. Watching Joel take the beating from three masked men would stick with you long after the night was over.

You had gotten up to check to make sure he was breathing each time you woke up in an anxious sweat. Despite him being hooked up to machines, you needed to confirm for yourself that Joel was, indeed, breathing.

Paranoia left you checking the hallway at the conclusion of each nightmare and glancing around every corner of the dark, unfamiliar room. By the time morning rolled around you could quite literally feel the bags beneath your eyes.

Despite a concussion, a fracture to the bone in Joel's nose and intense bruising on his face and ribs, the hospital staff assured you that he would be okay.

They rattled off a list of limitations and scheduled an appointment for reevaluation in two weeks, mainly for the concussion. And then the two of you were walking out of the hospital, hand-in-hand.

Leaving through those same double doors you had exited the night before felt far more empowering with Joel at your side. As you got to your car and tossed your belongings into the trunk, Joel pulled you against him and held the back of your head as he held you.

"You mean everything to me," he spoke in your ear. "I can't believe you did what you did last night." Joel pulled back and looked you in the eyes. He placed both hands on the sides of your face. "I'm forever in your debt."

"No, you're not." You touched his swollen eye. "You deserve to live, Joel." You touched your lips gently to the wounds on his face and then kissed his lips several times in a row. "That's what people do for each other."

"That's what people do for each other when.."

"When they love them." You rested a hand on the side of his face now. "I know it hasn't been that long but I love you. Even if this only lasts another week. I'll look back and know that I loved you, Joel."

"It's not going to last just another week." Joel shook his head.

"I know." You smiled at him and he pulled you in to kiss you again. A long, needy kiss.

"I love you, too," he said finally, "You've done so much for me in a short time. You literally put your own life and reputation on the line to stick up for me. I don't think it gets any deeper than that."

You pressed your lips against his again and breathed through your nose as you parted. "Where am I taking you?" You asked. "Because you can't go home."

"I have to."

You shook your head. "Not until Vic is caught. You're not safe. Especially not after what I did last night."

Joel thought about it for a moment. "My brother Tommy owns a property in town, a two-family house that he rents out."

You nodded. "Think we could go there?"

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure he was complaining a few weeks ago about not having a second tenant."

"Where does he live now?" You asked out of curiosity.

"Wyoming."

You raised your eyebrows. "That probably would have been the last state I would have guessed."

Joel chuckled and nodded. "Way across the country." He went on, getting back on track. "He knows what's going on. My parents called him but I told him not to fly out here for this. I don't think he'll mind us staying at the house until this blows over."

You nodded. "Okay."

Joel pulled you back in for a kiss. "This is way more than you signed up for."

"I signed up for you." You smiled and kissed him once more before helping Joel into the passenger seat and then getting behind the wheel.

Joel immediately got on the phone with Tommy and began to reexplain the situation at hand. By the end of the conversation, Joel was motioning for you to turn and pointing as he wrapped up what he was saying to his brother.

"We can stay there for as long as we need to," Joel informed you after he hung up. Right away his thumbs were dancing on the screen of the phone. "I just have to text Ronnie and tell him to be careful."

"What road is it on?" You asked, knowing most of the roads in the town you grew up in.

"1537 North Orange Grove Avenue."

"Oh, that's a cute street."

"You know how to get there?" Joel asked.

You nodded. "Yeah."

"And you don't mind staying there for.." When your eyes met a slow smile spread across Joel's face mid-sentence. "I'll stop asking you shit like that."

You reached a hand down as you drove and grabbed his. Joel's fingers linked through yours and he brought the back of your hand to his lips.

"Maybe he's caught by now," Joel wondered.

"It has to happen soon if it hasn't yet." You put on your blinker and took a left into the neighborhood where Tommy's house was. It was similar to your own, with rows of houses on quiet streets. Halloween decor covered the lawns, trees and porches of most home on the afternoon of October 31st.

A few minutes later you were turning onto North Orange and Joel motioned ahead with his fingers to signal your place of refuge for the time being.

You eased into the driveway and Joel pulled up the hood on his sweatshirt. You suspected it was so no one would recognize him, though you weren't sure.

The two of you grabbed what you needed from the car, which wasn't much, and then headed inside the little home.

"Where do the other tenants live?" You asked, glancing around the first floor.

"Up top, I think." Joel motioned to the ceiling. "Tommy told them that family would be staying for a few days down below so they wouldn't be taken off guard."

You sighed and looked around the space.

"Are you okay?" Joel asked. "Everyone has been asking me, but what about you?"

"I'm okay." You gave a nod. "I don't think I'll ever get the images out of my head from the other night." You smiled when he reached for your hand but let it fade. "I checked my phone. There's a warrant out for Vic's arrest."

"I saw that, too."

"I feel like he has something planned," you went on, trying not to sound like a crazy conspiracy theorist. "It's Halloween. It's the anniversary of Johnny's death. If he has something planned it's going to be tonight."

"They'll catch up with him."

"Will they?" You asked. "What if they don't in time? What if he comes here?" You put a hand on your forehead as let out a deep exhale. "I honestly thought I saw that pumpkin mask last night by the woods line at the hospital." You shook your head. "I really don't even know anymore. And we have no idea who the other two guys were with Vic."

"Hey.." Joel pulled you in closer for a long hug. "We're going to be alright. The worst of it is over."

"We don't know that," you said quietly against his ear.

"We're safe here."

