#RIP to that nurse who said that bats come out of my walls at night and bite me secretly before hiding again in the morning

[samwiselastname]

I really hope it does not take me an entire year to get over my irrational fear that I am dying of rabies

[myrandomfandomramblings]

A fluff filled X-mas morning with the Bat team - a Batwoman fanfic

It was Christmas morning at Sophie’s apartment and Ryan couldn’t help the urge to pinch herself and prove it was real. She stood in the kitchen pouring Bailey’s into her coffee as she took it all in. Against one wall stood the bat team’s makeshift Christmas tree or tree’s to be more accurate. These consisted of a number of large plants Mary had accumulated during her time as poison ivy, that she had offered up for the festivities and were now adorned with lights, tinsel and popcorn strings. Beside the trees the TV was on, showing the yule log channel, effectively turning it into a fireplace. Below it on the TV stand lay 6 stockings, each hand sewn and personalized with their owner’s first initial. 

When Alice had offered to make them Ryan had been surprised although she figured it was her way of ensuring she was included in the gathering. Nevertheless, it was a nice gesture and Ryan couldn’t help but be impressed by the craftsmanship. 

On the kitchen table sat the Kane family’s menorah, that Kate had left for Alice after her visit to celebrate Hanukkah with her sisters and the bat team. In the middle of the living room Ryan’s friends sat in a circle, atop the air mattress her and Mary had spent the night on, a small pile of presents in the middle of them. They were all still in their pyjamas as they nursed their morning drink of choice. Christmas music played softly in the background and Ryan could just faintly smell the pillsbury cinnamon buns baking in the oven for breakfast. 

Spending the holiday together had seemed like the natural choice but it was actually Jordan who had suggested turning it into a real celebration with the sleepover and gift exchange. This was after she got in a fight with her and Sophie’s mom, when their mom refused to include Sophie in their family Christmas plans. They had all lost a lot of family in their lives and particularly in this last year but being all together for the holiday was a nice reminder of the family they had gained

“Hey, earth to Wilder. Ryan.” Sophie’s voice broke Ryan out of her thoughts.

“Oh, sorry, what?” Ryan stuttered.

“Are you going to come join us or just stand there and stare?” Sophie teased.

“That depends. What are you offering?” Ryan replied meeting Sophie’s eye with a smirk.

“Can you two save the flirting for later so we can get to the presents,” Alice piped in pointing between them.

Ryan felt her cheeks flood with warmth but hid it with an eye roll as she walked over and joined the group.

Once Ryan sat down Mary pulled out an empty wine bottle, put it in the middle of the group and spun it. It landed on Alice.

“So does that mean I’m supposed to kiss you?” Alice teased as she leaned toward Mary with her lips pursed. 

“It means you get first pick of the gifts,” Mary deadpanned pushing Alice away.

“Would you be saying the same thing if it had landed on Luke?” Alice countered.

“Alice,” Mary hissed under her breath.

“Fine. I want the big one.” she said grabbing a present from the pile. She tore off the perfectly tied ribbon then ripped the paper to reveal a fluffy brown teddy bear onesie. 

“What is this supposed to be?” Alice asked holding it in front of her.

“It’s a onesie,” Ryan offered, “like pyjamas.”

“Now you can stop stealing my clothes to sleep in,” Sophie added.

“Oh Sophie, poor, naive Sophie,” Alice said shaking her head.

“Just try it on,” Sophie bit back, “if you don’t like it you can trade once everyone has opened theirs.”

Alice sighed and made a face but ultimately put the onesie on. “Happy?”

“Now I am,” Ryan said pulling up Alice’s hood. “Your so cute.”

Alice glared at her but as soon as she looked away she noticed a small smile on Alice’s face as she cuddled deeper into the fabric.

“Ok Alice now you have to guess who bought your present.” Jordan explained.

“How am I supposed to know?”

“You’re not. You’re just supposed to guess.” Luke answered, clearly frustrated.

“Fine you?” Alice said pointing at Luke. 

“No.”

“You” Alice continued moving clockwise around the circle to Mary.

“Yes.”

“OK. Now what?”

“Now you say thank-you.” Ryan offered, like she’s talking to a toddler.

“Thank-you Mary.” 

“You’re welcome. Now you get to spin the bottle.”

Alice spun the bottle and it landed on Jordan.

She picked a present simply wrapped in a brown paper bag and opened it to find a bottle of wine and a chocolate bar.

“That’s a fancy bottle of wine. I thought we had a $20 limit.” Sophie said as she leaned over to read the label in her sister’s hand.

“It was less than $20 with the employee discount,” Ryan shot back without thinking.

“Did you just take a bottle of wine from the hold up?” Sophie asked head tilted, gaze fixed on Ryan with a smirk.

“Maybe. I’ve been really busy okay. I ran out of time for Christmas shopping,” she countered defensively.

She knew everybody understood how busy she’d been between Batwoman duties, running the hold-up and reorganizing Wayne since she returned as CEO following Marquis’ downfall. Nonetheless she felt guilty. 

But then Sophie laughed, “Well I have to give you points for resourcefulness,” and her chest was flooded with warmth and all other feelings were quickly washed away.

“I think it’s a great gift. Thank-you… I’m guessing Ryan,” Jordan teased.

“Yes, sorry I totally gave that away.”

“No problem.”

Jordan spun the bottle landing on Luke. He picked a gift wrapped like a Christmas cracker and opened it to reveal what appeared to be a hand sewn tapestry of the bat logo.

“Did you make this?” Luke asks looking at Alice. 

“You know. I learnt a few things sewing faces for 18 years. Fabrics a lot easier to work with than skin,” Alice replied nonchalantly.

“What?” Jordan asked.

“You don’t want to know.” Luke replied, “Thank-you Alice. This is actually very nice.”

Alice didn’t reply just gestured like ‘oh shucks’. Then Luke spun the bottle and it landed on Mary. She selected a gift bag, and pulled out Codenames, the board game.

“Yes. Now we have to have another games night!” Mary exclaimed.

Mary had been organizing game nights with the bat team for what felt like forever but they regularly had to be cancelled when bat duties arouse and when they did happen they tended to be less than stellar.  Mostly because somehow the only one of them that actually owned any board games that weren’t missing necessary pieces (which they had discovered by trying to play all of them) was Luke and all Luke’s games were ridiculously long and complex, strategy games that nobody else had the time nor energy to invest in figuring out. Mary did end up buying Yahtzee, but after 3 game nights in a row they were all ready for a new game.

Ryan also had to appreciate the choice in game, Codenames. It seemed a nod to the fact that at least two people in that room had secret aliases. Mary must have been thinking along similar lines because she immediately guessed Luke who confirmed it was the gift he brought. Mary spun the bottle which landed on Jordan who having already gone twisted the bottle slightly to point at Sophie, sitting beside her. There were only two gifts left now, which Ryan reasoned must have been bought by Sophie and Jordan. Sophie picked the one that she presumably did not bring and opened it to reveal a book.

“Really Jordan?,” Sophie sighed, “how could you possibly have known I would get your gift.”

“I didn’t,” Jordan replied, “I may not have known you guys for long but I know you could all have benefited from that book… although I am glad you got it.”

“Thanks,” Sophie said sarcastically.

“What’s the book?” Ryan asked unable to make out the title from across the circle.

Sophie held it up and Ryan could’t help but laugh as she read “Relationships for dummies” across the familiar yellow and black stripped cover of the series.

“If I had been buying specifically for you I would have gotten you a dream interpretation book,” Jordan added mischievously.

Ryan had no idea what Jordan was talking about but Sophie must have because Miss cool and collected looked flustered.

“Jordan,” Sophie hissed under her breath.

“Just trying to help,” Jordan shrugged.

“She’s got a point,” Alice offered, “I’ve watched you all dance around your feelings for months. It’s just sad.”

“Didn’t you kill your last two boyfriends?” Mary countered.

“Touche,” Alice replied.

Before this could go any further Ryan jumped in. “My turn,” she said grabbing the last gift, “and by process of elimination I know it’s from Sophie,” she finished shooting a smile her way.

It was one of those pre-wrapped gifts from one of those bath and body product stores. The set was called relaxing retreat and consisted of a candle and bubble bath, both lavender scented. 

She said Thank-you to Sophie and gave her a hug but as they parted and everyone started to move to the kitchen for breakfast Ryan’s mind wandered without her permission. 

She imagined herself in a hot bath surrounded by bubbles and the scent of lavender, wrapped in Sophie’s arms as she leaned back into the other woman, and tilted her head back to see those beautiful brown eyes sparkle in the candle light. 

Jesus, Ryan thought as she pulled herself out of her daydream, she had it bad. But as she looked around the room trying to reorient herself to reality she found Sophie looking at her with an expression Ryan didn’t quite recognize. She quickly looked away when she noticed Ryan returning her gaze and Ryan couldn’t help but wonder if Sophie’s mind went to the same place Ryan’s just had, when she had bought the gift. Or at least when it had been Ryan to open it.

Ryan joined the rest of the group now sitting around the table, eating cinnamon buns and excitedly talking about the snow that had started to fall outside.

“Cheers,” she said as she raised her mug, “to the best found family a girl could ask for, and the start of a beautiful tradition.”

“Cheers!” 

[the-iceni-bitch]

All I Need

Pairing: Andy Barber x Fem!Reader

Words: 4512

Summary: Andy has been drowning his grief at your bar for weeks. You help him dry out after a particularly bad night.

Warnings: Major angst!, softish Andy Barber, slight AU (spoilers for Defending Jacob book), explicit language, explicit sexual content (fingering, unprotected vaginal intercourse), descriptions of excessive drinking by adult of appropriate age, SMUT, 18+ only!

A/N: I have officially jumped on the love train for everyone’s favorite floofy lawyer. The sad!boi activated my caretaker instincts so this is pretty soft compared to my normal fics, and extremely angsty. Plus the smut kind of got away from me, I actually had to stop myself from writing even more! 

Checkout my masterlist and join my taglist if your inclined!

“Shit!! Jesse!” you screamed over your shoulder towards the kitchen, grabbing the bat from under the register as you jumped over the bar to break up the fight.

You swore under your breath as you moved toward the two men who were brawling. The smaller one seemed to have the upper hand, but it didn’t seem like the larger man was putting up much resistance. Maggie just stood there watching them with bambi eyes as you heard your giant cook rumble behind you, ripping off his apron to lend you a hand.

“What the fuck happened, Mags?” You hissed at your bartender, trying to haul the men apart with little success.

“Neal just came over and said he was sorry, and he just lost it.” The poor girl looked like she was on the verge of tears. Granted, she probably wasn’t expecting to have to deal with brawls in downtown Newton at a lawyer bar, but Neal sure seemed to invite violent reactions whenever he opened his stupid mouth.

You lost your patience and smashed an empty glass on the floor next to the two men, shocking them out of it. Neal rose to his feet with a look of fury on his face, but you kept your eyes on Andy Barber.

He’d spent pretty much every night this week since the funeral at your bar. His face was pallid and he had dark rings under his eyes. He was still wearing the same clothes from yesterday, and he smelled like stale bourbon. Now he was rolling around on the floor aimlessly like a slug.

“Get the fuck out of my bar, Neal.” You said exasperatedly, spying the mostly empty bottle of bourbon on Barber’s table.

“What, I didn’t do anything!” the giant whined at you.

“Really?! You couldn’t just leave the poor guy alone? Jesus Neal! I don’t wanna see you in here for a month.” You hooked your arms under Andy’s and dragged him to sit on the bench, his head lolling drunkenly on his neck as you tried to assess how far gone he was.

“Fuck you, bitch.” Neal spat at you as he turned on his heel and stormed out, slamming the front door behind him.

“Have a great night!” You called after him, sarcastically, flipping him off.

“You sure that’s a good idea, boss?” Jesse asked, his massive arms crossed over his chest as he shook his head at you.

“Who cares, I hate that smug asshole. Hey, Andy?” You snapped your fingers in front of his face and he slapped your hand away lazily, growling under his breath. “You sneak behind the bar again, man?”

“I swear, I didn’t sell him a bottle, Y/N.” Her chin was quivering as tears slowly leaked down her cheeks.

“I know Mags, he’s a sneaky bastard. Don’t worry, sweetie, you’re not in any trouble. Go to the bathroom and splash some water on your face.” You watched her scurry off to the bathroom and rubbed a hand over your face. “Fuck. I’m gonna call in Emma to give Maggie a hand. You ok locking up tonight Jess?”

“Sure, what’re you thinking?”

You just stared at Andy with overwhelming pity as he almost slid of the bench, forcing you to keep a steadying hand on his shoulder. “I’m gonna take him back to his hotel and help him dry out. Wouldn’t feel right just kicking him to the curb.”

“You’re too soft, Y/N.” Jess chortled at you.

“Yeah, maybe. Can you bring me an ice bucket?” You hooked his arm over your shoulder and hauled him to his feet so you could make your way out to your car.

Jess got your bucket from behind the bar as you hobbled outside. You managed to get your passenger door open and you slid Andy inside. His head rolled on his shoulders as you buckled him in before shoving the bucket into his lap.

“Andy, can you hear me? Don’t you fucking puke in my car!”

He grunted in acknowledgment and wrapped his arms around the bucket, curling himself over to hang his head above it.

“You sure you shouldn’t be taking him to a hospital, Y/N?”

“No… mmph… no fucking hospital!” Andy slurred at you as you slammed the door closed.

“I’m pretty sure he’d jump out of the car if he thought I was taking him to the hospital Jess.” You murmured as you circled to the driver’s side. “Thanks for closing, you’re the best!”

You watched him wave in your rearview as you drove off, making sure to keep one eye on Andy as he groaned over his bucket.

You reached his hotel in 15 minutes, grateful for the short drive as the man was looking greener by the second. You dug your hands in the pockets of his coat, searching for the keys to his room and you thankfully found them quickly. You were relieved to see he was on the first floor, as you didn’t trust your ability to safely get him up the stairs.

Getting Andy out of your car was a deal harder than getting him in, as he slipped further into his alcohol induced stupor. You almost dropped him when you wrenched him out of his seat, and you basically carried him to his room.

You somehow managed to get the door unlocked and drag him inside right when you heard his stomach roil. You cursed under your breath as you scrambled to get him to the bathroom, shoving his head in the toilet just in time as he emptied his gut.

“Shit, Andy.” You hissed, your hands on your knees as you tried your best to breathe deeply and get accustomed to the scent of his alcohol-soaked stomach contents. Once you were sure he was relatively stable, you moved to the kitchenette and filled a glass with tepid water before returning to find him leaned back against the wall. “Drink.” You ordered, kneeling beside him and bringing the glass up to his lips.

His eyes locked onto yours as he chugged the water down greedily. No sooner had he swallowed the glass’ contents than he was lunging forward to throw it back up. You tutted worriedly as you rubbed a hand over his back and used the other to start the shower.

“Why the fuck are you here, Y/N?” He grumbled miserably, not bothering to lift his head as you dragged his coat over his shoulders and threw out into the living area.

“I couldn’t have you killing yourself in my bar, Andy. Where’s your phone?” His stomach seemed to have calmed down, so you drew him to lean back against the wall and started to tug off his boots.

“S’in my back pocket.” He slurred at you. You rolled him over and drew the phone out of his jeans to set it on the counter. “You could’ve let me do it here.”

“Nah.” You said. “If you quit coming around, what excuse am I gonna have to kick Neal out?” You rolled up your sleeves and thrust your hand under the shower’s flow, checking the temperature. “Hey, don’t you dare pass out on me!” You slapped him in the face as he started to doze off and you worked on getting him undressed. “I’m fucking serious, Barber, you don’t get to drink yourself to death on my watch.” You finally got his shirt off and started to drag his jeans down his legs.

“But why?” His eyes were boring into you now, pleading for some kind of answer to what possible reason there was for him to stick around as they welled up with tears.

You chewed your lip as you thought about it.

Andy had been a fixture at your bar for years. Always coming by for a celebratory drink after a win, or when he was working late on a difficult case. Even during Jacob’s trial, he’d stopped by with Joanna a few times to hash out details of the case. No matter how much stress he was under, you were always able to make him smile, and he always left a very generous tip no matter who was serving him. Your bar had been one of the only places he’d always felt welcome, and you had no qualms about kicking out anyone who wanted to give him a hard time.

Then the crash happened. He lost Jacob first; he was DOA to the hospital. His visits to your bar were more somber then. You didn’t try to make him smile, you barely even talked to him. But you’d drink with him in silence when he was the last patron in the bar, sitting across from him in his booth as the rest of the staff shut things down, occasionally placing your hand over his and rubbing your thumb over his knuckles in a comforting gesture.

They had taken Laurie off life support 2 weeks ago, and after her funeral was when he really started to spiral. Rather than nursing his usual three drinks, he was downing whole bottles a night. You had to instruct your staff to cut him off after 6, or he would end up like he was tonight. This wasn’t the first time you had caught him with a stolen bottle.

You couldn’t say why you cared so much. You weren’t even sure you were really friends. But through everything that happened, you seemed to be the only constant, an anchor point for him as his world fell apart.

“I dunno Andy.” You murmured as you drew off his socks before rolling him into the tub with a lurch, making him gasp as the cold water hit his skin. “I guess I’d miss you.”

He glared at you as he shivered under the shower’s stream, huddled around himself in only his boxers.

“Do I need to wash you, or do you think you can handle that on your own?” You asked, handing him a washcloth and some soap.

“I can handle it.” He hissed, snatching them from your hands as he braced himself against the wall and drew himself slowly to his feet.

“Good.” You started gathering up his soiled clothes. “Make sure to wash the vomit out of your beard.”

He ripped the shower curtain closed and tossed his boxers over the rail at you, grumbling the whole time. You bagged up his dirty laundry and set some clean sweats on the counter in the bathroom before you set to work on cleaning the rest of the hotel room, doing your best not to gag at the week-old takeout containers.

Andy staggered out of the bathroom 30 minutes later, rubbing a towel through his hair as he wobbled on still drunk legs.

“How’s your stomach?” You asked, stretched out on the couch and sipping a glass of ginger ale.

“S’better.” He murmured, stumbling his way to the bed and collapsing on it with a groan.

“And your head?”

“Fuck you.” He murmured with his face buried in the pillows.

You grabbed the garbage can from the bathroom and set it next to the bed. “Make sure you sleep on your side or your stomach. I’ll be on the couch.” You turned to leave and he grabbed your wrist, pulling you back.

“No, stay with me.” He mumbled, peeking up at you through those stupid long eyelashes, his damp hair drooping over his forehead.

“You’re still drunk, Andy.” You scolded, snatching your wrist away from him. You couldn’t deny you’d thought about it before, but there was no way you were going to let him make a move on you after the night he had. “I’m just 20 feet away, here to make sure you don’t choke on your own vomit overnight.”

You turned back to find him passed out, a thin trail of drool leaking from the corner of his mouth. You rolled your eyes and turned off the lights before collapsing on the couch in a huff.

Andy woke up to the smell of sausage and eggs as you slammed the hotel room door, carrying some takeout from the greasy spoon down the road.

“Shit, I was hoping to sneak out before you were up.” You murmured as he rose up off the bed, his bedhead a sight to behold. “I got you breakfast.”

“What happened last night?” He groaned, his stomach churning as he inhaled the smell of the food you had brought in.

“Well, you stole a bottle of Woodford Reserve from my bar, drank more than half of it, then fought Neal.” You shoved a plate of food in front of him as he sat down at the island. “Then I brought you back here and held your hair while you puked your guts out.”

“Fuck.” He murmured, fighting the urge to gag as he eyed the plate in front of him. “How did I get in these sweats?”

“Don’t worry, I dumped you in the shower in your boxers, no looks at the goods. And even if I had, last night was decidedly unsexy.”

“Shit, I’m so sorry.” He murmured, burying his head in his hands.

“Mmhmm. Eat.” You ordered, making him groan. “Suck it up, Barber, you’ll feel better after a couple of bites.” You watched him shovel a bite in his mouth and chew dutifully, taking a deep breath as you steeled yourself for what you wanted to say. “Are you talking to anyone, Andy?”

“’M talking to you.” He said around his second mouthful off breakfast, starting to feel a bit better.

“I mean like a shrink.” You said, seriously.

“What the fuck is this?” He threw his fork down on his plate, pissed. This was none of your business.

“Andy, you’ve been drinking yourself stupid every night for the past 2 weeks. It’s not healthy, and I don’t want to be responsible for you ruining your life.”

He gave you a snort of derision and rolled his eyes as he stood up to walk away. “Fuck off.”

“Hey!” now you were angry. “I care about you asshole! You think I enjoyed last night? I’m sick of it!” You followed after him, grabbing his shoulder and turning him around sharply.

“It’s not your problem, Y/N.” He seethed at you, ripping your hand off his shoulder as he took a menacing step towards you.

“You made it my problem when you decided to use my bar as the stage for your descent to rock bottom, dick!” You were yelling now. “Y’know what, fuck this. Figure your shit out Barber. Until then, don’t step foot in my bar.” You stormed out, slamming the door behind you as you slipped your coat back over your shoulders.

“Fuck!!” Andy screamed before charging after you.

He managed to catch up to you as you were about to open your car door and he slammed it shut over your shoulder, pinning you against the driver’s side of your vehicle.

“I swear to god, Andy, I’ll mace you.” You hissed at him, turning as you dug your hand in your bag. He wrapped a massive hand around your wrist, stopping your turn halfway.

“I’m sorry.” He murmured, pressing his forward to yours as he leaned against you. “I need you.”

“Andy…” this was such a bad idea.

“Why’d you stay last night?” He muttered, bringing his hand down to cup your cheek. “You said you care about me.”

“I do care, Andy.” You sighed as he took another step into you, pressing his body against yours. “Fuck, what’re you doing?”

“Stay.” He whispered, dipping his face to catch your lips with his and sending every objection you had right out of your head.

You sighed against him as you wrapped your hands in his hair, rolling your body against his. He ran his tongue over your bottom lip before pressing it against yours, his hands moving down to your hips and drawing you into him. You let out a whine as you felt his growing erection grinding against you.

“Shit.” You hissed as you felt a rush of arousal soak your panties. “Andy, we need to go back to the room.”

“Right.” He muttered, deepening your kiss as you wrapped your arms around his neck and he lifted you off the ground as he drew you away from your car and started to head back towards the room, thankful he had left the door ajar.

You kicked the door closed as he carried you inside, giving a small huff when he sat down on the bed with you straddling his lap. You slipped your coat over your shoulders and tossed it aside as his mouth devoured yours, lips molding to each other as your tongues tangled.

Andy slipped his fingers under the hem of your tee and drew it over your head, throwing it on top of your jacket before unclasping the front of your lacy bra and nuzzling himself between your breasts. He rolled the two of you gently until he was on top of you.

You sighed as Andy moved his mouth over the slope of your breast to wrap his lips around one of your nipples, sucking softly as he moved one hand to dip beneath the waistline of your jeans. He groaned against your chest when he found you sopping wet for him.

“God, I need you, sweetheart.” He mumbled against your skin as he worked at unbuttoning your fly, dragging your jeans and panties down your legs and flinging them aside before bringing his hand back up to cup your heat. “Need to make you feel good. Lose myself in you for just a bit.” He moved his lips up to brush against your neck as he rubbed his fingers through your folds, spreading your slick over your mound and making you gasp, your fingers gripping his massive biceps tightly as he teased you.

“Andy, please.” You whined, canting your hips into his hand, your clit throbbing with need as the pads of his fingers brushed against it.

He brought his face up to yours as he plunged one thick finger into you, a smile teasing his lips as he watched your face screw up in bliss. He dipped his lips to meet yours as he added another finger, swallowing your small cry.

