#When an eight-year-old message in a bottle end

[bludhavenbirder]

Dick thanks Emma as he takes the medicine and the water from her. He shakes two pills from the bottle, turns them over in his hand to examine them for a moment before he puts them into his mouth and swallows. Dick balanced the medicine bottle on the arm of the chair and opens the water. He hadn't realized how thirsty he was. He takes a long drink, but doesn't chug it— doesn't want to risk feeling more nausea than he already has.

"I was texting Wonder Girl and the Flash," He offers, picking up on her curiosity. He's already pulling out his work phone again as he speaks. "I'll message him, don't worry about it." Best to get it out of the way, and it's not fair to make Emma the intermediary. Dick would talk to Bruce when he gets home, but might as well let him know what he's coming home to— although he's probably pieced together the basics from the alerts he would've gotten. Met Robin-in-training. Arrived injured and she delivered excellent first aid. Bite wound to arm, concussion. Got stitched up no problem! Walked through xray protocols. Stressful for her, though, you should bring pizza after patrol.

"Yeah, seafood wasn't something I had a lot of experience with before Alfred's crab stuffed mushrooms," He tries think back to the time before his parents were murdered. It was minuscule now, only eight years of his life. Alfred had recommended writing down his memories soon after Dick had moved in, and he's so glad he did. He had reread those pages, an old composition notebook full of childish scrawl. It's the only reason he has a memory to share. He bites the inside of his cheek before he speaks. Emma is still very much a stranger, but she was part of the fold. He had to trust her with his identity, would probably have to trust her in the field someday. Sharing one memory shouldn't be too much to bear.

"One time, when I was with the circus, we were…somewhere on the coast. North of here because it was before we got to Gotham, someone had pulled a bunch of clams from whatever water we were near. Just right out of the water, which blew my mind as a kid." He rolls the bottle of water between his palms, but stops almost as soon as he starts because of the noise. "The adjustment was really fucking hard," He says, takes another drink. "How did you end up meeting Bruce?"

"Ouch, indeed," Dick says, rubbing his eyes with a hand and running his fingers down the bridge of his nose. There are more examples he could show her, but with the heavy beat radiating through his head, maybe the rest of that discussion could wait. He just wants to lie down, but it's probably best to not risk falling asleep— who knows what Emma would do then. Besides, talking meant he didn't have to think about the fact there was a new Robin, especially if he can steer the conversation away from why he had left Gotham.

The screen is too bright; focus anyone with it glaring above him. He turns back towards the screen, one hand shielding his eyes, to shut off the batcomputer. He swivels back towards Emma. "I wouldn't say no to painkillers. Acetaminophen, if you've got it," He smiles. Sounds like he's ordering from a bar, but if there was a place that would have a full menu of painkillers, it'd be here. He knows where it is, but he's still waiting for the pain of the bright screen to subside. "It's not always as effective as others, for me at least, but it doesn't have the same risk of bleeding that other painkillers have. Not something you want immediately after getting concussed, you know?" He shrugs.

Dick taps out a rhythm against the chair of the arm with the palms of his hands. He still needs to figure out who is going to cover for him in Blüdhaven. "There's more variety in Blüdhaven and food tends to be cheaper...maybe part of that is the fact Two-Face isn't regularly wreaking havoc there, so people are less worried about having two-for-one deals. It's also better for seafood…" He pulls his phone from an inner pocket of his jacket as he speaks, furrows his brow as he shoots off a message to a few other vigilantes who might be available.

The phone goes back into his pocket. "Sorry, business, what was I saying?" He pushes his hair from his forehead. "Seafood. Yeah, the waters south of Blüdhaven aren't too bad because the major port is in the north of the city, so there's less pollution. It's a small market, but if you know the right places you can get a great meal."

It was a coastal city, so Dick had made himself very well-acquainted with those working on the harbor. It's a mark of pride that there had been less issues, at least in the southern waters of the city, since he had gotten there. It wasn't his work that had made it so— sure, he had thwarted several criminals in the area, but the connections he had made between certain philanthropists and environmental advocates had definitely done more for that than he had.

"But what do you like to eat? I'll keep an eye out for a good place if you ever drop by," he offers.

[isagrimorie]

Concept writing for a potential April Ludgate/Jen Barkley story…

But I can’t just start Jen and April off as falling into some relationship because it won’t be true to April’s character. April truly loves Andy… Their relationship is one cornerstone of Parks and Rec.

But Jen Barkley is exactly the type April Ludgate would Stan, and that we didn’t see them interact on Parks and Rec is a crime!

I know Parks and Rec closed the book on the entire gang with happy endings but as I’ve mentioned again and again; I hated how April gave in to Andy’s wish to have kids when she’s been vocal for several years on the show that she doesn’t want any kids.

Anyway, just trying this out as a concept writing.

---

Eight months after the Halloween dinner with Leslie and Ben, April decided to divorce Andy.

It wasn’t a decision April came to lightly. She loved Andy more than air. She can’t remember a time when she hasn’t been in love with Andy.

But Andy wanted kids and every year that ticked by, it felt like his desire to be a father was a sharp wedge between them that April couldn’t climb.

She even had a talk with Leslie. April hoped that Leslie’s pep talk would help and maybe it did a little because April did like teams and being on the winning team.

The feeling didn’t last long. The next time Andy expressed his wish to have a kid it ended with April staring at the ceiling, staring at one spot, feeling like the walls were closing in.

April didn’t like who she was becoming whenever the topic came up. Angry and biting. She liked being angry, but she didn’t like being angry with Andy. She didn’t like the resentment that was slowly building in her chest or the sick feeling she had at the pit of her stomach she’s beginning to have at the sight of Andy.

Unexpectedly, it was Ann who finally pushed April off the cliff. They all promised to attend an event Gerry was throwing for their old Parks department, and of course, Leslie roped April into helping organize the party. April didn’t mind, she was feeling nostalgic for the old days.

Oliver Traeger and Leslie’s Triplets ran around with Andy chasing them.

“They look so happy,” Ann observed.

April rolled her eyes. “Of course they are, Ann. Andy’s the best.”

“Andy would make a wonderful dad.”

One kid dropped and rolled, Andy stopped to check, but that was a ruse and Oliver tripped Andy into crashing. April watched the kids pummel Andy.

“April, is something wrong? You look… angrier than normal?”

“Do you remember what I told you about my gut?”

It was years ago, but April expected that Ann would remember the few times April ever spoke to her. Ann didn’t disappoint because she answered uncertainly, “That your gut was always right?”

“I’m going to correct that because my gut is killing me. My gut’s being an asshole.”

“Wait, are you sick?”

April glowered at Ann. “No.” And then she crossed her arms. “Did you regret following my advice about your gut?”

There was a thoughtful expression on Ann’s face, and April didn’t like it. “No, I think that was one of the best advice I ever got from you.” Ann’s eyes darted behind her and back to April. “Is there something you want to talk about?”

“No.”

And then April walked away to get some booze.

But she also had her answer, and she hated it.

Two weeks after that, April told Andy she wanted a divorce.

The entire night was… terrible and April never wants to live through that again. She called Ron and Ben and told them that Andy needed their help. April didn’t tell them what for but made sure she wasn’t anywhere when they arrived.

April took an assignment that would take her out of the country. Donna appeared the day the news got out. She knew when it did when she received wave after wave of messages and calls from Leslie. She ignored them all.

But Donna knew her itinerary since she helped April book her rental in Puerto Rico. Donna flew out — “I’m only here for the day. Joe and I are heading out for our South American extravaganza.”

“Donna…”

Donna took out a tequila bottle and began pouring them into the hotel glasses. “Drink. I invested in this Tequila company, and it’s fire.”

April did what she was told and drank the burn of the alcohol going down her throat was amazing. “Blaaah.”

“I get it,” Donna said, after things calmed down. She was pouring them another round. “Leslie doesn’t understand why, but I get it.”

True to her word, Donna was just there for a day, she left April her third Fuego tequila bottle and a truly stupendous hangover.

Leslie blew up her phone, asking to meet her, but April shut it. April was back in DC and she knew it was only a matter of time before Leslie found her. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

April cringed but opted for the truth. “Because I thought you’d talk me out of it.”

“That’s fair. I probably would have,” Leslie said with some chagrin, but then her face softened. “I told you, whatever you decide, Ben and I will support you.”

“Okay,” April could feel her face crumple."You can go now.”

Leslie ignored the goodbye, as usual, and then hugged her. “Stop,” April ordered, but even her arms didn’t listen and she found herself leaning into Leslie’s hug.

She’s never cried so hard. She felt empty. But, a good kind of empty.

“I promise you, no matter what happens, April. You’re never alone, we’ll be here for you. Team April is great.”

That was a stupid thing to promise.

“I hate being a grown-up.”

“Yeah, me too.”

--/--

tbc, Part 2

[hopeintheashes]

Some episodes call for fic.

This will get cleaned up and properly posted later, but here's what I've got for now. Post 6x10, for the BTHB square "Adrenaline Crash."

In the circuit, the frequency's breaking up / The speakers can barely move / (This is not a test) / Look in the mirror / Adjust the V-hold / Shatter the lens, pull out the shards / Choke on the words caught in your throat / How long can the wheels maintain a spin at this velocity? - Thursday, "Tomorrow I'll Be You"

Hen catches him.

Four a.m. and he hasn't stopped, hasn't stopped pacing, hasn't stopped— praying? Is that what he's doing? This fervent whisper in the back of his mind, Hail Mary, full of grace, words he doesn't even— hasn't since— But it doesn't matter, they're there whether he wants them or not, the echo of his childhood in the spaces between please— and no— and he can't, this can't—

His boot catches on the layers of wax on the linoleum floor and he stumbles, and Hen catches him.

You were— he wants to say. You were following me.

"Yeah," she says. "I was."

He's shaking. That isn't right.

The catch of panic in his chest.

Chim, on Buck's bare chest, hands slipping in the pouring rain. The wild thought, Don't break him, even though he knows damn well he has to be broken to be saved.

No.

He needs to— keep it together. Keep his jaw set and his head up and push through to morning. To the light. As if that that's what will bring him home, walking through the waiting room door with an easy smile, a half-amused grin: What are you guys doing here?

(It'll be at least a day. He knows it'll be at least a day. They'd passed the message back and forth between waiting-room chairs like they were eight years old playing telephone, like Bobby hadn't just told them all, his words settling over the room like a stifling blanket. A day? A day. The doctors said— medically-induced coma. At least a day. We'll know more later. We just have to wait and see.)

He wants to be here; he wants to be home. Christopher is at home.

Christopher is asleep and doesn't know, doesn't know, and that's what finally takes him out at the knees.

Hen catches him, and they're all alone on a hallway bench in the florescent light and the hospital might be empty; might be abandoned; this might be the end of the world.

"Eddie."

Through the scream of static in his ears.

"Drink some water." Two bottles in her hands. Had those been there before?

He stares at the thin plastic where it's going concave under her fingers, like Buck's pale chest under the heels of Chimney's hands, and he has this faraway conviction that he's going to be sick.

He swallows down the same sour taste that had flooded his mouth when they showed up (as if this wasn't the first time in years, in decades; as if they hadn't let their son cut himself to bits his whole life on the flint of their indifference) and tells himself he's going to reach for the bottle; take it; open it; drink.

Now that he's stopped moving, though, he can't find a way to start.

Hen opens the water and puts it in his hand and taps at his elbow until he takes a sip. "Good," she says, no more than a murmur, and he supposes that's right, objectively speaking, but it just feels so goddamn unimportant in the face of the end of the world.

Bobby, he wants to say. Maddie. Chim.

"Drink," Hen says again; taps his elbow again; and he does, and he doesn't heave. "That's it," she says, so quiet he barely hears.

He's shaking. Again. Still? The water is trembling, threatening to spill.

"Okay." Taking the water out of his hands. Capping it again. "C'mere."

Where? There's nowhere but here in this terrible limbo.

He knows, somewhere in the back of his mind, that this is all an echo of before. Of fear and ropes and pouring rain and waiting-waiting-waiting for news. Of a crack that comes after the damage is done, the speed of sound too slow.

It's too much. He lets the ringing in his ears flood the rest, drown it out.

"C'mere," Hen says, and pulls him close, numb and trembling in the adrenaline let-down, breath coming in gasps, and she holds him, there in the empty hallway, and doesn't say anything else at all.

[pokeglitchden]

✖ - a repressed memory

✖ - a repressed memory

✖ - a repressed memory

✖ - a repressed memory

✖ - a repressed memory

[OOC- Since this is five different memories they are all going to be short. But they are each still a repressed memory in some way.

1)

[First memory is a very young one. Simon must be only around seven or eight years old at this point. He sits at the kitchen table, swinging his feet uncomfortably as both parents stand and discuss his latest grades.

Neither of them seem to even be looking at him, or even considering the fact that he's still in the room as they speak.

"Well, you know he's a bright enough kid. He just doesn't apply himself." his father says a little sternly.

"It's just the new school." his mother at least seems to be TRYING to be on his side, "Too many distractions. It'll settle once he's actually made a friend or two."

"Well, he'd better work on getting his grades up. It's really the only thing he's got going for him."

He stays there a long time past when his parents leave the kitchen.]

2)

[The memory begins inside the Silph Co. during lunch break. He is walking with his lab p�rt�er(?) as they try to find a seat.

It is the first day they've spent in the department of Glitch Research, and for once it looks like people are watching them. It's the look someone gives a person they believe will probably be dead by the next week. Pitying, a little sad, but not enough to do anything about it.

Everyone they pass seems to have that same knowing look on their face.

Someone says behind them.

"They're really going through them fast in Department H. Poor bastards. Hope they hold together."]

3)

[ He stands before Grant for the first time. The man's eyes are the most striking thing about him, glazed and almost hollow looking. And a dull white in color. Simon can barely look at him.

He has with him a young woman who is clearly a ZZaZZ victim. Her body is lined with spots, mimicking the pattern of a Bulbasaur, and she fragments wildly every few steps she takes. Her eyes look a little vacant, a far cry from the endless aggression she'd been expressing only moments ago.

He'd done this to her.

"I believe this does settle our little deal." Grant says with a smile. He hands over what seems to be a small tape recorder, "I hope you'll find it in you to work with us again."

When Simon takes it, there is a flicker of green in his shadow. It is so... SO tempting to end this all right now.

Once again. No one would have to know. After all, they already never would.

That night he sits in the dark and recounts every one of his regrets. He knows he can't ask Q to take this memory, but sitting with it is agony. A message from �aver lights the screen of his Dex Nav, and instead of answering it, he throws it against the wall. The screen cracks.]

4)

[A memory from the Mystery Zone. An endless expanse of trees stretch before him on every side, and he walks, limping, sometimes barely moving forward, as he counts each minute that passes meticulously.

The bottle of water he'd brought with him is now thoroughly empty, and he knows that if he doesn't find the exit to this place soon, it will likely not happen at all.

He has stopped recording, for now, and only a minute after he does, he feels his legs buckle. He barely feels himself hit the ground.

Without the sound of his own shuffling feet it is deathly quiet in the Mystery Zone. He can't move, and his entire body feels like it is about to unravel.

"Simon? Are you coming back?"

�aver's voice sounds so clear in his ears he could swear it was real. For a moment, just a moment, he turns and he can see him.

"I'm trying." He says back, his voice barely a whisper, "I'm trying, really."

"Do you need a hand? Come on."

He is so sure he can see his hand. It looks so real in front of him that when he goes to grab it, it is startling how fast it slips through.

He feels like he could cry. He knows he cannot trust anything he sees or hears any more.

He tries to just focus on counting the passing minutes until he can move again. ]

5)

[ Simon flies on Gilligan's back as they soar over the cluttered landscape of Glitch City. Beside him �aver is starting to pull ahead on the back of Lullaby, his ▶️A.

He is such an adept scout that he seems to already have a flight path all set out to cover as much searchable ground as possible. He is darting back and fourth, a deep red tint easily tracking his movements.

"Look! I think that's them! Over there!" He shouts, pointing to a spot Simon can barely see in the middle of the chaotic urban sprawl of half formed houses. It is the ZZaZZ victim that ran away. The hybrid.

He smiles at Simon with a confidence he knew he would never see in him again.

"Come on! Let's go get them." He says as he descends.