You wanted to believe him. You wanted Vic go be caught and you wanted Joel to walk down the street and into stores where people would shake his hand, or apologize or just simply be friendly. You wanted closure and freedom for him. He deserved it. He earned it.

Joel tucked his fingers beneath your chin as you pulled back and he looked you in the eyes. "I am not going to let anything happen to you."

You knew that. "I'm not worried about me."

He tried to lighten the mood. "I say we have some Door Dash delivered, crack open some of my brother's booze, find something to watch and have a cozy night in - the way we did the first few nights."

The thought of all that made you crack a barely-there smile. When Joel smirked at you and raised his eyebrows you couldn't hold back a full blown grin.

"Things always kind of ended well for us on those nights."

"They did." You couldn't deny that. When Joel pulled you back in for another kiss you felt your anxiety drop just a notch. Overall, however, you couldn't shake the knotted up feeling in the pit of your stomach. Your instincts were still telling you to be on alert.

CLICK HERE FOR NEXT CHAPTER

@untamedheart81 @amyispxnk @grogusmum @ghostwritesthings @strawbunnyx @ayamenimthiriel @noisynightmarepoetry @jiminstinypinky @tuquoquebrute @pedr0swh0r3 @runningmom94 @mellymbee @shayna-d-clown @bbiophiliaa @theclassicvinyldragon @tiffanypooh @mandijo17 @poodlebae @purple-fig

[literary-motif]

Act I — The Proposal

Scene v — The Friend

previous scene // overview // read on ao3 // next scene

The moon hung low, shining with a radiance that made the cloud drifting in front of it look like a tendril of mystic fog. You barely had time to appreciate the beauty of the night sky nowadays, too busy looking at the city lights in the distance. They twinkled in the darkness — humankind’s own stars, you thought, glancing upwards again to find the moon plainlyvisible once more, or perhaps the frail flames of nearly two and a half million candles.

You leaned back on the bench, only a short distance from your property. The walk in the evening was just what you needed, allowing it to wash away the stress of the day and clear the thoughts piling up in your mind enough to organize them. Then, once you got home, you could return to work. 

Not that this wasn’t work. 

Somehow you had managed to turn every aspect of your life into an appendage of your responsibilities. Your nice walk was just a guise, a little treat, to get you to the meeting. 

You waited patiently as the cold breeze lifted through the air, ruffling your coat and brushing over your skin. You hoped he would be late if only to absorb the peacefulness of the moment for a while longer. You sighed — the sound catching you off guard — before you relaxed, allowing your gaze to rise towards the sky.

Things have felt strange recently. Something was brewing, you could smell it in the air. Kennedy was a ticking bomb. Stockton was a disaster waiting to happen. Asirel— 

Well, you were not sure yet. 

The alliance started off smoothly, and you felt like you were slowly beginning to understand each other. Still, appearances could be deceiving. Taking him to meet Rhoades had been a calculated risk, another olive branch. You hoped he saw it as such. You hoped you could trust him, and going forward, you thought you had little choice. 

The bargain had been your idea — more or less — and setting up his father’s son with the threads he needed to succeed soothed an ache deep inside of you that had been burning away since you heard of his death. 

Autumn leaves fluttered through the air, drifting past you with a faint rustling before hitting the ground. Changing seasons, you supposed. Changing times. 

Something else rustled to your left. Fabric. 

“Good evening,” you said casually, keeping your gaze locked on the moon as Vic sat beside you with a tired sigh. It made you turn to look at him, surprised at hearing his exhaustion. 

“Evening,” he replied, cradling a gloved hand through his hair, smoothing back the strands that had been ruffled by the wind. The scar on his face looked almost gentle in the moonlight, the drawn lines soft from the exhaustion wearing him down.

You had not seen him like this before. Vic was all hard edges and grim sharpness. Cutthroat and precise, that’s what you loved about him. Seeing him like this — weathered down, as if he had been caught in the rain two days ago and had not had a chance to warm up since — left you with a bitter taste. 

“How are you holding up?” you asked, breaking the comfortable silence that had stretched as you observed him. 

He shrugged. “You know me.” 

“That’s why I ask, my friend.”

The shadow of a smile graced his lips. The wind picked up again, a few strands of his white hair — a streak that practically glowed in the moonlight — blew into his face. He tucked them back immediately.

“I get by,” he answered, turning to look at you for the first time that night. The weariness you saw in his eyes was a mirror to your own. “How are things with your ward?”

“My ward,” you scoffed, rolling your eyes at his raised eyebrow. There was amusement in the upturned corner of his mouth, an expression you had not seen on him in weeks. “Asirel is less complicated than I anticipated. I think he knows what he wants, but he can’t fully grasp it yet. Everything in due time. He’s still getting used to this.”

Vic hummed, raising his gaze towards the sky. The wind ruffled his hair again, but he didn’t bother to smooth it back this time. “I haven’t figured out his schedule yet,” he said, his voice dropping to a mere breath as if the moonlight had suddenly turned the night sacred, and he did not want to disturb its silence. “I need to observe him longer. He seems to stay holed up in his study most of the time — with the light on for the better part of the night.”

“Workaholic.”

He laughed at that, shaking his head. “Did you expect something else?” he asked, flexing his fingers, slowly peeling off the gloves to massage the scar tissue he hid underneath. You knew his pain flared when it was humid, the cold making his skin itch and burn. 

You let your silence answer, glancing at his hands as he massaged them carefully. He had never told you why he had so many scars, what had caused them, how they got there — and it was not for you to pry. It did not mean you were not curious. The lines on his pale skin held your attention every time he revealed them, as much as you tried not to stare. 