“You feel so good, beautiful. So warm and tight.” He scissored his fingers inside of you, drawing lewd squelches from your canal as your arousal soaked his hand. “Fuck me, you’re perfect.”

You scrabbled your hands over the broad muscles of his back as he curled his fingers inside you, massaging that soft, spongy muscle deep within your canal. He buried his face in your neck, murmuring soft praises as you came apart beneath him.

You mewled as he inserted a third finger, your cunt clenching around him as you thrust yourself onto his hand, fucking yourself on his digits.

“You close love?” He asked, his thumb brushing against your clit before he started massaging it gently. Pressing soft circles into your core as you writhed beneath him.

“Oh, fuck.” You muttered. “fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck……”

He felt you tense underneath him when he drove his thumb into your clit, hard. You choked on your tongue as every muscle in your body vibrated with pleasure, your release gushing over Andy’s hand and soaking him to the wrist. He felt your nails digging through his sweatshirt as you came.

He kept his fingers moving inside you as your rode out your orgasm, your body rolling in waves underneath him as your pleasure wracked you, leaving you breathless. Once you sagged back against the bed, he withdrew them, disconnecting from you reluctantly to remove his own clothes. Staring down at you, all he wanted was to press himself against every inch of you. Claim every slope and curve of your body for his own.

He gripped one ankle and brought it up to his mouth, skimming his lips over the jut of bone as his fingers skirted over your calf, pressing into the firm muscle there. His lips followed his fingers, searing your skin with each lingering kiss and brush of his tongue as he worked his way further up your leg. Your cunt clenched around nothing when he reached your thigh, his beard scratching at the soft skin between your legs as he marked you with lips and teeth. You tangled your fingers in the blankets and moaned when he bypassed your core, moving up the line of your hip as he claimed you.

Your breath was coming quicker as worked his way over your body. His lips swept against your abdomen now, his tongue dipping into your navel as he nuzzled over the midline of your torso. All you could focus on was the feel of his mouth on your skin, leaving a trail of electricity as marked you as his. He laved his tongue over first one nipple, then the other as you arched into him, pressing your thighs together as your pussy throbbed with need.

He moved to trace the curves of your shoulders, his breath hot against your skin as he kissed his way down first one arm, then the other. You were panting now, your thighs soaked as arousal seeped out of you. Andy traced his fingers over your torso, skimming over the slopes of your breasts as he moved to kiss the curve of your neck, sucking gently to draw light bruises as his hands moved lower, kneading into your hips. He drew your knees apart slowly, slotting himself between your thighs as he dragged his hard length through your folds, making you keen as he ground into you.

You were a mess, your breath coming in ragged gasps as his hips rocked against you. You were desperate for release, every inch of you tingling with need and when Andy’s cock brushed against your clit, you lost it. You threw your head back in ecstasy as your fingers scrabbled in the sheets, desperate to hold onto something to keep you anchored.

Andy just stared at you, one massive palm cupping your cheek as he watched you falling apart. He needed you so much, you were the only constant he had. The only person who didn’t make him feel like a charity case or a failure. He hated what he was becoming, what the secrets and the tragedy were turning him into, but he knew if you stayed with him, he could come back.

“Y/N,” He whispered as you relaxed and he stilled his hips, his thumb tracing your cheekbone as you slowly opened your eyes, gazing up at him through your lust blown pupils. “Promise you won’t leave me.”

“Andy,” a small voice in the back of your mind was trying to warn you, telling you not to commit to anything now while he was still drowning in his grief. But you were overwhelmed with the pleasurable assault he had subjected you to and when he pressed his lips to yours again, that little voice went away. “I promise.” You gasped when he released you.

He grinned at you as he lined himself up, resting his forehead against yours as he gazed into your eyes. You were so wet that he slid into you easily, bottoming out right away with a hiss.

“Fuck, honey.” He murmured against your lips as you whined, his hips setting a languorous pace as he pulled out halfway before thrusting back into you. “God, you’re so tight, you feel amazing.”

You couldn’t reply, you could already feel another orgasm building as you thrust your hips to meet his, mewling softly as the warm coil in your stomach tightened. You ran your fingers over his auburn beard before burying them in his hair, panting into his mouth as he brought you closer to the edge.

Andy brought one hand between the two of you and strummed his thumb against your clit, making you tighten your fists in his hair until it was painful.

“God, Andy, right there.” You sobbed, your cunt clamping around him as he moved to bury his face in your neck, nuzzling against the hollow behind your ear.

“Go ahead, beautiful.” He scraped his teeth over the edge of your jaw as he drove his thumb against you, and you screamed.

You fluttered around him as your body spasmed, multiple waves of pleasure rippling through you. Your knees gripping around his hips and squeezing as your torso rolled against his. You sank back against the bed with a sigh as your body relaxed, Andy still fucking into you and starting to pick up speed.

“I’m gonna move you, pretty girl.” He wrapped his arms around you and rolled until you were on top of him, pressing you against his chest as he kissed you deeply. “Wanna watch you ride me.”

You gave him a smile as you sat up, bracing your hands against his chest as you ground yourself against him. He was seated in you deeper than anyone had ever been, his cock dragging against that secret spot inside you with each drive of your hips, making you groan. He thrust up into you and groaned at the bounce of your tits while you let out a cry at his tip hitting your cervix.

Andy dug his fingers into your hips as he took over, pistoning up into with increasing speed as your cunt clamped around him. Your head rolled loosely on your shoulders as you let go, eyes fluttering as you felt another orgasm gathering.

You gripped his hips tightly with your thighs as it hit you like a truck, sobbing with pleasure while your muscles shivered over him. Andy sat up quick and caught you before you could collapse back on the bed, wrapping one hand around the back of your neck and catching you lips with his as his hips picked up even more speed.

“Shit.” He murmured against your lips. You felt his cock twitch inside you as his hips faltered in their rhythm. “Are you on the pill honey?”

You nodded vigorously, unable to speak as Andy’s violent thrusts had knocked all the breath out of your lungs and you were gasping.

“Good. Fuck.” He nipped at your lips before shoving his tongue down your throat.

You felt warmth spread through your abdomen as he shot his release into you, his thick spend coating the slick walls inside you and leaking out over your thighs as he fucked you through it. He slowed his thrusts as you felt him soften inside you, groaning into your mouth as he came down and collapsed back against the bed, holding you close to his chest.

His chest hair scratched against your cheek as he breathed deeply, trying to slow his heart rate back down and rubbing his fingers over your spine as you panted on top of him.

Neither of you spoke for a while, content to lie in the comfort of each other’s arms. You made Andy feel safe, and he made you feel needed, and that was all the two of required for now.

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[spunkpunx]

Are Friends Electric? (Alex Turner)

Multi Part Series

Part 1: Dreamy Days

Sheffield 2002

"Is that a fookin' United shirt?"

"Yeah, so what? It's not mine, you know I support Owls."

"Am honestly disappointed in you, consortin' with the enemy an' that," Alex shook his head, refusing to look at the offending football shirt that I'd been forced into wearing.

"It was in lost property, an' you know what the PE teachers are like, they threatened to suspend me, Mam would kill me if they did," I replied, rubbing her legs in an attempt to warm them.

"Only 'cause you've been suspended before."

"Yeah well I don't want to do it again, she'd have me bloody guts for garters," I told him. He rolled his eyes. We were sat on an old bench around the back of the school, dressed in PE kits and smoking B&H cigarettes I had stolen off my mother. My football shorts were no match for the harsh January weather, but I was wearing a parka, hence why Alex had only just noticed the Sheffield United t-shirt. We couldn't leave school grounds yet, because in order to get out from behind we'd would have to go past the French classroom, and as the bell hadn't yet gone, there would still be Miss Kelly and a class of year 7s ready to catch us out.

"I'm fookin' freezing," Alex whined, putting out his fag on the wall and dropping it onto the floor. "At least you've got that bloody big coat."

I sighed and flicked my cigarette butt onto the floor, stomping it out with the toe of my trainer. "If we go over the wall you know you have to give me a leg up," I explained bluntly. He nodded along almost eagerly, likely desperate to get out the cold and home as soon as possible.

"I don't mind Jack, I just wanna leave."

"Right then," I replied, standing up, picking up my bag and putting a foot into a crack in the stone, grabbing the top edge where my fingers could just about catch grip on the rough stone. Alex came up behind me and put his hands on my shin, and using his hands to push against, I pulled herself up. Unfortunately, my foot slipped, and I began to fall back down, but my fall was stopped by the feeling of hands holding me up. Alex's hands, on my bum.

I felt my ears burning red, but not willing to have to try again, I pulled herself up using my arms and jumped down the other side. As soon as my feet touched the ground I climbed on top of the large wheelie bin that sat against the wall and grabbed Alex's arm as he clambered over as well. He was a lot taller than me now, he'd grown in a way only 15 year old boys do, all long limbs and clumsiness. I'd barely even noticed him shoot up. I helped him over and we jumped into the street below.

"Um... I'm sorry that I touched your..." Alex stuttered slightly, his cheeks going uncharacteristically red. I cut him off.

"Al, it's fine."

"I mean I-"

"It's fine," I repeated, more firmly. He shrugged and pushed his hands into his pockets, beginning to walk down the alley toward the road. I followed him, jogging slightly to catch up with his long strides.

"Am gonna join a band you know," he told me as we turned the corner onto the street. I looked at him in surprise.

"A band? Who wiv?" I questioned, confused.

"Matt."

"Matt Helders or Matt Sheppard?"

"Matt Helders of course! Av'e never even spoke to Matt Sheppard why on earth would I be talking about 'im?"

"Well I dunno do I? I didn't even know Matt Helders played an instrument, he's not singing is he?" I queried, scuffing my shoes along the floor.

Alex shook his head slightly. "He plays drums, I'm the singer."

"But you play guitar?" I could sense my brain was really struggling to keep up.

"I can do both, like Bowie."

"Don't compare yourself t'Bowie unless you go to your gigs dressed in a catsuit an' heels an' bat away crowds of lads and lasses who want to sleep with ya."

"I'm not against the crowds of lasses, but I don't think I could commit to the rest," he laughed cheekily. I gave him a playful punch in the shoulder.

"You're full of shit, you are," I grinned, as he rubbed his arm over-dramatically. Cars whizzed past as we reached the main road. Cars that caused slight rushes of air as the pair of us continued to walk, that's how close they drove past the pavement.  "Mine or yours?" I asked him.

"Yours, yer mam won't be back from work yet."

"Fairs."

A silence lulled in the conversation as we continued to walk down the street, Alex was scuffing his trainers along the floor. It was annoying as fuck but I didn't say owt.

"Did you hear what Rory Pike did today at lunch?"

"No?"

"He got his cock out on the school field," Alex divulged me, a laugh spread across his face. I couldn't help but join in the joke.

"Rory Pike is a world class minger," I told him, and soon we were both in stitches, adding extra gross details to the story to the amusement of each other.

"Did Cook finally ask tha' girl out then?" I changed the subject, catching my breath back from my laughing fit.

"'Course not, he jibbed again, then Simmo asked her instead," Alex explained.

"Simmo? Did she say yes?"

"Why would she? She clearly fancies Jamie."

"He needs to get his act together and ask her."

Alex nodded, momentarily in thought. He then very suddenly turned around and gave me a playful shove.

"First one to yours!" he exclaimed, quickly speeding off around the corner.

"Bastard," I muttered, beginning to run after him. I sprinted to catch up, but the awkward coat prevented me from getting anywhere near the speed his long limbs could get him. He legged it off and I was forced to slow my pace back down to a walk. The boy was clearly going to win and I had the house key so he'd have to wait outside for me anyway. I decided to take me time knowing I'd probably bump into Alex around the corner when he came back to see where I was. He'd probably be a bit moody about it, telling me off for being a fun sponge, and I'd apologise insincerely and then he'd give me an awkward side hug and tell me he couldn't stay angry at me, there's no way I'd let him. Then we would probably walk back to mine and be done with the matter.

This wasn't the case. I got round the corner, then the one after that, and didn't see any sign of Alex. There was no way he would still be running, he was too lazy and he would look like an idiot, racing against no one. He was a dafty but not that much of one. I began to get confused after I rounded the third corner and there was still not a sign of him.

"Oi Jackie!" Alex exclaimed, grabbing my shoulders from behind. I yelped in surprise and he burst out laughing.

"Fook you Alex Turner," I scolded him. "How did ya even get behind me?" He said nothing, and just tapped his nose conspiratorially.

Sheffield 2003

He knew everything there was to know about Jackie. He knew her favourite colour (red),her middle name (Arabella), her handwriting and everything else in between. Alex had known this for ages, but it had never weighed on his mind as much as it had recently.

It was the way he'd seen her the other night. There was a small gaff at someone or another's and Alex had gone with the boys. Jackie had showed up a bit later, dressed very differently to how he normally saw her. She had a leopard print mini skirt on and a tight, cropped t-shirt, along with her trainers and Adidas jacket. Of course he noticed her, lighting one of her L&B blues and trying to smoke it subtly; she was the only one smoking.

He had gone over and said hello, and she'd grinned when she saw him, glad of some company, he expected. Some 90s rave hit was playing, and cheesy lights flashed across the room. Trying too hard, he thought. She picked a beer off the counter she was leaning on and gave it to him. A Corona, lukewarm but still alcohol.

"D'ya wanna come for a spliff?" she asked him, patting her pocket, and he said yes. Her top was very tight, although he tried not to look, but he saw her bra, visible through the fabric. They went outside onto some kind of shitty balcony. She got what looked to be a large gram of weed and some Rizlas out, making an L and then ripping open a cigarette to get the tobacco out, she carefully sprinkled in some of the spliff and rolled. Alex didn't say anything, he just watched as she deftly rolled the joint. She lit the end and took her time, sitting down on a breeze block. He found himself a seat on the step.

"So how's t'band going, Arctic Monkeys i'nt it?"

"There's a gig coming up, at The Grapes," Alex told her, proudly. In fact, he puffed up slightly with pride. Jackie had never really got involved with the band, she said it weren't her business, but Alex still felt remarkably pleased whenever she showed an interest, especially if they were doing well.

"D'ya want me to come?"

"'Course! I thought you already were."

"Yeah I just... weren't sure, that's all," Jackie responded, unusually quiet. She was acting off with him.

"Is summit up?" Alex asked. She shrugged, taking another drag on her spliff and then handing it to him. "Jack?" he prompted further.

"It's nothing Al, jus' summit stupid," she replied. Her fingers fiddled with the edge of her sleeve. He decided to leave it, pushing her wouldn't make her tell him, it would just annoy her. He took a toke of the joint and they sat in silence for a moment.

"Wanna find some White Lightning and get hammered?" she asked and Alex grinned.

"Are you sure? That stuffs pretty lethal."

"Well fook it all we're not going home tonight," she replied, laughing slightly. Alex nodded, smiling, then passed her the spliff back. It was a still and cold night. Jackie let the smoke seep out her mouth and inhaled it through her nose.

They finished the spliff and went back inside. Alex found the rest of his mates and together they all got steaming. Simmo was acting strangely all night. Then Jackie started acting strange too. She was all quiet and snappy.

"Why were you being such a mardy bum yesterday," he asked her the next day. They were lounging about on the sofa at his, nursing two horrible headaches. She rolled her eyes at him.

"Not now Alex, I'm too hungover for this," she answered, misery clear in her voice.

"Just tell me and I'll stop naggin'" he told her, shuffling a bit closer so she couldn't turn over and ignore him.

"Your mate Simmo," she replied simply.

"What'dya mean? Look, I know the joke was a bit insensitive but tha's just what 'e's like," Alex began to explain, for some reason unknown to him, in Simmo's defence.

"It's not tha' you bloody great nit, he kissed me."

Alex couldn't explain why that came like a twist in the gut, but it did nonetheless. It made him stumble for his words for a moment.

"Oh," was all he managed to get out. "Did you kiss him back?"

"Of course not, he's funny, but a bit gross," Jackie replied, pulling a face, and Alex laughed. A strange sense of relief was felt somewhere in his system, although nowhere near enough to dull the queasy thud of his hangover. "'Sides, Chris asked me out the other day."

"Who the fook is Chris?"

"Chris Maher, from the garage."

"Him? You've lost your mind Jackie, he works at fookin' MotorWorld."

"He's funny! And he knows loads about cars, plus he can drive," she said stubbornly, crossing her arms.

"Why does it matter 'e can drive?"

"So I can get places, obviously," she responded dryly.

"I've almost passed me test!"

"Al, you're not even close to passing, I spoke to yer Dad an' he says you drive like you're drunk. 'Sides, I wouldn't want to get on your nerves, always cadgin' a lift." she explained, to Alex's disappointment.

"I didn't expect your type to be a guy who walks around in trackies, how desperate are ya?" Alex jabbed, a little cruelly. Jackie shot him a scathing look.

"Alexander, what is up with you? You were fine last night, an' now you're acting like I'm makin' you suck bloody lemons," she reprimanded him. She was trying to draw him into an argument, he could tell. He wasn't about to start a fight.

"Oh, it duen't matter," he said offhandedly, hoping to diffuse the issue, which seemed to work.

"He's actually a really lovely guy," Jackie added after a long pause.

"Ay, I'm sure he is," Alex replied halfheartedly.

[maximit3]

Caregiver Pt 3

Warnings: Mentions of blood,  Bodily harm,  and Bodily Trauma. Its all mild. Author’s Note: I know you guys have been waiting on this and I know its shorter, but its setting up for the next chapter. I want you guys to enjoy the story and I promise the next one will be longer! I hope you guys enjoy!

[Previous] | [Next]

The knock on the door jarred you out of your sleep and nearly caused you to fall out of bed. For a second there was silence, and you figured that perhaps the knocking had been merely a dream, but then the banging continued, this time more urgently. The bat by your bed was heavy in your hand as you made your way to the front door of your apartment. 

Your heart was pumping and the darkness did nothing to settle your nerves, turning your familiar living area into a surreal landscape. As you neared the door, the knocking became slower and heavier and your body began to buzz as another wave of adrenaline surged through you.

Finally, after a moment to build up courage, you looked through the peephole of your front door preparing to defend yourself from the would-be intruder on the other side. The figure outside was slumped against your door and all you could see was mass of black hair and a pair of yellow goggles.

“Oh,” you muttered as you dropped the bat and scrambled to open the door.

Aizawa stumbled forward and you had just enough time to move the door as he fell to the floor of your entryway. A low groan indicated that he was still cognitive and breathing, but you could tell by his clothes he was hurt severely. You had to move him out of the entryway and get the door closed, but you had to be sure the movement wouldn’t cause any further injury.

Springing into action, you grabbed your first aid kit from the kitchen and began assessing his wound. There were lacerations on his hands, and most of his capture weapon was stained with blood. Gently, you touched various parts of his body, trying to determine where the greatest amount of pain was and after determining that it must be an upper body wound, you flipped him over. 

The top part of his jumpsuit was ripped, exposing his chest which had blood dripping from three wounds. There were two going across his right side down to his left and one long one that followed the length of his left side - this one was the one bleeding the most. Quickly, you pulled him in a few inches into the apartment, just enough to close the door and began to patch his wounds.

Slowly, you started to cut what was left of the top off of his chest, hoping there weren’t anymore wounds. Thankfully, most of the wounds weren’t too deep and could be cleaned, lined with gauze, then bandaged. But the one on his left side was going to need stitches, and you weren’t certain he could be moved again to get to a hospital. 

“I’m really sorry about this,” you said mournfully, and went to grab your medical bag that contained a sterilized needle and medical thread. 

You cleaned the wound first, and then for good measure dipped your needle in the alcohol and began to work. Occasionally, pained grunts would escape from the pro-hero’s lips, but for the most part he was subdued, probably trying to block out all the pain he was in.

“What happened to you?” you whispered, watching your hands carefully as they pulled the flesh together. 

You worked on the wound for the next twenty minutes, periodically checking Aizawa’s vitals. Eventually the wound was sutured, and with the bleeding under control you could dress the wound properly. The adrenaline that had been keeping you going this whole time was slowly receding, and you could feel your whole body crashing. Aizawa would have to stay where he was for tonight, you didn’t have the energy or strength to move him.

“You sure know how to scare a girl,” you said breathlessly, letting yourself lean against the wall.

A strained laugh came from Aizawa, followed by a groan of pain. His fingers twitched like he was trying to reach for something, maybe his wounds. For a second, you thought about reaching out and placing your hand in his, as a comfort, but thought better of it. 

“I think I’d take the stab wounds over stitches,” you heard him mutter softly and you found yourself breathing a sigh of relief.

You smiled, “Next time don’t get stabbed and I won't have to use stitches.”

“A fair point,” he responded, a ghost of a smirk on his lips.

“You’re going to have to go to a hospital tomorrow, get those wounds properly dressed,” you said sternly.

“Mmm,” was all Aizawa said in response.

Some time later, you heard the low and soft sounds of sleep coming from the injured hero on your floor. For good measure, you checked his pulse and note that it had slowed and was steady, reassuring you that he would heal. Reassured that Aizawa was stable, you let yourself fall into a light sleep against the wall.

~

A twinge in your neck woke you up a few hours later, and you groaned as you stretched out the sore muscles that were not used to sleeping in such a position. You noticed Aizawa was still asleep, and decided he could be left alone for a moment as you made your way to the bathroom.

There were bags under your eyes, that was to be expected, but there were also flecks of blood dotting your face. A shower was in order then and, after grabbing clothes from your room, you ran the hot water and let the stress from the night wash off of you.

The steaming water was a relief and you sighed contentedly as you felt muscles relax and you washed the grime from your body. Your thoughts drifted back to man on your floor and your brow furrowed, wondering why he had come here and not called for backup or gone to a hospital.

It was a weekday, so you assumed his injuries happened while he was out on patrol and you knew, mostly from gossip around the hospital, that Aizawa often worked alone. Still, his injuries were bad enough they would have warranted some sort of help. You bit your lip in contemplation, letting the thoughts roam through your head as you finished your shower.

With your hair wrapped up, you quickly dressed and headed back out the front room. The sight that greeted you was a wide awake Aizawa, sitting up against the wall by the door and examining his bandages.

He looked up when he saw you a small smile on his lips, “You did good with these bandages.”

You pressed your lips together as you made your way forward, “Yes, well, I am a trained nurse, I should be able to bandage well enough. Here, move your hands.” 

Aizawa obliged, letting his hands fall to either side of him as you kneeled and examined your work from last night. Most of the smaller wounds had already started to scab over and the bandages over the larger wounds had held through the night. Except for the bandage which covered the wound that had been stitched up last night, those would need to be changed.

“What’s the prognosis doctor?” Aizawa joked, watching as you pulled more gauze from the discarded medical kit by the door.

You smiled, avoiding eye contact, intimately more aware now that you were treating a pro-hero in your front entryway, and he was shirtless.

“I think you’ll live, although you do need to go to a hospital.” You tried to keep your voice light as you worked.

“Like you said, I’ll li-” A grunt escaped from Aizawa as you pulled the bandages away from his wound and began cleaning.

“Some warning would be nice,” he managed through gritted teeth.

You clicked your tongue, “Said the man who collapsed in my entryway in the middle of the night, bleeding all over my apartment.” 

Just for a moment, you let your eyes meet his, hoping he could hear the teasing tone in your voice. There was some gleam in his eyes you couldn’t quite place and a smirk on his lips that made your stomach somersault. Quickly, you looked back to your hands as a blush crept across your face.

“I am sorry about that, but you were close and I wasn’t exactly in a position to do much else,” he muttered, and to his credit he did look a little sheepish.

“And you know my address how?” You applied some ointment to the wound, attempting to be nonchalant in your questioning.