Simon slowly gives the signal to descend after him. He says nothing. ]

[nextepisodes]

Department Q: A Conspiracy of Faith

When an eight-year-old message in a bottle ends up at Department Q, Carl Morck and his assistant Assad are drawn into a horrific case involving a psychopathic murderer, religious fanaticism and abducted siblings never reported missing by their parents. from TheTVDB.com Today's New Episodes http://ift.tt/2pnDt5A via IFTTT

[au-wannabe-the-very-best]

His name is Kubo. It wasn’t before, but it is now and that is all that matters. The Before wasn’t something worth remembering. If anything, he wish he could forget it altogether. After all, the only joy he found in the Before was from fiction and special interests he could never pursue. 

The Before ended earlier than it should have, so he never truly made it to where he wanted to be. He finished his high school diploma early, and had begun his certification process before his existence was unfortunately cut short by a wayward glass bottle thrown by his father. Previous father, that is. If anything, being murdered wasn’t nearly as irritating as it was to lose years worth of his hard work. He had been on a path towards something that would possibly make him truly happy. Having his tracks derailed in such a permanent way was deeply upsetting, especially when considering the idea that he would have to do it all again.

He is Kubo now. Not who he was previously. He is young, and now has two identical siblings, both who are a lot like him. They like trains. They are intense. They have special quirks and interests.

Unlike him, they are both horrible at masking. That is not a bad thing. They shouldn’t need to mask. They shouldn’t feel the need for it. Kubo only ever learned in the Before due to fear. It’s difficult to unlearn, he doesn’t know exactly how to stop doing it because he spent a majority of his formative years in the Before doing it. He wants to be more like his brothers.

His parents from the Now do not want him to be more like his brothers. He is certain of that.

For their fifth birthday, his brothers got train sets. Rather than getting one himself, he was given a puzzle, some books a few grades above his age’s typical reading level, and a Reuniclus doll the same size as his body. Notably, he had more gifts than his brothers. Also notably, none of these gifts pertained to his interests. Reuniclus was not his favorite Pokémon. The books he was given were science fiction. He does not like these sorts of puzzles. 

He read the message. He’s done this song and dance before. 

“Act normal, and we’ll shower you with love.” 

He did not want it. His brothers were old enough to see their parents’ show of favoritism, but not old enough to see how Kubo himself feels about it. In their eyes, Kubo is everything they are not. He is Normal. He is Sociable. He is Perfect. 

Meanwhile, they are Weird. They are Unapproachable. They are Flawed. 

Eventually, Kubo found himself alone. His parents would only ever love a fake, idealized version of him. His brothers would rather ignore his existence. Their red, blue, and green color coding eventually turned into black, white, and green. 

His brothers left home early to start their journey at age eight, together. They did not invite Kubo. His brothers were content to see themselves as twins, and his parents were content to view Kubo as their only child. 

He did not love his parents. His parents believed they loved him. He loved his brothers. They could not say the same about him. 

Nearly a year later, he runs into the forest, leaves his shoes beside a tree stump, throws his backpack into a river, and fakes his death. He becomes a stowaway, leaves Unova, and endeavors to start his journey in Kanto. His newly minted trainer’s license, distributed by Professor Oak himself, says that he is ten years old, an orphan, and legally capable of taking care of himself. He is nine years old, has parents in another region altogether, and he has no idea what he is doing. 

He is still Kubo. He just isn’t Kubo Conway anymore. He is Kubo Nobara. 

He prefers life this way. Really. He does.

[michwritesstuff]

Late Nights (The Outer Banks: Rafe Cameron)

This song just gives giant Rafe Cameron enemies to lovers vibes! Also, Holy shit, this is my longest work ever! I hope you guys enjoy reading it as much I enjoyed writing it!

This takes place season 1, before Rafe kills Peterkin. Let’s just pretend he’s not a psychopath. He’s still the resident bad boy of Figure 8, but not a killer…

summary: female reader (she/her) x Rafe Cameron When Y/N finds herself abandoned by her friends at a house party thrown by no other than Kook King, Topper Thornton, she finds odd company in the form of her classmates and neighbors that she has taken very little liking to. She is surprised to learn that her disinterest in all things “kook-related” has sparked the interest of a particular kook. tw: mention of alcohol/drug consumption, slight smut (18+) word count: 4.1k

Y/N might’ve been a kook, but if it wasn’t for her consistent attendance to Figure Eight events you wouldn’t have known. She hated all the superficial bullshit and quickly found herself befriending a certain group of pogues who she would often run into while working on the Cut. Everything in her life had been so easy for her, and although she was grateful, she couldn’t help but feel guilty about the privilege she received while her friends had spent their life fighting for a chance. Being able to find an ally in Kie was all that Y/N had to look forward to as she continued to find a place for herself among the fight between class divisions in her small hometown.

Summer was coming to an end, and with a few weeks left you couldn’t help but just enjoy the moments with your friends. Sitting on the small boat as the sun slowly set, passing the blunt around while you all tried to keep a serious conversation going before blurting out laughing at some stupid shit JJ had said. You had even found an unlikely friend in the form of kook princess, Sarah Cameron. You had known Sarah Cameron for as long as you could remember, always greeting each other’s families at events and having at least one class together every year. But this was different, you had known Sarah but never gave her a chance to hang out. When John B mentioned her a few weeks ago and started to bring her around you and the other pogues were stunned to say the least. You knew that she was dating Topper Thornton, I mean everyone knew that, but what she had with John B was different, at least from what you had seen. “This was great guys, but I promised Topper I would meet him at his party. Keep up appearances, you know?” Sarah said unsurely. Everyone looked around, nodding in understandment, except John B. “I don’t like him,” JJ spoke up, standing up for John B who continued sulking in silence. “Yeah, him and Rafe are always doing some shit,” Pope also spoke up. “You guys have no idea,” Kiara replied while rolling her eyes at the thought of the kook boys she had known so well. You also nodded in response. “Yeah, well I would invite you guys, but I can’t imagine that going over well.” Once again everyone nodded in agreement, except John B. “What if Y/N goes with you,” he suggested. “Thanks for throwing me under the bus!” you exclaimed back at him. Sarah turned to you with a shy smile, “It’s not such a bad idea. I mean you would know almost everyone.” “Yeah, so does Kie, you don’t see her being volunteered to go,” you exclaimed again. “That’s because they actually like you,” Kie replied, smirking when you rolled your eyes at her statement, she was right. “C’mon Y/N it’ll be fun. You’ll have me to hang out with and if you absolutely hate it, we’ll make up an excuse and leave. Besides, it’d be nice to have someone there that I don’t need to be fake with.” You thought for a moment before slowly nodding your head, cursing under your breath as your friends cheered around you. “There’s our little kookie,” JJ stated, jumping away in defense as you attempted to punch his arm.

The bass of the music pounded in your ears as you walked up the driveway. If even possible it got louder once you finally entered the front door, you swore your eardrums were about to rupture. Finding the kitchen, you reached out for two truly’s, your disappointment in the night continuing as feeling they were just room temperature. They weren’t your first choice of alcohol to get through a night like this and seeing as though they weren’t even cold made it worse. You instantly cracked it open, downing as much as you could on the first sip. You handed the other one to Sarah, bumping your open can to her’s in an attempt to say cheers. She laughed at you, “I’m gonna go find Topper. You’ll be okay if I leave you alone for a few minutes?” You took another sip before responding, “Figured this would happen at some point, yeah I’ll be good.” Watching her leave your eyes scanned the kitchen, deciding you needed to loosen up some more you pushed off the counter, “I need something stronger,” you whispered under your breath.

Making your way through the house you scanned the room for unattended bottles you could mooch off. To your surprise you were pulled by the arm, “Omg Y/N, what are you doing here?” a girly high-pitched voice screeched. You turned around, already ready to use your preppy voice, “Hey Claire,” you responded in a mock happy voice matching hers. Claire was sweet, n just not your cup of tea. The two of you had always been civil, sharing a few classes here and there. “Mind if I?” you asked, gesturing to the bottle of Tito’s vodka in her hand. “Oh sure, just be careful. I’ve gotten fucked up with this shit more times than I could remember,” she laughed while handing you the bottle. You lift the bottle up to your lips, the taste on the rim barely making an impact on your tastebuds. But as you thew your head back and lifted the bottle you took one big swig. The alcohol ran down your throat, a warmth following the path it took as it settled in your stomach. “Ugh, Claire, that shit is just straight rubbing alcohol. How the fuck do you drink that?” you exclaimed, handing her the bottle as you wiped the back of your mouth with your hand. She laughed at your reaction, “Believe me, in a little while you won’t even care how it tastes. Just know that you’ll feel it.” You nodded your head while once again scanning your eyes across the room. A few feet away was a coffee table surrounded by teens. Claire noticed your interest and dragged you over. Looking up from the table was Rafe Cameron, Sarah’s brother, who on more than one account you had gotten into a heated argument about your choice of friends. The two of you made eye contact as he wiped the leftover residue from the line of cocaine he had just done. Classy as ever Cameron, you thought as you broke eye contact and examined all the other teens waiting their turn. Rafe greeted Claire with a smirk and half-nod before returning his attention to you. “Awww Y/L/N, get tired of hanging around those boring old pogues, and decided to have some real fun?” he mocked while gesturing to the lines set up in front of him. You scoffed at his suggestion, “Keep dreaming,” you responded. Living in your teenage years and drinking was one thing, but if your parents caught you doing drugs there was a good chance you wouldn’t have much of a life to live. Making eye contact with you he slowly lowered himself closer to the table, quickly doing another line before looking up at you again. Is this kid trying to kill himself? you thought to yourself. You reached out for Claire’s bottle, taking another swig before motioning it up to Rafe. “Always a pleasure Cameron,” you stated before handing Claire her bottle.

Leaving the room, you realized that you hadn’t seen Sarah for a while. Wandering around the house in attempt to find her you bumped into Topper. “Hey Top, seen Sarah anywhere?” you asked. “Uhm a little while ago, she said she went to go find you,” he said quizzingly. “Yeah, right. Just kidding, she went to the bathroom. I’ll go find her,” you quickly spitted out. Nearly running you got away from Topper as fast as you could before finding an empty spot on the wall. Leaning back against the wall, you pulled your phone from your pocket and found a few texts from Sarah and one from John B. “Hey Y/N, John B showed up.” “We just left, please distract Topper.” “I owe you one.” You responded back, “ughh ok, I’m on it.” Clicking on John B’s name you read his message, “sorry kookie, had to steal her. thanks!” You rolled your eyes at the dumb nickname him and the others decided for you, their attempt to always tease you about your kook lifestyle. You sent him the middle finger emoji and a yellow heart before turning your phone off and looking around for Topper. Spotting him talking to Kelce you kept your place on the wall. As long as you could see him and he couldn’t see you, there was no reason to suspect anything about Sarah. Besides, after about half an hour you could probably make a break for the exit, and no one would notice.

As you continued to scroll on your phone you were slightly startled by the presence of another human standing near you. Your eyes looked up to a boy standing in front of you. He was tall, but you couldn’t ignore how young and immature he looked. “Don’t even think about it freshman,” you said before he had the chance. He laughed while nodding his head. “Hey, I had to try. Should’ve known a girl as smart as you wouldn’t give me a chance,” he responded. You gave him a quizzical look as you quickly glanced him up and down. He wasn’t too dumb if he knew to compliment your intelligence over any physical feature. He reached his hand out to shake yours, “I’m Nathan.” You glanced at his hand for a second before reluctantly shaking it “I’m Y/N,” you replied. “I know,” he said a little too quickly making the both of you chuckle. “Mrs. Nichol said you were the captain of the mock trial team. She talked to you the other day about me joining,” he rambled on. You laughed at his apparent nervousness. “Oh yeah, well I guess it’s nice to meet you, Nathan. Not exactly the type of place to bring up extracurriculars,” you laughed while motioning to the number of teens, drugs, and alcohol around you. As you did you could feel the stare from a certain kook, no doubt watching your exchange with the boy in front of you. “Probably not, but it did get you talking to me,” he quirked back. Nodding your head in amusement at his reply you responded, “Touché.” As the volume of the music had apparently increased within the last few seconds of your exchange, Nathan leaned forward slightly so he could hear you better. “Can I get you something to drink?” He asked while leaning down. “I can take it from here,” you heard Rafe speak from behind you as he slid his hand around to the small of your back. Confused by the situation unraveling in front of you, you were quick to speak. “Uhm, actually Cameron, Nathan and I were having a lovely conversation about something you couldn’t possibly be interested in,” you stated attempting to distance yourself away from Rafe and closer to Nathan. “Yeah, I—” Nathan attempted to speak before being interrupted, “Seriously, Miller, beat it or practice on Monday will be hell.” You confusingly looked at Nathan and Rafe before finally understanding. Just like you would be Nathan’s captain, so was Rafe. “Water polo?” you questioned. “Yeah, you’ll catch a game?” he asked in return. “Yeah!” you said sweetly before a mocking scoff turned your attention to Rafe, to which your surprise still had his hand on the small of your back, it almost felt natural that you hadn’t noticed it was still there. Looking at him expectantly he pulled his hands away holding them up in an ‘ok I get it’ way. “Can I help you?” you asked expectantly. “Care to go for a swim?” he asked. You looked at him confused, you weren’t sure if it was your light buzz from your shots of vodka talking but he seemed just as surprised as you were as you answered, “yes!”

As he grabbed your hand, you quietly followed as he led you through the house. “I’m gonna need more alcohol before we do this,” you exclaimed as loud as you could, hoping he would hear you over the volume of the music. He turned to look at you for a moment before turning back and nodding, showing that he had in fact heard your request. Walking through the kitchen he left you at the counter while reaching into one of the cabinets, pulling down a full bottle of Tito’s. He motioned you from your spot and you continued to follow. “My parents got this as a gift for the Thornton’s but it’s not really their style.” You nodded understandingly, Topper’s parents didn’t really seem like the type to be chugging back vodka shots, they were more sophisticated. Following him through the house you were confused as you walked past the sliding glass door that led to the pool and the dozens of other teens who had the same idea you two had, or so you thought. “Where are we going?” you asked. Rafe stayed silent as you continued following him. Opening another set of glass doors, he let you exit first before quickly following. On the side of the house was a hot tub that apparently no one knew about, seeing as though you and Rafe were the only ones out here. “What the hell is this, Cameron?” you asked. He looked at you, confusion evident on his face. “You said we were going swimming. We can’t do that in a hot tub.” He laughed before handing you the now open bottle of Tito’s, watching you take a sip he replied, “What, did you plan on working on your breaststroke or something?” He said jokingly. “No, I actually planned on playing mermaids. Maybe it’s you who needs to work on breaststroke,” you responded wittily. He feigned shock and hurt, taking the bottle from your hand. “My breaststroke is amazing, just ask your friend Claire,” he winked as you scoffed in amusement and disgust. After taking another sip he handed the bottle back to you, removing his clothes he stripped down until he was in his boxers. That left little to the imagination as you could see the outline of his dick printed. Feeling your eyes, he gave you a smirk to which you sheepishly took another sip of vodka, shaking as you felt the liquid burn down your throat. Entering the hot tub, he sat with arms spread out to both his sides, resting on the edge. “Aren’t you going to join me?” he asked. You nodded, feeling your breath catch in your throat. You handed him the bottle, starting to undress as you felt his eyes drawn to your exposed skin where you had begun to lift your shirt. “Hey! Turn around Cameron,” you exclaimed. He put his hands up in defense, turning his head so his attention was drawn to the bubbles and pressure coming from the jets. Folding your shirt and jeans on to the table nearby you turned back around to Rafe examining your exposed body adorning a basic black sports bra and lace thong. You immediately turned red, not knowing how to react under his intense stare. As you entered the hot tub you slipped when placing your foot on the bench to step in, landing you a little closer to Rafe then you planned. He held your arm as you attempted to steady yourself. “You alright?” he asked. You were able to manage out a “mhmm” as you reached for another sip from the bottle. He gladly handed you the bottle, a lazy smile on his face.