Then, “I think I made him curious about real estate.”

“Seriously?” Vic frowned, flinching as he massaged a particularly sensitive area. It was probably not the best idea to do this outside, but you figured the pain had gotten too bad to ignore any longer. He could endure much, but with the exhaustion weighing him down, you knew he had reached his limit.

Better to wrap this up quickly, then. For both your sakes.

“Stockton. It is a mess I don’t want to clean up. All the conflicts of interest and alliances and double-crossings— it’s hard to keep up. God knows it would have slipped into chaos already without Tara.”

“The Collective is worried, I assume?” he asked, glancing up to catch your swift nod. “I can keep an eye on the gangs for you.”

You sighed. It was tempting. The gangs were sewing off the branch they were sitting on, ignorant that it would lead them to plummet to the ground. 

Vic could maneuver through the city with graceful ease, cataloging their movements and piecing together their plans. He was the only person not involved in the gangs you trusted to know how to handle themselves in Stockton. He had worked with worse, you knew. The scars on his hands were proof of that. 

It was more tempting still, knowing Mr. Rhoades would be preoccupied with the Kennedy case, but you were hesitant. Despite yourself — and despite reason — you trusted Tara to handle this herself. Rhoades would keep running his background checks, but she was who you counted on to keep the city up and running. At least for now. 

“Not yet,” you said, noting the way his hands stopped moving for a moment. He had expected you to say yes. “Keep both of your eyes on Asirel for now. I’d rather he’s set up for a good start.”

He was quiet, retrieving his gloves and easing his aching fingers into them again. “He must mean a lot to you if you would rather keep an eye on him than Stockton,” he observed. 

Your mouth was suddenly dry. “His father did,” you said. 

Vic didn’t press. He knew exactly what you meant. He clenched his hands to drown out the well of sorrow and loss setting his chest ablaze. “Will do,” he said, resolute to keep course and continue to observe Asirel. “Get some rest.”

You stayed seated for a moment longer as he got up, clinging to the peacefulness of night before you would have to return to your study and the work that still needed to be done before you allowed yourself to retire. 

“You do the same,” you said, catching his stiff nod as he left.

[chickenkurage]

Vic would probably tell Alan to stay out of the outernet at all costs, though probably something would happen that would lead to him getting kidnapped by annex corp. 06 might not be murderous in this version of the au, but it is pissed that they hurt Alan. Threaten Sable, but ending up sparing him and proceeding to try and destroy as much of the facility as possible while escaping. Meets and teams up with Dark to get back to the PC and then gives control back to Alan.

Yeahh, protective Victim for the win :DD! But plot stuff still has to happen :pp

I like to imagine that AB006 just went to Sable, threatened Sable, then spared him, only to turn around on his way to exit the facility, look at the room he's in before leaving, smile, and proceed to wreak havoc everywhere. Like boi could have just left and everything's done and all but instead, he channeled all that childish spite he had in his body and exploded everything nearby.

Dark, seeing AB just destroying stuff would probably be like, "Heh, I like this kid," and help in the destruction too XDD

Now back in the PC, all they know, Alan included, is that a massive showdown happened when the only thing that happened there that day was mass property damage, and hopefully no lawsuits. - JM

[afraidcircus]

i finished watching all of Droupout’s Very Important People, so here are all my notes on information given about the host, Vic

vic has a husband and a stepdaughter(bianca) who is a PA on the show

vic loves bianca’s dad and bianca loves vic(this part is contradicted later)

MSNBC would not hire them and that’s why they’re working on this weird show

her grandma died in a tragic horse riding accident

their ex step grandmother was cruel and left her and her sibling(s) home alone for days(which is why her grandfather left her step grandmother) and also she made them eat a bunch of candies and also fake nails?

she has a guest house on her property that might have been broken into by an alien illegally living there(she’s setting up cameras)

they kissed a puppet on live tv

nearly got into a throwing furniture fight with her ex step grandmother on live tv

weirdly mean to all their assistants

sort of bisexual?

born in new jersey

she’s from just outside of St. Charles Illinois

a brown suit is fun for them

they skipped into the studio smiling one day and everyone was off put and asked “what’s going on with you” and they responded “nothing, get back to work”

the reason they were smiling is because they got a new PR in the NYT crossword(37 minutes) and they only cheated three times

she brings bratwurst to the little dog who lives in the alley by the studio every day and thinks the dog loves her(the dog does not like her much)

she hates dogs

attended youth group

her step daughter is the same age as her and hates her

doesn’t seem to like potato chips

lives in a two bedroom house(plus a guest house) with four people

keeps firing employees

likes the song Hey, Mikey! by Baby Tate and Saweetie

she has recurring nightmares about Augbert(the merchant in her dreams)

in the dream they are in a box that is pushed overboard. then a voice says “you can either plug the hole and suffocate or you can pull it out and you can drown”

interviewing is all she knows how to do

she will die when she’s 95 years old(it will be a clear day)*

she believes her father was eaten by an american airlines 747

her dad actually just took a plane to Miami without telling anyone

her twin sister has a lifestyle vlog channel. she doesn’t contact her

*might not be real, revealed in a dream

feel free to correct me or add to this if i missed anything!

[dynamic-k]

I don't actually know why I'm doing this, but oh well.

This is for Super Sticks. I love your fan fiction by the way, ITS AWESOME!!! :D

This idea kind of came to me in the middle of the night, and I'm not sure why but like:

Vic is an alchemy genius right? And he made something that could help with Hazard's gene problem thingy.