“Hospital told me. I had to have information on everyone who would be around Eri.” His voice was flat, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

It made sense, with how high a security risk Eri was, but you couldn’t help the uncomfortable feeling that arose in knowing how easy it was for you to be found. You stayed quiet, concentrating on your work, kneading at your bottom lip.

Aizawa must have noticed something was wrong, as a few minutes into the silence he said, “I am sorry for scaring you.”

You shook your head, “What exactly happened to you last night?”

“There’s a group of villains that was spotted in the area that I was asked to gather intel on. I’m not entirely sure what happened next, but one moment I was in the city and the next I was in a field and it was bright and sunny. Next thing I knew, I was in an alley fighting to get free of the same group of villains I had been tracking.” He paused and there was this distant look in his eyes, as if he was truly reliving the moment.

“We don’t know much about the group except that they call themselves Societatis Magnae. It means the G-”

“The Great Society,” you finished, your face turning white as a wave terror washed over you.

“You know them?” Aizawa asked warily.

You braced yourself against the wall feeling faint, “The Societatis Magnae is a gang whose goal is to create an even bigger divide between those with quirks and those without. They think those that are quirkless are beneath them, and should serve those with quirks. Their leader is a ruthless man known as Delirium.”

“How do you know all of this?” Aizawa asked, his eyes urgent for the information you were giving, but also concerned.

You stood up, swaying as you did so, and stumbled toward the sink turning on the cold water and letting it run over your hands. You heard Aizawa stand using the wall to slowly straighten, but his eyes bored into you and there was no use avoiding his questions anymore.

You took a deep breath and turned to face him, “Delirium is also known as Tamika (L/N) and he is my brother.”

Thank you guys so much! I hope you enjoyed it!

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[watchtower-feed]

Death Do We Part (Part 10)

SSA Spin-off ✧ Jason Todd ✧ Physical Link ✧ 1 ✧ 2 ✧ 3 ✧ 4 ✧ 5 ✧ 6 ✧ 7 ✧ 8 ✧ 9 ✧ 10 ✧ 11 ✧ 12 ✧ 13 ✧ 14 ✧ 15 ✧ Words: 2,000+

     Your eyes frantically move around the room, trying to find where the next blow is going to come from. He’s walking toward you, away from Jason who’s lying still in the corner. He breaks your ribs just as he did with Jason and you cough blood onto his face. The splatter seems to awaken something in him and he smiles wider, the wide grin on his face twitching with joy.

     You shudder in fear as blood fills up your throat and you can’t breathe. You keep your eyes on Jason as the Joker slams the crowbar down onto the tips of your fingers.

     Is this what Jason felt? Alone? In pain? Dying? Oh god, you thought. Why does he have to go through this again? You close your eyes and desperately try to shut off your link.

✧ ✧ ✧

     Robin is lying still on the ground, bleeding from his side. Nightwing is heaving in breaths as he nurses his broken ribs. Batman’s the only one standing but his cowl is ripped, his hair sticking out, and his kevlar suit is grazed from the hail of gunfire. While the Red Hood, well. He just stopped. He’s just standing there, staring into space.

    The standstill lasts for a while, giving Bruce time to glance at his partners and assess the situation. Tim needs medical attention ASAP. Nightwing can no longer fight and he’s out of supplies and soon out of moves. This new player seems to have a counter for every single one of their maneuvers. Batman needs to think outside of the box.

    But before he does, Red Hood finally moves. He drops his stance and puts a finger to his ear. He listens. Batman narrows his eyes at him until he’s moving again. This time, he slowly retreats into the shadow. “Checked in with your base lately?” he mocks.

    Batman doesn’t follow him. “Y/N,” he whispers into the comms. No answer. Nightwing slowly stands up and helps Bruce carry Tim back to the batmobile. Their drive back is noisy with Nightwing constantly trying to call you but only getting static, all while closing Tim’s wounds as best he can.

    “Have you checked the manor’s security?”

    “Offline.”

    “What about Alfred?” he asks, almost afraid to hear the answer. Bruce doesn’t give him one at all and only accelerates. Nightwing leans back and prepares himself for the worst thing they could probably come home to.

    The direct entrance to the cave is blasted open. But this doesn’t stop Bruce from driving through the debris. In fact, it made him drive faster. Once inside, everything has been visibly looted and the infrastructure mostly destroyed, but it’s silent. There’s no one there.

    “Stay here,” Bruce orders and closes the door before Dick could say anything. He uses his grappling hook to get up the tunnel of the busted shaft. The moment he’s up there, the grandfather clock is wide open, and he can see bodies on the floor of the study.

    “No…”

    Alfred is crying on the floor trying to make his body seem as small as possible. He’s holding his head between his knees and rocking forward. A foot away from him, you’re lying on the floor. Your whole body is shuddering and your eyes are wide open, empty gaze fixed at the empty ceiling. “Y/N,” When Bruce’s face enters your vision, you scream.

    The Red Hood hears the shrill ringing of your voice inside his head. Satisfied that he knows Bruce is there, he turns off his senses and looks back at Scarecrow and his crew who are bringing in their loot from the cave.

    “You were right,” Scarecrow tells him, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. “Somebody opened the door for us like you said they would.”

    The Red Hood inspected the boxes and what’s inside them. Supplies of everything in Batman’s armory and utility belt. Even spare kevlar suits and cowls.

    He needed some for himself and the rest to bribe Gotham’s crime lords. But the big players like Scarecrow, Dent, Penguin, Black Mask and Bane, they needed proof that he’s got the Bat under his thumb and the cave was just the first step.

     But was it worth it? Was it worth endangering you and Alfred just to get them on his side? Or is he just turning into Talia and her father?

    “So. Which one of them is Batma--”

    A gunshot rings loudly in the warehouse, catching the attention of his men. They watched as Scarecrow’s body hits the floor with a hole in his eye. Jason turns to them. “When I give instructions, you follow them to the T.”

    “Are you insane? We got everything like you said, and the Bat wasn’t there.”

    “That’s because I was distracting him. I lost more ammo and get-aways than I had to because you decided to mess around and waste time!”

    “It was all Scarecrow. He--”

    The Red Hood aims his gun at his forehead. “He’s dead,” he says. The man almost whimpers until Red Hood finally takes back his gun. “I’m in charge now and what I say is law.” He watches as the men scramble back to what they were doing.

    He stands on the sides, clenching and unclenching his fist. He can still see the images of your nightmare. He didn’t realize you knew so much about his death. It was so vivid, it was like he was reliving it.

✧ ✧ ✧

    “You think this job was the new player?”

    You wake up to the sound of Dick’s voice. You almost want to groan because Dick can probably wake up the dead. But you keep your eyes closed, preparing yourself for the questions about how you were attacked.

    “Then that changes everything, doesn’t it? He knows where the cave is. He probably knows who you are-- who we are.”

    “We’re not sure,” Bruce answers him, “There were several home invasions in the area at the same time last night. There’s a chance it was unintentional.”

    “Do you really believe that? That Scarecrow would bring his toxins to a home invasion-- Enough fear toxin to kill a crowd--”

    “God, Dick!” Tim’s voice reaches you from your other side. “You’re so loud! Why are you even debriefing in a hospital room?”

    “Yeah,” you open your eyes now, just in time to see Bruce and Dick stand up, relief washing over their faces, “Some people are dying here.” You sit up, only to find out that your body feels like it had been run over by a truck. You slump back down but then you notice another person in the bed across from you. “Alfred?” you call out.

    Dick shakes his head, “There were a lot more toxins in his body and he was exposed to it longer. Dr. Jace is still trying to flush everything out.” He gives you a reassuring smile, “But he’ll be okay.”

    You immediately feel guilty, “I should’ve checked on him sooner!” Then you remember the voice you heard when you opened the door. “No… I’m the one who led them into the cave. I opened the clock and they were waiting for me.”

    “This isn’t your fault, Y/N.” Tim’s voice steals your gaze and you’re surprised to find him glaring at you from beside Alfred. His torso’s heavily bandaged and he narrows his eyes, “Stop doing that. Stop carrying everything on your shoulders like you’re alone in this. You’re not.”

    Slowly, you look away from Tim. The sudden tension in the room only increasing. He’s right. You’re doing it again. But it was your access that led them there to the base and possibly their identities. “What did they do in the cave?”

    “They destroyed it,” Bruce answers and you clench your fist on your lap. Gently, he covers them with his hand, “We’ve got another safe house set up. Once Alfred wakes up, we’ll be staying there.”

    “Until when?” Tim asks.

    “Until we catch that son of a bitch.” You’re surprised to hear Dick swear and sound serious. You can’t help but laugh and it lightens the mood just enough. “What? What did I do?” he asks frantically. 

    It’s nighttime by the time Alfred wakes up, disorientated, in pain, and downright cranky. He made sure to give Bruce an earful as they relocated to your new base of operations. Alfred’s voice got even louder when Bruce started putting on a new suit.

    “Master Bruce, I beg of you. Take one night off--”

    “One night is all it takes, Alfred, for somebody else to die out there--”

    “Then for once let them!” You’re all surprised to hear Alfred shout, “For once. Worry more about yourself. Your children. Your own family.”

    You, Tim, and Dick watch awkwardly from the sidelines. Bruce stares at Alfred but he doesn’t put the cowl down.

    “This is how I protect my family.”

    Bruce walks away from Alfred who leans against the wall in exhaustion. Dick catches him quickly, “Okay. Here. Let’s get you to bed. Nice and easy.”

    “Master Richard, remember that I once tended to your scrapes and cuts when you were a mere schoolboy. So don’t treat me like I’m a child.”

    Dick chuckles, “Look out, Y/N. Someone’s trying to give you a run for your money.”

    As if only now remembering, Alfred quickly turns to you, “Are you alright?”

    You smile and nod. “Just a nightmare,” you say and Alfred doesn’t return your smile. He knows how bad ‘just a nightmare’ can be. You watch as Dick takes him to one of the rooms and comes out soon after, proving that Alfred was more tired than he had let on.

    “Tim, watch the comms and feeds.”

    “What?” you and Tim say at the same time. “You’re not going out there, too, are you?” Tim says.

    “Bruce is out there on his own. Hot Blooded. We both know that’s not his best mood on the job. I’m just ground support.”

    “You’re both trying to get killed tonight!” you shout, suddenly standing.

    Dick doesn’t laugh. He doesn’t stop to look at you. He walks out of the safehouse without another word. Tim stands and you quickly glare at him.

    “Calm down, Y/N. I’m just going to tune in to their video feed and comms.”

    You plop down on the couch and wait for Tim to turn on the laptop. You watch as he connects to their private network and hooks it up to the TV. The first thing you see are Batman driving in his batmobile and Dick on his motorcycle.

    “I should’ve threatened to break his ribs,” you mutter, making Tim chuckle.

    “That still wouldn’t have held him back. Take a page from Alfred’s book and break both his kneecaps.”

    “Did he really do that?”

    Tim just smiles to himself. You glare at him because you’re getting a little sick of all the non-answers. It seems to be a habit every Robin picks up from Bruce.

    As you wait and watch the two vigilantes go through Gotham, your body starts reliving random sensations of being hit and battered. You clench and unclench your fists as you imagine the crowbar hammering down on your fingertips.

    “Have you ever been hit with the fear toxin?” you ask quietly, almost not wanting Tim to answer. “Am I supposed to feel all of that… physical torture. Even after the toxins worn off?”

    Tim shrugs his shoulders, “Mind over matter, Y/N.”

    You huff in frustration. You get it, he’s still mad. But does he have to be an ass at this very moment? You both just went through hell and could have died.

    You sigh as you realize that you and Alfred could have died, and Tim is out of commission with a stab wound on his side. He’s not being distant, he’s focused. It’s the only way he knows how to cope.

    Tim suddenly sits upright and watches his computer intently. You look at the TV and see Batman engaged in a fight with someone in a red helmet.

    “It’s the new player,” Tim answers you without having to ask. “Heard someone call him the Red Hood.”

    “Put it on speaker.”

    “--haven’t changed at all,” his voice is distorted because of the full-face helmet he was wearing. But your body reacts to it almost like it’s familiar.

    “How does it feel to lose your cave? Your home?”

    Tim grunts, “So he does know.”

    You try to tune out Tim, tune out everything in the room, and focus solely on the voice that’s suddenly making your body more attuned to your link’s sense.

    “Seeing them badly injured, left for dead. I bet it made you so angry and you just want to kill whoever’s responsible!”

    You’re shaking your head. You know that voice. Slowly, afraid to be right, you close your eyes and numb yourself to your own senses. If it is him, and he’s fighting Bruce right now, then he won’t expect you. He won’t--

    You feel the weight of Batman’s fist hit the side of your face. Your eyes quickly open in time to see him stagger away from Batman. It’s him.

    “Nightwing, turn left. Batman and-- Y/N! Where are you going?”

    You’re already grabbing your phone and heading for the door. Tim blocks your path. “Move, Tim.”

    He narrows his eyes at you, “Where are you going?” he asks again.

    “Out. Now move.”

    “No way, Y/N.”

    You glare at him. From your peripherals you see Batman kick Jason in the chest and you lean on the back of the couch to hide the pain. It’s definitely him. If Tim finds out and he figures out that you’re going to meet him, he’ll tell Bruce.

    “Y/N--” distracted by your sudden movement, you quickly press against Tim’s wound, “AH!” opening it again and you can see him bleeding through the bandage.

    “I’m sorry, Tim,” you rush out and leave him behind, slamming the door behind you.

    Where are you headed?

    You run a couple of blocks before you hide in an alley and close your eyes. You’re immediately met with a piercing sensation on the back of your hand. You feel Jason take out what was lodged and blood oozes down from your new wound. Then the muscles on your legs are extending and retracting, he’s running away.

    This is the hard part but you have to get this right. You grew up in these streets. You know Gotham about as much as you know Jason. You pay attention to the smell, the noise, and the direction of the wind because you need to know exactly where Jason is running off to.

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✧ Watchtower Masterlist ✧

[taetaesbaebaepsae]

Reckless

A/n: This is technically set in the Love Me Less universe, which can be found on my Patreon, but it works as a standalone mafia au! As always, dedicating this to @illneverrecover​​ because Jaekhyun forever

Summary: You’re sitting on the ice cream freezer in ripped fishnets and cut-offs, and Baekhyun is looking for the shopkeep with a baseball bat. You’re not afraid, and for the first time in his life, he’s not bored.

Warnings: mafia violence but it’s not too much, oral (f. receiving), unprotected sex, some dirty talk, vaginal fingering

Word Count: 1691

When Baekhyun had joined the Kim family crime syndicate, it'd been for the same reason he did most things: he was bored.

His whole life, when things were going along great, he started feeling this pull in his gut, this restlessness that he couldn't shake.

So when Junmyeon had approached him at The Dirty Dozen, he'd said yes right away.

He thought it'd go away, that pull, that restless streak, since his life was dodging bullets and enforcing debts, but if anything, it got worse.

The plus of being involved with a crime syndicate is that he can do stupid reckless shit and get away with it.

He's walking around the corner store with a baseball bat, looking for the owner who owed a few million won to the family, when he hears your voice.

"This supposed to be intimidating or something?"

He looks over and you're sitting on the ice cream freezer in ripped fishnets and cutoffs and he pops the lollipop out of his mouth to smirk at you.

"You don't look easily intimidated."

You shrug, taking a long lick off the rocket pop in your hand, and he raises an eyebrow.

"You should probably get out of here, cutie. Things are about to get dangerous."

You suck on just the tip of the ice cream, blinking innocently, and suddenly that pull in his gut seems to be leading straight to you.

Baekhyun clears his throat, and that's when the shopkeep makes a break for it, knocking over a display of cans.

Baekhyun curses low in his throat and swings the bat, hitting the shopkeep's forearm with a satisfying crack.

You don't make a sound, just lift up your legs to avoid the man when he falls.

You're interesting, to say the least, but he's on the clock, as it were, so he pops the lollipop back in his mouth and crouches down.

"How much you got in the till?"

The owner is crying and cursing and not fucking listening so Baekhyun takes his chin in his hand, squeezing hard, and the man whimpers.

"Ah, maybe 250,000 won, I don't know-"

Baekhyun tsks. "Hope you've got more in the bank, ahjussi. They send me when they wanna go easy on someone, you know. You don't want to end up dealing with The Mastiff, do you?"

The shopkeep shakes his head and Baekhyun nods, satisfied.

"I'm taking the till, and maybe I'll talk Junmyeon into giving you the week to get the rest." Baekhyun looks up at you and grins a little. "The lady's ice cream is on the house, yeah? And anything else she wants."

The shopkeep fumbles to give Baekhyun the keys to the till and you roll your eyes and hop off the freezer.

"Already paid for it, idiot."

You trail toward the back of the store and by the time Baekhyun comes back with the money stuffed in his jacket pocket, draping the bat over his shoulders and resting his wrists over it, you're making some kind of makeshift splint for the shopkeep's arm.

Baekhyun watches for a moment, then props the bat up against the freezer as the shopkeep stands, thanking you and giving Baekhyun a wide berth.

"Done that before?" He asks.

You stand up and toss the popsicle stick into the wastebasket. "Used to be a nurse. I do all kinds of things."

Baekhyun smirks at you, bouncing on his heels a bit, that restless pull seeming stronger than ever.

"How about you let me buy you another ice cream at that shop down the street, cutie?"

You scrunch up your nose and it does things to his heart when you loop your arm through his. "Yeah, but don't call me cutie. The name is Y/n."

That's how it starts, your nonchalance and sharp tongue and by the end of the night he's tasting the chocolate on your tongue at your front door with the bat discarded in the backseat of his car.

Over the coming weeks Baekhyun comes to realize all the excitement he's been longing for his whole life isn't in his job but wrapped up in a compact little package with curves in all the right places, a quick wit and the brightest eyes.

That pull in his gut feels more and more like longing and he makes excuses to stay with you long into the night.

Finally, one night with you sitting in his lap, his mouth on your shoulder and his arms wrapped tight around your middle, he calls your name softly.

"Hmm?" You murmur sleepily, and it almost hurts, how he can't get you close enough, how he's wrapped around you but it isn't enough because all he can think about is how he'll have to leave.

"I wanna offer you a job."

You scoff, twist your head to look at him. "You finally gonna start paying me for blowjobs?"

"I couldn't afford you," he says solemnly and your laugh makes his heart swell.

"Damn straight."

"No, I mean...you could work for us. Sometimes the guys need patching up, and I could talk the boss into having someone experienced on hand."

You seem to consider for a moment. "What do you mean on hand?"

Baekhyun hums against your shoulder, suddenly nervous.

"Well, you...you could stay in the mansion. Plenty of rooms, free rent and food...and of course you'd get paid well."

"Could I stay in your room?"

Baekhyun smiles so wide his cheeks hurt but hides it against your skin.

"I mean, I guess. Needy girl."

You twist in his arms to face him, smirking.

"You just want me in your bed."

"Every night," he breathes, unable to keep up an act with those bright eyes looking into his.

You kiss him then and he moans into your mouth, grabs at your ass but you jump up with a giggle.

He all but growls at you and your eyes are flashing mischievously when you dart into the bedroom with him chasing after you.

He catches up with you in the hallway, presses you against the wall with his body from behind, slides his hand up the leg of your pajama shorts, grabbing your ass before trailing his fingers through your pussy, letting out a long breath against your neck.

You gasp and push back against his fingers.

"Do it," he murmurs, nipping at your neck. "Move in with me. I wanna do this every night."

"Don't you wish." You retort.

"I do," he admits, finding your clit with his forefinger, rutting against your ass and sucking a mark onto your neck when you moan. "C'mon, cutie. You want to, yeah?"

"Want to what? Fuck? Yes."

Baekhyun groans and laughs. "You always want to fuck. I mean move in with me."

He slips a finger into you, feeling almost dizzy with lust when you pulse around him.

"It's not fair to ask me when you've got your fingers inside me, you know."

He removes his hand, takes a step back and you whine and spin to face him, wrapping your arms around his neck.

"I didn't mean stop!"

You pull him down to kiss him, hard and hungry and the next thing he knows you're tugging him into the bedroom, shimmying out of your pajama shorts, stripping off your top.

You're bare underneath and he sighs, taking you in, watching you as you lie back on the bed, beckon him with two fingers.

"You little minx. Succubus," he mutters, but he climbs onto the bed, takes a nipple into his mouth, slides down to dip his tongue into your bellybutton.

You arch your back when he settles between your legs, resisting the urge to buck against the mattress. He places soft kisses on each of your inner thighs.

"Move in with me," he says again, firmly.

You don't answer, just bring your knees up so that your cunt is spread open at his face and he groans low in his throat.

He uses his hands to spread your lips, laps quickly at your clit, once, twice, stifling a moan at how good you taste.

You huff out a frustrated breath when he stops.

"Move in with me, cutie." He says softly, almost asking this time. "Please."

"If I say yes, will you stop calling me cutie?"

He grins, hiding his face against your thigh.

"Y/n, I'll call you anything you want if you say yes."

"Fine. Yes. Now will you quit being a tease?" You arch your back, bringing your pussy closer to his face and he laughs before he puts his mouth on you, sucking your clit between his lips.

He makes you cum twice with his mouth and his fingers before he can't take it anymore, so hard in his slacks that he's straining against his zipper.

It's the only time it stops, that pull in his gut, when he's buried to the hilt inside you.

"I'll be so good to you, jagi. Make you cum ten times a night-"

You silence him with your mouth, laughing. "Big talker."

He stills inside you, kisses along your jaw. "Come home with me tonight. I'll show you."

You murmur an agreement and he fucks you hard and fast, kissing all over your face, until you're gasping beneath him and he slows, grinding his pelvis against your clit.

He kisses you when you cum again, moaning into his mouth, and it sends him over the edge too.

He only takes a few moments to catch his breath before he's up and arranging his clothes with you smiling lazily at him from the bed.

"What do you want to pack?" He asks nonchalantly, and you give him a quizzical look.

"You weren't serious."

"You said you would!" He whines, pouting at you.

That's how it goes, with the two of you, it's fast and reckless and it's the only thing that makes him feel at home, like he isn't just waiting on the next part of his life to start.

When things get ugly, when things get hard, he thinks back to the start and thinks he should have known how it would end from how it began.

[stanbillyhargrove]

Ghosts Chp 3

Billy x Katrina

A/N: this is a multi chapter series that will contain smut, angst, fluff, substance abuse

Billy's POV

"Steve, I think she cursed me."

I had rushed to Steve's apartment as soon as I left Katrina's. Rushed to tell him about breakfast and the text she'd sent me. He was barely containing his laughter behind his fist and was looking at me like I'd lost my mind.

Steve cleared his throat, taking a deep breath before asking, "you think she's a witch based on the fact that you can't cook?" He snickered a little, "and why would she curse you? So she can make you breakfast and give you a plant?"

I narrowed my eyes at him, "but she knew! She predicted it!"

"Or," he smirked, "you happened to burn your food the same day she sent you a random text. I mean, you can't cook for shit, Billy."

"Fuck you, Steve."

-- May

After the breakfast fiasco I'd been a little nervous around Katrina. She hadn't sent me any more weird texts but I didn't know what to do after that, was she psychic? Or trying to curse me? I could hear her talking sometimes, arguing with someone before slamming her door and disappearing for anywhere from a couple hours to a couple days. The past few days though had been quiet, I could hear her moving around her apartment but no voices. I almost turned away from our building's laundry room when I saw her, but I was curious and she saw me before I could turn around.

"Hey, you," she mumbled.

Katrina looked like she hadn't slept in days, she had last nights makeup still smeared under her eyes making them look even more sunken. Her now black and red hair was pulled up messily, sticking out in all directions like she hadn't bothered to brush it. She was wearing shorts that showed just the smallest hint of her ass with her knees tucked up under her chin. Damnit, she might be crazy or a witch or whatever but she's so fucking hot.