You weren’t sure how you always ended up like this but something about being drunk and outside led to you staring at the moon and stars. “What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?” Rafe asked, breaking the silence. You tried to remain calm with his choice of words, not wanting him to know the effect he was having on you. “Just thinking,” you responded quietly. “About what,” you scanned his face for a second, genuine interest radiating off him. “As niche as it sounds, life…I mean doesn’t this all seem so pathetic,” you stated as you continued to stare off into the sky. “Life?” he asked, laughing to mask his confusion. You chuckled along with him, “No, this…pogues vs. kooks. It’s all so fucking dumb. There are so many more problems out there, so many people who need help and we can’t even come together to help people in our own community.” He just hummed as you continued to ramble on, listening to what you had to say. “I can’t help but just feel guilty. I mean what did I do to deserve this type of life. I mean my parents work hard but they’ve had so many opportunities because of their parents and their parents, and it just keeps going. This sort of generational wealth and success…” you quietly trailed off as you realized who you were talking to. “But I mean you probably don’t care,” you said while looking at him. He shook his head with a smirk. “Now I know why Sarah never shuts up about how smart you are.” You looked at him more intently, “what?” you exclaimed. He nodded his head, before turning his attention to the sky like you had before. “I mean, I guess I just never thought of it that way. Kind of blind to the privilege that I have.” “Must be all the coke,” you mumbled to yourself under your breath. He shot you a warning look before chuckling, “might be the coke,” he responded. You laughed along with him before a serious tone washed over him. “I mean it Y/N, you’re just so attuned to the needs of others,” He exclaimed. “Well, you can be like that too,” you reassured him. “Yeah right, there’s not a lot of hope left for me,” he replied sarcastically. “That’s not true. I mean sure you have your flaws, but from what I’ve seen you’re a good friend, loyal and family is important to you. Those are good qualities, and I mean of course you’re not half bad looking.” He laughed at the last part. “Well, Y/L/N, you’re extremely caring, intelligent, and hot as fuck! So, you have that going for you.” It was your turn to laugh and turn red at his comment.  You weren’t sure if it was the alcohol dulling your senses, but as you looked into Rafe’s eyes you felt yourself being drawn closer. You both leaned in, lips barely brushing each other as your breaths slowed. “Can I kiss you,” he asked. You could barely hear him over the sound of your own heart beating in your chest. “Please,” you nearly whined. Your tone making Rafe swoon as he gently pushed his lips onto yours.

As happy as you were with his gentleness, the alcohol you had consumed throughout the night had made you far hornier than you liked to admit. Leaning deeper into the kiss you gently placed your hands onto his chest before lightly pushing him back to so you could straddle his lap. As you did so, Rafe took a large sip from the bottle, as you looked at him expectantly. He gave you a smirk before bringing the bottle close to your lips, tilting your head back, you let him pour some of the alcohol down your throat. Before you could process the liquid once again burning the back your throat you pressed a heated kiss on to his lips. As your hands moved up from their place on his chest to the back of his neck, playing with the ends of his hair, his hands move from where he was setting the bottle down to trailing around your waist and landing on your ass, holding you in place. As your tongues continued to fight for dominance, he pulled away slightly. Kissing down your jaw and starting to suck on your neck you slightly grinded down on to him while continuing to play with the hairs at the nape of his neck. His hands left your waist, guiding your hips back and forth as you continued to grind on him. As he continued to work on your neck you moaned as he found your sweet spot, “Fuck Rafe,” you exclaimed. You could feel him smirk as he continued. Giving him a break, you leaned forward slightly, changing the angle to which you were grinding down on him and leaving marks over his neck and chest. “Fuck babe,” he stated. “Being so good to me,” he continued as he leaned in for another kiss. “Yes, sir,” you said, testing the waters. You could clearly tell that you were starting to drive Rafe crazy as he moaned into your mouth at your response. Roughly grabbing your hip, he speeded the pace of your grinding. As you continued to litter marks along his chest, he reached a hand up to pull your sports bra down far enough so that your boobs were spilling over the top. The pressure of the band along with the added sensation of Rafe’s mouth on your nipple was almost too much. Along with this you could feel how hard he had gotten under you. I mean, you knew he was big, but this was godly. Your makeout session was quickly abrupted as you both snapped your heads to the sound of the glass doors sliding open. Quickly removing yourself from Rafe’s lap and adjusting your bra, you sat silently, reaching for the bottle again. “What’s up Top?” Rafe asked nonchalantly. Topper looked at you both slyly, clearly knowing what he half-witnessed between the two of you. “Not much, I can’t find Sarah anywhere Y/N. And she’s not answering her fucking calls.” “Yeah, she wasn’t feeling well. Said she headed home; her phone probably died. Don’t worry Top,” you said as convincingly as the alcohol would let you. Topper seemed to accept your answer and reentered the house. Rafe looked at you unconvincingly. “She just left you?” he asks. Avoiding his gaze, you let your hands play with the water. Slowly nodding your head, you responded, “guess so…” “That doesn’t sound like Sarah,” he continued. “Well that’s what happened,” you snapped. Thinking about the conversation you would have to have with Sarah about how you failed to keep Topper distracted and the alcohol finally making its presence in your system known was too much to handle. “Ughh back to reality, I guess,” you groaned out. Rafe pulled you into his side so that his arm was around your shoulder and your head resting on his. “What are you up to now?” he asked. “Figuring how to make it home alive,” you chuckled dryly. He hummed in thought next to you. After a second, he spoke, surprising you in the process, “Stay with me.” “Rafe…” you dragged out unsurely. “Seriously Y/N, that way you don’t have to worry about going home right now.” You looked at him for a second before slowly nodding. Getting out of the hot tub he disappeared for a second before returning with a set of towels. As you both dried yourselves off and gathered your clothes you headed to Topper’s guestroom.

Stumbling around in your drunken state, Rafe grabbed the clothes from your hand. Setting them on a nearby table he turned so that you were facing each other. Reaching down slightly he grabbed your legs from under your thighs so that he was now carrying you. Feeling the warmth of his chest you pressed closer, wrapping your legs around his hips in the process. With each step you slightly bounced against him. The sexual tension from earlier quickly returning. Finally reaching the room Rafe laid down so that you were now on your back while he hovered over you. With your legs around his waist and arms around his neck you gently pulled him in, pecking a sweet kiss on your lips. “I need to shower,” you said shyly. He nodded his head, pulling away slightly so he was standing, and you stayed sprawled out on the bed. “I’ll go get us some water,” he stated as he slowly walked out the room. Leaving the door cracked enough so he wouldn’t bother anyone with the sound of it opening and closing you sat up, finally taking in your surroundings. Getting up and heading to the bathroom you folded your towel, pulling off your bra and underwear as you let the water run until it was hot enough. As you let the water run over your body you stood for a minute, just thinking about everything that had happened that night, you rub your hands down your face, muttering “fuck.” You weren’t sure what was happening, but it was a problem future you would just have to deal with later.

a/n: If you like my work please support by liking/reblogging. Also, feel free to message me about ideas. I haven’t written in a while because I don’t have a lot of time, but when inspiration hits i’ll sit down for hours :)

Masterlist

[desertfangs]

Vamptember Day 13 - Photograph

Prompt: "Photograph" | Armand/Daniel | 1715 Words

Armand and Daniel go back to an old apartment to pick through the boxes before it's demolished. This is 100% self-indulgent fluff.

_______

Armand stood in the hallway of the rundown building. The carpet was torn and moldy and the window at the end of the hall was broken, allowing in the elements. The building had been abandoned, more or less, for years before they’d decided to tear it down. 

Normally, Armand would ignore the notices and simply let whatever had been left in that particular apartment be destroyed. Eternity was too long to hold onto everything and anyway, he hadn’t thought about that particular building in decades. It was simply one of many apartments he’d bought while he lived in Brooklyn with Daniel, a place to store things. He bought them on whims and at random and used only half of them. Daniel had complained about touring apartments for nights on end but he’d enjoyed making up stories for the realtors and exploring different buildings. 

Armand smiled faintly at the memory of it, back when every night had been a new adventure in learning about the modernity of man and the world around them. 

He suddenly reconsidered. Whatever had been left in this apartment was the detritus of another life. There was nothing in there he could need or want. Better to leave it to be crushed with the wrecking ball. Perhaps the Talamasca vultures would come right before the demolition and pick through the contents for anything they thought worthy of their sad little collection. 

He was about to leave when he sensed a presence and turned. 

Daniel stood in the hall looking for all the world like a ghost. For a second, he looked so much like his mortal self from those days that it jarred Armand, though of course he was thinner now, his body ravaged by the alcoholism that had almost killed him, and then renewed by Armand’s blood. His skin was as pale as Armand’s and he stood still, something he’d rarely done when he was human. He wore jeans and a jacket and had his hands in his pockets. 

“Leaving so soon? I thought we had to clear the place out,” Daniel said. 

Armand had not expected him to come. He’d left a message on Daniel’s phone when he’d gotten the notice, mostly on a whim. He’d thought Daniel was in Chicago, or that perhaps he’d gone back to Rio. Daniel rarely kept him abreast of his travels. At any rate, he didn’t think he’d bother to make the trip when he didn’t even answer the call. 

“It’s just junk,” Armand said. 

Daniel shrugged. “Well, I’m here. We might as well take a look.” 

Armand nodded and unlocked the door. It stuck, the wood having swollen in the frame, but he got it open easily enough. The apartment smelled musty and dust motes danced in the air.  

The studio apartment opened into a galley kitchen that led to a giant living area-slash-bedroom. The kitchen was empty, its old yellow stove the only appliance. The countertops were covered in dust. But the main room was full of boxes stacked eight high to the ceiling against every wall. Shorter stacks emanated out, leaving a path in center. 

Daniel came in behind him and whistled. “I guess madness runs in our blood, huh?” 

Armand cut his eyes at him. Daniel often made jokes like that and Armand did not find them funny. “It’s organized.” 

“If you say so,” Daniel said. He walked through the kitchen and pulled a box cutter out of his coat pocket. He went to the first box next to the counter and cut it open. Laughed. Looked over at Armand. He shoved his hand into the box and came out with a fistful of bottle caps. He let them fall back into the box, making little tink, tink noises as they hit each other. “Why the hell did you keep these?” 

Armand had no answer. He’d kept all sorts of things. All of it had felt important at the time, every little bit of Daniel that he could hold onto, back when Daniel was still mortal and Armand was all too aware of the temporary nature of their arrangement. 

Daniel tore into more boxes, pulling out unopened boxes of As Seen on TV gadgets and tools from a hardware store. Then he came to a box of computer disks. He titled the box so Armand could see. “We might want to properly destroy these, just in case.”

“Of course.” He’d filled those disks with writings of all sorts, writings he’d rarely let Daniel read about his thoughts, or sometimes strange little stories that came to him, macabre tales, and dark little poems. 

Daniel brought the box into the kitchen, setting it on the counter. Then he reached over and put his hand on Armand’s shoulder. “You okay?” 

Armand looked him in the eyes, this beautiful boy he’d transformed into a vampire, who’d gone mad and come back, whose mind was now locked against him. That was the cruelest trick of the Dark Gift: that he could no longer read his thoughts. “Fine.” 

Daniel smiled at him. “Good. So how about you help? This will go faster if we both work.” He pulled another box cutter out of his pocket and handed it to Armand. “I was a Boy Scout once. I come prepared.” 

Armand went to the opposite side of the apartment and opened a box that was full of clothes. Mostly denim. He discarded it and opened another. 

“Hey, where are the munchkins?” Daniel asked. 

“At home,” Armand said, shooting Daniel a warning look. 

“Shame. This seems like the sort of thing Benji would love.” 

Armand smiled to himself. Benji would love this but it would come with endless questions, and he’d have stop to explain the contents of every single box. 

Daniel opened another box and laughed again. He pulled out a blender pitcher that still had hardened cement stuck inside it. “This brings back memories. You did some really fucked up things with these.” 

“And Lestat was happy to mock me for it in that book of his.” 

“He wasn’t mocking you,” Daniel said, dropping the blender pitcher back into the box. 

“You don’t need to defend him to me,” Armand said sharply. 

“I’m not defending,” Daniel said. “He was just trying to tell our story.”

“It wasn’t his to tell.” 

Daniel opened his mouth. Then he seemed to think better of whatever he was going to say and went back to work instead. 

Armand stacked a set of opened boxes to one side and pulled out another, slashing it open. Inside were a bunch of sketches and paintings, pieces made by various artists Armand and Daniel had met at parties. He was about to set the box aside when he saw the corner of Polaroid sticking out from beneath some of the papers and pulled it out. He dropped the box and stared at the photo.

In it, Daniel was sitting on the couch in their old apartment. He wore thickly framed glasses, jeans, and an orange polo shirt with a brown and white stripe across the chest, the sort of thing that had been fashionable at the time. He held a cigarette in one hand and was looking directly at the camera, his gaze intense. He was smiling. He looked younger, his cheeks fuller. Armand stared at it. It had been taken been soon after they’d come to New York together. It felt like centuries had past since then, not mere decades. 

He touched the image with a finger, thinking of the young man Daniel had been then. The boy in the photo had no idea what the next years would hold, nor the decades after he was finally given the blood that he so desired. 

At the time, Armand had tried not to let himself think about the future. He’d wanted to live in the moment, to experience everything life had to offer with his mortal companion, and not dwell on the fact that one day it would end.

He turned his gaze to the Daniel in the room with him. He thought he’d known then how it would end. He’d been wrong. 

Daniel must have felt his eyes on him because he looked up curiously. “What’s that?” 

“Just a photograph,” Armand said. 

Daniel crossed the room and stood next to him, so close their shoulders brushed against each other. He grinned. “Man, I look happy there, don’t I?” 

“You didn’t know what you were in for then.” 

Daniel’s smile dimmed. “You make it sound like a bad thing.” He took the photo and studied it before handing it back. 

Armand looked at it again and then glanced up at Daniel, who was watching him with a curious expression. Daniel put his arm around Armand’s back and pulled him into a sideways hug. “You’re in a melancholy mood tonight. Don’t think you think this is kind of fun?” 

“It’s all garbage,” Armand said.

Daniel scoffed. “Sure, but it’s our garbage. We had a good time back then, didn’t we?” 

Armand surveyed the remaining boxes, suddenly uninterested in picking through more of them. “Yes. But we don’t need to rifle through our trash to remember.” He stuck the photograph in his pocket and grabbed Daniel’s arm. “Let’s go back to the house. Louis, Benji, and Sybelle will be happy to see you.” 

Daniel looked dubiously at the stacks of unopened boxes. “If you’re sure.” 

“I am.” Armand tugged on his arm and led Daniel back to the kitchen, where Daniel picked up the box of computer disks and gave one last look around. 

“Do you want to grab the blenders? I bet some of them still work. Benji could have fun with those.” 

“Absolutely not. Imagine the mess.”

“Oh, I don’t have to imagine, Boss. I lived it.” Daniel shook his head, smiling. “We never did manage to get the splatters off the ceiling.” 

Armand smiled back at him and put his hand on Daniel’s cheek, pressing his palm against his cool skin, stroking his face with his thumb. Then he turned, opening the door and ushering Daniel out into the hall. 

Armand left the door open and unlocked. Let whoever wanted to come ransack the remains if they were so inclined. He had everything he needed from that time. 

_____

AO3

I am my own target audience here but sometimes I just need some happy Vampire Daniel/Armand stuff.

[jerzwriter]

AAAAHHH. @catchinglikekerosene thank you for this ask. As you can see, I got FAR too extra and had FAR too much fun! But what better way to start off the long (but NOT-celebratory) weekend in the good ol-USA. Thank you for the much-needed fun distraction!

Book: Open Heart (Post Series) Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x MC (Casey) Rating: Mature (M) Warnings: Check out the title. Words: 1532 Summary: Casey and Ethan are enjoying a quiet evening at home, excited about having some time off together. When Casey came across this blank bingo card on a friend's social media post, she knew what they were going to do. (You know Ethan is going to be thrilled, right? lol) A/N: This takes place 6 months after they're married, about a year after they're official, and about 4 years since they met. It wasn't going to be a full-blown fic, but here we are lol Their bingo card answers can be found below in the text.

@choicesjuly2022challenge - Day 30 - Hot Tub

CHARACTERS BELONG TO PIXELBERRY STUDIOS.

It was a very special and rare evening in the Ramsey household. Eight-thirty on a Friday night, Ethan and Casey were both home, settled in, and ready to enjoy a three-day weekend together. Casey stopped at the liquor store on the way home and splurged on an expensive bottle of wine to celebrate. When her husband told her he would figure out a way for them to get this time together, she swore it was impossible, but here they were.