Agent Smith had a leg problem. Despite not having powers, he had proven himself to be an invaluable stick in his time at rocket.

I was thinking, it would be really interesting to see the mercenaries (although not really in super sticks) together. Like, how would they interact with each other? How would they function as a team?

I'm getting off topic xd

Ballista is currently a hero, so it would make sense for the team to be on the hero side, right? I think Primal and Hazard could do it, but Agent can't, due to his left leg being uhh... yeah.

I know it said in Arc 2, that Agent would still have a bad leg: 'Agent being a total badass even with one bad leg', but what if Vic made something to help Agent??? Maybe with Blue as well, if it was another potion...

Having the team helping with hero-ing might help Chosen, Dark, and Second, with all the new villains and such.

idk. i kind of made like an entire au of super sticks, where one small positive thing lead to a whole villain arc XD. The stuff above is just something that happened to pop up in my brain when i was supposed to do homework-

Yeah, I'm just going to stop now.

-R

[*muffled happy crying into pillow noises*]

AHHWBQJAHKRQAV THANK YOU!!

Vic is indeed an alchemy genius, and he did make immunity supplements. Hazard's usage of his powers always hurt him because his S.P.I. (self-power-immunity) cells were mutated and didn't work properly, so the S.P.I supplements that Vic designed for Hazard were to replace the failing cells. Multiple supplements will have to be taken to keep up the stockpile of good cells.

I have been meaning to include some mercenaries' bonding moments somewhere in Arc Two, or perhaps as a Bonus Feature! I just... Haven't yet figured out where in the timeline I want stuff to be placed yet-

It's so cool you've come up with your own little spinoff AU! I am very intrigued, hehehe

:D Agent is a hero at heart, bad leg neverminded. And I do have a very specific badass Agent scene broiling around in my brain since before Arc One was even completed- XD

In all technicality, Agent's leg is full healed... Except uhh

See, there's nerve damage. Agent's leg was rotated around completely backward and while the emergency surgery corrected it quickly afterward, there's a lasting numbness and mild pain flareups to be suffered from there on out. It may eventually go away after several years, but for now, it stays.

Plot wise, I never planned for Vic to miraculously come up with some solution or fix-it for Agent's leg, even though he is very smart in problem curing areas and alchemy. (This may change, I dunno. My brain is a little bouncy on unfirmed ideas-)

Vic straight-up invented those supplements, came up with a whole serum that mimicked those cell properties, to stand in as a viable substitute. And it took him a very long time to perfect it. It would probably take an equally long time, or even longer, if Vic were to attempt making something for Agent. And uhhh, he can't exactly experiment hands-on in the comfy confines of his current jail cell, can he-

Ballista and Hazard have already canonically been doing hero work in Arc Two's time, and our three Ladybug hollowheads are aware of it, though they haven't yet met Hazard in person. Agent reopened the Rocket Hero program that Vic had abandoned in Arc One, so yeah.

Primal will eventually hop onto the program, I'll say that much, but for nowwww.... The situation is complicated. And I have some plans to help complete her redemption arc. Arc One left things a little ambiguous and incomplete on purpose, hehe

"idk. i kind of made like an entire au of super sticks, where one small positive thing lead to a whole villain arc XD." Color me intrigued! :D I love spinoff AUs~

No wait- Don't stop- I was enjoying the ramble- /silly

[filthforfriends]

Chapter 3: Medicinal Properties

The Sun is the Center of Everything

Read Author's Note (CW: addiction)

Word count: 2.9k

Damiano David x Y/n

He O.D.ed again. This time it wasn’t nearly as serious, but it still lit a fire under SME’s collective billionaire ass. Somebody was always keeping you updated: Ronnie, Ethan, Mia, Dami’s mother. Considering their commitment to conveying information, a person would assume you had outright requested the latest news on Damiano David’s epic, drug-fueled raging dumpster fire of a downfall. This was not the case. 

Regardless, it was through these channels that you found out Maneskin’s management was willing to renegotiate their contract. Damiano had ascended to a new level of self-destruction: drinking, drugs, unprotected sex, fighting, partying, smoking. He’d nearly been arrested. 

The antics had thoroughly trashed his voice, appearance, reputation, and marketability. Vic, Tom, and Ethan had lost their patience, turning first on Dami, then each other. Sony saw the writing on the wall and Maneskin had a great lawyer this time. Less press, guaranteed time off, more control over their music, and the focus of scheduling shifting to the band’s convenience. SME still demanded a minimum of 35 tour dates, which would be in addition to promotional performances in the year following an album release. It was still extreme, but not outright inhumane.

In return, Maneskin would go to a set of award shows every year with no exceptions. Each album for the rest of their contract would include a single with a featured artist, to be agreed upon by both parties. The exact number wasn’t disclosed, but the band agreed to profit several million dollars yearly in paid promotions and sponsorships. Finally, fix their image, which included Damiano going to rehab. Part of you wondered if the entire deal would fall through because he refused.

Luckily that didn’t happen. Dami went to rehab of his own volition, and checked himself out as soon as possible. Some idiot had contractually obligated Damiano to a mere two weeks, half a program. So he got out on day 15, just past nine in the morning and he did exactly what any knowledgeable person would predict. He went on a bender. 

However, he couldn’t be sloppy this time, and that left you in a constant state of anxiety-induced nausea. While everyone else seemed thrilled not to see him drunk at some club, you knew the reality of the situation. He was doing the same stuff, but alone in his hotel room. There was no one to turn him on his side or administer Narcan. If he made a mistake he was gonna die.