"Hey, Katrina. Haven't seen you in a while."

She hummed, "I've been around, just hiding."

"Hiding from whoever you keep arguing with?"

She smiled and tapped on her nose. I started one of the washing machines and leaned against it to watch her.

"Who is it? That you keep arguing with? Shitty ex boyfriend who won't leave you alone?"

She laughed a little, "she was my fiance actually."

"Oh, wow...so you're a lesbian? Cool, cool, cool...is that why you moved here? To get away from her?"

Katrina slid her legs down to the ground and I tried not to look at the way the leg of her shorts hung open, revealing too much.

"I'm bi actually. And yeah, tried to escape my old life..followed me though."

"Well, if you need someone to distract you for a while, you could call me."

She smirked, sidled up to me and got close, so fucking close and purred, "yeah? You gunna come to my rescue, pretty boy? Show me a good time to distract me from my past?"

I could feel my cock thickening in my sweatpants as her hand slid up my arm and willed myself to stay in control.

I swallowed hard and choked out, "if that's what you want."

Fuck, why does she make me so nervous?

A lazy smile stretched across her face and she moved away just as one of the dryers started to chime. I swear, she made a show of bending over to pull her clothes into a basket. Katrina was faced away from me so I could see her ass stretch out from under her shorts as she bent down, I wanted to sink my teeth into her, leave bite marks hidden among her black tattoos. I had to adjust myself quickly to hide my boner before she turned around.

Katrina turned to look me up and down, "come and find me when your...load is done."

Oh jesus, this girl is trouble.

--

"Fuck," I growled against her lips.

I'd practically run up to my apartment as soon as my laundry was finished and realized that Katrina was nowhere to be found. I spent the rest of the afternoon sitting in my apartment, growing increasingly more pissed off until I decided to go out in search of someone to take my frustration out on. Brought some bubblegum blonde, Tiffany or some shit I couldn't remember, home late at night, both of us very intoxicated.

We wasted no time getting into my apartment and ripping each other's clothes off and now I had her pressed up against the wall, my hands gripping her ass tight to hold her up. Her smooth legs wrapped around my hips, keeping us close together as I thrust up into her wet heat.

The girl's one hand was twisted in my hair, the other digging into my shoulder almost painfully. She gave a breathy laugh before pulling our mouths together for a sloppy kiss. A hard pull on my hair had me moaning against her and I reciprocated by thrusting into her as hard as I could, which earned me a gasp. She started to pull her head back but I caught her bottom lip in my teeth before she could go too far. When I finally let her go she buried her head against my neck, whining loudly.

"Yes, Billy, please," she moaned.

"Fuck," I groaned, thrusting harder as I felt my orgasm approaching.

It didn't take long before she bit down on my shoulder, her body tensing as she cried out. I continued my pace through her orgasm, feeling her walls pulse around me and finally let go when she started to come down, thrusting hard as I filled her.

We stayed there for a moment, catching our breath before I slowly let her down. There was no softness after, she just started to collect her clothes on shaking legs. The usual routine for my hook ups, a quick fuck before stumbling home. My dick twitched when I watched her bend over to pick up her underwear. I could see my cum leaking out from her pink, swollen lips and licked my lips as I stepped forward to grab her hips. Maybe I can get her to stay a while longer.

She giggled and pulled away from me, "I should really get going."

Was it that I wanted her to stay or was it that I was still angry that the girl I really wanted to fuck had ditched me? I was pretty sure I knew the answer, so I decided not to think about it too much and let her leave as I grabbed another beer out of the fridge.

No matter how spent I was, the thought of Katrina's ass stretching out of her shorts, still had me frustrated and horny like a fucking teenager. After tossing and turning in bed for a while, I settled on taking an icy shower to try to calm myself before going to sleep.

--

"Hey! Wakey, wakey, Billy!"

I woke up in the morning to the sound of voices in my apartment and reluctantly rolled out of bed to investigate.

Found Katrina and Steve huddled on my couch laughing and devouring breakfast sandwiches with three coffee cups on the table.

"What the fuck is going on?" I grumbled.

Steve looked at me innocently, "there he is! Katrina texted me for breakfast."

I stared at him humbly for a second, "Katrina texted you for breakfast...at my apartment?"

"Well she said you had a late night visitor so we thought we'd be nice and bring breakfast to you."

Katrina was trying and failing to stifle her laughter when I glared at them.

"I hate you," I mumbled, joining them on the couch and digging into a greasy sandwich.

Katrina wiggled her eyebrows at me, "so...?"

"So what?" I asked around a mouthful of egg.

"Where is she?"

"Gone," I snapped.

"Oh, Billy, did you not do good enough for her to stay?" Steve joked.

I scowled, they're having too much fucking fun with this.

Katrina kept the joke rolling with, "what happened, big guy? Pop too soon? Wait...was that like, your...no way!" She looked at Steve, fake surprise on her face, "he popped his cherry!"

They collapsed into a fit of giggles before Katrina looked back at me, "now you have to marry her!"

"I hate you both," I grumbled, "get out."

Steve shook his head, "no way! We're hanging out all day, already made the plans!"

"I really need new friends."

--

Their plans consisted of touring around New York and doing stupid shit like mini golfing. It took hours before Steve left to go to the bathroom and I was left alone with Katrina for a minute.

"Where did you go yesterday?" I asked, trying not to sound pissed.

She turned and gave me a look. Batted her fucking bedroom eyes at me.

"You were taking too long, with your...load. I went to Steve's instead. No hard feelings right?"

I heard Steve coming back before I could think of a reply, before I could growl out a threat to take her right then and there. Spent the rest of the afternoon pissed at both of them until we made our way back to our apartments where they sprung more plans on me.

"Get ready, pretty boy we're going out!"

I groaned, "do we have to? Aren't you guys tired?"

I knew Steve always had tons of energy but I was surprised that Katrina was still wanting to go out. Yesterday when I saw her she looked like she hadn't slept in days. She did seem better today though, more energized.

"Come on, Billy," Katrina whined, "we wanna go out and have fun."

Steve let her try to convince me, knowing that she had a better chance than he did. And she did have a better chance, cause as soon as she fluttered her big green eyes at me I knew I was going out tonight.

--

Katrina's hips swayed hypnotically to the pounding music in the club. Unfortunately though, they weren't swaying against me, they were against another girl's instead. I was leaning against the bar, nursing a drink and trying not to drool over the way her tiny black dress was riding up her thighs. We'd been here for a couple hours and even though I'd been approached by a couple girls, I couldn't focus on anything but Katrina.

"Hey man," Steve called over the music, "how you doing?"

I locked eyes with Katrina over his shoulder, watched her pull her lip between her teeth as she danced.

"I think I'm gunna go home."

Steve looked over at her and waved, "yeah, me too. Gotta get some sleep before work."

@charmed-asylum @champagnesugamama

[hermannsthumb]

If your'e still taking prompts the one from the halloween list: "we’re secret friends with benefits and you accidentally wore my shirt to to the party so you’re pretending you came as me and it turns out your impression of me is on point and you know me better than you know myself are you sure you’re not in love with me??" seems like such a good newmann one. love your writing :)

from list of halloween prompts here

this one is literally so fucking good for them. god. GOD. theres like the tiniest bit alluded to not sfw in the beginning (after the making out) but after that its fair game

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

“Ngh,” Newt says. “Keep doing that.”

“Hmm?” Hermann says. He drags his mouth up from Newt’s collarbone, eyes dark, pupils wide, mouth curled into a lazy smile. Almost coquettish.

Newt blinks down at him blearily. And with a little poorly-concealed irritation. “I said keep doing that,” he says. “Not stop doing that.” He gives Hermann’s head a nudge. A tiny gentle one. He’s eager, he can’t help it; Hermann always gets him all eager and hot and bothered. He doesn’t think he’ll mind. “C’mon, baby, c’mon--”

It’s a mistake. Hermann minds: his demeanor changes in an instant, like Newt flipped a light switch that was clearly labeled with a do not touch! in masking tape and Sharpie. (Shit, Newt thinks.) “Don’t,” Hermann snaps, and swats at Newt. “You know I can’t stand it when you pull--”

“I’m not pulling your hair!” Newt says. He drops his hand away and holds it high above his own head just to make his point. “I swear. I was just trying--”

Hermann rolls off of him and onto his back, huffing, arms folding across his bare chest. Lacking any better ideas, Newt follows him. “Aw, Hermann,” he says, “don’t be like that.” He presses kisses to Hermann’s jaw, his chin, the corner of his mouth. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to--”

“Unhand me at once,” Hermann mumbles. Newt kisses his cheeks, his mouth. Hermann kisses back. His hand slides up to cup the back of Newt’s neck. “Wretched little man,” he continues to mumble. “Ah.”

“There we go, Hermann,” Newt says, grinning against his lips, and adds, sarcastically (because it always makes Hermann laugh), with a little nip of teeth, “There’s my Hermy-wermy.”

Hermann makes a face. “You know I can’t stand that either.”

“Really?” Newt murmurs. He tiptoes his hand down Hermann’s chest, down to the waistband of his ugly slacks, the open zipper; his grin spreads wider. “Because I think,” he starts to tug Hermann’s slacks down, “your hermy-wermy would say otherw--”

There’s a knock at the door.

Mood ruined, and all of Newt’s hard work getting Hermann game to go again ruined, too, Newt slides his hand back to safe territory and lets out a colorful stream of profanity. Hermann wrinkles his nose beneath him. Whatever, he curses just as much as Newt. “Fuck,” Newt finishes. “Who the hell is that?”

Hermann pushes him off and sits up with a grunt. “We’ve probably got a damned laboratory meeting we forgot about,” he says, “because someone couldn’t keep it in his Hot Topic skinny jeans long enough to wait until we clocked out for the night.”

“They’re not from Hot Topic,” Newt says. He pauses. “How do you even know what Hot Topic is, anyway?”

“I’ve seen the label on them,” Hermann says. There’s another knock. Hermann sighs, and makes to slip out of bed. “If you won’t get it, Newton, I will.”

Newt drags him back down quickly. “What are you doing?” he hisses. “Get back here! You are not answering my door looking like--” He plucks at the elastic of Hermann’s tighty-whiteys peeking out, pokes at the hickey purpling on his neck. “--this. Or at all, actually, how suspicious would that look? This is my bedroom.”

“We’re colleagues,” Hermann says with a sniff. “It’s perfectly natural for us to--er--consort. Outside of work. For all they know we’re talking about work.”

“In our underwear?” Newt says, and points out, “It’s not really natural for colleagues to screw each other as much as we do.”

Hermann flushes. “No one would be able to tell--”

To be completely honest, Newt really, really doesn’t care whether or not people know he and Hermann are--uh--rivals with benefits, but Hermann is always so weird about privacy, and Newt supposes it’s a little bit of a cliche to sleep with a co-worker, so he takes one for the team. “Jesus, Hermann, I’ll get the door,” he says. He swings his legs to the floor and does his jeans back up, then grabs the first shirt he can find and pulls that on too. “Just sit there and look pretty.”

Newt learns two things in the course of squeezing his head out the door and talking to a mildly intoxicated LOCCENT worker: one, that the guy was sent by Tendo to remind them about the super awesome spectacular Halloween party going on down the hallway right his second, and two, that Newt and Hermann were invited to this Halloween party, apparently agreed enthusiastically to coming to it a week ago, and if Newt doesn’t find Hermann and show up with him in ten minutes, Tendo is totally never speaking to them or inviting them to another awesome party ever again. Newt learns a third thing once he and Hermann toss on the rest of their clothing, smooth out their hair a little, and hurry down the hallway to where the party is being held within those allotted ten minutes: he’s accidentally put on Hermann’s shirt. A fourth: Hermann’s accidentally put on his.

Before Hermann can waltz in through the door and raise questions (because his buttons are straining obviously under his low-cut button-up sweatervest, kaiju blood stains a spot just under the lapel, and Newt’s swimming in Hermann’s sleeves and has got a fucking pocket protector in), Newt drags him off to the side and shoves him against a deserted wall to explain their predicament.

“We have to change,” Hermann declares immediately. “We can’t be seen--”

“No, look,” Newt says. He’s quickly formulating a plan. They won’t be able to swap pants, obviously, but-- “Take off your blazer and sweater.”

Hermann frowns. He tucks his blazer tighter around himself. “No,” he says. 

“Take them off, jackass!” Newt orders, ripping his own tie off from around his head and starting to kick off his boots. “And your shoes. Look, it’s a Halloween party, right? People dress up for Halloween parties. Let’s just say we’re going as each other, everyone will get a huge kick out of it, no one finds out we’re, you know.” He adjusts his left index finger and thumb into a small circle, and pokes his right index finger through it a few times with bonus sound effects. “Rendezvousing. Platonically. Your public image is saved.” 

“No,” Hermann repeats, though he flushes. “I am not wearing your disgusting boots.”

Patience running very, very thin, Newt corners him closer against the wall. Not very successfully: Hermann does, after all, have several inches on him. Newt has to glare up at him. “So help me God, Hermann,” he says through gritted teeth, “if you don’t give me your blazer right now, you can find some other horny bozo to--”

“Fine!” Hermann says quickly. He yanks the skinny tie from Newt’s hands. “If you spill anything on--”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.”

After a hurried exchange of accessories which leaves Newt looking like an exceptionally short and baggy Hermann, and Hermann like Newt if he wore contacts and enjoyed attacking his hair with scissors, they waltz into the party together. Newt’s actually pretty pleased with how their costumes turned out, all things considered--Hermann even consented to having Newt draw shitty approximations of his tattoos on Hermann’s arms with a marker they found in Hermann’s pocket.

Everyone at the party gets a total kick out of it, too, which is the best part--especially when Newt decides to toss in some quality Hermann Impressions. 

“Newton,” he grumbles, poshly, hands on his hips, "quiet down right this instant.” That gets a few laughs. “You know I can’t stand it when you have fun.”

More laughs; Hermann, nursing a drink, looks only the vaguest bit amused. “Very funny,” he says. “My turn, now.” He shrinks in on himself in a way that makes him look just a bit shorter, and clears his throat: the voice that comes out next is so high-pitched, so scratchy, so fast, so--uncomfortably Newt that Newt nearly drops his own drink in shock. Especially once Hermann tosses in equally uncomfortably Newt hand gestures. “I’m going to do something ill-advised and dangerous to prove I’m right and give Hermann a stroke,” he declares. “Don’t you just love kaiju? They’re so cool.”

“I’ve never said I loved kaiju,” Newt says, but he’s grinning. 

“They’re so cool,” Hermann repeats. “Do you like my tattoos? You know I have a Doctor Who one on my--?”

“Dude!” Newt hisses. He was eighteen, okay? Anyway, that’s not the kind of private, personal information that Hermann should be sharing if he wants to even remotely pretend they don’t get up to hijinks in the lab after hours. 

“Dude!” Hermann echoes, perfectly.

The little crowd of their co-workers laugh. (Louder laughs than any of Newt’s impressions got.) Newt laughs, too, despite his embarrassment. And despite something beyond embarrassment, something he can’t quite put his finger on--it’s making his heart race, his palms sweat. Hermann sure must, well, know him to get him down like that, obvious comical exaggeration aside. (Or maybe it’s just because Newt talks a lot.)

“Ha, ha,” Newt says. “Okay, you win.”

“Thanks, dude,” Hermann squeaks in his Newt-voice. He winks. 

Newt corners him at the snack table crammed into the far back of the room later, while Hermann is--innocently--scooping some bat-shaped pretzels onto a plate with a large plastic spoon. Newt makes his presence known by stealing a handful and swallowing down half of them. “Gotta say, dude,” he teases, “I’m a good look on you.”

“Of course you’d think that, you narcissist,” Hermann says, but he’s smiling. He swipes a few pretzels back. “Get your own. The bowl is right there.”

Newt steals another from Hermann’s plate. “It’s a crying shame you didn’t borrow my jeans, too,” he says. “I bet you could rock ‘em.”

“Mm, I highly doubt that.”

“You absolutely could,” Newt says. He glances around to make sure no one’s looking, and quickly darts his hand out to pinch Hermann’s ass. Hermann drops the spoon back into the pretzel bowl in surprise. “Though I guess there’s not much to fill them out--”

“You’re a wretched little man,” Hermann says, for the second time that day. The guy really needs some new insults.

“Your voice was really fucking good, by the way,” Newt says, casually, as they lurk in a different corner (lit up with a blacklight) a few minutes later. He’s finally gotten his own plate of food, though he keeps stealing from Hermann’s anyway. “Your Newt voice, I mean. And the--” He waves his hands around. “Do you practice it a lot?”

This pulls a snort from Hermann. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

“How’s it so good, then?” Newt pushes, and Hermann shifts, clearly uncomfortable.

“Oh, I don’t know,” he says. “I suppose I just--pay attention to you.”

Newt cracks a grin, and bumps his elbow against Hermann’s side. “I would kinda hope so.”

“Not like--” Hermann sighs; Newt shuts up fast. (Hermann’s moments of emotional candidness are very, very rare: the most he’s ever done after a fun romp in the sack, beyond leaving immediately, is pat Newt’s hand and say thank you, Newton.) “What I mean to say is that I am...fond of you. Fonder than I am of anyone else. And I watch you, occasionally, because I am fond of you, and notice small things about you--your speech patterns, how you carry yourself...”

That’s, well--it’s certainly candid, and unexpected, and good, of course, to know that Hermann like-likes him, but it’s also a little-- “That’s kinda creepy, Hermann,” Newt says. “You watch me?”

“That’s not--” Hermann stammers, and it turns into a quiet groan. “Oh, I’ve fouled this up. Newton--”

Newt saves him by stretching up on his tiptoes and planting a firm kiss on his mouth. Completely chaste. Devoid of any dirty intentions, like all of their previous kisses have been, like what they’re used to. Just a simple little kiss. It takes Hermann aback: Newt can feel him freeze up before he returns it tentatively.

It’s over in seconds. Newt pulls back and pats Hermann’s cheek. “I know what you mean,” he says. “I feel exactly the same way.” Then his grin returns. “I mean, I don’t watch you like a creep or anything--”

“Shut up,” Hermann says, pink-faced and very pleased.

[hazelnmae]

Lies Travel Faster: Chapter One

Summary: Sophia Murphy's life seems to be on the upswing when she takes a job with Birmingham's notorious Shelby Company Ltd. But when she falls for her boss, CEO and ruthless gangster, Tommy Shelby, she finds herself wrapped up in a tangled web of danger and deceit. After all, lies travel faster than the truth.

Tags: Tommy Shelby x Original Female Character; Tommy/Assistant Trope (it’s a hill I’ll die on)

Warnings: angst; smut (in future chapters); violence; language; rape/non-con; death

CHAPTER 1

“God, he doesn’t really sound like that, does he?” She asked. But John just kept up the imitation, trying his best not to crack a smile. With a deep voice and with narrowed eyes he said, “Look, love, I’ll snap your neck if you fuck up my books one more time,” as he pointed his finger in her face.

Sophie laughed, tears filling her eyes.

Despite having spent the last few months in Birmingham she hadn’t met any of the Shelby family until last night at the pub when, uninvited, John tried to put his hands on her ass. She sweetly batted them away, instantly recognizing the haircut she’d been warned about. Much to her surprise, he didn’t respond with anger or aggression. Instead he asked her to join him for a pint, which Sophie found herself happy to accept.

She sat with John for hours that night, joking about anything she could between somber discussions of the war.

Sophie had heard the three Shelby brothers served in France when she was there. Although it’d been six years now since the war, Sophie was still trying to settle and make a home for herself in England.

John’s eyes slowly filled with tears each time he spoke of the Somme. Sophie let him finish each story before subtly turning back to lighter subjects. He wasn’t the brightest man she’d ever met, but she could tell he knew she was saving him from himself, and that he appreciated it.

He mentioned the job at the end of the night, as he helped her into her coat.

“We’re in need of a bookkeeper. It’s not much. The pay isn’t impressive and the work is tedious, but it’d help you get back on your feet.” John seemed so kind-hearted, nothing like the rumors she’d heard of him.

Sophie had told him of her struggle to find work after the war. She started in London, at a small hospital which closed after only a few years. She’d worked odd jobs after that, but hadn’t been able to find new work as a nurse, regardless of how hard she’d tried.

“Come by tomorrow morning, if you’re interested,” he’d said.

That was last night. This morning Sophie sat cutting up with John in the front room of Shelby Company Ltd. as she waited to interview for the open post as a bookkeeper.

“I swear, I sound just like him. Right Pol?” John leaned back in his chair and asked his aunt for affirmation. She responded with an eye roll that would have shook the ground, if it wasn’t accompanied by a smile.

As she spoke with John, Sophie observed the grandiose office space. It was dark, in a rich and purposeful way. Mahogany adorned the walls, broken up only by the glass windows of several offices and dim sconces that bounced a flattering light about the room. She and John sat at one of two desks in the front room, while Polly occupied the other.

The offices off the main waiting room appeared impressive. She could clearly see into two of them, through the open blinds on the clear glass windows. But the office at the back had mottled glass windows and large, frosted glass, double doors keeping it closed off from prying eyes. Etched in the glass was a name: Thomas Shelby.

One common theme in all the stories she’d heard about the Peaky Blinders was Thomas Shelby’s ruthlessness. Sophie knew he’d made a way for himself, and his whole family, by doing what others were too afraid to do. He’d taken what he wanted, what he thought they deserved, without caring who he hurt along the way. She was nervous to be in, what she assumed to be, the company’s headquarters. Even more nervous at the thought she’d have to interview with Thomas. John hadn’t mentioned his brother last night and she, naively, never thought he’d be involved with hiring such a low level position.

Polly seemed to read the trepidation on her face and offered some encouragement, “We keep racking up new enemies. We just need to be sure we can trust any new hire in the office.”

“Oh don’t worry about Tommy,” John added, seeing her reaction to Polly’s words. “If I tell him to hire you, he will,” he said with a wink and a smile. That gained him another eye roll from Polly, who lit a cigarette and smiled.

Just as she was considering the irony of a gangster’s name etched in such an elegant script, the main door to the office quickly flung open, dragging in a swath of cold, winter air. A dark silhouette filled the bright space behind the door as Sophie’s eyes adjusted to the blinding light behind it. As he walked into the room, she saw Thomas Shelby for the first time. Sophie made note not of his handsome features, but of their sad expression. He looked like a war-worn soldier--like so many of the men she saw daily in France--wearing a three piece suit.

He shot a glance her way as he removed his peaked cap and walked past her to his office. The air behind him hung thick with tobacco.

“Stay right there,” John said with a wink as he followed quickly on Tommy’s heels. Polly also stood, smiled in Sophie’s direction, and walked into Tommy’s office closing the door behind them.

________

“Good morning, Thomas,” Polly said, as she closed the door behind them.

Tommy worked in silence as he poured himself a whiskey with no regard for the early hour. He’d been shaken by the black hand they’d received earlier in the week and had spent the last few days even closer to the edge than usual.  But it was finding a stranger in the front room this morning that’d really tried his patience.

“Who’s the bird?” He asked in his deep, raspy brummie.

“Name’s Sophie. She’s applied for the position. Here for an interview,” John explained with a proud smile.

Tommy paused, his back still turned to Polly and John as he contemplated his response. “Send her home,” he said as he replaced the whiskey decanter on the table.

“Wha—Why?” Asked John.

“I said to send her home,” louder this time. The topic wasn’t open for debate.

“She’s bright, and funny—you should have heard her out there,” John said, his own frustration rising as he bit down on the toothpick he’d placed between his teeth.

“Tommy,” said Polly, “the girl needs a job. She has no family and is half a world away from anything familiar.”