They decided to make it a mini staycation. They'd enjoy their home, where they didn't get to spend nearly enough time, and maybe play tourists in Boston. It would be so nice to take in some local sites and restaurants, but that was for tomorrow. Tonight, Ethan prepared a meal that would rival any gourmet chef. Their only definitive plans were the aforementioned bottle of wine, soothing music, and, after some time to unwind before a nice soak in the tub together. And they both knew where that would likely lead.

Ethan was overjoyed with the start of their mini-escape. Reclined comfortably in his favorite chair, he had the latest edition of the New England Journal of Medicine in his hand. He replaced his wine with a snifter of brandy he reserved for special occasions. And what could be more special than this? Three days and four nights of unadulterated bliss with his beautiful wife? Then, if the gods hadn’t smiled upon him enough already, he won the music coin toss! So instead of enduring Taylor Swift, the sounds of Mozart's String Quartet No. 14 wafted through the condo. It was near perfection.

But it seemed all good things must come to an end. Irritation coursed through him when his phone began to chime. Instinctively, he went to answer but was proud of himself when he refrained. He promised Casey no phones this evening, and both Harper and Tobias reminded him the world continued without him; they had it under control. So imagine his shock when Casey burst into the room, demanding he answer.

"What? Why?" he protested, tossing the paper to his lap. "Is it an emergency? Tobias screwed something up, didn't he?"

Casey looked up from her phone, confused, then a crooked smile appeared on her lips.

"No, silly! But God, now I wish I would have made something up to tease you. But the call’s not work. It’s me. Check your phone. I sent you something!"

"Oh," he opened his messages and looked at his phone in bewilderment, then… “You are joking, right?”

“Nope! Not at all.”

“Casey. You are aware that we’re middle-aged adults….”

“Hey! You’re middle-aged, buddy. Slow your roll. That’s what I get for marrying an old man,” she winked.

Ethan removed his glasses with an exaggerated sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“This is what I get for marrying an adolescent.”

“Hey!” Casey complained as she threw herself in his lap.  “I am not an adolescent.”

“No,’ he grinned wickedly, “and I am not an old man. But what on earth has led you to believe I have any desire or inclination to spend my night filling out a sex bingo card?”  

“I don’t know,” she shrugged, “it’ll be fun.”

Ethan eyed it suspiciously. “Are we supposed to answer as a couple or individually?”

“Both! I want to know just how depraved you were… or weren’t… before I came into your life.”

“And why would we want to know about past exploits.”

“Because, believe it or not, neither of us came to each other as virgins. I know, “ she gasped in mock horror, “You’re shocked!”

She snuggled closer to him, then stood up to sit on the couch. 

“Come on, this is for fun. Stop being such a grump and play along. Besides, maybe we’ll get all worked up, which would be to our mutual benefit.”

“Hmm, all you have to do is breathe for me to get all worked up… but fine.  Let’s do this.”

“Awww! You’re so sweet!”

“Naveen counseled me. Happy wife, happy life.”

“But Naveen isn’t married?”

“Exactly, he never mastered it. So it all falls on me.”

“Oh, boy…” Casey sighed.  “OK. Just mark it up on your phone.  No peeking at each other’s answers until we’re done!”

“Is that all,” Ethan smirked, moving to sit on the other side of the couch.  “I had no idea that marrying you would require me to fill out so many ‘Cosmo surveys’.”

“Well, you should have.  It was in the vows. Now, concentrate!”

The two of them studied their phones, with Ethan finishing in just three minutes.  He wouldn’t admit it, but he spent the next two wondering why Casey needed additional time.  Then, the moment of truth arrived, and they shared their answers side by side. 

(Blue Heart - Ethan did it.  Pink Heart - Casey did it.  Gold check - they did it. :) ) 

“Well, good,” Ethan said with more relief than he expected, “we each got bingo once. You didn't beat me.”

“I don’t think that’s the purpose here,” she laughed as she counted. “Oh my gosh! We both got eighteen hearts!”

“Mmm, yes, it appears we did. But I see they don’t all overlap. Can we review so I can learn what unwanted images will now be seared in my mind forever?”

“Would you stop!” she laughed with a shove to his shoulder. “Let’s compare… oh,” she giggled, “the plane and the hot tub….”

“Mmmmm…” Ethan smiled, his mind suddenly a thousand miles away. “Hawaii was a great trip, wasn’t it?”

“Wait, it took us two trips to Hawaii to cross those both off our list. You wussed out on the plane to Inez’s wedding.” 

“Yes, and luckily for me, well, luckily for both of us actually, I survived our hot tub experience on our first trip there.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about?” Casey demurred. “I remember that being just delightful.”

“Yes, for you.  Perhaps it may have been a little better for me if I had had a snorkel,” he leered at Casey, “but I didn’t.”

“Oh,” she said, rubbing his head, “the lengths you will go to please me, dear. And you wonder why I love you so much.”

“I’m hoping that’s not the only reason.”

“It’s not!”

“Hey, wait,” Ethan said, pointing to a square. “We both have sex in the backyard circled, but we never….”

“Nope, we never. Mine was at a friend's party during college. It was the only place we could get any privacy. You?”

“Also during college, I got exactly 17 mosquito bites. I’m never doing it again.”

“Ouch! Dare I ask where?”

“Please, don’t,” he laughed. “Well, the ‘with a friend part’ clearly wasn’t with each other.”

“I mean, it could have been. We weren't really' together' the first few times we did it.”

“Yeah, but you were always much more than a friend to me, Rookie.” 

“Awww.  See, I told you this would be fun.”

“It’s only fun because I’m blocking the pictures of you having sex with friends who aren’t me out of my mind.” 

“OK… next question. You’ve never done it on a staircase?”

“Am I missing something?”

“Yeah! OK, we’ll be doing that this weekend.”

“Casey, we live in a one-floor condo?”

“Mmm-hmm.  In the penthouse. So we should remain unbothered if we do it on the fire stairs and stop acting like we haven’t crossed off the ‘in public’ box together!”

“Fair enough,” Ethan sighed, looking over their phones. “You know, I’d be happy to help you add ‘in a tent’ to your list.”

“Do you really want to revisit the mosquito issue, dear?”

“Mmm. You have a point.”

“If you want to tick things off the list, how about I blindfold you tonight instead?”

“Absolutely not. Watching that gorgeous face come undone is probably the second-best thing ever to happen to me. If you think I’m missing that any time I have the opportunity, you’re crazy.”

“Well, I still like the blindfold.”

“And I’m so glad you do, he smirked.  

They silently looked over the remaining answers.

“We’ve done well!” Casey cheered.  “The only other one I’m missing is on a mountain top with a view. I think we could attain that in the car and avoid risking the West Nile virus.  What do you think?”

“A ride through the Berkshires this weekend sounds delightful. Now, just one question.”

“Yes?”

“Why do you have an asterisk on ‘with 2 people at once’?”

“Oh, that!” She giggled.  “That was only in an alternate universe.”

“An alternate universe?”

“Yes. I told you about it! Remember that dream I had?”

“Oh, no!”  Ethan said, throwing his phone into his pocket.  “No, no, no! I have blocked that from my mind forever!”

“Why?” Casey giggled, “You were amazing in it.”

“Casey….” he warned.

“What? I’m just saying you were! I can’t help if….”

Before Casey could say any more, Ethan was on top of her, lavishing her with deep, passionate kisses.

“Not another word out of you,” he teased.  “Now, take off your clothes.”

“I told you this would get us all worked up,” she giggled

“NOW, Rookie!”

“Oooh.  Yes, sir…” she purred, eagerly complying with his demands.  “But just you wait to see what kind of quizzes I’ll have us taking tomorrow.”

______ A/N 2: A little nod to the AU Their Plus One in here.  lol  Yes, they have had a threesome - but not in their headcanon. LOL 

@choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics

[iguessyouregonnamissthepantyraid]

did anyone else do a double take when they casually dropped "it's been 14 days since five landed in the academy's back yard" cause like.... bro. this man was in complete isolation for 45 years, was picked up by a shady assassin organization and worked for them for an indeterminate (but probably comparatively short) amount of time, and then, in the span of TWO WEEKS:

accidentally got stuck in a 13-year-old body

reunited with his siblings after 45 years

got shot at

cut a tracking device out of his own arm

had a hallucinogenic PTSD attack

got shot at, again

got blown up

found out the only lead he's been following for 45 years was a dead end

drank an entire 750mL bottle of vodka, puked, and slept it off

got shot at

returned to the commission under false pretenses, set up the hindenburg explosion, sent false messages to the assassins attacking him, got shot at, blew up his previous employer with a hand grenade, stole a time travel device, and then got blown up (again), this time by his own doing

began a manhunt while actively bleeding from a shrapnel wound, told no one

passed out from blood loss

held his sister's bleeding out throat wound in his own hands

discovered his other sister's weird boyfriend's gruesomely murdered dead body

parted with the mannequin that held what was left of his sanity together for 45 years of his life

got shot at

nearly died attempting to incapacitate his little sister who has morphed into a pint-sized atomic bomb over the course of the past few days

time traveled himself and his 6 siblings back in time

got shot at, this time with a tank

witnessed a SECOND apocalypse and all his siblings dying, again

time traveled again

got shot at

was reunited with a baby version of the chimpanzee butler who raised him, and was promptly attacked by it

tracked down the rest of his siblings

took a deal to murder the entire board of the commission in exchange for a time travel device to save his family

murdered the entire board of the commission

got swindled out of the deal

confronted his own past self, went through paradox psychosis, and attempted to murder himself while his past self attempted to murder him too

was labelled as a child held hostage by the terrorists who helped kill JFK

accompanied his family to a farm where it became clear that his little sister's potentially world-destroying powers had been passed on to an eight-year-old

got shot at

got buried under a pile of bricks

got shot at, this time fatally

watched his entire family get shot and killed

rewound time by a few seconds to save the day and get everyone home safely

time traveled back home to discover they'd drastically altered the timeline and are now homeless

like...... bro......... that is a ROUGH two weeks my dude

[viking-raider]

Hoist the Colours - Part II

Summary: You try and survive being Henry's captive, while your father plans on how to get you back.

Pairing: Henry Cavill/Reader

Word Count: 7,629

Warning: PG-13 - Pirate!Henry, Some Dark Themes, Language, Kidnapping, Ransom, Captivity, Possible Trigger Warning, Unwanted Physical Contact, Angst, Fluff, Bondage

Inspiration: Pirates of the Caribbean and Henry Cavill!

Author's Note: Gotta love Pirates!

Tag List Blog: @viking-raider-taglist

Henry woke with the sun glittering off the ocean and into his face and groaned, rubbing at his bearded cheeks and sat up, rolling his stiff neck and shoulders. His body was sore after the battle the day before, he crossed the swaying room and poured himself a stiff drink and quickly downed it with a groan.

Splashing some water in his face from a small basin, Henry peeked through the narrow gap between bed curtains and saw you sound asleep, before a light knock sounded on the still locked door.

“What is it?” He asked, opening the door to his first mate, Benjamin Nullings.

“Morning to you too, Captain.” Nullings greeted him back, with a smile.

Henry shook his head at the man, a smile tugging at his lips. He and Nullings had known each other for a good many years, back when they were both crewmen on another Pirate's ship, before Henry acquired the Crimson Jersey, a Spanish Galleon, and he made Nullings his First Mate, being one of the only men that he trusted.

“Good morning, Benji.” He replied to him.

“Well, good is going to depend on how you take the news I have for you.” Nullings answered, his brow creasing.

“What news?” Henry frowned, not liking the tone or the look Nullings was giving him.

“It's Valentine.” Nullings said, clearing his throat and rubbing the back of his bald head. “He was injured in the skirmish yesterday, took a musket ball to the arm. The surgeon had to take it off during the night, but he ended up bleeding out and died early this morning.”

Henry's head dropped back with a growl. “Fuck.”

“Exactly.” Nullings nodded, pressing his lips together. “You know old man Norris entrusted us with his son to try and straighten the boy out, not get his arm blown off or him killed.”

“He's going to kick up quite the fuss back at the Island for this.” Henry groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Has Quartermaster Astley tallied up the new loot?”

“He has, and we should make a very tidy profit of ten thousand pieces of eight.” Nullings informed him.

“Divided by a thirty man crew.” Henry squeezed his eyes closed and did the math. “Three hundred pieces per man. Norris will want his son's portion plus compensation for his death. Give him Valentine's portion and I'll compensate Norris for the death of his son.” He told Nullings, pushing his jaw forward.

“Once we get back to the Island, that is.”

“I'll have Astley make a note of it in his logs.” Nullings nodded, agreeing with his Captain and friend. “How's our bargaining chip holding up?” He asked, with a knowing smile.

“Stubborn and feisty.” Henry replied, glancing over his shoulder.

“Typical of all women.” Nullings laughed, his head thrown back.

“True enough.” Henry agreed, looking back at him. “Have Ellis keep us on course for Tortuga, but we won't be harboring there. So, have him anchor us off shore and the men will row out to it. They've earned a jaunt on shore after being at sea for the last eight months.”

“When we get the girl's ransom, do we still intend on returning to the Island?”

“Yes, we won't be able to hold anything more and we're already starting to ride lower in the water than we should.” He commented, running a hand through his hair.

“Well, we'll be in Tortuga within two days.”

“Excellent.” Henry nodded, pleased. “Have Valentine's body put in a shroud and we'll pay our respects to him this afternoon.” He instructed him, hearing you start to stir, disturbed by the sound of their voices.

“Aye, Captain.” Nullings nodded his head at Henry and went about his duties.

Henry closed the door as you pulled back the curtains, whimpering as the bright sunlight hit your unprepared eyes. “Good morning, pet.” He purred, smirking at you as you brushed your sleep tousled hair out of your face.

You huffed at him, rolling your eyes at his continued nickname for you, but didn't answer his greeting.

“Someone is a grumpy morning person.” He chuckled, openly teasing you.

“Only with bloodthirsty pirates.” You growled at him, trying to soothe the wrinkles in your skirts.

“Well, they don't call me Henry the Red for nothing, pet.” Henry grinned at you, unashamed and proud of himself. “We'll anchor off the coast of Tortuga in two days' time.” He informed you, combing his fingers through his messy curls.

“Tortuga?” You frowned up at him, surprised. “Why not Lockemirth?”

“I'm not going anywhere near Lockemirth until your dear papa has your ransom.” He replied, pulling his hair back with the leather string. “I'm not a stupid man, if I was to go near that island before hand, it would give him and the Crown amble opportunity to try and overtake my ship and crew. So, we'll wait in Tortuga.”

“Then, how will you know my father will have it?” You asked him, lifting a brow at him. “Tortuga and Lockemirth are eighty kilometers apart.”

Henry smirked at you, impressed. “A woman that knows her cartography.”

“I'm an educated woman, not the plague ridden whores you gallivant with.” You hissed at him, venomously.

“I have much finer tastes.” He replied, his stormy blue eyes scanning you for a long moment. “Anyhow, I have my ways of getting messages between the islands. So, you don't have to worry about that, pet.”

You glared daggers into him, wishing you had some means to wipe that smug look off his face. Henry stared back at you, he could see the thoughts flitting across your mind, you were either terrible at hiding how you were feeling or you weren't bothering to do so. Either way, he wasn't threatened by it or worried that you could pull it off or even attempt it to begin with, and he let that show on his own face.

“Enter!” He shouted, just as a knock came, causing you to jump at the sudden sound.

His cabin door opened and the same man from the night before entered with another silver tray with food upon it, he paid no attention to you as he bowed his head to Henry, set the tray down on his desk and left again.

“Are you starving this morning as well, pet?” Henry asked, picking up a few bits of food off of his plate and popped them into his mouth, making a big deal out of chewing and how good it tasted.

You watched him eat and felt your stomach rumble in your stays, you hadn't eaten since early afternoon the day before and were parched beyond belief. Henry lifted a silver goblet to his nose, swirling its contents and taking a whiff of it with a satisfied hum, before taking a deep swallow.

“Mmm, simply remarkable.” He said, after rolling the mouthful of wine in his mouth for a moment, before swallowing. “A 1681, Spanish Red.” He spoke, licking his lips. “I've always loved red wine, so it works out in the end.”