On the nights you managed to sleep, the morning was spent in terror. You refreshed Twitter compulsively, bracing for the news that they had found him cold and stiff, probably covered in the content’s of his stomach. That would forever be the way his light was extinguished. Your manager sat you down for a talk. Your therapist had even more very accurate and totally unhelpful advice.

“What if I can never move on? Like, I never get over him?”

“Tell me about that fear.” She sits back in her teal armchair, legs crossed, loafers polished.

“I thought he was my soulmate. It's like the more I try to get over him, the more of my day is consumed by thinking about him.”

“Addiction doesn’t make him not your soul mate. It gives you another person to contend with. Sometimes you’ll go decades only seeing the occasional glimmer of that person. Other times they can take complete control.”

“How does he get back control?” you ask in exasperation.

“He has to be brave enough to face himself.”

“He’s never going to do that!”

“Really?” She furrows her brow, skeptical.

“He’s an international rockstar and sex symbol. He’s celebrated on a global scale. In addition to that, it takes some prompting for Damiano to be self-reflective. He’s not gonna realize he’s doing the wrong thing because nobody’s telling him that.”

“His friends and family are. You are.”

“Well, what I think doesn’t matter.”

“I doubt that’s true.”

“He used our entire relationship as a tool to justify doing heroin. He doesn’t give a shit about what I think or feel.”

“The hardest thing about loving someone with Substance Use Disorder is forgiveness. What addicts do to feed their addiction isn’t representative of them. It's not fair and it can be very difficult to find that forgiveness when you’re wounded.”

“If he would just act like himself and apologize, I think I’d forgive him.”

“That's very gracious. Unfortunately, addiction is a self-perpetuating cycle. The addict betrays a loved one and knows the only absolution is to apologize and to be forgiven. However, they harbor so much self-loathing for using that they think they’re unforgivable. The idea that the people you love won’t love you back if they knew the real you –”

“That's awful. That's a terrible thing to feel.”

“And because they are using substances to regulate their emotions, an addict will use as a way to escape that feeling, then possibly do something worse. Which creates an even greater weight and that makes them less likely to ask for forgiveness.”   

“‘Because I couldn’t bear you knowing that I was a piece of shit.’” Instead of getting a tissue, you watch as teardrops stain your pants darker.

“Hard drug users always have a reason. A normal person isn’t willing to commit a crime and ingest a possibly deadly substance just to get out of their own head. What Damiano does for work, that would lead most people with addictive personalities to substance abuse. We’ve seen evidence of that over and over.” There's a long pause as you process. “Also, it sounds like he’s already realized he doesn’t like himself on drugs.”

***

Three nights later, the emotional turmoil is tearing up your insides. After worrying on repeat, you get a feeling of certainty that tonight is when it's gonna happen. Dami is gonna combine coke with heroin with alcohol and he’s going to die alone in his hotel room, terrified and thinking he’s unforgivable. You slip in and out of vivid nightmares before waking up with stabbing chest pains.

He’s gone. You know he’s gone because you can feel the death of his body in your own. Finally you break and unblock his number with trembling hands. After two rings you’re sure Damiano won’t pick up, but he does.

“Y/n?” He doesn’t sound like he’s slurring his words, but he’s at a club somewhere, probably exclusive enough that Dami doesn’t worry about prying eyes. “Give me a sec.” You hear a couple doors open and shut as electronic music fades. “Hey, are you okay?”

“Can you just talk to me?”

“Um…okay, I wrote a terrible song today and the label liked it so now I have to burn all the harddrives. A couple shows from now I will be wearing the assless chaps and thong combo from MTV. Somewhat nervous about that because I looked pasty as hell last time and I’ve never used a self tanner. The hotel we stayed at in France had some of the best coffee ever, but the croissants were miniature which was extremely disappointing.” This used to be part of your normal routine while he was on tour. Dami’s voice had this cadence and tone to it that could distract you from anxiety. It was especially nice when you could lay your head on his chest and feel the vibrations of his words as he stroked your hair. Fuck.

“Should I keep going or are you gonna tell me why you called. I thought you had my number blocked.”

“I did,” you try to keep the tears out of your voice. 

“Up until when?”

“10 seconds before I called.”

“What’s going on?” His concern sounded exactly the same, the same affection. I thought you died. 

“I tho – “ You don’t even get to the third syllable before sobbing. It's slightly cathartic, to do what you’ve wanted to: curl in a ball and ugly cry so hard that you’re gasping for air like a toddler. 

“Baby,” he coos. “What happened, baby?”

“I’m not your baby!”

“I – you’re right. I’m sorry, sweetheart – y/n.”

“You don’t have to deal with me being a mess.” He was alive. Your concern was negated.

“No, don’t hang up!” he rushes. “I’ve been wanting to apologize and – wait, why did that make you upset, sweet – y/n?”

“I thought you were dead!” you sob.

“Is there something online?”

“No! I’ve just been so fucking scared that you were gonna die, like every night. I can’t sleep and I just lay here in our fucking bed wondering if every moment is the moment you O.D. I’m powerless! I just have to wonder if you’re fucking dying and, and – and you’d just be gone!”

“Y/n, I am so sorry,” His voice is heavy with emotion.

“You can’t die thinking you’re a piece of shit, or that I couldn’t forgive you, or that I wouldn’t love you, or that I don’t still love you.”