“Don’t,” Tommy said, knowing Polly was trying to appeal to his heart. He sat down and began rifling through the papers on his desk, confident he’d put the matter to bed.

“We need a bookkeeper,” Polly said, this time leaving his heart out of it.

“Fine,” said Tommy, slamming the papers back down on the desk. “Send her in.”

John and Polly turned toward the door.

“I’ll send her home,” he mumbled over his glass of whiskey.

Tommy watched John’s misshapen silhouette through the mottled glass as he spoke with Sophie and led her back toward the office door. He returned his gaze to the desk as she entered and waited until John cleared his throat to acknowledge either one of them.  It didn’t matter how bright or funny she was, his gut told him it was the wrong time to hire a beautiful new employee. And his gut was rarely wrong.

“Come in and shut the door behind you,” he said to her.

Sophie wasn’t prepared for the pleasant lilt yet ominous depth of his voice. It was more silky than his brothers impression of him--although John had perfected the hardened tone--like rubbing velvet against the nap. Sophie entered the room with her chin held high and looked directly into his hollow, crystal eyes.

“Sit” he commanded.

She made her way across the room toward his desk only stopping when he gestured toward the leather covered chair directly across from him. He watched her intently from across his whiskey glass as she moved, slow but steady. She was slight, but seemingly strong. Her dress hung from her muscular curves in a pleasing way that he hadn't noticed when she was seated outside.

“What’s your name,” he asked.

“Sophia Murphy.”

He leaned back in his chair. “Are you fucking my brother, Ms. Murphy?”

While his question surprised her, it was the coldness with which he asked it that really caught her off guard. John had been so warm, but she could tell now that Thomas was something quite different. She watched him grow impatient awaiting her answer.

“No.” She answered plainly.

His cold, blue eyes ripped through her, but she didn't flinch. She’d spent much of her life around men like Thomas Shelby. Powerful, intelligent men who were accustomed to getting what they wanted. And while he was very different from his brother, she wasn't afraid of him.

He finally broke the silence. “Do you want to?”

Sophie refused to answer, internally seething at the audacity with which he'd asked the question. She calmed herself, though, before her anger became apparent.

Tommy removed the cigarette box and matches from his breast pocket and set them on the table. Slowly, as if he knew how it complemented his full lips, he placed a cigarette between them and let hang from a moment before lighting it.  

“So why are you here instead of America, Ms. Murphy?” he asked, changing the subject. The smoke from his cigarette lazily filled the air between them. She watched the ash collect before he finally tapped it into the crystal ashtray in front of him.

“There’s nothing left for me there,” She replied.

She had a confidence about her that he admired. Tommy wasn’t accustomed to women speaking to him so openly. All the women he’d know, with the exception of his aunt Polly, had assumed a submissive role in his presence. Sophie was rather exhilarating in that regard--something different. He raised an eyebrow at her, encouraging her to continue.

“I have no family, Mr. Shelby,” Sophie continued. “My parents died when I was 16. My older brother and I ran the family business until the draft.”

He offered her a cigarette and leaned across the desk to light it when she accepted. He didn’t return to his original position, choosing, instead, to stay somewhat close to her.

“Henry was killed in the third year of his deployment. I’d only been in a year myself at that time. I never even considered returning home. By the time the news of the treaty reached us in Amiens, I’d almost forgotten about home altogether.”

There it was.

She’d been changed by the war, just like him. She’d seen men at their worst--the world at its worst. She saw war--and survived it. Amiens. Verdun. The Somme. Mons. All teeming with despair. All ruined.

He’d been ruined by the war. Perhaps so had she.

“Nurse turned bookkeeper?” he asked.

“I’m not a bookkeeper,” she responded. “Turns out too many nurses survived,” she grinned sardonically.

Tommy understood. He’d struggled to find his own place after the war, always unsure of whether or not the world really needed his newly acquired talents. What he’d eventually settled into resembled his life before the war, but was quite detached. He couldn’t get the war out of his bones and found himself constantly on edge like he had been in the tunnels. In every relationship he felt himself harden and close off access to his thoughts and emotions. When he had finally opened his heart to Grace, it became her undoing. He’d decided it was best to keep everyone at a safe distance. The fear of losing someone always present in the back of his mind.

“I don’t want to hire you as a bookkeeper,” he said, watching her. She didn’t look up or even seem to really acknowledge him at all, except for the almost imperceptible nod she made in his direction. If he hadn’t been staring so carefully at her, he’d have missed it.

She gathered her purse and made as if to stand and leave when he interrupted again, “I’d like to hire you as an assistant. My assistant,” he continued. “You’ll keep the diary, answer phone calls, reply to posts. General secretarial work.”

She stood in silence a moment and held his gaze, sure there was more he wanted to say.

“I feel confident my associates will take a shine to you. I could use someone like you at the important meetings.” It wasn’t untrue, but he was kidding himself if he thought he was hiring her for any reason other than the fact that he was simply fascinated by her.

Sophie let out a laugh, causing him to lose control of the smile that crossed his own lips. “Is that a ‘no’, then?”  

Sophie just shook her head. “I’ll only accept on one condition, Mr. Shelby.” He nodded, beckoning her to continue. “Under no circumstances will I fuck you, or anyone else for you. Including John. I will not be used, Mr. Shelby”

She is fascinating.

Tommy nodded. “Fair enough,” he said, as he stood and extended his hand to shake hers. “Welcome to Shelby Company Limited,”

And he held her hand a little longer than was proper.

________

Read Chapter 2

[inmyownlittlecorner5]

Moonlight Chapter Three: The Queen Mab

A fanfic Novel by la-topolina

Rated for Mature Audiences

Warnings: Language, Violence, Sexual Content

Chapter 3/26

Moonlight Masterpost+

<< Chapter Two+

Chapter Four+ >>

-------

It was half-past ten when Severus decided to leave The Queen Mab and go home. He had been sitting at the bar since a quarter to the hour, nursing a firewhiskey and feeling like more of an idiot with each passing moment. At least no one knew him here. The pub was a small, smart-looking place done in dark wood and filled with antique furniture. Groups of Art Nouveau maidens winked down from the walls, whispering and giggling to each other. An aging pianist tinkled away in the corner, playing popular wizarding tunes, and the other patrons talked and laughed over the music. No one seemed to take note of him, for which he was grateful.

With a final irritated glance at the clock, he finished his drink, tossed a few coins on the bar, and stalked out into the warm summer night. The Queen Mab was located in an alley off of High Street that had been enchanted to keep Muggles from noticing it. He frowned darkly as he emerged onto High Street proper, berating himself for being fool enough to think that a woman would actually be interested in him. He was so focused on his ruminating, that he walked straight past the cause of it.

“I didn’t think I was that late,” Miranda said lightly as he went by.

Severus halted in front of Shoreditch Church, almost unwilling to believe his luck. He slowly turned to face Miranda, frown still in place. She was wearing a calf-length emerald sheath dress and an amused smile. A bracelet of copper laurel leaves wound its way demurely around the upper part of one of her bare arms. Her hair was mostly loose, although a few braids wove themselves cleverly through the locks to keep it out of her face. She looked like a wood nymph escaped from some bacchanal.

“You aren’t one of those people who’s early to everything, are you?” she teased.

“Punctuality is a virtue,” Severus said in his sternest professor voice.

“And, unfortunately, one that I lack. Along with prudence and humility to name a few. I don’t suppose you could overlook my flaws this time and come to dinner? It’s Tuesday and Mrs. Mab always makes Bubble and Squeak and Eve’s Pudding on Tuesdays.”

He ran his eyes over her and allowed, “Perhaps just this once.” He offered her his arm, which she took, and they headed back to the pub in the alley.

“I am sorry to keep you waiting,” she said a bit later over plates of the day’s special and glasses of bitter house-brewed ale. “It took a bit longer than I expected to tie up the vampire case. There was some arguing over proper burial practices followed by some arguing about proper payment practices. I’m always amazed at how short some people’s memories are when it comes to fees and rates of exchange.”

“I would have thought that the life of a bounty hunter was all excitement and danger," he observed. "It sounds rather dull to hear you describe it. How disappointing.”

“It’s a bit of both, like everything. I imagine most people think that your work is tedious, but I know from personal experience the tedium is punctuated by thrilling moments of danger. I once blew up half of a classroom at Ilvermorny trying to make an Exploding Potion. Fortunately, Professor Wright had eyes in the back of her head and was the fastest Shield Charm caster I’ve ever seen.”

“What on earth do they teach you in that backwater?”

“I was supposed to be making the Draught of Peace, but I was bored.”

“I would have had you expelled if you had been one of my students."

“I don’t doubt that. I expect you’re a perfect beast of a professor. You probably hang students up by their toes for fun.”

“Only if they deserve it.” He sipped his ale and studied her a moment. “How do American Muggle-borns find Ilvermorny?”

“The wizarding families in America all know about the school, so they send their children at eleven, sometimes regardless of ability. Ilvermorny has a reputation for rewarding grit as much as talent, so anyone with the nerve to try is usually given a chance. Periodically MACUSA sends agents around the country to look for prospective students among the No-Maj population. I was spotted at a baseball game when I was nine.”

“A what?”

“Baseball,” she repeated with a laugh. “I’m sure you have no idea what I’m talking about. It’s the No-Maj national pastime in America. My whole family is wild for it, but I know it’s an acquired taste if you’re not born into the insanity. I was a pitcher, meaning that my job was to throw a ball at another player who was trying to hit it with a bat. I was supposed to keep the batter from hitting the ball if at all possible. At nine, it’s usually a feat in and of itself simply to throw the ball to the right spot. But I realized that if I held the ball and imagined where I wanted it to go, about half of the time I could make it do what I imagined. And by that, I mean I could make it curve, sink, turn loops, all sorts of things. One Saturday, after a game, a gentleman introduced himself to my parents. We thought he was recruiting for one of the more elite baseball teams, but it turned out he was going to offer me something much more exciting. So here I am. How does it work here?”

“A Magic Quill notes when a witch or wizard is born in the Book of Admittance and an owl arrives with a letter of acceptance sometime during their tenth or eleventh year.”

“How organized. I’m guessing you’re from a wizard family.”

“My mother is a witch,” he said shortly.

She seemed to notice the change in his tone and turned the subject. “I’ve been kicking around an idea for a potion for a while now. I don’t usually have a master of your caliber at my disposal, so I’m going to torture you with it.”

“An inauspicious beginning, but do continue,” he said, glad to discuss something else.

“Well, I tend to get ripped up a bit in my line of work, so I’m always looking for ways to cope with that.”

“I don’t suppose you’ve ever considered a change in profession.”

“I’m afraid I’m addicted to it. Do you know what an epipen is?”

“No.”

“It’s a syringe full of synthetic adrenaline. There was a girl I went to No-Maj school with as a child who was so allergic to a protein in milk that her throat would swell shut if she came into contact with it. She carried one of these epipens around with her all the time in case of accidental exposure. If needed, she could stick herself with the syringe and the synthetic adrenaline would keep her airways open until she could get further help. Now, I want to know if it’s possible to use a similar delivery system for a suitable potion. It’s not always practical for me to swallow a vial of something when I’m in the middle of a battle. And then there’s the extra time it takes for the potion to work through my stomach into my bloodstream. Imagine if that could be bypassed.”

Severus’s brow furrowed as he considered. “Interesting idea. It would be extremely dangerous to test.”

“That’s probably true. But do you think it would work?”

“Assuming you found the proper potion to use, I don’t see why it wouldn’t.” He was quiet for a while, pondering this.

She lit a cigarette and let him think in silence. When she’d finished smoking, she said, “It’s really a beautiful night. Would you like to talk a walk?”

“It’s a wretchedly hot night,” he replied, “but perhaps the company would be worth the bother.”

    She looked pointedly at his long black sleeves and high collar. “I think I’ll choose to take that as a compliment."

He allowed himself a smile. “I suppose I meant it as such.”

They left the pub and he offered her his arm again. She took it and inhaled deeply as they turned onto a deserted High Street.

“I know that the days in can be oppressive, but this time of night in summer is simply the most delicious time to be alive,” she said.

“I’m sure I have no idea what you are talking about,” he replied, but his tone was teasing.

As they passed Shoreditch Church again, she let go of his arm and twirled around like a nymph dancing in the forest. Infected by her madness, he caught her wrist and spun her to him. Her hands landed on his chest and he kissed her with an eagerness that would have embarrassed him had she not been reciprocating with equal fervor. His arms went around her waist and hers slipped about his neck. Her fingers were tangled in his hair when they broke apart to gasp for air, but before he could continue his work, he noticed that they were no longer in London. He stepped back from her and his suspicious eyes saw rolling hills and a country lane rather than the city street he had expected.

“Where are we?” he almost growled.

“Oh, I thought it would be nice to be somewhere a bit out of the way,” she answered with an impish grin.

He was not amused. He grabbed her arm over the bracelet and gripped it until the leaves cut into his hand. “Where are we?” he demanded again.

Her jaw set in an annoyed look of her own. “We’re near my cabin. I used a Homing Spell. It’s something we learn in the backwater I’m from. I didn’t use it last night because you have to be a bit relaxed in order for it to work. You must have wanted to come tonight, or I wouldn’t have been able to bring you with me. Now let go of my arm, you’re hurting me.”

He held on for a moment longer before releasing her, then they walked on in silence for a while.

“Are you always that jumpy?” she asked pleasantly, as though enquiring about the weather.

“Usually,” he answered, rather more honestly than he had intended.

The half-moon shone brightly over the downs and Severus realized that the sea was visible beyond them. The breeze off of the water was cooler than it had been in the city and he had to admit that there was something to the idea of being a bit out of the way. As he studied Miranda out of the corner of his eye he found it difficult to say where the moonlight ended and her hair began. He offered her his arm again and she took it, as though the earlier exchange had not happened. Considering her occupation, perhaps she was used to people being what she called ‘jumpy.’

“How many brothers did you say you have?” Severus asked dryly.

“Four. Only three living, though,” she answered. Then she added with a note of mirth, “Don’t worry, they’re all in America. No one will be waiting for you with a shotgun.”

Before long, he saw the cabin from the night before waver into view ahead. Miranda’s arm felt good in his as he led her up the path to her front door. She ascended the first step and turned to face him, eyes level with his and lips inches away.

“Would you like to come in?” she breathed.

“I should think that were obvious,” he answered, a bit breathless himself.

She put her hands on his shoulders and kissed him with those ardent lips. He was starting to lose track of his rational mind when a stabbing pain flew up his left arm. He broke off the kiss with a grunt and knew that the Dark Mark under his sleeve was glowing black and angry. Of course he would be summoned at this particular moment. He had been a fool to think that this evening would possibly go the way he had hoped.

“Are you all right?” Miranda asked, sounding concerned.

“I have to leave,” he said harshly.

She paused, curiosity etched on her face, but she did not ask him where he was going. “Can you come back?” she asked simply.

“No.” He traced her cheek with a long finger, unaware of how the regret he was feeling glittered in his eyes.

“Will I see you again?”

“Probably not.” His lip curled in a wistful smile. “Unlike your family, I’m afraid I am not terribly lucky.”

The pain in his arm throbbed again and he turned, striding away from her.

“I wish you luck all the same,” she said after him. He didn’t wait to hear any more and Apparated to his Master’s call.

*****

Hours later, Severus stumbled into Spinner’s End, even paler than usual and shaking. His mind had been full of moonlight when he had appeared before the Dark Lord and Severus had been unable to keep it as blank as he usually could. The Dark Lord, still wary of Severus’s protestations of loyalty, had invaded Severus’s mind and begun sifting through the fresh memories of a silver-haired woman. Severus had managed to turn the hair red, to focus on Lily instead. Finally the Dark Lord had turned his attention elsewhere, bored with Severus’s obsession. Severus supposed the Cruciatus had been applied to him that night simply for being dull.

He gulped some water and fell into bed, not able to undress. Every nerve was still screaming with pain, but he knew it would dull to an ache by the morning. He slept fitfully and dreamed of a smiling woman whose hair changed from red to silver, and whose eyes flashed green and grey.

Moonlight Masterpost+

<< Chapter Two+

Chapter Four+ >>

[smoresmoresmore]

Will edit later

I just have to say

I was possibly exposed to Rabies and came to Tumblr for help and advice and was THOROUGHLY AND DISTURBINGLY DISAPPOINTED WITH THE RABIES TAG.

Omg

I was convinced I was going to die and searching anything Rabies related was UNHELPFUL AF. Not judging but y'all did not help lol.

Very long explanation of why I thought I was going to die:

Waking up to a bat (2 nights in a row) is not automatic cause to assume you will die but it is, I found out after talking to the Dept. Of Agriculture and their Epidemiologist, an immediate cause to go straight to the ER and get shot up with the vaccine and immunoglobulin so you DON'T POTENTIALLY DIE. It is not something the doctors can argue against and it is not something you should postpone. Especially since I was "under the influence" (Nyquil) at the time and even less likely to notice if I had gotten scratched or bitten. My being unaware was the key point in the urgency of going to the ER.

The ER doc was highly annoyed I knew just what to say ("I woke up with a bat in my face") and he grumpily admitted he was bound to follow CDC protocol. His annoyance was so obvious he repeatedly told me how unlikely it was I was bit and explained how "intense" the shots would be. I assume he felt the medicine could be put to better use on someone who was 100% sure and/or was injured. When I asked him what would happen to me if I WAS bitten and didn't get the shot like he wanted, he sighed and admitted "Well, you die."

"Well, shoot me up, doc!"

That night I got 7 shots. One in my arm, which hurt so bad--I guess because my nurse was new and may habe gone too deep because the subsequent shots I have gotten in the same arm haven't been anywhere near as painful-- and 6 in my buttcheeks. 3 in each.

Waking up from my Nyquil coma to a bat in my face was not fun. I had never related to those movie scenes of people screaming and running around afraid if bats. But jessuz. They are fast. And this one was swooping around my living room and deliberately getting super close to me. I had to hide under my blanket and in my fevered state this made me sweat. Trying to herd it to my now opened windows did not help. I tried to call police, fireman andnanimal control; the 1st two were useless and the 3rd was not open at 1am.

Eventually I reached out to my townie facebook group and got advice. White towels attract them. Or make it dark and quiet and hide--I did this as I was not going to run around with a towel in my undies like that video--which worked. 2 very concerned people urged me to go to a doctor.

"You say you have flu-like symptoms and a constant fever and you sleep in that room a lot. You really need to go to the ER. Rabies is so dangerous."

And after 2 nights of dealing with bats and my fever spiking right around the time they show up, I existed in a dark hole of stress. So much so that the second morning I woke up to my hand twitching erratically and my thumb muscle spasming and I started bawling. I had already gotten the shots the day before so I knew if I encountered anything rabid I should be okish (I still had 3 more to go before I was fully protected) but now, with my glitchy hand, I was panicking about "WHAT IF I ALREADY HAD IT?!"

Urgent Care had ruled out Strep twice for my odd sickness and had assured me I have a random virus and to just stay in bed for a few days. Which I had been doing faithfully, before getting bored and moving to my livingroom nest. I like to sleep in there a lot and often do when the weather is nice. I just made sure to drink water and tea and get sunlight and all the things. Including Nyquil. But my fevers were getting worse. I was feeling like crap. And now what we all assumed to be A Normal Virus was morphing into my worst nightmare.

Probably egged on by 101 temperatures, I called around until someone was willing to explaon to me whether I was dying or not. Getting told "You'll be fine. It is SO RARE," did not calm me down. I needed someone to explain how the long incubation period (months to a year) and symptoms (flu like, emotional, twitchy) did not match me.

I slept in that room on accident and on purpose since moving in almost 9 months ago. I'm a heavy sleeper and don't wake up easily. Iffff I had been bitten during one of my all-nighters doing math homework or essay writing, it makes sense I would suddenly get a random "virus" that isn't going away. I had it all worked out in my head. I was getting headaches in the sun and stores. I forced myself outside and out and about when I felt ok because fuck it if I was going to let this be a symptom I had. I was getting anxious in the shower but, knowing fear of water was a symptom, I forced myself to stay in it. (Turns out my paranoia was right. The water was starting to be hard and my skin was breaking out. It is very annoying. The timing was just horrendous)

All the doctors and nurses kindly told me I was safe since I had started the shots but no one had an answer for me when I asked if they helped if I hadddd it already. They weren't sure. The amount of information they have or are willing to share is astonishingly low.

After 2 hours of phone tag I was finallly able to get an appointment with an Infectious Disease Doctor. She told me that if I did have it there was no real evidence about the vaccine helping, especially since I had only had the first dose at that point. She told me it would be fast though and they couldn't tell until "you're foaming at the mouth." She asked to look in my mouth and when I told her about my drooliness she said to let her know if it got worse. She asked about my hand. I told her. She asked about numbness and I freaked cuz my arm did go numb at one point.

I askwd her about tests. I had read that there were a few--spinal fluid, spit, blood--that were not really reliable. She said since I had the vaccine and immunoglobulin in my system already they would show up and it would be pointless.

My only option was to wait. And chill. And try not to dwell on the fact that there is no answer or cure or way to find out if I should plan my trip to Oregon and die or if I should allow my boyfriend to visit me.

He was firmly in the You Don't Have Rabies camp and came over anyway to feed me soup and hang out. But I refused to kiss him. It made him very sad and probably extremely exasperated.

My boss was so done with me when he asked if I could come in the next day. "Sasha. You cannot have Rabies. Just come to work. You'll be fine." And I realized how crazy I sounded but I still warned all my coworkers.

Anyway, my lowgrade fever continued, my twitchiness stopped, my drooling stopped, my water was hard so I avoided the shower but cleaned my good bits, and once I doubled up my water intake my headaches disappeared. I went into a mini death spiral for a day but decided to force myself into believing I was fine.

When I started getting confused and fainty, I bought Iron supplements. When I started getting angry and anxious, I called my friends and got distracted. When it was time to get another shot, I made sure to update everyone of the weirdness Just In Case.

One nurse took the time to sit me down and listwn. That's really all I needed since no one had answers. I just needed my mind soothed and concerns not dismissed. She couldn't explain the muscle spasm but could definitely see why I was freaking out. She was the one who tested me for peace of mind. She looked into Lyme disease. She found my anemia. She explained that the amount of time that had elapsed made her sure I was going to be ok. She had watched people die in Africa from this and shw said it happens So Fast it is tragic. I would not be able to organize a trip to Oregon to die. I would become incoherent and slip away within days.

That was what I needed. A timeframe. A legit explanation of what it looks like and how it happens. And why I don't fit. This whole time I had been wondering how to tell my friends. Whether I could write all their numbers down in case I couldnt function enough to call them or remember my phone password. I was planning on cleaning my apartment so good so the landlord couldn't bash me when I was bouncing off the walls and hissing at him. I was deciding who I really needed to contact and who I could live without wasting breath on. I was planning a goodbye party. I told all 3 of my lovers ("´hey, I have this thing there is no real test for while you're alive but there is once you die so you can't get tested, and you may have it so got get shot up but no one is sure if that will help much," but I did tell them and it was hilarious to them. My favorite response being "RIP" and "F") And this all had put me in such a dark place that, coupled with a few shitty days at work with my bully of a manager, I also asked for a psych person to visit me after the Rabies shot.

After her talk I was like, oh. Thank godddd. And kinda annoyed at having to wait an extra hour in the ER for a talk that could wait til morning. But I chatted with rhem and asked for referral to a shrink since this had just highlighted how much I need help with my anxiety. Especially since the temporary issue of Rabies was being resolved but my cruel manager was still going to exist now that I was going to survive this beef with nature. It was nice to think of that way "my rabies beef is getting cooked" and the pscyh lady got me help. So that was nice. I just mainly needed to get healthy again so I could

I mean. Almostbarelybutnotreally facing a cruel death was a great way to look at life and reflect on some things. There are messes I am not at fault for, messes I avoid that I shouldn't, people and things I value and the objects that matter to me more than others for ridiculous reasons. I was so grateful to the staff for putting up with me. And for you for reading.