You gulped, feeling your hunger start to break down your willpower as you watched him enjoy the wine and food, purposely taking his time and making a show of it. With every bite of food and sip of wine your hunger and desperation grew, to the point you almost became unhinged. Henry set his goblet down and picked up yours, holding it out to you, a playful and teasing smirk and expression on his face, continuing to poke holes in your weak resolve.

“You know you want it, pet.” He hummed, lowering the deep timber of his voice, taunting you. “Wet those sweet lips of yours.” He purred, his tone teasing more than one meaning of his words. “Be a pity to let yourself go to waste.”

Gulping and licking your lips, the last of your will dissipating as you shot forward and snatched the goblet from his hand, making him laugh, as you hastily downed it, your mind not taking a moment to ask your taste buds how it tasted. Henry picked his own goblet back up, slowly sipping his wine, while you started to gorge yourself on the food. He plucked up the uncorked bottle of wine on the tray and refilled your goblet, the rich and deep red liquid splashing onto the stained oak wood of his desk as the ship bucked on the waves.

“Easy, pet.” Henry cooed at you. “Don't make yourself sick.”

You slowed down, looking up at him as you swallowed down the bit of food you had been devouring, the look in your hungry and exhausted eyes shifting, then you gulped down, audibly. A broader smirk crossed Henry's face and he rolled his eerily blue eyes at you.

“I ate the same food off the same plate, pet. It's not fouled up.” He laughed at you, increasingly amused at your silliness at thinking he, or the cook, had some how poisoned the food. He touched his fingers under your chin, smirking at you.

“For Lord's sake, you're no use to me dead or damaged.”

Another knock sounded at the door and it opened without Henry's permission, revealing Nullings. “Captain, Valentine and his shroud have been prepared, all we wait for is you.” He informed Henry, lifting a brow at the two of you.

“If you aren't busy.” He added, clearing his throat.

“I'm not.” Henry replied, dropping his hand from your chin. “Just making sure the Governor's daughter had her breakfast.” He chuckled, gently patting your cheek, then polished off his wine and set it down on his desk. “Come along, pet. All aboard are required to attend.” He told you, starting for the door.

“Attend what?” You asked, staying where you were.

“One of my men, Valentine Tash, was injured in the skirmish yesterday.” Henry replied, pulling on his jerkin. “He died, after having his arm nearly blown off.” He explained to you, settling the garment on his body.

“What's that matter to me?” You snapped, narrowing your eyes at him. “You were the monster that attacked my ship. It's your fault, he's dea--”

Henry bolted across the room, the back of his big hand connecting to your surprised cheek in a harsh smack; if it wasn't for his desk, you would have crumbled to the floor, instead you fell upon the desk, sending the tray of food crashing to the floor and spilling your goblet and the bottle of wine across it.

“Every man, and woman, on this ship knows the difficulties and dangers of being on these seas and in this occupation. Death is part of that expectation, no matter who they are. If they die, from whatever the cause, they have been cautioned and informed of it, and still they chose to come. That isn't on my head or on my heart.” He hissed at you, face twisted with rage.

“So, I suggest you watch your tongue, especially when you speak of things an insolent and ignorant girl does not understand.” He grabbed you by the elbow and yanked you up onto your feet. “Do you understand what I've said?”

You looked up at him, sniffling, eyes brimming with tears and your cheek welted with his knuckles. “Y-e-s.” You hiccupped and gulped thickly.

“Good.” Henry replied, tense. “Now, we're going out there and you will behave yourself, and if you try anything stupid, you won't leave this cabin again, until I have everything I want from your father in three days.” He warned you, shoving you in the direction of the door.

You tripped over the threadbare rug on the floor, but was thankfully caught by Nullings, before you fell. He gave you a soft and sympathetic smile, supporting you until you managed to right yourself, then kindly let you go. Henry moved in behind you, making you shiver as you followed Nullings out of the Captain's cabin. You blinked at the bright light of the morning as you stepped out onto the main deck of the ship, it seemed by the amount of people there as well, that the entire crew was out and waiting for the ceremony to send Valentine off to his watery grave.

It would be a lie, if you said you weren't interested in how pirates dealt with their dead. You had spent much of the voyage on the Kilmartin dreaming up scenarios about pirates and their ways of life on the high seas; but being kidnapped and held for ransom wasn't one of them though.

You saw a canvas wrapped body on a long wood platform that was balanced on the edge of the ship with two men holding onto it, so it wouldn't prematurely fall into the roiling sea below. The men gathered around their Captain, removing what hats they were wearing and bowed their heads. Henry stood tall beside you, his broad shoulders straight and tense as he surveyed his crew, his expression hard and unreadable.

“We gather here in honor of our mate, Valentine Tash.” He said, speaking loudly over the waves crashing against the hull. “He was a good man, a hard worker and a sound fighter. It is unfortunate that we have lost him, but he will forever be remembered.”

The crew let out three cheers in agreement and honor of their fallen comrade, before Henry gave a stiff nod of his head and the two men holding the body, lifted the platform and the shrouded body of Valentine Tash slid off of it and into the abyss below, never to be seen again. The crew lingered for another moment of quiet, before silently returning to their stations. You stood beside Henry as he continued to stare after the now vanished body, you saw, now that his men were gone or distracted by their duties, the look in his ordinarily hard and guarded eyes was one of a raw heart, one that had lost many men over the years and, even after telling you he felt none of it, was a man that had felt all of those deaths as if they were his own.

Henry caught you staring at him. “What?” He snapped, regaining command of his face.

“Nothing, just enjoying the sunshine.” You replied, blinking up at the blue and cloudless sky. “You?”

His eyes narrowed, then blinked at you, softening slightly. “Same.” He answered, his voice calmer. “It won't last though.” He added a second later, squinting into the sunlight.

“Why do you say that?” You replied, frowning and trying to see what he was talking about.

Henry dropped his eyes to you, amused. “I've spent my entire life either on or by the sea.” He replied, moving to the railing. “All that experience teaches you the language and nature of it. Even if it looks calm, sunny and beautiful, there's always something brewing just beyond the horizon.” He told you, leaning his forearms against the worn and sun faded railing.

“There's a storm coming.” He whispered, narrowing his eyes at a very thin strip of dark clouds. “But, we should be off Tortuga by the time it arrives.”

“Will we make landfall then?” You asked, gulping at the thought of being on the ship, any ship, with a storm going off.

“No.” He chuckled, shaking his head and looked over his shoulder at you. “We'll be as safe on the ship as we are on land.” He could see the fear and anxiety in your face and eyes. “Don't fret, pet. I've sailed this ship around hurricanes and she hasn't sunk yet.” He grinned at you, giving you an odd feeling of safety, but also a feeling of uneasiness.

“Then again, she can't.”

“All ships sink.” You frowned, shaking your head at him.

“Not this one, pet. Not this one.” Henry replied, still grinning as he looked his beloved ship over. “She's special.”

“Special how?” You answered, starting to worry for the pirate's mental soundness.

Henry pushed off the railing and caught your chin in his fingers, tipping your head back to look up at his amused face. “That's nothing for you to worry about, pet. There are some things beyond your innocent understanding in this world and beyond it.” He told you, his eyes darkening with an almost sinister delight.

You jerked up with a gasp as a crack of lightning struck the water, so close to the Crimson Jersey that Henry's cabin lit up like broad daylight. You gripped the blankets of Henry's bed as the ship tilted and swayed at nauseating degrees under the heavy winds, the torrential rain hammered every part of the ship, pattering against the glass of the stern windows like small pebbles. You gasped again as a hiss filled the cabin, but slightly relaxed again, a spark of light flared to life and illuminated Henry's face as he leaned over his desk to touch the flame to the blackened wick of his tallow candle.

“I didn't mean to wake you.” You spoke, barely audible above the storm.

“You didn't.” Henry replied, crossing the room with a small struggle.

“I'm impressed how well you and your men can walk across the room or deck, when the ship is bucking like a wild animal.”

“It's land that tends to be tricky for most sailors.” He chuckled, pouring a drink, unphased by the glasses moving across the table. “Your body gets so used to the sway of the ship, it doesn't know how to react when you're finally on unmoving land again.” He told you, picking the glasses up and crossed over to you, holding one of them out.

“It's like watching a newborn babe try to walk for the first time.” He laughed, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “I'm supposing this is your first time at sea.” He said, sipping his drink.

“It is.” You nodded, staring into your own glass for a moment, before lifting it to your lips. “I would have rather stayed in London.”

“With your mother?”

Your eyes jerked over to him.

“You were the only woman on board the Kilmartin that my men and I encountered.” He clarified. “I doubt your father had you himself, so that leaves your mother still in London herself.”

“She is still in London.” You nodded, chewing on your bottom lip and trying to hold back the overwhelming wave of tears that wanted to overtake you.

You were so consumed by all the events of late, being forced to leave the only home you had ever known, to sail half a world away to a teeny island, where you knew no one other than your father. Then to be kidnapped by Pirates and held for a ransom, that you feared if your father didn't or wasn't able to pay would only end badly for you. It was all adding up on you, especially when you were still trying to deal and come to terms with your mother's passing.

“I doubt we could have brought her, even if we wanted too.” You mumbled into your glass.

“Did she not wish to join you both?” Henry asked, head slightly tilting as he noticed the cloud that crossed your face, even in the crepuscular light of the cabin.

“I'm sure she would have come with us, if she could have.” You looked up at him, eyes shining and red. “But, sailors already believe a woman on board is a bad omen, I shudder to think what they would have said about transporting the dug up coffin of one.”

Henry's mouth dropped open for a moment, before he regained his composure. “She's passed on then.”

You nodded your head, dropping your eyes back to your barely touched drink. “A year ago, this past month.” You whispered, ringing the tip of your finger around the rim of the glass. “She was sick for a very long time.” You sniffled and gulped, feeling your strength start to waver.

“I'm very sorry.” Henry whispered, softly. “It must still hurt you deeply.”

His words were the keys that opened the floodgates to everything you had pushed behind it. The walls of your throat closed and your eyes burned with the liquid fire of your tears, your breathing hitched, catching in your throat, and your shoulders trembled as tears washed over your cheeks, dripping into the glass still in your lap. Henry sighed, his face pinching in concern and sympathy as he watched you melt into sobs. Setting both glasses on the rocking floor, Henry reached out for you, resting his hands on your arms and gently pulled you into his arms and lap, tucking your head under his chin and rubbed your back, letting the sway of the ship rock the two of you. You clung to him and cried yourself out in his arms, drenching the shoulder of Henry's shirt, but he didn't care, he was a pirate after all and used to being wet.

He gently traced the outline of the whale bones sewn into your corset, beneath your dress, feeling the steadily growing weight of your body on top of his as you calmed down and fell half asleep. Biting and pressing his lips together, then sighing, Henry stood with you in his arms and leaned over the bed, gently laying you down and covered you up, before tugging his tear stained shirt off over his head, tossing it on his desk. He studied your sleeping form in his bed and sighed again, before taking the two neglected glasses back to their tray, then returned to the bed, sitting down on the edge and stared out the stern windows as the storm continued to rage around the ship.

“Look after us.” He muttered to himself, before getting into bed with you and pulled the curtains closed against the bright lightning flashes.

Henry stiffened as you whimpered in your sleep, at a rumble of thunder, before rolling into his side and relaxing again. He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head, but didn't move away from you, not that he could to start with, he was already laying on the very edge of the bed, so if he wanted to get away from you, he'd have to go back to where he'd been sleeping below the stern windows. So, he didn't move or push you away from him, knowing you would likely only find your way back up against his side, figuring if it gave you some measure of comfort, he might as well enjoy the warmth of your body pressed up against his, being the first woman of any standing to share a bed with him in many months, even since the last time he was on land.

“Land ho!”

The cry woke you from a sound sleep and for a moment you forgot what ship you were on, until you opened your eyes and saw Henry pulling on his discarded shirt and his boots, before unlocking his cabin door and stepped out onto the deck.

Glancing out the stern windows, you saw the mid morning sun was shining and there was even the cry of seagulls, as if the storm had never happened, and the first real sign there was actually land nearby. Excitement blossomed inside of you and you jumped to your feet, quickly going out of Henry's cabin, hot on his heels. Henry was standing on the starboard side of the ship, a spyglass held up to one of his eyes as he swept it over the glittering water.

You didn't need a spyglass to see the approaching stretch of land and felt your heart and spirits soar as high as the seagulls beginning to circle the masts. Tortuga. You heard several of the men aboard murmur across the deck as they gathered, grinning and clasping each other on the back and shoulders, excited at the prospect of touching down on land again, getting their hands on quality booze and ladies of the evening. You couldn't wait for the opportunity to sneak off the ship and find safety somewhere on the island, surely some kind soul would point you to the Mayor or Governor, a British Subject, who would then give you safe passage to your father in Lockemirth.

“Nullings, have Ellis anchor us close enough off the island that the men can row out and enjoy themselves.” Henry barked the order, snapping the spyglass shut.

“Aye, Captain!” Nullings shouted back and ran up to the helm to relay the message.

“Drop the long boats once we're anchored offshore, men!” He yelled to the gathered men on the deck.

“Aye, Cap'n!” His men roared back, throwing up their hands in cheer.

“You.” Henry called, turning towards you.

You started and looked at him as he strode over to you, catching your elbow and turning you back towards his cabin, marching you through the door.

“From this point, until your father gives me my ransom, you are not leaving this cabin.”

“Why!” You protested, planting your hands on your hips.

“Because, I know in that little head of yours, you're already plotting on how to get yourself to that island and I'm not losing my bargaining chip, and if my men have to spend their first time on land, in months, looking for you, they'll bitch about it until we get home.” He told you, sternly.

“Now, stay put and behave.”

“And if I don't?” You retorted, lifting your nose at him.

“I'll tie you to a fucking chair for the rest of your time here.” He replied with a growl, then slammed the cabin door shut, the sound of it locking following.

You let out a frustrated shriek and stomped your feet, before angrily pacing the cabin, mumbling under your breath about how much you hated him and his stupid pirate crew, hoping your father and the Crown sunk his unsinkable ship with him on it. You soon felt the ship slow and the scrapping of the anchor chain unwinding from its storage as they dropped anchor, no doubt close enough to the island for the crew to row the longboats out to shore and enjoy themselves.

“I hope they all get the bloody pox!” You shouted at the cabin door, picking up a glass from Henry's desk and launching it at the door.

“I want you to employ our usual method of message running for our ransoms.” Henry told Nullings as they stood on the deck, huddled together.

“Aye.” Nullings nodded, taking the heavy pouch of gold coins Henry held out to him. “The auction should be bustling, taking in all the ships currently in harbor.” He observed, glancing at how packed Tortuga harbor was. “I'll have Barnard and David take our messenger to Lockemirth Island. With any luck the Kilmartin survived the storm and is already anchored in their harbor. But, if they're late getting in, I'll have them wait.” He explained to Henry, running a hand over his smooth, suntanned and sweat drenched head.

“That leaves one other thing.” He sighed. “What if they wrecked in the storm? What do we do with the girl?”

Henry rolled his jaw, mulling over the possibility. “We'll deal with it, if it happens. Until then, act as if its still sailing.”

Nullings nodded. “Aye.”

With that, Nullings boarded the first long boat that had been lowered into the water and rested as the men manning the oars rowed them ashore. Once they landed, Nullings marched up the crowded beach, smiling as a few of the Crimson Jersey crew called out to him or made lewd gestures before vanishing into the streets to find the taverns and whore houses. As much as Nullings wanted to do the same, he was on official ship's business, so it would have to wait until later in the day, once his task was completed.

It only took a handful of minutes for Nullings to find the place he wanted to be, the Tortuga Slave Auction, melding into the crowd that pressed in on the auction block, voices from various positions in the crowd shouting out prices. He waited until he found one of interest and joined the chorus, not allowing the other buyers to push him out, until he finally won the bid and left the crowd to pay and collect them.

“You understand English?” He asked the teenaged boy, pulling him into a quiet and discreet corner.

“Yes.” The boy replied with a mild accent, and a nod of his head.

“Excellent.” Nullings smiled. “What's your name?”

“Hany.”