“Baby –”

“You can’t die alone in your hotel room, because you’ll be scar – ared and there'll be no one to hold you. And that thought just makes me wanna” you scream into the bedding. “You have a fucking disease, Damia! You can’t O.D. because you can still heal. You have a whole life,” you whimper. “You’re supposed to have a whole life so you can’t fu – uck –cking die.”

“I won’t, y/n. I’m being careful now, and I’m not using as often. It’s just medicinal now, more than anything.”

“Because cocaine is just so well known for its medicinal properties.”

“I won’t end up in the hospital again. I’m not gonna overdose. You can sleep. I kept my promise.” You feel like an idiot, because of course he’s still an addict, even if he’s high functioning. Damiano is still deluding himself into thinking he can control it. Your emotions get away from you so easily.

“I’m still completely in love with you.”

“Fucking asshole,” is all you can manage. He chuckles and lights a cigarette.

“You said it first. I was gonna keep it to myself.”

“Is that why you wanted to break up? The drugs and how they made you act?”

“Umm,” he takes a puff and exhales the smoke. “That was part of it. The biggest part. You know, plus the booze and I think fame…took its toll on us.” 

“All of your stuff is still here. I boxed a bunch of it up, so it’s sitting in the corner.”

“By the radiator?”

“Yep.”

“Don’t do that, you’re gonna set the apartment on fire.” You roll your eyes.

“We have central heating. The radiator doesn’t even work, it’s just there because the building is old.”

“I miss having this argument with you. Especially at Christmas, when you try to put lights on the damn thing.”

“It’s festive!”

“It’s a fire hazard.” You groan, and flip onto your back. “How’s Princess?” 

“She’s good. Took her to the vet to get her claws trimmed and the rest of her shots. It was traumatizing for both of us.” Again he chuckles, and you know exactly the face he’s making. A shy smile that reveals his gums and the tops of his teeth, eyes crinkled. You know the way he’s got his head slightly bowed forward, gaze downcast. You know exactly how he’s holding his cigarette. 

“I actually have two cats now. Princess got out and led me to a mom and her kittens behind the dumpster. Everyone wanted the kittens, but I wanted Cheeto.”

“Cheeto? Is she orange?”

“No, she’s black with white mittens.”

“Then why, for the love of god, did you name her Cheeto?” he laughs.

“She’d just rolled in an empty bag of Cheetos when I found her. I'm pretty positive it wasn’t the first time because her feet are still stained a little orange.” 

“You’re joking.”

“I’m not, I swear! I’ll send you a picture right now.” You find the first picture ever taken of Cheeto and hit send, only to realize that you can see all of your past text conversations now that Dami’s number is unblocked.

“Hah! I can’t believe that. She’s got that little spot of white right between her ears, too. I love it, she’s adorable. They get along?”

“Yeah, but Cheeto is kind of a garbage gremlin and it's a bad influence on Princess.”

“You expected her not to be a garbage gremlin?”

“Okay! Well, when you put it that way.” You’re smiling, without even trying.

“I miss Princess. I miss you.” 

“Rude.” You’re still smiling. Damn it.

“I know I’m sorry.” You realize why Damiano is being so himself and it's like having cold water thrown over your head.

“How drunk are you right now?”

“Like a 4/10. I am not nearly fucked up enough for any of this to be disingenuous.”

“High?”

“No.” He wasn’t even saying anything and he was convincing you. Or perhaps you were convincing yourself, which is much worse.

“I wish I was sober right now, though,” cue heartbeat skip. “So you wouldn’t be suspicious of what I’m saying.”

“It’s been a while since you sounded like yourself.”

“And I’m really sorry about that. I’ve gotten past the live fast die, young stage.”

“Thank fuck.”

“I’m so sorry. The way I treated you last time was abominable.”

“Correct.”

“And imagining that day without you there still puts me on the edge of a panic attack. When I first woke up and heard your voice, I thought I’d died. I thought I’d gone to heaven because you were there, acting like I hadn’t fucked it all up.” Stand your motherfucking ground, bitch. 

“Spending six hours on the train was angelic, I agree.” There's a pause in the conversation and that moment is all it takes to land you back in reality. Playing house over the phone made you feel better now, but later you’d be angry at yourself for giving Damiano even an inch of acceptance for how he was living his life.

“Are you going to block my number again?” Right now you are leaning towards no, which is probably a sign that your judgment is impaired.

“I’ll decide tomorrow.”

“You can call me. If you’re having a panic attack or you’re upset, you can call me and I won’t make it about…our relationship or my habits. I can be a friend and I don’t expect it to go the other way.” You let out a long sigh and follow the texture of the ceiling with your eyes.

“I don’t know.”

“I hate the idea of you being anxious at night and wanting to call me for reassurance, but stopping yourself.”

“Well I hate it too, but you’re not sober or trying to be sober. You won’t even admit that you need sobriety.”

“I understand that some people need it.”

“But not you? No, I can’t do this. I’ll just get hurt again and this time it’ll be my own fault, because I know better.” You sit up with a groan and look out the window. It was starting to get light outside, the very beginning of dawn.

“Y/n, I’m not self-destructing for the fuck of it anymore. I’m past using drugs that way. I even have a therapist.”

“I need you to be past using drugs full stop.”

“Y/n –”

“Let me finish. The self destructive thing is half of it and even though I may sound pissy right now, I can’t describe the happiness and relief I get knowing that part is over. Truly, Damia. I don’t want to just skip over that because it's huge.”

“I – thank you.” He sounds bashful.