All of this just to say

Circle circle dot dot

Soon I get my last Rabies Shot

[poeticandvaguelysweet]

#233 - Abandonment

ANON: Owen and Claire get into an argument and one of them leaves to blow off steam but Maisie gets upset

ANON: love to read your take on Maisie calling Owen and Claire, dad and mom for the first time

I honestly cannot hold onto fics that long. As soon as they’re done I need to give them to you. It’s killing me. 

AO3

ABANDONMENT

The skies had rumbled before. Angry clouds rolling over the other as they shattered above house and home, frightening children in their beds. Owen’s voice, when he was mad, rumbled, crackling overhead as it left the trailer and loomed over the young girl.

She hadn’t heard two people fighting before.

Mr Mills had raised his voice once or twice, but that was almost a long time ago now. He had only ever done it in frustration towards her, irritated that she was asking simple questions or invading his space. Never had she heard him yell at another person who was roaring back. It wasn’t as mad as this, as angry and hateful as their words muffled inside the tin shell, forgetful of Maisie playing in the giant tree beside the half-finished cabin. Mr Mills was nothing compared to her newfound parents, her careers yelling at each other so loudly she could hear them behind closed doors.

She jumped when Claire burst out of the trailer, door hitting the side of their mobile home with a bang that chased up her spine in cold chills. Maisie dropped from the tree, watching as Claire marched across the grass a few steps, Owen’s head appearing in the doorway, calling to her before she turned back him. ‘Fuck you, Owen!’ She yelled, cheeks red and eyes blazing, every inch of her radiating irritation. Maisie stood still not drawing attention to herself as she watched cool, calm and collected Claire lose it.

‘If it bothers you so much, just go!’ He yelled back, dismissive, words spitting as Maisie felt her heart stop. No. She didn’t want Claire to go anywhere, her eyes darting between the two adults as she opened her mouth, wanting to say something but unsure of what.

‘I’m going!’ Claire retorted as he turned his back before she finished, trailer door slamming shut behind him. ‘Don’t expect me to come back!’ She taunted, getting in the final word before she turned and stalked towards her car. Maisie couldn’t breathe, could barely move until she saw the flash of the Mercedes unlocking.

She pushed forward, forcing her legs to move as her knees threatened to give in. ‘No!’ Maisie warbled, ‘Don’t go!’ But her voice wasn’t loud enough to reach Claire, the woman barely batting an eyelash, her back to the girl. ‘He’s sorry.’ She whispered, unable to make her voice any louder than it was. ‘He didn’t mean it!’ She apologised for Owen, trying to make good on the adult situation that had exploded in front of her. She was sure it was Owen’s fault. He was the one who said go, he was the one who needed to apologise and, Maisie could make sure he did that.

Claire couldn’t leave. Everyone left Maisie in one way or another. The idea of a mother, father and a normal childhood. Iris went. Grandfather died. Even the kindness Mr Mills used to bestow upon her left. The childish innocence she had disappeared with the revelation that she wasn’t just like everyone else, that something born of heartbreak made her an abomination. She didn’t want Claire to leave because she had hung all her hopes on that woman. Maisie had pressed promises into the space between Claire’s fingers and each strand of her hair while the night moved past her, wide awake as she struggled with nightmares.

She had attached herself to Claire, bound her life with hers and it was nowhere near fair that the woman was leaving.

She tripped when the engine started, unable to keep her feet under her body as the car door slammed shut. Maisie fell to the grass; shoe caught on a sturdy vine. Her knees began to sting, the telltale sign that she had scrapped them as she watched Claire’s car pull away from their cabin site and disappear down the dirt road.

[…]

Inside the trailer, Owen was trying to calm himself down. His fists clenched, fingers rolled into a tight grip as he refrained from punching the wall. She had a bad habit of driving him insane. Her fight or flight twisting itself into a morbid want to abandon all things right for her. Claire wasn’t coping. He knew it, saw the signs but chose not to handle it before things exploded.

She’d take a few days, calm down and come back with a solution. She always did. If not, Owen would reach for her, compromise or bend to her original wants. In the centre sat his cabin and van. They hadn’t talked about it. Just picked up life in the backwoods and carried on. It turned itself into a problem.

‘This might work for you, but it doesn’t work for us! For her. She needs something stable and social. She’s been living on her own in a manor her whole fucking life, Owen. She needs to see more than the god damn woods.’

Owen was taking deep breaths through his mouth, trying to loosen the tension in his neck when he heard it. The howl was human, unbearably distraught as it tore through a young throat. It didn’t take him long to figure out who was making the noise on their vacant property as he flew out of the trailer to find Maisie sitting in the middle of the yard, legs tucked under her body, clothes streaked with dirt as her hands fisted mounds of earth.

They had seen her upset and had nursed nightmares and daytime fears. This was different; this was Maisie with as much heartbreak as her chest could muster. She was a little girl falling apart. ‘Hey, hey, hey, what happened?’ He was by her side in a second flat, trying to untangle her fingers from the grass with one hand as the other scooped her into his lap.

She didn’t look hurt. There was a graze on her knee, but in the weeks that they had her free and wild in the mountains around Owen’s property, she had braved much worse.

‘You’re okay, Maisie.’ She was shaking her head, unable to speak as her chest rose and fell in small movements, her lungs not allowing her to breathe in more than an inch at a time. ‘Breathe, kid.’ He was trying to encourage, taking deep breaths himself as he focused on the softness of his touch, the way he held her like she was the most precious thing he ever had. She had filled that position right beside Claire in a matter of weeks. He wanted what was best for her, but neither adult could agree on what that was.

‘Maisie,’ his voice was stern as he sat her up, bending his head to meet his green eyes with her wet brown. She hadn’t stopped crying, tears falling hard and fast as she sobbed like the world was ending. ‘You need to stop this.’ He was concerned, watching her chest catch as her cries continued. She was only going to make herself sick.

She shook her head, hand lifting curled fingers to her lips as she pulled on her chin another howl ripping her throat into ribbons as he couldn’t help but get upset himself. ‘My m-mom.’ She cried, finally getting words past her cries as her head continued to move from side to side, gaze falling on the dirt path that led back to town. ‘Gone.’

Owen felt his shoulders relax. His tension shifted no longer concerned about his argument with Claire but the wellbeing of the girl in his lap. Something in his head stopped on mom and the childish way the word bubbled from her throat. It shouldn’t have been the way this happened. Claire should have been there when Maisie chose to anoint her with the title. She should not have said it under extreme duress, but happy giggles as they surprisingly tickled it out of her. ‘Oh, Mais, Claire will come back. She’s just gone for a drive.’ He promised.

She surprised him when her small hand hit him on the shoulder, pushing him with all her strength. ‘You told her to go!’ She screamed, voice shaking as a rage-filled her tear soaked eyes. ‘Just like Mr Mills, you sent her away!’ He let her go, his heart shattering as Maisie found the strength to scamper away from him, only stopping at a few feet.

He hadn’t been that bad. He knew it. Knew that Claire always needed a breather to blow off steam before resolving their problems. Maisie didn’t know what the fought about, only heard muffled words. He had been painted as the bad guy. In an instant, she deflated him as he watched the girl curl in on herself, cries growing louder. They shouldn’t have been arguing near her in the first place. Should have waited until the weekend Karen had scheduled to come to visit, using her sister to usher the girl out of their presence so they could have at each other’s throats in peace.

He didn’t know what to do. He wasn’t a father, had barely been a guardian to the girl since they got her. Hell, he didn’t even know how they still had her or why in their right minds Claire insisted on keeping her. He loved Maisie. Nothing would change that now. Owen just wasn’t too sure how exactly they ended up being the right kind of people to keep her. The nightmares were one thing. He considered himself an expert in PTSD … especially the dinosaur related type. Maybe it was better to rehabilitate her and then release the girl to a better livelihood. But, she had called Claire mom, and that had just about solidified them as hers forever.  

Maisie made herself sick, her hyperventilated crying too much for her small body as her stomach expelled itself onto the grass.

‘Oh, sweetheart.’ His chest ached, Owen desperate to reach for her but scared of the backlash she had already proven she was capable of. It took ten seconds for Maisie to recover, realising that she needed him before she shuffled over and curled into his arms. ‘She’s coming back, I promise.’ Maisie cried against his shoulder, a mix of her upset emotions and stomach soaking his shirt.

He lifted her, one arm under her bent knees while the other supported her back, carrying her back inside the trailer where she would be more comfortable. She threw up again, Owen managing to fetch a bucket just in time as Maisie leaned over the end of the bed, her face a little green.

Despite how much her body was telling her to stop crying, she couldn’t. Owen had failed when he handed her a glass of water. He didn’t want her to dehydrate herself, leaving her head aching and her face sore. Her hands shook as she held the glass, gulping it down before she handed it back to him with wide, expectant eyes. The water only brought on more tears, and when she emptied it into the bucket five minutes later, he knew they had a problem.

‘I want Claire.’ Maisie hiccoughed between her cries when he asked her what would make this better. He was hoping it would be a Twinkie stashed in the back of the cupboard. They had a large stash of confectionary that she could choose from, but instead, she wanted the one thing he was hesitant to give her.

He called Claire anyway, panic twisting in his fingers as he watched Maisie curl in on herself again. She had tangled herself in the blankets; her arms wrapped tight around Claire’s pillow as he listened to the dial tone over and over. He called her three times before he realised she wasn’t going to answer. Instead, he sent a text hoping the Bluetooth in her car would read it aloud.

[…]

Everything stopped when her car spoke. ‘New text message from Owen. Something is wrong with Maisie. You need to come back.’ It read in its robotic voice, pitch diving up and down across the words as Claire hit the breaks and turned her car around.

She had conjured up the worst possible scenarios on her return to the cabin; sure she would arrive to find the girl bleeding, unconscious or gone altogether. The property was still when she arrived, her anxiety making it quiet as she approached the trailer and stepped inside. ‘Is everything okay?’ She asked, peering into the space as she sought out the man and girl she had left there.

‘Claire?!’ Maisie’s voice croaked, trying for a squeak but her throat was too sore. She didn’t see the girl she moved so fast, flinging herself off the edge of the queen sized bed as arms and legs wrapped themselves around Claire with a vice-like grip. She wrapped her arms around the girl in response, eyes squeezing closed as she tightened her hold, matching the pressure the child was supplying.

‘Are you alright?’ She asked, pulling her head back to try and see Maisie’s face, her hand stroking through the girl’s damp hair. Owen was sitting on the edge of the bed, his body not catching her attention until he moved, trying to slide past her with a bucket of sick. ‘Were you sick, baby?’ Claire asked, hand sliding from Maisie’s head, down her back and back up again before her fingers found her forehead checking the girl’s temperature. Maisie nodded. ‘You’re a little warm.’ She didn’t know what was warm or too hot with just her hands, mental itinerary double checking what they had in the first aid kit in the trailer. Mostly bandages for building accidents.

She felt Maisie tense. ‘Bucket,’ Claire called for Owen, instinct warning her as she felt the man at her back the exact second Maisie tilted in her arms. She threw up again, not missing the container Owen was holding as Claire kept a firm hold on the girl, stopping her from falling.

Concern climbed up her spine, nesting itself between her temples as she frowned down at Maisie in her arms. Resettling herself, Maisie started to cry again, biting on her knuckle as she pressed her cheek to Claire’s chest, tears falling on her skin. ‘You’re alright.’ Claire soothed, trying to shuffle around the small space as she soaked a cloth in the kitchenette before applying it to Maisie’s forehead. Owen stayed out of her way, watching Claire’s movement, careful not to get a purposeful elbow to the gut as she passed. ‘What happened?’ She asked, sitting with Maisie on the edge of the bed, girl wrapped around her torso and refusing to let go.

‘I thought you weren’t never gonna come back.’ Maisie warbled, tears seeping back into her words as her hands locked tighter between Claire’s shoulder blades. She thought there was still a chance that was going to happen, but if she anchored herself to Claire, there would be no way they could tear her away. ‘I called out to you.’ She hiccoughed, fingers in her mouth, playing with her teeth. ‘But you didn’t listen.’ Her sobs started again, Claire quick to soothe her as she rocked the girl slightly promising it was all in the past. She was there now.

‘I didn’t hear you, sweetheart.’ She apologised, hand taking a large circle across Maisie’s back as she kissed the top of the girl’s head, wishing they had a bath they could put her in. Another mental strike against trailer life.

Owen had disappeared, making himself scarce, the bucket with him while Claire made herself comfortable in the centre of the bed, Maisie lying directly on top of her, grip not letting go. ‘I don’t feel well.’ Her words wobbled, mouth drew into a pout as Claire felt the girl’s chin shake against her chest.

‘I bet you don’t.’ She rubbed at Maisie’s back with two hands now, slow and sure movements. ‘Why don’t you close your eyes, okay? I’m right here. I’ve got you, baby.’ She reassured the girl, closing her own eyes at the same time, back propped up with pillows as she held the girl like she was an ailing infant.

They were quiet, Maisie’s breathing evening out as it returned to a regular pattern, her deep breaths following Claire’s. ‘Am I too much?’ Maisie asked, sniffling as she turned her head, nose dragging across Claire’s chest. Claire felt her breath catch, heart aching that the girl felt the need to ask such a question. She felt overwhelmed at times, unsure of the bond and relationship she was forming with the girl. She knew that she was taking on the parental role, but Claire had nothing to prepare her for that, no guidance other than Owen who’s view on parenting was somewhat different from hers. ‘I can be a good girl, Mama.’ Her heart shattered, officially breaking apart and spitting itself out into the atmosphere. She was too much sometimes. Her desperate need to feel loved, wanted and needed was overbearing. Claire didn’t know what to do with it. Ultimately, it was sweet, precious, still somewhat heartbreaking to hear the girl required constant reassurance that she was enough for them. They were committing themselves to her and were not planning on looking back. She was theirs.

Hearing her plead for an opportunity to stay, calling Claire mama in the process was too much. She felt the tears prick her eyes but refused to let them be anything more than that. She couldn’t cry and wouldn’t, not at this moment.

‘Oh Maisie,’ she sighed. ‘You’re perfect.’

She shook her head. ‘I’m broken,’ she admitted causing Claire’s chest to further clench. ‘And needy.’

Claire didn’t even know where she had picked up the word. They certainly hadn’t said it, nor eluded to it in or out of Maisie’s presence. ‘It’s okay to need people.’ She couldn’t see her face, hands still running up and down her back as Maisie sighed heavily. ‘A little or a lot, you can need me. I don’t mind.’ She waited for a beat. ‘Mama’s are there to be needed.’ She used the girl’s word, taking on the title softly as she pressed a kiss to Maisie’s temple. ‘You don’t need to get this upset about it, Mais. Okay?’ The girl nodded. ‘I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.’

Maisie sniffled again, ‘but you did go. I wanted you to be my mom, and you went away like everyone else.’

‘I came back, didn’t I?’ She chuckled softly, pressing her lips to Maisie’s hair again. Owen returned to the trailer, their mobile home rocking upon his entrance as he paused in the small bedroom doorway to check over them, grimace on his face and heart on his sleeve. ‘I need you to know that if ever I walk out that door or any other, I will always come back to you.’ Her eyes met Owen’s, locking for a brief second before her gaze turned back to the girl lying on her chest. ‘You’ve got us for life, kiddo.’ There were still no promises on that, but Claire was sure she would fight tooth and nail to keep the girl with her no matter the cost. She had committed.  

They fell back into silence, still rubbing Maisie’s back as they lay there wasting away a lazy afternoon. ‘Are you still mad at Owen?’ Maisie asked, as his head turned back to them, ears picking up, hoping he would be called forward like the family pet.

Claire hummed. ‘Yes,’ she answered without hesitation, her eyes raising to meet his. ‘But, we’re grown-ups. Our problems are for us to solve. First and foremost, we care about you, Mais. We were arguing about what was best for you and I got a little hot headed about it. I needed to walk away for a little bit to let myself cool down.’

‘But you drove away, not walked.’ Maisie’s hand was tight on the side of her shirt, death-grip returning in memory of her earlier abandonment.

She saw humour flicker across Owen’s face, a smile pulling at his lips, his eyes on Maisie and not Claire. She supposed, somehow, he was drinking them both in. She wasn’t stupid. She knew how much this journey was challenging them but also how thrilled he was to see this side of their lives unfold.

‘Okay,’ she folded. ‘Next time I am mad about something I will go for a walk instead of getting in my car.’ She promised, despite knowing that the road helped her more than the trees. They were more Owen’s thing. Maisie hummed against her chest, breath warm on Claire’s collarbone. ‘How would you feel about moving to the city and staying in my apartment for a little bit?’ They had been out here long enough, and although she and Owen had not precisely agreed on the matter, this was a better opportunity than any other.

‘I like it out here.’ She lifted her head, brown eyes meeting Claire’s for the first time since she came back.

‘We can come back … on weekends.’ Owen offered, jumping in to compromise with Claire. He could have let her do this part-time. Could have told Maisie that she could come to visit whenever she wanted. Instead, he was volunteering his space and home to place them as his most important priority.

She nodded, ‘of course’. This wasn’t about them. It was about Maisie and what was best for her. If she enjoyed being out in the cabin with Owen two days a week, then Claire could live with it. She was getting the better end of the deal. Her apartment, her life, her job nearby. It was him who would have to make the compromises to fit his life with theirs. She could give him two days out of seven.

‘Will you still be my mom and dad in the city?’

Neither adult hesitated, their eyes meeting each other across the small space of the trailer’s bedroom. ‘Always.’ They answered. Claire tugged the girl back into another tight hug. ‘I’m not going anywhere.’ Claire reassured Maisie, her lips pressed to the girl’s cheek. She couldn’t. Not when they received that reaction from her.

‘Can you kiss and make up?’ Maisie asked, body still as she waited with bated breath. Claire nodded, her chin brushing against Maisie’s head while she sighed. The girl moved, pulling herself off Claire’s body, her hand still wrapped tightly around a fistful of her t-shirt, keeping hold just in case.  

Owen crawled over the mattress, meeting Claire at the headboard as Maisie watched their lips meet. The kiss was quick, a peck as to be child appropriate. Claire felt herself relax, the stressors from their earlier argument melting away with his skin on hers, apologetic and forgiving. Maisie was grinning at them when they pulled away, tears still sitting on her cheeks and her knuckle in her mouth. A smile was a smile. They could start with that.

‘Better?’ Claire asked, watching as the girl nodded. She reached a hand towards her, pushing Maisie’s hair out of her face. She had given them quite the scare, but evidently not as much as they had done to her. Maisie slipped back into Claire’s lap, taking up a space the woman was more than happy to give her.

[mythlived]

“i’m fine, it’s just a flesh wound, i’ll be okay.” (aulisdeer)

    (  ♛  )  —  The call he had gotten from the hospital was one he hadn’t been expecting in the slightest, but not one that necessarily surprised him. Iphi had such a penchant for getting herself hurt that he hadn’t even batted an eye at the news of her broken ankle. He was worried, of course, but then he had also gotten used to being so worried about her. Which, thinking about it, was probably not a good thing to get used to. But between her tendency to practice late on her own or call him and say cryptic things, it was just something that had fitted itself into his life without him realizing it.  (  Could  “  worrying about Iphi  ”  be considered a personality trait  ?  )  Ultimately, it was his norm. But still, after getting the call from Iphi, he had chosen to skip his next couple of classes. They were both lecture, so he could watch them online later and copy down the notes, so it wouldn’t be a terribly big deal. He would have to remember to email his professors later, though. 

Getting to the hospital itself also hadn’t taken very long. His sense of urgency was there, but it wasn’t anything overbearing. At least, not until he actually stepped in and went to the floor Iphi had mentioned. She hadn’t known if she would be moved, though, so she’d told him just to ask the nurse’s desk when he arrived. It was the way the nurse behind the desk looked at him that ramped his urgency—anxiety too, if he were being entirely honest with himself—up several notches. It was strange, he supposed, that she’d been admitted to the hospital just because of a broken ankle. However, he had just assumed something like a snapped Achilles tendon or that she’d needed a screw put into the bone. His assumption had been that she would need surgery of some sort, but the look the nurse had given him, the tone they offered the number of the room in, the way they smiled… There was something worse going on. What, he didn’t know, but it was certainly enough to make him search for her room a little less leisurely than he had traveled to the hospital. 

It was the exact opposite of hospital etiquette, but he didn’t bother pausing to knock upon finding the room the nurse had given him. Rather, he simply pushed the door open and made his way in. He needed to know what had warranted looks of sympathy. She had called him herself, so it couldn’t be anything life-threatening. Or could it  ?  The pallor of her face suggested otherwise. The pain that flashed across her face when she sat up to wave at him, to say hello. The way she moved to lay back down, as if she hadn’t expected the discomfort of sudden movement. Whatever had happened, it was much worse than what she’d let on. What a nasty surprise. 

Shutting the door and moving toward her quietly was the only thing he could make himself do, movements mechanical, steps measured carefully. He didn’t want to approach her too quickly; wanted to assess the damage before he really got there, but there were no obvious injuries visible to him in that moment. So why was she here  ?  Why, when he got closer, was there a light sheen of sweat on her skin when the room was chilled  ?  Why, when he chose to speak, did his voice crack and shake  ?  ❝  Iphi, what happened  ?  ❞  He didn’t mean to sound so forlorn, but he couldn’t understand what he was looking at. Her ankle. No, this was most certainly not because of her ankle. Then what…  ?

He hadn’t been expecting her call between classes, but he hadn’t been surprised by her broken ankle. What he was surprised by—or, no, what he was absolutely horrified by—was her answer.  “  Oh, I had dinner last night. And then I did some magic tricks, and I went downstairs to get some fruit, and then I got shot by my father’s mistress, but I’m fine, it’s just a flesh wound, I’ll be okay.   ”  She tacked on the last bit sarcastically, the words so morbid they almost made Patroclus nauseous. 

Staring was, perhaps, not the most appropriate reaction to her confession. Oh how horrible he was with confessions; whether it be ones of love or ones that brought to light the unfairness of premature mortality.  (  He fumbled so incredibly only when it seemed to matter the most.  )  The bullet, she said, was lodged in a place that they couldn’t fix with one hundred percent certain. She’d been allowed to choose whether they left it, in which she would bleed out slowly, but be allowed to offer her final goodbyes or she could opt into surgery with a particularly low success rate. 

It was then that he realized he should say something rather than gaping at her, wide-eyed and terrified, but he was reduced, in that moment, to a twelve-year-old child that had been able to do nothing but watch as a bullet stole the life from someone else he’d cared for just as deeply. He was reduced to a young man that had followed his lover to war and forced to watch a teenage girl have her life ripped away from her on an altar for the victory of the Achaeans. In that moment, he was made to understand, yet again, that the Fates were the cruelest old crones the universe had ever chosen to give power to. Speaking seemed impossible. What could he say  ?  There was nothing that he could offer her to make any of this better. The only thing he could give her was his company, his time. But was that enough  ?  There was never enough time, no matter who tried to give it. That Iphi was so privy to that fact… he hated them; the gods, the Fates, her father, his mistress, her mother. He loathed each and every one of them. Not that he would ever make that known to her. Not now. Not when it would be a waste of her time. It was a line of conversation that burned the back of his throat, but one best saved for later, for when her breaths weren’t limited and her minutes weren’t ticking by faster than he could keep up. 