“Well, listen here, Hany. I'm the First Mate of the Crimson Jersey, and I have a task for you; a task that once you fulfill, you'll gain your freedom and a passage to any place you wish to go or a place on our crew, that will be left up to you.” He explained to him.

“Do you understand me?”

“Yes, I do.” Hany nodded again, blinking at Nullings, wide eyed.

Nullings removed a small, rolled up piece of parchment out of his pocket. “You will take this to the Governor of Lockemirth Island, two of my men will take you there, then wait for his reply and return here with it. You will find me at the Golden Mermaid, ask for Nullings.” He said, handing him the note.

“Any questions?”

“No, sir.” Hany shook his head, tucking the note into the pocket of his filthy and tattered pants.

“Great! Follow me.” Nullings nodded, then took the teen to the boat where Barnard and David were waiting for him.

With that done and nothing else to do, Nullings went to the Golden Mermaid tavern in central Tortuga and ordered a room, a pint and a woman to fill his time, while he waited for Hany, Barnard and David to return with Sir Thomas's reply.

Thomas was a mess after Henry had taken you for ransom, going from spurts of violent anger to deep depression and lamenting. Captain Davis tried his best to keep the new Governor's spirits up, but more often than not, failed at it.

“The vile things that damned pirate and his men could be doing to my beautiful and innocent daughter.” He raged, pacing the cabin in a highly agitated state. “I swear, if he harms a hair on her head, I'll hang the bastard thrice!”

“You must keep your composure, Thomas.” Davis replied, watching his friend pace from his seat behind his desk.

“Composure!” Thomas roared, stopping before the Captain's desk and slapped it with his palms. “I don't have to do any such a thing! You are not a father, you do not know the pressure and responsibility it is for one to care for their children, especially their defenseless daughters!”

Davis sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose and squeezing his eyes shut. “You know my meaning, Tom.” He replied, exhausted. “We'll be in Lockemirth harbor in a couple hours time, then we can muster what we need to rescue her, in safety.”

“Yes, we will.” Thomas growled, starting to pace again. “I'll be damned if I give that abominable pirate a cent from anywhere! The only payment he will get will be to the hangman's noose.”

A few hours later, the HMS Kilmartin docked in Lockemirth harbor and Sir Thomas disembarked from the ship, meeting the welcoming party the gentry of the island had put together for him, and you had you been with him. But, Thomas was in no mood for a welcome party and good cheer under the circumstances. He demanded to be shown the base of his operations and have all the top officials of the island to be assembled there, at once.

Several people branched out from the large group that had congregated around him, to set about his orders, while the rest of them showed him the Governor's office.

“What is the meaning of this?” One of the officials demanded as he entered Sir Thomas's office.

“Yes.” Chimed another, entering behind the first.

“We have serious business to conduct.” Thomas snapped, glaring at the full room of officials.

“What business can be so urgent that you must conduct it the moment you've stepped on the island?”

“While we were sailing here, we were attacked and boarded by pirates.” Thomas replied, his temper mounting more and more.

“Pirates!” Several gasped.

“Yes, pirates!” He barked, impatiently. “They've not only stolen several valuables from the HMS Kilmartin, they've also kidnapped my daughter and are holding her for ransom.”

A murmur went through the collection of men in the room, agitating everyone.

“What is the pirate's demand for her back?” One of the men asked, lifting a brow at Sir Thomas.

“Three-fourths of the islands money and goods.”

“Absolutely not!” The man roared back. “You can't just show up here and give them almost all that we have, I don't care if the pirate has your mother!” He protested, several of the others agreeing.

“I have no intention of giving them anything, you fools.” Thomas hissed, banging a fist on his desk.

“Then, how do you propose we retrieve your daughter back?”

“That—what is it?” Thomas barked as the door to his office opened to his clerk, Samuel.

“There is a boy here to see you, Sir.” The clerk replied, sheepishly. “Says, he has a message for you.”

“Tell him to wait.”

“But, Sir, he says it's from a man on a ship called the Crimson Jersey.”

Thomas stiffened at his words. “Let him in.” He said, pushing off his desk.

The clerk pushed the door open and stood out of the way, omitting Hany into the office. He looked around at the full room and gulped, slowly removing the note Nullings had given him out of his pocket and held it up, looking into the face of everyone in the room, not sure which of them it was meant for.

“Governor?” He said, hesitantly.

“Yes, that's me.” Thomas replied, stepping from behind his desk. “Hand it here.”

Hany took a couple steps forward, meeting Thomas halfway and allowed him to take the note from his hand. “I wait for reply.” He informed your father, uncomfortable.

“Yes, yes.” Thomas nodded, breaking the wax seal and unrolled the stiff paper.

“To the Governor of Lockemirth Island. I send you this note to inform you that I and your daughter, who is in good health and condition, are quite nearby to your island of Lockemirth. I send this messenger and expect him, and your answer, back before first light tomorrow morning. If he, or your reply, do not return by that time, I will take that as a sign of your refusal to pay her ransom and your leaving her to my mercy. Captain Henry Cavill of the pirate ship, the Crimson Jersey.”

Thomas read the note aloud, his hands slowly starting to shake with the multitude of emotions he was struggling to keep at bay.

“What is your plan, Governor?” One of the men asked, watching him restlessly pace the room.

He paced the room for several more moments, trying to gather his thoughts and form some sort of plan to get you back from Henry. Stepping up to the globe that was beside his desk, he studied it for a long moment, before turning to his desk and took up a quill and a piece of parchment paper, scribbling down his reply to Henry's note, and sealed it, pressing the signet ring on his pinkie into the cooling wax to make it official.

“Take this back to him and tell him we'll be waiting for him at that location.” He told Hany, then dismissed him to return to Nullings with the reply.

“Sir?” A man impatiently growled.

“We'll be meeting the pirate on Hafstead island.” Thomas replied, meeting the group's eye. “There is only one likely place that the Pirate and his men would make harbor in, and that's Tortuga. It's the only Island close enough to us and is friendly to their kind.” He explained his logic.

“Putting Hafstead island between Tortuga and Lockemirth, a perfect neutral ground for our transaction.”

“You stated you wouldn't be giving them their ransom demands? How then, are you planning to get your daughter back from them?”

“Misdirection.” Thomas smiled at him.

“We'll fill two crates with the goods and the rest with something else that will weigh roughly the same as the real two. They'll demand to see proof that we have their demands, so when they do, we show them the first two. Once they've handed my daughter over and move to start loading the ransom onto their long boats, we'll have guards from here attack, and all will be well.”

“I'll have my daughter back and the island will lose none of its profits.”

“You're sure this will work?”

“Yes.” He nodded, confidently.

With what men who wanted to go ashore gone, Henry let some of the tension go out of his shoulders, before heading back into his cabin. He opened the door just as you were opening one of the windows at the back of the ship, crouching in it, poised to jump into the water blow.

“Don't you dare!” Henry barked between clenched teeth, pointing a finger at you in warning, his lip curling with anger.

You looked over your shoulder at him, heart racing in your chest and hands shaking as you gripped the open window frame. Both of your hearts paused for a frightful moment, and everything became slow-motion; Henry taking a slow step forward as you gradually let go of the window and tipped forward out of it. Reality caught up as you slipped out the window, free falling countless meters, just as Henry stuck his head out the open window to see you crash into the foamy waves.

“Fuck!” He shrieked, enraged and concerned.

Glancing behind him for a moment, Henry tore off his jerkin and boots, before swan diving out of the window and into the water after you. Making it into the water, Henry saw you slowly sinking and struggling to swim with the weight of your clothing bearing down on you. Bubbles rose towards him as you struggled to hold your breath and quickly losing the fight. Kicking his feet harder, Henry reached you and wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you against his sturdy body, buoying both of you, before his fingers dug into the ties of your corset and dress, ripping them open and letting the heavy garment slip off your body and sink into the oblivion of the ocean below. Kicking his legs in unison with yours, Henry propelled you both to the surface of the choppy waves.

“You fucking brat!” Henry hissed, shaking his head, his long hair coming free from its tie, before sticking two fingers into his mouth and let out a shrill whistle, right beside your ear, uncaring if it hurt you as you coughed and sputtered for air.

A shrill whistle sounded back as he guided you around to the side of the ship, the remaining crew leaning over the railing, to see the two of you treading water.

“Man overboard!” A call went out, the men jumping to action.

“Captain overboard!” Another corrected back.

Several of the crew helped Henry haul you back onto the ship from a small ladder built into its starboard side. You stood on the deck in nothing but your shift, hugging your arms against your chest and shivering violently in the strong breeze. Henry finally set his soaking feet onto the deck, the men huddled around him for a moment, to make sure he was all right, but his blue eyes were burning holes into you.

“Go back to your duties!” He bellowed at his men, who paused for a moment, then scattered out of sight.

Henry snapped across to you, his hand raised and stopping a centimeter away from your cheek, you scrunched up your body, wincing and turning your head away, anticipating the slap. He shook, throat bobbing up and down as he struggled to control his white hot anger. His hand unclenched and squeezed around your jaw, in a bruising grip. He jerked your head forward to look up at him, making you whimper. Your frightened eyes looked into his furious blue gaze, like he was tearing you apart with his sight alone.

You shivered again and whined, cold and scared, the suspense of not knowing what Henry was going to do to you, for your open and continued disobedience.

His hand moved from your chin and grabbed you by the neck, making you yelp with alarm, terrified he was about to kill you. But he growled deep in his throat; dull nails digging into your skin. Henry jerked you sharply towards him, crushing you against his soaking body and crashing his lips to your cold ones, in an angry and sloppy kiss, his other hand coming up to tangle in the back of your wet hair. You struggled against him, squirming, beating and clawing at his chest, but Henry wasn't deterred, his continued to kiss you, for a long moment, before breaking it, then, with his hand still in your hair, Henry dragged you back into his cabin and shoved you onto his bed, uncaring that you would get the blankets and mattress wet.

Stomping across the cabin, he retrieved a coil of twine that was on a sideboard and crossed back to you. Yanking your arms up, Henry tightly weaved the rough twine around your wrists and tied it off, leaving a length of it hang from it, before cutting the excess with a small knife that was in his belt. Taking the lead of your bonds, Henry tied it to one of the bed posts.

“You're a fool.” You hissed at him as he picked up his boots and jerkin, closing the window as well.

“Am I?” He laughed, tossing his jerkin over the back of his chair.

“My father doesn't suffer Pirates.” You replied, jerking on your bonds. “He never has and he never will. You may think you'll get what you want. But, the moment he has me. He will kill you.” You told him with a deep conviction.

“He's been killing Pirates, better than you, before you were alive.”

Henry turned towards you, eyes wide with focus as he regarded you and digested your words, but before he could answer you, the door flew open and Nullings came flying in, skidding to a stop as he noticed you tied to the bed, then looked to Henry with a questioning look.

“What's the word?” Henry asked, ignoring his expression.

Clearing his throat, Nullings replied. “The Governor has replied to our ransom, he'll meet us at Hafstead island with our demands in exchange for the girl, tomorrow afternoon.”

Henry gripped the back of his chair, drumming his fingers against the carved dark wood, then glanced over at you, before pushing off his chair and hustled out of the cabin with Nullings, closing the door behind them.

“It's a set up.” Henry told him, keeping his voice low.

“What?” Nullings snapped, brow and forehead creasing. “Why do you say that?”

“Something she said.” He replied, carding a hand through his drying curls. “I want you to go back into town, find a girl her height and appearance..”

“I'm sure the man knows what his own flesh and blood looks like, Hank.” Nullings huffed, shaking his head. “Be real.”

“Listen to me.” Henry growled back, chest heaving. “Cover her head, so they don't see her face. That way, we find out just how truthful the dear old Governor is being. Take everything they bring for the ransom, only after everything loaded, will you give her to them.”

“And where will she be?”

“With me.” Henry replied. “I know Hafstead island, I know a good place to keep her. If anything goes wrong, I'll take her back aboard here, we'll all come back to the ship and head for our island.”

“You want to take her back to Shipwreck Island, if something goes awry?”

“That was the deal.” Henry barked at him. “His refusal to pay, would forfeit her to my mercy.”

“What do you bloody plan to do with her?” Nullings asked, exasperated.

“I'll figure something out.” He replied, unperturbed. “Do you understand the plan, Ben?”

Nullings tapped his foot, antsy, as he ran through the plan in his head, things were getting so much more complicated than he anticipated.

“Yeah, yeah!” He sighed, giving in. “I got it, Hank.”

“Great, get about it.” Henry smiled, patting his friend on the shoulder and going back into his cabin. “You and I, my sweet pet.” He grinned, tilting your head back to look up at him.

“Have a date tomorrow.”

[dembenchboys]

Don’t - Tyson Jost

AN: this has been in my notes for like 6-7 months now I hope you enjoy! It’s based if the song don’t by Ed Sheeran.

Warnings: cheating and a mention of sex nothing detailed at all.

Word count: 1.9k

I met this girl late last year

She said, “Don’t you worry if I disappear”

“Yes.” That's the response Layla whispered in Tyson’s ear after he asked her to spend the night with him. As he planted more open mouth kisses to her neck, Tyson could feel her breath quicken and her plus racing up.

Tyson wasn't expecting to be taken back by the stunning brunette with green eyes who he locked eye contact with as she was busy dancing in the corner with her girlfriends when he went to the local bar Monday night with the boys for a simple night of relaxing. When they bumped into one other at the counter and she introduced herself to him while grabbing a drink, he wasn't expecting his heart to race a little quicker. He hadn't expected to be bringing her home at the end of the night, yet here he was, holding her hand as they climbed into the car he had booked for them.

What Tyson really wasn't prepared for was the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach when he woke up to an empty bed and a piece of paper on his nightstand with only 11 numbers scribbled on it.

I told her I’m not really looking for another mistake

I called an old friend thinking that the trouble would wait.

Tyson realized he should've tossed the little letter away as soon as he got off the phone with JT who reminded him to think with his head and recommend throwing it away. But Tyson, on the other hand, was always one to follow his emotions rather than his mind or gut instincts. After all, he was known as a softy for a reason. His head was telling him that he should simply toss the paper away since it was just going to cause him misery. His emotions, on the other hand, were reminding him of how he felt last night when he made eye contact with her. They were reminding him of how his heart raced and how he felt a nervous pulse in his stomach for the first time in a long time.

So, four mornings after waking up to an empty bed, he decided to take the plunge and message her. He realized that texting her at 11:00 a.m. would not lead her to believe it was a booty call. Tyson opted to keep it short and sweet, only saying, "Hey, how are you?" And before he could back out, he sent the message, not realizing how drastically those four words would impact his year.

It was 10:45 p.m., according to the clock. Tyson had become increasingly nervous as Layla had yet to reply. He was thinking to himself, what if he had waited too long, what if she had just left the note out of kindness and didn't mean it? But his phone vibrated in his hand just as he was about to turn it off and put it away for the night. And there was a text message from Layla on his phone screen, saying, "I'm okay, what's up?" “Have you finally missed me enough to send a text?” Tyson felt the blood rush to his checks at that moment, as he hoped she didn't realize how long he had been waiting, but she did. Tyson decided to make up for the fact that he hadn't spoken to her in four days, so he spent the rest of the night getting to know the lovely woman he thought had a good heart.

But then I jumped right in a week later, returned

I reckon she was only looking for a lover to burn

Tyson decided to invite Layla over after about a week of talking with her through his phone and tossing the idea around in his head. He had all of the spare time in the world before heading to Alberta since the Avs season had just ended.

Tyson had discovered recently she was a CU Denver student. So when they agreed on a Saturday, Tyson realized she wouldn't have classes, so he wouldn't have to worry about her cancelling, but he was still worried that she wouldn't actually show up. When a soft knock came to his door around 1:00 p.m., those nerves faded.

When Tyson awoke to an empty bed on the Tuesday morning he was supposed to leave for home, he wasn't surprised. Tyson found himself going to bed with someone and waking up alone more often after that Saturday afternoon spent with Layla at his place.

Then I put it on pause until the moment was right

I went away for months until our paths crossed again

After waking up alone on that Tuesday morning when he had to leave, Tyson wanted to put some space between himself and the situation. Tyson knew that if he went down that particular road with Layla, his heart wouldn't be able to heal if anything bad happened. Tyson tried not to think about her during his time in Alberta, but it became more difficult with each passing day. Tyson found his feelings growing towards her each day. He found himself thinking about her at odd times throughout the day, hanging with his family? Layla. Sitting around the fire pit? Layla. in bed right before he closed his eyes? Layla. She was an addiction, the kind you get when you try a new treat and can't stop thinking about it.