“I’m serious and the fact that you’re back in therapy, chef’s kiss. I know how exhausting it is to dig through that shit and you’re doing it while under more pressure than the rest of the human race. The relief at you answering this phone call and being you? Incredible, but you’re still an addict.”

“So if I got sober, you’d give me another chance?”

“I can’t be the reason you get sober, Dami. It won’t stick and it’ll destroy our relationship.”

“Fine, but hypothetically, if I was sober, could we try again? Because I didn’t agree to end it for the right reasons.”

“If you had been sober for six months, with regular drug tests, and were in therapy, then yes. If you did the work to get sober and stay sober there is a high likelihood that I would try again.”

“Okay,” you can hear his smile. “Has trying to move on from us been absolute hell for you too?”

 “Oh, 100%.”

“Good. Give Princess and Cheeto a kiss for me.” The first thing you do when you get off the phone is unblock him on Whatsapp. All the messages that he sent while blocked roll in through your notifications. Immediately you know this was a terrible idea, but can’t stop reading. At least half of it is inebriated, misspelled confessions of his feelings for you. Those hurt deep in your chest. An apology always comes the next day. There's a couple probably sober messages where he admits to missing you, more delicately. Dami even sent the occasional anecdote that he knew you’d enjoy if on speaking terms.

At 5:02 AM you reblock him and fall asleep, but wake up feeling surprisingly hopeful. He was thinking about sobriety, maybe a lot. Damiano wasn’t mindlessly destroying his body and reputation for all the world to see. He was on a saner schedule. These were all really good things that indicated he was moving in the right direction, so a phone call three weeks later was a surprise.

Notes: Okay, confession time. I haven't actually finished this novel, but I have finished the first 17 chapters, so ya'll will be getting bi-weekly updates for a couple months at least. The response I've received has been excellent motivation. I am both moved and sorry for how many of you relate deeply to this story.

P.S. My taglist is evolving via this post.

-XOXO Eden

Read the rest on my Masterlist!

@surelyfreedombound @shinshans @lonnybunnys @davianos-blog @hauntedpostpersona @lizzylynch1 @kammerstx @harryssshouseee @slavicgoddess13 @persona1read1ng @katyldamusic @whore4damia @the-chaotic-cow @icarodamiano @gr8rainbowpunk @elvirabelle @bright-shiningstar @maneslut @stardustingold @little-moonbeam-666 @que--sera--sera

[justplainwhump]

🥰 Saying 'I love you' without saying it for Angel!! -vic

Free!Angel loves one person, very platonically, and you know who it is @wildfaewhump.

[Making Angel Masterpost]

Content / warnings: BBU Recovery, threat of recapture, vaguely implied noncon, humiliation. This ends well.

When Angel arrives at the coffeeshop down the street, Lourdes is not there. Angel feels it before she even believes it - she longs to be normal and be sure only after having counted heads and looked at every single face as rational people do, but there's some hidden, tingling sense that some unlucky people and all pets develop that absolutely and undoubtedly screams when there's something wrong.

Lourdes is not at the coffeeshop and something is wrong.

Angel drops her shopping bags and searches for the barista's gaze. He stares back for long seconds, gaze haunted, before he tilts his head towards the back entrance. "Danger," he mouths, draws a warning finger across his throat. "Don't go."

She pulls her long coat tight around her waist, straightens her shoulders and walks behind the bar, shaking her head at the barista as she pushes the back door open in a display of confidence.

Angel recognises the three men gathered around Lourdes' tiny figure in the yard for what they are immediately. She's grateful there's a railing on top of the metal stairs she can hold onto, and that her coat is long enough to hide the tremble in her knees at their sight.

Their uniforms are black, as the field teams wear them, not gray as in the facility, and on their chests they display the only arrangement of three letters Angel will always recognise. WRU.

They're here to take Lourdes.

Her only way out of this is getting right through it.

"What the fuck are you doing?", she calls. "Get your dirty hands off of my property, right now."

The man nearest to her turns around to look her down, and Angel gives him the display he needs to see. She's stopped wearing dresses the day after Tim died, but just as she's kept the house she's kept up the casual elegance of those who live in this neighbourhood. Her hair is pulled back into a soft ponytail, her white blouse obviously from silk, and the light blue coat that does so well to hide away her body has been tailored to fit.

She can keep up an appearance. And she's excellent with body language.

"Madam, please step back into the cafe," the man says, putting his hand on his hip. "This is an ongoing operation."

Madam. He said Madam. That's her role. It has to be. She must be Renee now, her sister-in-law, which means she must be a fucking bitch.

So she ignores him, snaps her fingers and points to the ground next to her feet. "Angel," she commands sharply, because Lourdes' name tells too much and it's the only other pet name on top of her head. "Stop debasing yourself with these men and get back where you belong. Now!"

The two men pinning Lourdes down cast glances back over their shoulders, and step back, when their colleague nods. One of them shifts his hips as he's tucking himself back in. Angel keeps her expression blank. It's what handlers do. It's what Lourdes knows to deal with. The only thing that matters right now is that they don't get them into their van. That they leave this place with her, not them.

Lourdes winces, as they try to stagger back to their feet under Angel's carefully acted frown. They're in pain, trembling, and yet their motions remain graceful and sensual.

"I'm sorry, Mistress," they whisper, casting their gaze down. "I wandered off." When they step towards her, one of the men lazily reaches out with his shock baton, stopping them.

"They looked liked a runaway," he says, turning to Angel. His gaze on her feels more leering, suddenly. "Behaved like one, too."