❝  A lot can happen in a few hours.  ❞  He offered those words as hopefully as he could manage as he sat heavily in the chair beside her bed. Given the circumstances, he was surprised they’d come out so strong. As if he believed them and she should too. Unfortunately, he was certain they both knew the likelihood of them. They were simply pretty words. A requirement for hopeless situations in which all parties involved had only denial and false hope. When everyone chose to entertain the sweet pipe dream over their own rotting reality.  ❝  But do you want me to call anyone else  ?  ❞

The chill of the room turned into something bone-deep when the question prompted tears and her belief that it would be selfish to call the others. Her concern that they were busy and had other things to do was something that pained Patroclus as well. It was an idea that he discouraged immediately upon hearing it. None of them would mind. She was certainly not selfish if she wanted them there. After all, who wouldn’t want to see their loved ones one last time  ?  But no, he wouldn’t contact them if she didn’t want him to. It was up to her. This was her time and she got to choose what was done with it. 

It was her haunting sobs that knocked the air clean from his lungs. It was her words that left him suffocating,  “  I miss everyone already,  ”  “  I don’t want to leave,  ”  “  I shouldn’t have called you, I’m sorry.  “  He worried that her wounds would only get worse if she kept this up, but what could he say to her  ?  You’ll only make it worse  ?  He absolutely would not say something like that. 

White hot tears traced their way down his cheeks and suddenly he matched the girl across from him. He’d been trying to keep his tears caged, to keep them from making themselves known to Iphi. He didn’t sob, because what purpose would that serve  ?  He tried to assure her, over and over, that they were likely to see one another again, that she absolutely should have called him and he was glad she had. He tried to ease any worry she brought to the table, but he didn’t think that there was ever really any consolation for the dying. 

It was when she gave him the okay to contact Pyrrha, Kyr, and Caesar that he stepped out.  ❝  I’ll just be a few minutes,  ❞  he assured her.  (  But really, was even just a few minutes far too long  ?  )  

He sent the same general text to all three,  ’  Hey, Iphi’s in the hospital and I’m here with her, can you head our way now or as soon as possible  ?  ’  Gods, he hoped that would be enough for them to come sooner rather than later.  (  But then, he wasn’t even sure if Caesar was in the States right now. He hoped he was, by some miracle.  )  He had entertained the thought of calling them for as long as it had taken him to step out of her room, but he didn’t want them rushing and putting themselves in harms way. Iphi didn’t either, and so he’d decided on no specifics, but the appropriate urgency. 

For now, he would just wait to see if any of them replied. He could wait in the hallway for a couple more minutes before going back in. 

With that thought, he slid down the wall into a crouch, hands over his face. He tried to pull in a couple of deep, steadying breaths, but they were shaky at best. Why was it always her that this happened to  ?  She wasn’t gone yet, but he couldn’t keep himself from wondering. And with that one question, dozens more began to bang around in his head. His brain was like a cabinet that had been stuffed full of too many pots and pans. The minute it was opened, everything came crashing down. How long until they would see her again  ?  Would she remember them  ?  Would they remember her  ?  Was there truly nothing that could be done for her here and now  ?  

He realized all at once that the nurses hadn’t been offering looks of simple sympathy. Oh no. They had been giving him looks of condolence. 

@aulisdeer

[queenslasharchive]

Pretender To The Throne (Chapter 1: My Fairy King (1967-1976))

Rolling Stone: “In the early 1970s, when [girlfriend Mary] Austin suggested they have a child together, Mercury allegedly responded, ‘I’d rather have a cat.’”

Some of Sky’s earliest memories were of Queen songs. 

Most were off-key (read: horrible) renditions sung by his mother, but the words were still the same. 

“In the land where horses born with eagle wings And honey bees have lost their stings There’s singing forever, ooh yeah… Lion’s den with fallow deer And rivers made from wine so clear Flow on and on forever…

Dragons fly like sparrows thru’ the air And baby lambs where Samson dares To go on on on on on on…”

My Fairy King was his favorite, right from the moment it came out on shiny vinyl record, when he was just six years old. He had his own copy too, played it so hard and so often that it was scratched and worn to high heaven.

But it wasn’t the same without his mother to hold him close and sing terribly in the wrong key, flubbing up the transitions and cues. She always tried, he had to give her credit. It was her favorite too.

She liked all of the songs about Rhye.

“It reminds of your Daddy, Rhys.” She would whisper to him, as they huddled together on an old futon, in their gross one-room apartment, the black mold on the ceiling grew in funny ways reminiscent of the animal crackers she would often pack away in his lunch-kit. “He was My Fairy King.” She would look away, almost wistful for a moment, before covering his tiny body in kisses that made him squeal indignantly, desperately trying to bat her hands away. 

“And you're My Fairy Prince!” She would say. “So I’m going to eat you all up! Sugar and spice and everything nice!"  

Making monster noises as she tickled the everliving daylights out of him. He would laugh until he was crying and breathless, watery eyes staring up at her with cheeks flushed pink. 

"No, Mama!” He would protest in mock-offense. “I’m a boy! Those are for girls!” 

“Ah!” She would pause as if it were some great revelation. “Snips, snails and puppy-dog tails! …Oh no, that doesn’t sound anything like my little Prince Rhye at all!" 

She named him Rhye after the make-believe world that his father had created in his youth. 

According to her, he used to tell stories about it to anyone who would listen and sketch out the most beautiful scenes in the margins of his notebooks. They grew closer during his last days at Isleworth Polytechnic, right before he transferred to Ealing Art College in London. He was so gifted, so smart. They only shared a few classes together in a handful of months, but it was enough to leave her smitten. He was charismatic, beautiful and almost as otherworldly as the dreams he’d had for himself. 

He’d had the most lovely smile, those protruding teeth that she’d always found so adorable, but that he’d always expressly hated.

She loved how Sky had inherited that same smile.

When his adult teeth came in and the sight alone made him cry, she told him he looked positively exquisite in their distinctness. (Sky thought he looked like even more of a sideshow freak). 

Of all the things in life, that were either foisted upon him or lovingly given, he actually picked the nickname Sky. 

Coined it as a toddler when Rhye was too hard to say, it was a made up name anyway. Only his mother (and then Cole in later years)was allowed to call him that, or any little pet-names derived from it. Rhys. Rhy-Guy. Prince Rhye…

Rhye Halley Bulsara. Named after a pretend land, a comet and a man who didn’t even know he existed.

But that was okay.

It was okay, because he always had his mother. She was his everything. She loved him for his weird eyes (that his classmates always made fun of without fail. Until they realized he knew all his math facts and could easily prove them stupid. Or you know, use his teeny tiny fists to cave their faces in) and the bulky teeth too big for his mouth. She loved him for his sparkly tutus over his stripey tights and brightly colored wellies, (that always found their way into the biggest puddles as they walked down the crowded streets of New York City). She loved him for the little songs he would make-up as he marched all his stuffed bears across the floor and the way he scrunched up his speckled nose when he laughed. 

She loved him because he was her son in every ounce, not just his father’s prodigal. 

She was also the strongest woman he ever knew. 

A single mother at nineteen, working two dead-end jobs just to keep them afloat, no insurance to speak of, no money for anything better, and no family to help her.

Then she woke up one morning to find her nine-month-old baby turned ashen gray, and with a fever that boiled beneath his skin like a blazing hellfire. He went from being able to crawl fervently and tug himself into standing positions on furniture, with a gummy smile, to not being able to raise his own head. 

Polio. 

The Crippler of Children. 

Within mere hours he couldn’t breathe on his own, eyes blown wide and lips a swollen sickening gray-blue, gums a bloodless white. Already wearing the guise of a corpse.

The doctors told his mother that he wouldn’t last the night. They even asked if a baptism and last rites were something she wanted.

Nineteen years old and she realized that there was no word for a parent who loses a child. A widower loses a wife, a widow loses a husband, an orphan loses their parents, but no one was ever meant to outlive their child. 

She could’ve collapsed to pieces right then and there.

She could’ve just given up on him, like all the doctors and medical personnel who already had, and simply let him go. To join the ranks of the ghost children who’d died of the same crippling disease within the same beige walls of the fever hospital. Instead, Roberta Rhodes, affectionately called Birdy by all who knew her, demanded the best care for her child. 

She held him tight as they shoved a needle through the narrow slats of his spine to collect infected fluid. She sang every song she knew until her throat was raw as they bundled him up in an child-sized iron-lung to breathe for him. It was the late 60s, the heyday of polio was over, but for those few still unvaccinated, it never ended. 

Sky, the tiny boy that they told her wouldn’t last the night, lived till morning. 

And then he did it again and again and again.

The full-body paralysis set in after ten days of being at death’s door and the coming back was rough. It was months before he regained the use of his lungs independently. Longer still until his arms were back under his control.

He celebrated his first birthday in the hospital, looking eagerly at the fireworks that lit up the night sky, just outside his window. The next three birthdays were very much the same. Only for his third birthday: he got crutches, a hard plastic back-brace, and leg braces from his toes to his hips. Braces that had to be changed as he grew, lest they rip open his skin while he hobbled along. 

He drew pictures and finger-painted across his chest plates, a million smiling sunflowers and bright hand prints adorned each and every one. The beginnings of his love for art.

By four, all he needed were the leg braces and the crutches. By six it was just the leg braces and within a few months, not even those anymore. The countless painful surgeries to release the tight bits and replace the dead tissue in his legs worked wonders. Of course they also left scars that puckered and resembled the limbs of a stitched up voodoo doll, but they worked. 

He could run and jump and play, just like the rest of the children on the block. 

He could bounce around in puddles with his brightly colored wellies and be a prince with a toy crown and a scepter made of cardboard and pipe-cleaners. A style he would never really grow out of… something only furthered by the fact he always got at least one toy crown or tiara for his birthday each year.  

”My fairy king can see things… He rules the air and turns the tides That are not there for you and me Ooh yeah, he guides the winds… My fairy king can do right and nothing wrong…“

His eyes changed after the polio. 

They had always been heterochromic, two different colors. The right, a sharp cerulean reminiscent of his namesake, the left, a rich chocolate brown like melted down Hershey’s bars. Hard and soft, all at once. 

His mother had always found his eyes charming, a little piece of her and a little piece of his father. But after the polio, they changed. His pupils, the round little black discs in the center of his irises, exploded. They went from uniformly tiny circles to starbursts, with ragged edges stretched across both irises. The doctor who examined his eyes said that he’d never seen anything like it before, but that it was likely a birth defect. She just hadn’t noticed it beforehand. 

That was a lie, as she had spent countless days and nights after his birth just staring at him. Trying to catalogue each and every feature. Nose? Hers. Skin tone? Hers. Cheek bones? Freddie’s. Hair? A mix of them both, her unruly curls with Freddie’s coloring. Eyelashes? Freddie’s.

Those beloved eyes had never had starbursts within them before. 

But it was more than just his appearance. 

It was what he could see with those eyes and do with the things he saw, that made all the difference…

The nurse had thick curly black hair like his own, big blue-gray eyes and wore a different outfit than the rest of them on the ward, hers looked older somehow, as if she’d come straight out of a sepia photograph. Wearing a strange bent flyaway cap on her head, one that did little to cover up much of anything at all. She would hum to herself quietly as she straightened up the blankets on his bed. But if he stared too long, the edges of her habit would darken and curl upwards, sparks flying and dying in front of his eyes. 

He saw her a few times, but they never spoke. 

Her lungs had been scorched into veritable ash by the fire that had sent the fever hospital into ruin during the early 1920s, they’d had to rebuild it from the ground up. So she wouldn’t have been able to speak to him anyway. 

It was the first time he saw The Dead walk. 

But it wasn’t the last. 

His mother would hold him by the hand and tug him along when they walked through the city.

She had to, lest he stop to talk to those nice boys on the corner who’d died in the Revolutionary War, or the young Italian immigrant girl hovering around the flower shop, who’d lost her life in the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory Fire, not even that little girl huddled in the gutter with her sallow skin and soiled a white dress, who’d succumbed to a turn-of-the-century Yellow Fever epidemic. 

His mother never saw the spirits, but the fact that he did was enough for her to believe in them.

Birdy Rhodes, being the exhausted young woman she was, with fine yet incorrigible blonde curls that would slip from her bun after a long waitressing shift and a childhood touch of magic that never quite left her; would never make her son feel like he was a freak for any of the things he could do or any of the things he couldn’t.

She just loved him with everything she had and did her best to be everything he needed her to be. Hell, she would’ve given him the whole world if it had been hers to give. As it stood, the best she could offer was a grand old name and all the blossoming love in her heart. 

Sky may not have had the greatest clothes or technology or living arrangements or even a father, but he had love. Even in those early years, he’d had love. 

From his mother, the center of his whole universe. 

From the young couple who ran a small records store on 7th Avenue.

They always saved copies of the latest Queen records for the small family and either sold them the vinyl at a dirt-cheap price or gave them to him and his mother for free.

Surely they saw the same very distinctive teeth on him as they did on the frontman of the British band, the same cheekbones, the same dark hair, the same fledgling face shape. They knew. They had to have known. But they never said anything about it. Never called the newspapers or prodded with uncomfortable questions. They just loved. And gave some of that burgeoning love to him and his mother. 

From the spirits who sought him out for comfort.

Apparently being earthbound was a fate worse than death. It was tantamount to living in a world full of muted grays and emptiness, except for people like him. Lighthouses, one spirit told him, a boy with the glassy eyes and hoarse voice of a diphtheria death, you’re like a shining lighthouse in a storm. You come in color, all warm oranges and yellows turned gold. 

So a flashlight, he surmised. 

From his Cole. 

Coltrane Brennan was an Irish kid turned American expat, named after the great American saxophone player and the only reason Sky learned about his real Gift at all. The seeing dead people thing was only part of it. The easier part. 

As it turned out, he could give out just as much love as he got, just in a different way. Cole taught him that. 

Cole was the first. 

It all started: with a bully stealing Sky’s ratty sketchbook as he sat quietly on the swings, scribbling away.

It ended: with Cole holding said sketchbook aloft, blood streaming from his nose and mouth, as well as a nasty cut on his forehead near his hairline, yet with a smile alight in sweet victory.

The bully lay crumpled in the dirt.

It also ended with Cole joining him, as Sky snatched back his sketchbook and planted one leg-braced orthotic shoe on the chubby blonde’s chest. A tiny six-year-old black-haired devil child who grit his ever-prominent buck teeth and hissed with pure venom: "Don’t you ever fight my battles for me again, Coltrane Brennan. Or I’ll knock your teeth in." 

"You’d know all about teeth wouldn’t you?” Cole had wheezed, all two years older and indignant, a flush high in his cheeks. 

Then he uttered those few accursed words: “Are you sure you aren't an elephant? You’ve got tusks just like one!…And those weirdo eyes to match!" 

By the time a flustered teacher came to drag them both to the principal’s office, Cole was bleeding even more profusely than before and Sky was smiling smugly, two fistfuls of blonde hair in his grasp and one of Cole’s front-teeth embedded in his denim jeans. 

They sat outside the office in silence, with only a small hard-backed chair between them. The only interruptions to the stillness were the squeak of Sky’s braces when he swung his legs off the ground or Cole’s pathetic sniffling as he tried to staunch the flow of blood from his face. Sky was scowling, still resolute in his righteous fury and absolution. Until he realized Cole wasn’t just sniffling from the blood…

He was crying. 

Instantaneous guilt burnt in Sky’s chest like he’d swallowed a lit match, and poof, all the anger and indignation was gone. A rarity for him. 

"Are you crying…?” He asked, softly. 

But the moment Cole realized he’d been found out, he instantly straightened up in the stiff uncomfortable seat and turned away, as if pretending it was nothing at all. He snorted and scrubbed at his face with the one hand that wasn’t full of crumpled up bloody tissues. His voice shook when he spoke, wavering and hoarse. Damning evidence of the tears that boys like them just couldn’t admit.

“I'm not crying! Only babies cry! Little crippled babies just like you!" 

Sky recoiled, his scowl deepening as the red-eyed older boy carried on running his mouth. "I told them not to steal your drawing stuff, cause there’s just no point really. You're soppy and sad enough as it is, without them messing with you…” Cole only managed to button his lips when there was a familiar fist pressing just under his swollen nose, against his chapped lips. 

“I swear to God I’ll knock another one out if you don’t quit it! I’m not a crip and I’m not a baby, and don’t you ever forget it.” Sky spat, his funky eyes turned caustic. 

It only abated as he forced himself to apologize. Temper having run away from him once again. It was his most adamant personality trait. 

“But I am sorry about earlier... Thanks for getting my sketchbook back, I guess.” He bit his bottom lip and couldn’t look the older boy in the eyes. 

“…Do you wanna see what I was drawing?“ 

Cole paused, then nodded. Curiosity alight in his green eyes. 

Sky reached for where the teacher had roughly deposited both their backpacks, probably assuming they would be either sent home or in the office for a while, his ratty sketchbook was sitting on top. Hastily flung across both sacks as if the woman had no idea who it had belonged to. He dug through the heavily lined and crinkled pages to find his most recent creation. 

”Oh.“ Cole leaned over to see properly. "That’s… really good actually." 

Sky quirked an eyebrow. "Were you expecting something bad?”

“No! I just…” He peered even closer, almost close enough to brush his fingers across, but he didn’t dare. “It’s like a grown-up did it. Did you copy it from someplace?" 

The younger boy shook his head. Looking down at the scene he’d drawn, a fairy Queen of spring with lush curls and a smile as she sat upon a mushroom cap, her gossamer wings folded beneath her and a tiara made of tree branches and new leaves twisted in her hair. She was looking up at her King, he was dressed in wintertime clothes, snowflakes adorned his cape and the winds brought life to his frosted wings. He was cold and still, with long dark hair and piercing dark eyes. She looked like the growth of new life, he looked like the one who took it all away. But still, they reached for each other. 

"It’s the king and queen of Rhye." 

He whispered, knowing very well that Rhye fell to ruin.

Good things didn’t stay.

He felt something warm fall on his hand and noticed a few ruddy droplets of blood. Cole was bleeding still, the older boy quickly turned away, sniffling back into the tissues as if that were somehow going to do the trick. ”Sorry…“ He mumbled, shame and embarrassment coloring in the contours of his voice. 

"How bad is it? Let me see." 

Sky commanded, sounding petulant as he reached out his hands. He gently caught Cole’s chin in one, then jumped back on recoil, like he’d just been electrocuted.

The moment he’d touched Cole’s sticky skin, desperate to see how bad it was so that he could make him feel better, his hand had felt like he’d stuck it into an open lit flame. It burned like holding the sun. He even flipped over his hand to gawk at his palm, certain that there had to be some kind of acid burn there or something. 

There was nothing. 

"What the bleeding heck was that?!” Cole squealed, pulling the tissues back from his face. His nose and mouth had aptly stopped bleeding. Even the cut on his forehead had stopped. As if the faucet of the gaping maw had run dry. 

“You burned me!" 

Cole looked incredulous at the accusation. "No I didn’t! You burned me!" 

"Nuh uh!" 

"Yeah huh!" 

Then Cole’s expression changed, it turned surprised instead of upset, as his tongue poked at the inside of his cheek. "It's gone...” He whispered, wondrously. Looking at Sky with new eyes. 

“What’s gone?" 

"When you punched me, I bit a whole chunk out of my cheek! It’s why my mouth was bleeding so bad!” He took hold of the right side of his mouth and tried valiantly to flip it inside-out so that Sky could see. The younger boy couldn’t see anything except for spit and pink healthy skin. 

“I don't see anything…" 

"That’s the point! It’s gone…” He flipped it back over with eyes wide. “Gone.” He stressed again, as if Sky had missed it the first time. “Can mouths heal that fast?” Sky just shrugged, rubbing at his palm where the burn would’ve been, it tingled and itched, fingers twitching to do something else. Though he wasn’t quite sure what. 

“How should I know?” He grumbled. “I’m not a doctor, I'm six." 

He swung his creaky braced legs back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, trying to drown out the world. Cole stopped him with a hand on top of his own. Green eyes met his own strange ones. "Touch me again.” Sky furrowed his brows tight. 

“What?" 

”Touch me again!“ Cole demanded, jutting out his bottom lip. Sky rolled his eyes and did as requested, pressing his hand against Cole’s chin again. There was nothing. No burn, no toasting warmth or electric shock. Nothing at all. Cole frowned, disappointed as he reached up to touch the gaping slit on his forehead, still as garish as before. What he needed were some stitches, or some wound glue or something. "No!" He whined. "Do it like before!” 

“I did." No, he didn’t. 

He covered his stupid horse teeth with his hand and closed his eyes. I want Cole to feel better. I’m sorry for hurting him. It was a mistake. I’m sorry. I want to make him feel better. I’m sorry! He slammed his other hand against Cole’s chest. So hard that the older boy gave off a slight oomph. Fire burned between them. Like lightning against a black sky, everything was illuminated for just an instant. He saw spiderwebs of light scorch themselves across the backs of his eyelids, his mouth was full of ash. His nose was full of the stench of burning rubber. 

When he finally let go and released his mouthful of air, he half expected smoldering embers to come out instead. 

He blinked back into reality to find Cole staring at him slack-jawed, tissues turned limp in his hand. There was dried blood on his face, sure. But no burns. No swollen nose, no bruises, no black-eye and no cut on his forehead. It was almost like they had never been there at all. 

 ”Whoa.“ They whispered at the same time, two pairs of eyes stretched wide as saucers. 

He described the whole thing to his mother that night. She sipped her gross watery diner coffee and just listened. He ate pancakes covered in sprinkles and whipped cream. Wearing his plastic toy crown and sunset orange tights under his oversized yellow bumblebee sweater and clunky braces.

When he couldn’t talk anymore, she leaned over and pressed a kiss to his forehead. 

"Mama, am I a freak?" 

"No, baby." 

"Then why can do the things I can do?" 

She paused.

"Did you know that there’s a type of plankton, little tiny bits of fish, algae and debris in the ocean, that can glow in the dark? It's bioluminescent. They’re found in the Maldives, on this tiny little island. They call it The Sea of Stars.”

She had the same far-off look in her eyes that she did when she talked about his father. “Daddy seahorses give birth instead of mommies. Baby turtles are born knowing exactly what they have to do and where they have to go. Then they go back to the same spot to start the cycle all over again.

…Sometimes fall leaves change color to orange, sometimes yellow, sometimes red and sometimes not at all.

Your father and I, managed to make a perfect little boy and now he’s sitting right in front of me." 

Her hands cupped his chin and there was no scent of sulfur or burning. 

"All those things are miracles." She pressed another kiss to his cheek. "There will always be magic in the world, my little Prince. So enjoy it when and where you find it." 

Cole was his best-friend from that day onward. 

In every one of his scenes drawn in smudgy pencil or old pastels, there was a new face. A young blonde knight, a yellow dragon, and a sword held aloft beside his own. 

Three years passed quickly, even faster than those he’d spent in the sanitarium/fever hospital.

Three years of pictures with the camera Cole got for his ninth birthday.

They used up so many rolls of film that it was hilarious. They never had their pictures on time. It would be months upon months before they got around to getting a recent roll developed and by then it wasn’t so recent anymore.

Cole’s mother would give him free piano lessons every Thursday and Friday, desperate for anyone who was even remotely gifted at it. As Cole, despite his namesake’s musical prowess, was as tone-deaf as they came. 

Cole’s father loved listening to the music they made together, and even insisted on imparting some special knowledge on the boys himself.

He taught them how to dance.

But not just any kind of dancing, traditional Irish dances that made him feel like his feet were flying.

Suddenly the little boy, who’d spent his childhood in heavy cumbersome leg-braces, could keep up and do even better than someone without his painful history or messed-up scarred legs. He suddenly found beauty in a part of himself that he’d always hated, and it was because of Mr. Brennan.

He promised to take them both to a Ceili in Ireland when they were older. Where they could dance with more than just him or each other.