Tyson promised himself he wouldn't message her again until he returned to Colorado, and he kept his word. He'd been back in the city for about three weeks before he decided to pick up where they'd left off.

She told me, "I was never looking for a friend

Maybe you could swing by my room around ten

Baby, bring the lemon and a bottle of gin

We'll be in between the sheets 'til the late AM"

After several late-night phone calls to catch up, Layla eventually told Tyson what this meant to her after he invited her to dinner. “Around 1:00 a.m. on a Monday morning, she muttered to him, "I'm more into the friends with benefits situation right now." Tyson was definitely devastated but he was willing to take whatever Layla had to offer.

Tyson was unprepared for the feeling he got when he glanced down at his phone after leaving JT’s apartment to see a text that said, "baby, I'm swinging by your place with a bottle." Tyson knew that meant he'd wake up alone in the morning, yet he didn't care at the time.

Tyson and Layla had been seeing each other more and more in recent weeks. Tyson’s feelings for Layla became stronger over time, but he never expressed them. He just loved her company, and if that meant getting lost in the sheets more often than not, so be it.

And for a couple weeks I only wanna see her

We drink away the days with a takeaway pizza

Tyson was in a slump, he wasn't producing on the ice as he wanted to, and the media was branding him a draft bust because of it. As a result, he found himself blocking others out, with the exception of one individual. Tyson discovered that Layla was the only one he truly wished to be with. She didn't mention hockey at all, because they could easily lose themselves in each other and block out the rest of the world. They'd eat as much takeout pizza as Tyson's diet permitted.

Yet something changed between them in those few weeks. Layla confessed to developing feelings for the curly-haired boy. As a result, they opted not to label what they were doing, but they did promise not to see other people. Not that Tyson was doing so before.

Wish I'd have written it down, the way that things played out

When she was kissing him, how I was confused about

Now she should figure it out.

Tyson should have known something was wrong when Layla started staying at school longer than usual, but he didn't think much of it, assuming it was just finals. Tyson should have known something was wrong because she took longer to respond to his text messages and began avoiding his phone calls, but he was so wrapped up in the feeling she gave him that he didn't notice. When Layla failed to pick him up from the airport on Sunday morning, Tyson should have known something was wrong, but he just convinced himself she slept in.

But two things happened when the car he ordered from the airport arrived in front of Layla's apartment and he saw her kissing the kid from her biology class: one, Tyson's heart dropped to the bottom of his stomach, and two, something clicked and everything made sense to him.

That afternoon, at Tysons' place, he had to have a conversation he would never forget .Layla explained that she genuinely wanted to be with him and that she was just messing around with Tyler, the name of the kid from biology, because she wanted to be official with Tyson. And in a relationship, she puts a significant importance on trust and respect.

So they agreed to become an official couple that day, and the eight weeks that followed were some of the happiest memories Tyson had managed to make.Tyson grew more and more in love with Layla with each passing day, and he indulged in it. He treasured the cuddles and long conversations late at night. Tyson was certain he was in love with Layla, or Ly as he began to refer to her. He was about to reveal her to the group of people in his life that he held in high regard: his teammates.

She was crying on my shoulder, I already told ya

Trust and respect is what we do this for

I never intended to be next

But you didn't need to take him to bed, that's all

And I never saw him as a threat

Until you disappeared with him to have sex, of course

Tyson wasn't expecting to see Layla on the sofa on top of Tyler from biology when he stepped into Layla's apartment on the morning of the 23rd, three days before their three-month anniversary, ready to celebrate because he'd be on the road. But that is precisely what he saw.

Layla didn't know she'd been caught until the beautiful white roses fell to the ground and the door slammed shut  from behind her.

As the knock on Tyson's door rang through the silent apartment, Tyson knew that all that had occurred in the previous year, his best days, and the one person  he could turn too would all be gone in less than 20 minutes.

Tyson had never expected to have a conversation like this one in his dark, relatively clean apartment. When Layla cried on his shoulder, he reminded her of their compromise on trust and respect, telling her, "If you were unhappy, you should have left, I never saw him as a threat, well, before you slept with him of course."

But after all of the screaming and pleading, Layla gathered her belongings and closed the door to Tyson's apartment; the sound that echoed in the house was almost close to Tyson's heart beating in his chest.

As Tyson came into the dressing room the next morning, feeling dishevelled, he grumbled to JT that he should have just thrown it out.

[willowbird]

HEY for the prompt game: au 7, trope 3 (i love chaos), and very specific location 2? i'll leave the pairing up to your whimsy i just saw the combination of au and trope and HAD to request it lmao

Foxes as kids, foxes WITH kids, INSIDE ANDREW'S CLOSET.

Guys guys guys there were SO MANY WAYS I wanted to do this that my brain kinda exploded for a moment before I decided to go this route. Hope you enjoy!

---

"Oh no oh no oh no oh no!!!!!”

Andrew looked up at the ceiling, where the small, modern chandelier above the kitchen island swung in time with the distressed shouts and several ominous thumps. He looked over to where his husband was flipping pancakes and rose a single brow in question.

Neil shrugged, as if to say 'How should I know?'

A brief staring contest ensued, continued chaos still racketing upstairs. Finally, Andrew lifted one hand and curled it into a fist. Neil lifted his own, and after a brief round of rock-paper-scissors Andrew sighed to his loss and pushed away from the counter.

Neil caught the edge of his shirt as he passed him, tugging him in for a quick kiss. "I'll put extra chocolate chips in the pancakes."

"Bribery is unnecessary when you won fair and square," Andrew grumbled back.

Neil raised his eyebrows. "You turning down more chocolate? I mean okay, if you're-"

Andrew cut him off with a kiss. "Too late to take it back." Then he turned and headed out of the kitchen, only to be nearly mowed down by a wide-eyed eight-year-old.

"Watch yourself there, Kev," Andrew cautioned as he prevented the gangly child from sending them both to the ground.

The kid's big bottle-green eyes were wide with alarm. "Dad! He's going bonkers! I dunno what's wrong with him." He wrinkled his nose. "Well, there is a lot wrong with him. But I mean I don't know what's wrong with him today."

Andrew sighed, more because he was pretty sure he did know what was going rather than because he didn't. It was honestly better if Kevin just thought his brother was being weirder than usual for as long as possible. He had a feeling that if Kevin could get any leverage on his spazzy older brother he'd turn into even more of a terror than he already was.

Andrew ruffled his younger son's hair and gave him a nudge. "I'll check on him. Go help your dad with breakfast."

Kevin perked up. "Pancakes?"

"Pancakes," Andrew confirmed with a solemn nod.

"Do you think dad'll make one in the silhouette of a dead French guy?!”

"If you ask him, maybe."

That's all it took, and the kid was taking off like a shot again. Andrew watched him go, grimacing at the thought that they would probably have to enroll him in sports this year if only to help him burn off all that damned energy. He was just as bad as Neil.

A scampering upstairs followed by the slam of a door drew Andrew's attention back to matter at hand. The slammed door did not come from either of the boys' rooms, but rather the opposite end of the hall, where Neil and Andrew's room was. In all, this wasn't all that surprising - at least not when it came to his fourteen-year-old. He'd been hiding in Andrew and Neil's closet whenever he got particularly upset since he was four and Neil had performed a "magic ritual" to make the closet a "bunker against all evil".

Andrew climbed the steps and made his way down the hall, stopping once he came to the closed closet door. From inside he could hear the muffled mutterings of an anxious teenager. He lifted a hand and knocked with just two knuckles.

When there was no answer, he knocked again and asked, voice mild, "Can I come in?"

Then he waited, giving his son time to process that he was here for him, whatever the issue was. Almost a full minute passed before a tight, watery voice said, "Y-you can come in."

Permission granted, Andrew swung open the door to find Nicky curled up in the corner, cheeks flushed and brown eyes full of tears. Nicky was technically Andrew's much younger cousin on his biological mother's side, but he and Neil had adopted him when, at two, DCFS took him away from his parents due to a severe case of neglect. The first few years had been tense - because Luther and Maria had tried to fight it - but Andrew's adoptive mother was a child psychologist and Neil's foster sister a renowned family lawyer.

Even without the connections they would have fought to the death to keep Nicky, though. From the second they brought him home, he was theirs, and they were the only real parents the boy had ever known.

"H-hey pops," Nicky stammered through a poorly-attempted smile.

Andrew waved away the bravado and took a seat next to his son. "Should I talk to Grandpa Wymack about getting us a bigger closet? We aren't both going to fit in here much longer," he said lightly, a soft opening for Nicky to tell him what had him so upset.

Nicky laughed, a more genuine sound, then sniffed and rubbed at his eyes. "N-no. I'm sorry. I just..."

Andrew shook his head to stop him. "I would rather pay to have the closet expanded than take away a place you feel safe when you are upset."

As he watched, tears filled Nicky's eyes again, then he launched forward and it was honestly probably a good thing that the closet was a tight fit, otherwise Andrew might have gotten knocked over by the force of the hug. As it were, he was able to catch his son, patting his back only slightly awkwardly as Nicky let out a choked sob and began to ramble:

"..and then I told him that I liked his EARS oh my god Pops I am such a MORON why couldn't I tell him that I liked his eyes like a normal human or even that I liked his mouth or something!? That's sexy right? Oh my god this is terrible. And then! AND THEN I went and I liked about ten of his posts IN A ROW LIKE A CREEP and he NOTICED and then he MESSAGED ME and oh my god I can never show my face again.."

There was very little that Andrew could do other than listen, so that was what he did. As he did, though, he felt a warmth pool in his chest. A warmth that his son felt so safe and comfortable in his and Neil's space that he came here to hide when he felt upset. A warmth that he felt so comfortable, so safe with Andrew that he invited him into that space with him. That his son would cling to him and ramble about his boy problems without fear of judgement. That the biggest problems Nicky had right now were typical teenaged woes, not all the horrors that both Andrew and his husband were far too aware of existing in the world.

"I just don't know what to DO. Oh my god my life is OVER," Nicky finished with a flourish, pulling back and looking up at him with wide dark eyes.

After a thoughtful pause, Andrew finally gave a hum and said, "Well, that depends."

"Depends?"

Andrew shrugged. "Does he really have cute ears?"

Nicky made and high, defeated sound, burying his face in his hands. "They are ADORABLE, Pops. A-dor-a-ble."

"Ah." Andrew nodded his understanding and patted his son on the shoulder. "Then I think that definitely calls for extra chocolate chips in the pancakes."

And, because Nicky was a teenaged boy with boy problems - but he was also still a teenaged boy (and moreover, he was Andrew's son), his head went up and his eyes brightened. "Chocolate chips."

"And whipped cream."

"Oh!" Nicky scrambled to his feet and bounded out of the closet with a flourish, only to come up short when Andrew snagged the back of his shirt.

"And Nicky, those crashes from before..?"

Nicky blushed brightly and glanced out the bedroom door toward his own room and quickly back again. "Um.. I'll clean up after breakfast?"

Andrew put on his most impactful Dad Stare, then gave a firm nod before letting go. "You better. Now hurry on before Kevin eats them all."

Nicky yelped in an entirely new kind of distress, all but sprinting out of the room. "KEVIN DON'T YOU DARE YOU LITTLE MONSTER!"

Andrew watched him go and didn't bother to stop the smile that crawled onto his face from a hidden chamber somewhere in the center of his heart. There was once a time he might have resisted it, when he was younger and wounded and angry, his teeth bared against a world that had only ever hurt him. Now, though? Now there was so much fierce, protective warmth inside of him - so much pride, so much adoration, so much love, that he no longer saw the expression of joy as a sign of weakness.

Shouts and scuffling downstairs pulled him out of his thoughts and he sighed to himself, but he was still wearing the smile as he headed down to breakfast.

[honestsycrets]

Say Your Piece II: Heart Breaker

❛ pairing | hvitserk x reader, hvitserk x ?

❛ type | double triple? shot, mistakes were made au

❛ chp summary | after the reader says she doesn’t want hvitserk; he makes a bad decision. it gets worse from there.

❛  tags | plus size reader, verbal arguments, extreme social anxiety, extreme body insecurity, drinking, hateful words, illustrator hvitserk x writer reader, mention of infidelity, shame, OCs, sexual frustration, blackmail, cheating mentioned, verbal abuse, sexual blackmail, poor communication? it’s more likely than you think. tags to be added.

❛ request | So Hvitserk request (you a asked for it 😂) Remember the Little Lovers event and the self-conscient plus size reader who didn’t want to have sex ?Well I didn’t get the sex lol. I want my Hvitserk to show a woman how her body is enjoyable. Thank you 😊 for @alicedopey

❛ sy’s note | i’ll eventually get you your sex scene, DAMN IT.

He wakes with a blaring headache caused by a stream of fresh morning light against his soft cheek. He pulls his arms around you-- or, what he thought was you, as the moment he does so, he knows it’s wrong. Where soft folds and overflowing breasts were, he finds thin limbs and small breasts.

It’s not your body-- he realizes all at once. The high rise apartment that overlooked the city wasn’t, either. It was the fruit of an accomplished older woman, whose many books hovered on a white shelf beside a white bed. Everything in the room holds the same pure standard. He flings himself from the bed, his naked ass colliding with a nightstand. The items ripple over the surface and settle into new positions. The woman pushes up, dragging the painfully monochrome white fluffy sheet to cover her flat chest. 

“Hvitserk?” 

Erika, in all her sharp-eyed glory, stares right back at him. Vomit spins up his throat, incited by the affection by with her eyes considered him. Hvitserk scrambles over the perfectly plain hardwood floors, upchucking up what’s left of his agitated stomach after his pathetic night out on the town. 

“Hvitserk!” 

Her spindly hand is at his back. Ordinarily, she was a comfort in your absence. That despite her pushing, and pushing, and pushing to get your name off “his” book, she would always be there for him in ways that a lover could not. Author-illustrators make so much more than being an illustrator alone, she reminded him. Her considerate words now feel like measured steps against his relationship. Her touch rips his skin into gooseflesh. Hvitserk works his shoulder away, his knuckles becoming white around the bowl.

“You drank too much last night.” it’s a non-question. Obviously, if he were here, he had. He groans his miserable response into the toilet bowl, wishing he could smother himself in the water, as it would be a better punishment than anything his girlfriend could do to him. “I’ll make you some coffee.” 

Her steps become distant echoes. When he finishes and cleans after himself, he starts his search for his clothes. He picks them from a singular pile, draws them back on, and reaches for his phone. It bleats a miserable eight percent battery life.

“She didn’t call if that’s what you’re thinking.”

Ericka stands in a silvery slip; although he’s not sure when she put on some clothes. She hands him his cup of coffee and takes a seat on her “divorce couch”, a plain grey chair that she scammed her ex-husband out of. As she sits there, all long limbs, and purposefully sultry clothes-- the guilt strikes him.

Hvitserk takes a sip of bitter, burnt black coffee. She’s never been a great coffee maker but her heart is in the right place. It wouldn’t feel right to snuff her. After all, he probably spent the night before buried in her cunt. 

“You called me to pick you up at the bar last night. You were so drunk all you wanted to do was lay on my chest,” Ericka pulls a sheer black kimono over her thin collarbones. His eyes fall on her hands. “I told you she’d break your heart. Women like that-- once they get over a certain weight-- they aren’t emotionally available to do anything but eat. It consumes them.” 

“She ain’t like that.”

“If she’s not like that, then why did you have sex with me? Be honest with yourself, Hvitserk. Your needs aren’t met with her. That’s why you needed me.” 

His mouth runs dry. Like he’s been chewing on his regret as if it were paper. He couldn’t remember the night before. It was like a bad memory he never wanted to recover. Hvitserk glances down to his cup as he sinks onto her bed. 

“It was an accident,” he glares at the surface. “I- You know I can’t be with you, right? You’re--” 

“Old?” she asks. He’s never cared about something as simple as that. Twelve years his senior or not, it wasn’t an issue.

“It’s not that. C’mon Erika, you know I don’t give a shit about age. She’s my baby girl.” 