"Because they're scared?" Angel raises an eyebrow mockingly, swallows back the sickness at her own display of everything she contempts. "Well, I happen to like them scared. Paid a lot to your superiors to make them that way. How should a woman like myself keep a pet in check otherwise?" She smirks, tilting her head at Lourdes while still avoiding their gaze. "Get here, Angel."

"Not so fast." The man grabs Lourdes shoulder now and Angel's heart is racing. "If they're legit - why couldn't we read their barcode? They must've obscured it somehow."

Angel has to fight the urge to scratch her own wrist. Instead she folds her arms. "I did. I don't go anywhere without them, and I don't like the feeling of being tracked. That's why I only carry cash, too. No smartphone, no smartwatch, no credit card and no bar code on my pet." She shrugs. "Shouldn't trust the system at all, am I right?"

"Freak," the man murmurs, but turns towards Lourdes now. "Is it true, pet? That lady your owner?"

Lourdes gaze meets Angel's, and the devotion it carries is crushing. It's an act, she tells herself. Still, it's too close to the real thing. To the way Lourdes must've looked at Geoff Cortlandt. To the way Angel herself has looked at her own Sir.

"Yes," Lourdes says softly, casting her gaze down. "I belong to her."

The man scoffs and shoves them towards Angel. "They're wasted on a woman."

Lourdes hurries forward and falls to their knees at Angel's side. Position 2.

She's flooded with relief at feeling them close to her, but it's tinted with utterly disgust. Lourdes is her best friend. They should never have to kneel again.

Still, Angel would love to have a position to fall into, as well. Everything she does, has to do, humiliating Lourdes, hurts. Her hand feels heavy, as she reaches out to pet Lourdes head in a display of possession.

They need to get away from here.

"They are very satisfactory for a woman's needs, but I would assume you know nothing about those." Her fingers run through Lourdes' hair. "Next time, keep your hands to yourselves. Have a good day."

Angel turns on her heel, but the first man adds.

"Stop. You do need to put them in a collar, at least, Madam." He reaches at his belt, where a thick black plastic collar is dangling. WRU standard issue. She feels it, how it will chafe her skin, how the little clicks of its clasp will vibrate in the base of her skull when it's pulled taut, how her hair will catch in it at any carelessly move, how her breath will get flat and her head will start swimming.

"Here you go." The man tosses it to her, and Angel flinches back violently, stumbling on the metal staircase. Lourdes is on top of her, suddenly.

"Sorry, Mistress," they beg, their voice almost breathless. "I didn't want to trip you over, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I deserve to be punished Mistress."

Their hands are holding hers, pressing them down, hiding the trembles running through her body. "Please, not that collar, Mistress."

The man across from them pauses for a second, slowly looking from Lourdes back to her.

"Stupid thing," Angel manages to hiss. "Guess that's on me though. I paid for a scaredy-cat."

She gets back to her feet, brushing off the dust from her pants, calming her racing heart, before she looks down on the collar in front of her shoetips with a smirk and kicks it aside. "Thank you for the offer, but my Romantic won't be dressed like a cheap off-the-shelf thing."

Her hand wanders to the belt of her coat, soft fabric, blue as the sky, and she tugs it from his hoops as decidedly as her shivering fingers let her. Lourdes, submissively kneeling at her feet again, offers their neck to her unprompted.

"Thank you," they whisper, as Angel wraps her belt around their neck loosely. "Thank you, Mistress."

"Get up, pet," Angel says, and tugs at the belt, swallowing back the bile threatening to rise in her throat. "We're leaving. Don't embarass me like that again." She glances at the WRU handler. "And you, Mister, be glad that your men left no physical damage on my property. I'd have hated to file a complaint. Have a good day."

She leads Lourdes back through the coffeeshop on the makeshift leash, her head up high, pointedly ignoring the barista, and walks out the front door to hail a cab on the street.

Behind her, she feels the eyes of the WRU team on their backs, stinging like needles.

She knows Lourdes feels them too.

The act isn't over.

She wraps a possessive arm around her friend's shouldes, fingers resting against the blue fabric wrapped around their neck. In perfect obedience, Lourdes shifts onto their tiptoes to kiss her, longing and desperate.

Their hold steadies her, conceals the shaking of her shoulders, while she kisses them back with tears in her eyes, using them just like an owner would, confident, demanding and with utter disregard. Lourdes doesn't seem to mind at all.

"Angel," they mumble into the kiss, and she feels their heart racing as quickly as her own. "Thank you. This.... was very stupid of you."

Angel doesn't reply.

Its true, of course.

But it doesn't matter. Not when Lourdes is by her side, climbing into a cab with her, and the WRU van parked by the street vanishes in the rear mirror.

Not when Lourdes is safe.

--

-

Angel tag list: @whumplr-reader

[bshutsky]

— Sorry, brother. But I already found the snitch, — Vic smirks and wipes his gun, looking at the dying Orange in the corner of the room.

— Show me your intellect, who out of this whole group of idiots my dad recruited works for the police? — Eddie hisses angrily through his teeth and gestures widely at all the participants in the failed robbery.

Vic just shakes his head and laughs quietly, closing his eyes.

— You, — He shoots Eddie in the head, who sways for a few seconds before collapsing to the floor, dead.

Au, where Eddie hands over his father to the police, on the condition that most of the property will not be confiscated, but will go to Eddie. Freddy is still working undercover, but he's just making sure Eddie doesn't do something stupid and blow the whole operation.