Luckily, because of Brooklyn’s burgeoning Irish community, they were in a few tiny competitions for step-dance, usually performing together and placing high. It was a running Brennan family joke that Sky was actually more Irish than the lot of them. With his skill in the dances, his ability to pick them up so quickly, that mop-top of jet black curls and porcelain skin envied by most of the dancing girls, he looked more like a boy come fresh from the Cliffs of Moher than a mix of Scandinavian and Persian. Not to mention how quickly he picked up a working knowledge of Irish Gaelic.

But when they weren’t in lessons or at school, they were laying sprawled on their bellies in the library, flipping through old musty books and sometimes reading aloud to one another. 

Sky’s favorites were The Scarlet Pimpernel, Little Women, The Grimm Brothers’ Fairytales, Alice in Wonderland and Hans Christian Andersen’s Fairytales and Stories. 

Cole’s were Dracula, The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, Edgar Allen Poe’s Complete Works, Carrie and 'Salem’s Lot. 

He was pretty sure half of Cole’s horror obsession was rooted in trying to understand Sky and his assorted oddities. Or his Gifts as his mother and Cole liked to call them. 

One afternoon, as they were flopped on the floor next to each other, legs kicked up and resting on the shelves. Fingers intertwined where nobody else could see, behind the stacks where they were by themselves. Cole regaled him with yet another half-baked theory. 

"What if you’re a witch!" 

Sky couldn’t help but laugh out-loud, but because it was a library, he tried to be quiet by just snorting into his free palm. 

"No, really!" Cole squawked indignantly, waving his free hand around emphatically. "What if that’s why you can heal and see dead people! Sky, you’re downright spooky! You gotta be!” He looked over eagerly, probably hoping to see a revelation dawning in his best-friend’s eyes, instead what he saw was the younger boy practically dying of his own withheld laughter. 

“Rhys…” He whined, plaintively, but the boy in question could only grin impishly. 

“Sorry, Cole…” He hiccuped through his muffled laughter. “That sounds groovy and everything, but this isn’t an episode of Bewitched!” 

He snickered again and Cole stuck out his tongue to blow him a raspberry.  

Sky wasn’t exactly sure when his feelings for Cole became more than just best-friend feelings.

He knew that Cole was a boy and that a lot of people didn’t like it when boys had feelings for other boys. But what he felt for his best-friend didn’t feel like a bad thing. It was good. It felt warm and happy and safe.

They didn’t hold hands until they were by themselves. But he was pretty sure his mother knew, she just didn’t mind it. She would look at them fondly as they played buck-buck and stickball with the neighborhood kids and spent all night talking together afterwards, flopping onto and cramming into their one mattress, like sardines in a can.

She was just happy he was loved. 

Cole’s parents likely suspected something as well. But Mrs. Brennan still gave Sky free piano lessons with a genuine silky smile on her face and Mr. Brennan would still eagerly teach them both how to play soccer, as well as dance.

Then they would have weekend tournaments. Mr. Brennan would race over and sweep both of them up into his hairy arms when he wanted to score without little feet getting in the way. Sky so often shrieked with joy and childhood abandon in those days, as he was held over the stocky Irishman’s shoulder for so long that his blood whooshed loudly in his ears. 

He was loved. 

It didn’t matter by who, or what, it just mattered that it happened. He was loved. 

Then predictably… everything all went to shit.

Rhye fell, and there was absolutely nothing he could do about it. 

“Ah, then came man to savage in the night To run like thieves and to kill like knives To take away the power from the magic hand To bring about the ruin to the promised land, aah, aah…”

Sudden. Cardiac. Death.

Those were the three words a kind-eyed grandfatherly doctor told him at the hospital. His birthday was in just two days. He was turning nine on January 1st and wanted to see the smoggy sky full of lights once again, to see the ball drop in Time Square. But what did it matter…

Now that his whole world was dead and gone? 

He’d been playing with Cole out in the snow that day, New York City was beautiful in the wintertime. 

While he was making snow-angels, his mother had collapsed to the thinly carpeted floor of their studio apartment. As his little hands packed together fluffy snowballs with the same kind of pressure she likely felt in her chest, her heart beat erratically. He and Cole caught snow flurries on their tongues and compared the shapes caught in their soft mittened hands, while his mother’s heart stopped. He remembered blinking up at the overcast snowy sky above and grinning a toothy smile. While his mother’s organs stopped getting oxygen and the tissues died. 

By the time ash filled his mouth and hellfire blazed beneath his skin, it was too late. 

He was up and running towards the apartment without even a word to Cole, who chased after him, calling his name with concern alight in those Emerald Isle eyes. Shadows were flickering in the corners of Sky’s vision, and the present ghosts were all staring at him solemnly, even the spirits he had considered his friends. Their sadness was strangling him and he could barely breathe. Their hands reached for him, sporting vast empty holes where eyes would’ve gone. For the first time, he was genuinely afraid. 

Your mother, your mother, your mother, your mother… 

Their whispers followed him like a burial shroud. No matter how fast he ran, he couldn’t escape them. 

“Prince Rhye? Rhys? Jesus, what’s wrong?!“ Cole yelled, forgetting just how fast Sky was without the braces and crutches. The snow was far too heavy to run through. "What did you see?! Sky!” He screeched. 

Sky raced up the steps of his apartment building, nearly slipping over the edge numerous times and giving Cole mini heart-attacks as he did so. He threw open his front door and then…

Everything went horribly, frighteningly, devastatingly… quiet. 

“They turn the milk into sour Like the blue in the blood of my veins Why can’t you see it? Fire burning in hell with the cry of screaming pain! Son of heaven set me free and let me go…

Sea turn dry, no salt from sand, Seasons fly no helping hand, Teeth don’t shine like pearls for poor man’s eyes, aah…”

There were fireworks on his birthday. The ball dropped in Time Square.

Just like every year, no matter what happened in his life, there was always a party. 

That just happened to be the morning his mother was buried. 

The snow held no joy for him anymore. The sky was gray, the ground was white and his heart was somewhere beneath the frozen dirt. The only reason he got through the miserable funeral at all, was the feeling of Cole’s arms around him, Mrs. Brennan humming Für Elise under her breath, and Mr. Brennan scooping him up to carry him out of the graveyard like small child. He buried his face in the Irishman’s stubbly neck and Mr. Brennan just rubbed his back sadly, whispering the story of Tír na nÓg.

Sky had just assumed that he would be with them afterwards. 

The Brennans were not rich by any means, they all lived in the poor Irish/Immigrant bit of Brooklyn, but they had more than enough to feed another mouth. They had a place in their hearts for another son. A place in their modest home. A place in their lives.

They’d already taken him in, both mentally and physically, during that first night in the hospital. When it was confirmed that Birdy Rhodes had left this world.  

But it was not to be. 

Social Services came a-knocking on the very night of his birthday. To inform them all of its lovely archaic practices, which dictated that it didn’t matter how much the Brennans wanted to take care of Sky. Or how much Cole didn’t want to lose his best-friend (and perhaps more).

It simply read that if there was a living parent, the care of the child had to go to their living parent. And if that parent was somehow unfit, then it would take a miracle for him to be placed with them again. A miracle that would take years to come to fruition. 

What that meant was, on the day after his birthday and the burial of his mother, Sky would be torn from their lives like a misplaced postage stamp. All packaged up and put on a plane to another country, where he would then be dumped on the father he’d never met. Who didn’t even know he existed. They didn’t see any issues with that at all. 

Sky, or Rhye as his social-worker insisted on calling him, who was oft a well-behaved child (Ha!) unless pressed the wrong way, screamed and wailed like a banshee as he was dragged away from the Brennans and everything he knew. 

Tiny, puffy-eyed, wearing rumpled hand-me-down pajamas and his current favorite toy crown gifted to him by Cole the night before, paired with an acidic scowl. 

He refused to change when prompted and buried his face in his single overfilled rucksack whenever given a command. 

His caseworker tried to placate him the whole flight, giving him snacks and little crafts to do. Write down everything you want your father to know about you, sweetheart! Make him a little card! But to no avail. He’d never even left New York City, let alone been on a plane and he couldn’t even bring himself to enjoy the experience. It was horrifying. Not even drawing or the smell of a few Brennan shirts that he’d borrowed could make things any better. He was like a small boat drifting away from his moorings. Something untethered to the earth or to anything at all. 

You could’ve healed her if you’d been there. His inner voice chastised him mercilessly. What’s the use of having a Gift like that if you can’t even save the ones you love? If you can’t even save yourself?

He spent the night at the American Embassy in London, sleeping on a few uncomfortable chairs pushed together to make some sort of semblance of a bed.

The officials were trying to get in contact with his father. Something made remarkably difficult by the fact that he was a celebrity and a deathly private celebrity at that. Who had body guards and people trained specifically to avoid the paparazzi and crazy fans at all costs. 

He cried himself to sleep that night, jet-lagged and sick with grief. Wishing he was back in New York City, on his shitty shared mattress but still held tight in his mother’s gentle embrace. I love you, my little Prince Rhye. I love you so much. 

Not even singing to himself helped. He just cried even harder.

It felt strange not to take solace in the few emotions he understood, like indignation and anger. 

“Someone, someone has drained the colour from my wings… Broken my fairy circle ring And shamed the king in all his pride Changed the winds and wronged the tides…

Mother Mercury… Mercury… Look what they’ve done to me!  I cannot run, I cannot hide…”

Nothing was right anymore, everything was broken into bits and no matter how hard he tried to put them back together again, it was to no avail. 

It was incurably eviscerated. 

His life and his heart. 

All Sky could do was cry. 

[buckyscrystalqueen]

Ohana: Part 2

Pairings: Negan x Reader

Warnings: Swearing, fluff

Word Count: 3,179

Part 1

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Do you have anyone that needs prosthetics?” You asked Negan as you walked through the building where you had gotten your prosthetic years before.

“We’ve got a guy missin’ an arm. Don’t know what the fuck you can do with that.” You nodded as you pushed open the doctors office door.

“There’s enough information in here that I can learn how to fit a prosthetic. Won’t be top quality but it’ll be better than nothing.” Your eyes scanned the books on the shelves and you smiled slightly at the titles. “Damn this guy read a lot.” You mumbled more to yourself as you pulled out a book called ‘Procedure desk reference’. “This shit’ll come in handy.”

“Dwight! Come grab this shit!” Negan called out as you pulled another thick volume off the shelf titled ‘Physicians' Desk Reference for herbal medication’. 

“Have you guys checked out any doctors offices around here for supplies?” You asked as you handed Dwight the two books and turned to the desk.

“Didn’t think about it, honestly and Carson was fucking useless and didn’t suggest it.” You nodded as you grabbed the two tablets off the desk and yanked the power cords from the wall.

“Here’s a whole list of doctors that should come in handy.” You said as you grabbed the rolodex off the doctor’s desk. “I know he referred me to a psychiatrist, which means mental health drugs. I know this guy is an orthopedic surgeon and he did his surgeries in the same building his office was in, meaning he could have anesthesia. Oh, this guy is pain management and always had some good under the table samples…”

“Well damn, sweetheart. Who fucking knew that dealing with your crazy ass would be so fucking fruitful.” Your face deadpanned as you looked up at him through your lashes.

“Shut up.” You muttered as you closed the top to the rolodex and tucked it under your arm. “I gotta go find myself my new leg and see what I can bring back that could be useful.” With a simple nod from Negan, you dipped into the hall and headed down to the therapy room. You stepped around members of the crew, who were searching every single nook and cranny for anything useful, and headed to the room that housed all the prosthetics. 

You walked along the line to find the part of the shelf that had your name on it. You were supposed to get a new leg before the fall and dealing with it after wasn’t on your list of priorities after. With a smile, you pulled the polypropylene and titanium from the shelf and gave it a once over. With a nod, you tucked it under your arm and grabbed the new protective sleeve that came with it as a guttural growl came at you.

“Shit!” You shouted as you lost your balance and toppled to the floor on your ass as one of the dead techs landed beside you. You scooted out of his grasp a little too late and he wrapped his hands around your old prosthetic finally breaking the pylon off the socket. You yanked your stump free and grabbed a limb off one of the shelves.

“Swear to fuck.” You shouted as you ripped off the hand with inhuman strength and stabbed the deadie in the head. Dark brown blood splattered the room as you continued your assault. “Not today, mother fucker. Not- to- day.” When you were sure the asshole was completely dead, you shouted ‘Ooorah’ at the corpse and laid back on the floor with a sigh only to look up at Regina, Simon and Negan.

“I take it back.” Negan said. “Bitch can fucking protect herself.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Hell does that even say?” You asked yourself as you squinted at the God-awful handwriting later that night as you tried to organize Dr. Carson’s notes into some semblance of order. After a moment, you gave up trying to figure out the scribbles and added it to the growing pile of ‘unknowns’ on your bed to your left between you and your sleeping daughter. You grabbed the  next page off the stack as someone knocked softly on your door.

“Yep.” You called out as you added the crumpled up paper to Cam’s pile and looked up at the door. You gave Negan a weak smile as he glanced down the hall before dipping into your room and closing the door behind him.

“How’s it goin’?” He asked as you grabbed the next piece of paper; a paper towel.

“If this man wasn’t already dead, I’d kill him out of principle for being a shitty doctor.” You added the note to Isabelle’s pile and grabbed the next one. “And on top of that, the amount of shit he wasted is disgusting. This Isabelle girl took seventeen pregnancy tests. Seventeen! Are you kidding me?” Negan huffed as he grabbed the chair from your desk and pulled it up to your bed side.

“Well she’s fucking dead and now you’re in charge of the clinic so you can make your own damn rules.” You nodded as you grabbed the next paper and squinted your eyes to try to find a name. “So we’re moving your clinic to a bigger room at the end of this hall for all you’ve fucking pulled off. Make it a little easier on you so you’re not going up and down the fucking stairs all the time, too.” You looked up at him as you set the paper down on Sherry’s pile and cocked your eyebrow. “We grabbed a bed from the fuckin’ hospital and one of those fuckin’ reclining chairs. That and the exam table you got gives you an actual fuckin’ hospital center.” You smiled at him and said a genuine ‘thank you’ but he brushed you off as he pulled something out of his pocket.

“I had the crew put all the shit in there for you to fuckin’ organize how you want it. I know how doctors are about their shit. Here’s the keys. You got the only copies to the med cart we grabbed but I have a copy to the lock we snagged off one of the fuckin’ doors at that second place.” You glanced at the keys in your hand and paused a bit as you saw not only your motorcycle keys but the hand made ‘I love you more’ keychain from Mike’s keyring.

“Damn.” You whispered as you brushed your thumb over your sister’s handwriting. You looked up at him with tears in your eyes and nodded. “Thank you.” He nodded his head as he reached out and gently placed his hand on your right thigh.

“I don’t know what the fuck it is about you, baby girl. But you make me wanna break all my own fucking rules.” You huffed a laugh as you jostled the keys in your hand before putting them on your bedside table.

“Oh yea? Like what?” He smirked and shrugged as he massaged his thumb into your thigh.

“Well… had any other prick pulled the stunts you did today and they’d fucking meet Lucille.” Your eyebrows flew to your hair line as he studied your face for your reaction. “The bat.” You pursed your lips and nodded slowly as he continued. “You going on a fucking run… no one gets to just fucking do it. But I fucking let you and I have no fucking idea why I did.”

“Usually it’s because people feel sorry for me because I’m missing a leg.” You said simply with a shrug as you looked down at his hand on your thigh. “So don’t beat yourself up over that shit.” You met his eyes again and you could see him slowly accepting your ‘get out of jail’ card.

“Yea… yea, you must be right.” You nodded at him again as he pulled his hand back to his lap. The two of you stayed quiet for a moment before he cleared his throat. “Well anyways, you’re getting a fucking crew. Get your shit settled, figure out what you have and what you still fucking need. Dwight, Laura, and Gary are yours when they ain’t out with me. You get two trips a month; I can’t fucking afford to lose another doctor and I can’t fucking afford them being gone more often.” You nodded your head as he stood up from the chair and headed toward the door. He hesitated for a moment before looking back at you. “Don’t fucking make me regret this.”

——

“Any allergies that you know about?” You asked for what felt like the millionth time as you gave yet another person a quick physical in your new clinic. The man on your table shook his head as you checked his ears, nose and throat and tossed the cover into a box marked ‘clear’ so you could sterilize them and use them again in the future. You glanced up at him and as you ran your temple thermometer across his forehead. “Any pain, any bumps, or bruises? Scars, past surgeries, anything like that?” You glanced up at the man, who was focused solely on your exposed stump just like every other person you had had come in. With a sigh, you snapped your fingers in front of his face.

“Oh! Shit, sorry. No, no pain, surgeries or weird stuff.” You nodded as you entered in the information in his chart.

“Alright, we’re all set here. Nurse Lilo.” You turned to your daughter with a smile and she held up a lollipop with a smile of her own. The man huffed a laugh and took the offered treat on his way out the door. You let out a sigh as you watched him walk out.

“Mommy… why do they keep starin’ at you?” You saved the new chart quickly and looked up at your five year old with a smile.

“Because they are just curious, baby. They’ve never seen someone who was missing a leg before.” She nodded slowly as she tried to understand while you looked back at your list of people who lived at the Sanctuary you still needed to see.

“How come?” You looked up from your list, which now only consisted of Negan and Brenna, and sighed.

“How come what, sweetheart?” She looked up from your leg and searched your eyes.

“How come they wanna make you feel bad for being different?” You smiled at your little girl, who was too pure for this world, and scooted over to where she was sitting on the big chair from the hospital.

“Because they just don’t get that it can be hurtful. But you have to remember… we can’t control other people. So we just have to ignore them when they’re being rude and hurtful, right?” She nodded at you as you reached out and booped her nose before scooting back over to sanitize your table.

“You’re a good mom.” Negan said softly as he came into the clinic. You looked up at him with a  genuine smile and nodded.

“Thanks. I see you got my message to come see me when you got back?” He huffed a laugh and nodded as you scooted away from the end of the exam table.

“That I did. The fuck do you got for me, doc?” You smiled at him, actually glad he had made it back after his two week excursion to who knows where.

“Physical exam. Take a seat. Nurse Lilo?” Your little girl jumped off the chair and went over to close the door.

“The arm squeezer.” She said as she came over to do her portion of the exam. You helped her up onto your lap as Negan took a seat on your exam table. Brenna got a stern look on her face as you handed her the blood pressure cuff. “Arm please.” Negan chuckled as he took off his ever present leather jacket and offered up his arm while Brenna looked for the little arrow on the blue fabric.

“Line it up with the middle.” You reminded her as you pulled your stethoscope from around your neck. Your patient sat very still as you helped your little helper tighten the cuff around his muscular arm. You put your stethoscope in your ears and set the diaphragm in the crook of his arm as you handed her the pump. 

“Only to one-six-zero.” You reminded her as you clipped the gauge onto the holder and put your hand over hers. Negan watched as Brenna pumped with all her might to get the red line to hit 160 like she was supposed to. She smiled proudly when it finally made it and pulled her hands out from under yours so you could get an accurate reading. You glanced at your watch and could almost hear her whispered counting as you got the systolic and diastolic numbers.

“What’s your count, nurse?” You asked with one more glance at your watch as you let the rest of the air out of the bladder and took off your stethoscope.

“Four.” You nodded at her proudly as you put the blood pressure cuff on the counter and grabbed your tablet.

“What was she counting?” Negan asked as Brenna stood on the rolling stool with a foot on either side of your left thigh and held onto your pony tail for balance.

“Your respirations in fifteen seconds. Now, if you don’t mind, we have to take your pulse.” Negan laughed and nodded.

“Well who the fuck am I to stand in the way of my beautiful doctors?”

“Mommy…” Brenna giggled and you smirked and nodded.

“Yep, Negan says the very bad word a lot.” You watched his cheeks pink the slightest bit as you guided Brenna’s hand to the pulse point in Negan’s neck which was easier for her to feel.

“Sorry.” He said, receiving a glare from Brenna as you put her fingers on his jugular while yours went to the pulse point on his wrist.

“You gots be quiet!” She said to him. “I gots to count.” Negan put on a stern face and zipped his lips as you glanced at your watch.

“Ready?” You asked as you wrapped your arm around her middle so she wouldn’t fall over. “Go.” You forced yourself to tune out her out loud counting, which had gotten a lot better since she started counting people’s pulse a couple weeks before. She did mess up when she hit the teens but you knew she still needed a little more practice with those. “Time.”

“Good job, little doc.” Negan said as he held up his hand for a high five. Brenna hit it as hard as she could and he playfully shook his hand as if he was hurt. “Well daaa….ng, little one. You’re really strong!” She giggled and nodded her head as she sat back down on your legs. “What’s next?”

“Flexes.” She said as you placed a small rubber hammer in her hand and held on to it. “Now this could hurt.” She said sternly as she looked up at him. He nodded and furrowed his brow.

“Ok. I’m ready.” You guided Brenna’s hand and let her tap his knee. Negan, being the good sport he was, kicked his leg out a little dramatically and feigned shock. “Whoa! That’s never done that before! How did you do that?”

“Um…” Brenna said as you shifted her to your other thigh. “It’s a doctor secret so I can’t tell you.” You and your patient both fought to hold back your laugh as she did his other knee, receiving the same result.

“Alright, nurse. Your job here is done for now. Go prepare for your next part. This is our super special patient so you better pick the best one you got.” You said as she handed you the hammer and climbed off your lap. She nodded frantically as she climbed onto her chair and started digging through the bag of slightly stale lollipops for what she thought was the best one for her patient.

“So how am I, doc?” He asked as you added the data to his chart.

“Blood pressure’s normal. Pulse is a little high but it’s not concerning.” He nodded at you as you grabbed your stethoscope and moved your chair to stand up at his side. “Deep breath.” Negan let you finish you exam quietly but you couldn’t help but notice that he was constantly watching you unlike your other patients, who were simply watching your leg dangle. As you wrapped up your exam and asked him the standard general knowledge questions, you sat back down on your stool and smiled. “Well, you seem to be all good in my book.”

“Well that is great to hear.” He said as he put his jacket back on. “Is there anyone here that we need to be concerned about that you didn’t already know about?” You sat back in your chair as you finished inputting the last bit of info into his chart and your brow furrowed.

“Well… um let’s see.” You set your tablet down and looked up at the ceiling to recall the past two weeks of patients. “We have one woman that has severe arthritis but she refuses to leave the garden and I think her husband is in the early, early stages of Alzheimer’s so I’m gunna have to keep an eye on him. I’m gunna try to give Cam a prosthetic but Carson did a great job of butchering his stump so I don’t know if I’ll be able to without causing his nerves unnecessary pain. And other than a pregnancy test for one of those ladies in mourning, everyone was more interested in my stump then…”

“What the fuck did you just say?” You looked over at him and your brow furrowed.

“Which part?”

“Who took the fucking pregnancy test?”

“Oh!” You said as you grabbed your tablet and pulled up the chart, not realizing what you had just done. “Shit which one was… oh here it is. Amber. It came back negative but she was still crying so…” Negan nodded slowly as he pulled a leather glove out of his jacket pocket.

“Thank you. I’m gunna need you down in the fucking hall when you’re done in here. Take Brenna down to the day care first.” You nodded at him slowly as he stood up from the exam table and headed toward the door.

“Wait, your medicine!” Brenna called as she slid off the chair and ran over to him with the lollipop in her hand. He smiled at her as he crouched down at her side.

“Thank you Doctor Lilo. You did a great job today, princess.” She blushed violently as he ruffled her hair and stood back up. “Don’t be long, doc. I don’t like to wait.” You nodded at his back as you closed out Amber’s file and turned off your tablet.

“Alright, B. Let’s get you down to day care so mommy can figure out what’s going on.”

Part 3