“You’re going to stay with her? A woman like that?” 

“Like what?” Hvitserk sets the coffee on the nightstand as he snaps at her before he could bite it back. He knew what she meant. Erika’s long ranging sigh reminds him of Aslaug. How tenderly her hands would wrap around him even though they were truly tainted with alcohol perfuming off her breath. 

“I’ve been your agent for years Hvitserk. We go through this every time you find a girl. This oen is by far the worst. She doesn’t care about you. Look at all that work you did for her yesterday. The pendant you bought her. The work you’ve put into her books! You even pick up all the food she eats. She won’t go outside of her house and you still expect that she’ll suddenly become this fat trophy wife on your arm.” 

“Just because she’s fat don’t--” 

“It isn’t about the fat, Hvitserk.  How many times does she have to show you, or tell you for you to get the picture through your stupid head, huh? She doesn’t want you! And you have the balls to call me a fucking accident.” 

“Erika--” 

She leaps up from her chair. Hvitserk sucks in a hard breath and tries to find sense through the nonsense, looking through his phone. Erika was right. You hadn’t sent a message. Not in his texts, not on his social media. More egregiously, he spots a new post. Ericka’s hands fold over his, pushing him back to sit on the bed. She slides over his thin hips and takes a seat on his empty lap. It was painfully simple, painfully domestic, and painfully wrong.

“Let me tell you what I’ve learned in forty years,” Erika whispered in his ear. Her thin lips move, gliding like butter in his ear. “If someone doesn’t want you, there’s nothing you can do to change that.” Her fingers comb through his hair, like slimy tendrils. “But I’m here.” 

Hvitserk tips his head nack, gazing at the ceiling. Her palm caresses his scruffy jawline to drag his attention from the ceiling to her soft blue eyes, a painless depth, if only he would listen to her words. Hvitserk shifts her back on the bed, loitering around her waist with a supportive hand on the base of her back.

“I know you care ‘bout me. I just-- need some time, okay?” 

It doesn’t slip him that she’s scowling as he walks out of her home. There was someone he could count upon, when things were difficult, his phone buzzing in his palm reminded him of that. 

“Hey, Ivar.” 

Or, maybe not.

“You fucked her?” Ivar stopped chewing his pastry, ambling his head one way then another, laughing against himself. He took his mug of properly brewed coffee to his lips. Hvitserk regrets agreeing to meet him at the cafe. “What were you thinking sleeping with your agent?”

“I wasn’t thinking! I was drunk--” Hvitserk set his hand to his forehead. He has no appetite as he cycled through what he had done, searching out the moment that he called Erika. He fails to locate anything but quiet sobbing behind the neck of a beer bottle and a distant, squeamish feeling of fingers down his nape. “I think she took advantage of me.” 

Ivar sets down his cup of coffee, picking up a fork and knife as he leaned over the table, lips punctuating each word. 

“Yes, well, I am sure that will go over with your girlfriend well. I’m sorry, I slept with my skinny, well-established agent who has been wanting me to get rid of you. That bitch has been after you for years. What do you think she will do now? She won’t let you go.”

“She understands,” he reflects at the monochrome crowd. His plate is full but has gone cold with his lack of appetite. Normally, this was the place he came with his brother to binge breakfast and muse about women. Ubbe wouldn’t care about his issues: he never had time for anyone but himself. Not really. Ivar scoffed, gazing into the foot traffic flitting by their cafe. 

“Tch, I’m sure she does. She will probably break up with you.” 

He bobbed his head.

“I think she already has.” 

A normal man would come to beg. 

But Hvitserk draws in the deep quiet of the park. With only the barks of dogs, the giggles of children, and the occasional frequency from couples watching movies in the park, it’s a place of solace by the small pond. 

He starts with an outline of Xiao’s small face. It’s a rough outline, budding and ready to be kissed with by watercolours. Soft pinks like petals of peonies droop in his photo. He must have blended this shade wrong. Line after line that he sweeps, he weeps. His phone jingles in his pocket and his heart tightens around his chest like a straight jacket to someone in an insane asylum. He must be going crazy-- if he too can no longer paint.

“Where are you?!” you boom on the other end of the line. Hvitserk fumbles his phone, suckling in a breath. Had Ivar told you? No, his brother wouldn’t. Not Ivar. He was never a gossiper. 

“In-- in the park?” 

“What has gotten into you? You could have at least texted me to tell me you were okay. I was worried sick!” 

You? Worried sick? This wasn’t the you from yesterday. The one that pelted out how selfish he was for craving intimacy. The one that told him that all he wanted was to sexualize you. As if he were some sixty year old pervert with a camera in hand to click a picture of under your beautiful pastel skirts. Hvitserk sets the brushes into his cup of water and sets aside Xiao’s painting to dry.

“Hvitserk!” 

“I’m here,” he blurts out. “I didn’t think you’d care. You didn’t call.” 

“Like I didn’t I call you all night.” 

Something cracks, deep in his belly. With all the days of work he’d done for you and you alone, he forgot himself in the mix. He jerked his phone back, frantically looking at his phone app. No recent calls meant what they meant. When he finds nothing, it only thrusts him into a further rage. 

“Bullshit,” he belts out. “You didn’t. You didn’t care about me last night. You never fuckin’ do.” 

“Hvit--��� he turns off his phone. There was a sliver of a moment in which he regrets that on the basis of last night. Maybe you rejected him, but he wasn’t an idiot. A man simply didn’t cheat on his girlfriend because she said no. 

He packs up his bag and heads toward the football field. It’s time to play football.

He smashes Ubbe on the field. If he wasn’t at peace with being an illustrator, maybe he could have been a ballplayer. Flipping the ball from foot to foot with Ubbe on his trailing his tail was fun, but watching him try and miss as he thwacked the ball on its net was even better. Unlike Ubbe’s well-proportioned body, he’s all long limbs and quick feet. Just the right combination to slip out of Ubbe’s grasp. Well, that was, until Ubbe tackled his ass onto the blades of grass, sending the both of them rolling through the grasp.

“Bro, really?!” Hvitserk laughs, dropping back onto the grass. The skid marks on his clothes would be unreal. 

“If I can’t catch you,” Ubbe heaves, digging his hand into his pocket. He finds his phone there, vibrating with messages from Torvi: probably. Hvitserk shoves his arms behind his neck, drawing out breath after ragged breath. 

“Wanna go eat?” 

“Na,” Ubbe shoves himself onto your feet. “Your girl is here.”

His what? Ubbe rushes off. A sinking feeling came over his clammy hands. He opens his mouth to beg him not to go, to take him along with like he used to as a child. He’s terrible at making up and hours ago, he’d hung up on you. His lips press together, soothing himself with the false pretense that-- no, it would be fine. If you didn’t apologize, perhaps neither would he. 

He finds you on the other side of the soccer field, fashioning his favorite sundress. There’s something glamorous about its corset bodice and its draped sleeves that left him breathless. He wills down his terrible arousal, drawn to the pendant he bought you nestled between your large breasts. You wait for him by his things, pulling the rim of a broad pale hat and looking down at beautiful chunky nude heels. 

You’re beautiful and terrifying all in one. He regains himself enough to make his legs solidify from the liquidy mass they were seconds ago. He might feel much like a newborn calf falling over himself to get his things, but perhaps he looked better than he felt. Women like sweaty, stupid men, right?

“What are you doing here?” he picks up his things. “I thought you didn’t like to be seen in public.”

“You hung up on me,” you hold his tablet flush against your dress and offer it out to him. He takes it and secures it back in his bag. “I had to come to find you.” 

“Yeah? I’ll bet.” Hvitserk wills down the painful throbbing behind his joggers, pulling his bag to obscure the pain he was in. The sooner he went home, the sooner he could jerk himself off without the overwhelming guilt of being, as he was, a whore. Why couldn’t he stay mad? He wanted to stay mad! “You look... nice. Never seen you looking so nice. What’s the occasion?” 

“You like it?” You pull out the skirt and stop to do a twirl that he curses himself for stopping for. Normally, his girl wouldn’t even go outside. Who was this? He’s aware of others watching-- the fat girl in a flashy dress. “I wore it for you.”

“Yeah, I do.” He moistens his lips, his voice raspy and thick. “Looks like an angel.” 

“Does that mean you’ll come back home?” You reach out for him. Your soft hands winding around his well-corded arm. He realizes then, the confidence in which you carried yourself masked the desperation in your hands. They trembled over his bicep. “I’ll be good, I promise I won’t yell at you again like that. I wouldn’t even be mad if you-- you found someone else to fuck. I know you-- I know you need it. If you can’t get it from me, I can wait on the side. As long as you’re not in love.”

“Hey,” he softened, settling his hand atop of yours. He stops midstep, turning on his high tops on the sidewalk. He takes your hands and listens waits for your outpouring of emotion. Traffic passes by him. They speak in hushed whispers. “Hey, hey, hey. Baby girl wait-- that’s not -- what are you talking about?”

“I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean to yell at you like that but you were pushing and pushing and wouldn’t stop! I didn’t know what to do. I want to have sex with you,” you squeeze his fingertips. “But you don’t know what it’s like to be fat, old virgin.” 

He was trying to listen. He really was. The moment you spoke that word: that v-word, his mind went blank and numb. You’re still talking long after he’s stopped listening. Hvitserk sucks in a breath: it sends him into a flurry, pursuing the bone of your virginity long after you’ve stopped talking.

“What do you--” his lips twitch, drawing in a smile. “--mean a virgin?” 

“I haven’t had sex-- I… I wanted to--” 

His girl-- a virgin. He wants to smile, if not for the knowledge of the other night, waking up in Erika’s itchy sheets. Hvitserk knows that he has to tell you, he only doesn’t know how. You’re talking again. 

“What did you say?” he asks. 

“I want you to do it,” you answer. “Right now. Just forgive me.” 

He about drops, a moistness coming over his mouth that he can’t-- exactly-- help. His palms feel just as hot, sweating as he pulls them free from yours. Clearing his throat, he slips his hand against the small of your back. 

“Na, let’s… let’s take it easy. We’ll talk ‘bout it later.” 

He wants that virginity. 

But logically, oh woe is he, he knows it’s not really right to take someone’s virginity if they’re not all there. You’re not all there because you don’t know of that night. It’s like, consent, right? Bad consent was just jerking your ankle like some Viking and dragging you into bed with him. If he was going to do it, he told himself, you had to know what he’d done. 

It was a slip-up. 

Hvitserk finished another drawing for his new book independent of your input. It was a children’s book about good bodies-- because as he looked at your good body, he was reminded of Ericka’s cruel words. He wanted to do better for lil kids.

“Hvitserk, your phone is ringing,” you said pointedly from across the room where you sat like a madwoman. Your frantic papers sat nestled around a basket of shared chicken he made for lunch. 

“Huh?” Tapping over, he recognizes Erika’s photo, planting a kiss on his cheek on his first big break. She had been the first one to really believe in him. It was a long time ago now, he reminds himself to change that to something more… suitable after last night. He gestures his fingers at you. “Thanks, baby girl.”

He answers the phone. The moment he does, he hears Erika’s flat voice snaking into a hiss. It’s a noise that he hasn’t heard. Not in all his years of having her as his patient agent. 

“You’re with her, aren’t you?” 

“No, I’m uh-- with Ubbe.” He throws you a glance. You tilt your head, he shakes his, and that’s the terrible loneliness of holding a secret. “Erika--” Hvitserk sighs, parting his lips to talk. She shushes him with such severity that he thinks she’s trying to lop his head off, too. 

“Break it off.” 

“What?”

He steps outside and leans against the cold metal door separating the high-rise apartments from, well, the outside world. He expects to see her standing out there. All he finds are the many cars parked on the street and the stillness of movement. It’s too quiet. The whistle of the wind through the street chills him. 

“I know you’re with her. I can tell her for you if you’d like.” 

“No. Don’t--” Hvitserk sighs, searching for the words in the silence. “I don’t think you understand. We worked through it.” 

She laughs something from deep in her belly at him.

“I wasn’t asking. Either you do it— or I’ll make you do it. You obviously don’t know what’s best for yourself. Why else are you fucking around with some--” He collapses on the stairs, cradling the phone to his ear as she goes on. “Don’t think I won’t expose her for what she is. A thief.”

“She’s never-- Why the fuck are you doing this?”

“You told me you would take care of it. Something you’ve failed to do-- I should have known you couldn’t do it. ”

“If this shit is about yesterday--” 

“I’ll give you one more chance to break it off if you come over tonight.” 

“Are you blackmailing me?” There’s a pause on the other line. Then a chuckle. A long winded, painful chuckle. He should have known better. That night-- calling it an accident wasn’t exactly tolerable for a woman like Erika. She wasn’t the kind of woman who could be easily ignored.

“If that’s what I have to do.” 

 He chokes out a sob. Ivar was right. She wasn’t going to let him go.

“Fuckin’-- fuckin’ fine.” 

@punkrocknpearls​ @flowers-in-your-hayr @tephi101 @alicedopey​ @supernaturalvikingwhore @tootie-fruity @titty-teetee @queen-see-ya-in-valhalla @ethereallysimple @deathbyarabbit @deathbyarabbit @readsalot73 @natalie-rdr @lol-haha-joke @lisinfleur @hissouthernprincess @marvelousse @dangerous-like-a-loaded-pistol @vikingsmania @wish-i-was-a-mermaid @lif3snotouttogetyou @gruffle1 @cris101071 @gold-dragon-slayer @babypink224221 @wonderwoman292 @naaladareia @beyond-the-ashes @generic-fangirl @chinduda @laketaj24, @peaceisadirtyword, @ly–canthrope @cris101071 @daughterofthenight117 @unassumingviking @ladyofsoa, @inforapound @winchesterwife27 @feyrearcheron44@readsalot73 @squirrelacorngliterfarts @gold-dragon-slayer @medievalfangirl @sallydelys  @bluearchersstuff @affectionrabbitt @whatamood13 @notyouraveragegirl17 @igetcarriedawaywithyou @unacceptabletatertots @ivarandersen @stra-vage @tgrrose @cookies186 @learninglemni-blog @theleeshanotlouise @soiproclaim @msmorganforever @destynelseclipsa @soleil-dor @strangunddurm @superwolfchild-fan @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie

[clandonnachaidh]

Light Across The Seas That Sever (Ch5)

AO3

“Uncle Jamie, mam says ye’ve tae come doon i’ stair!”

Jamie Fraser gave himself a final once over in the mirror, making sure that he hadn’t missed any areas when he’d shaved and that his hair was swept back without it looking too done. The shirt that Jenny had ironed for him, despite his insistence that he would manage just fine, was properly tucked into his jeans, the cuffs of which had been neatly tucked into his beaten-up pair of brown Doc Marten boots that had seen the better part of a few years.

“Nae bad, Fraser, nae bad,” he muttered to himself as he pulled his favourite leather jacket from his bed and opened his bedroom door to find his niece hopping excitedly from one foot to the other.

“Ye’ve nae to mess this up, ken?” Maggie said sternly, her little hands planted on her hips. With a sudden shriek of delight, Jamie pulled her into the air by her arms and plonked her on top of his shoulders.

“Yer like yer mother’s wee parrot, d’ye ken that?” He laughed as he descended the stairs at Lallybroch, setting Maggie back onto her feet as the girl scowled at him.

“Am no’, am like my da,” she huffed, furthering the likeness between her and the woman that gave birth to her.

Jamie smiled down at her, ruffling her dark hair in his hand, “Aye, ye are the both of them. Equal parts Fraser and Murray.”

It was then that he caught sight of Jenny in the doorway, her face full of palpable excitement that nearly made Jamie roll his eyes. Not for the first time, he wondered if she was maybe too invested in this whole thing. It was just one date after all.

“Jamie, ye mind Mary, aye?” She gestured to the woman stood in at the door, wringing her scarf in her hands as though she was as nervous as Jamie was himself.

“Aye,” he smiled kindly at the stranger stood in his house, only really remembering her from the days of their childhood. Mary McNab looked nice enough and there was no doubt that she was a pretty wee thing but she seemed small, as if she was unsure of the space that she was taking up. “It’s nice tae see ye again, Mary. I have to apologise for my sister dragging ye all the way here, I was happy to pick ye up from the village.”

Mary smiled at him in response, looking at him from underneath her eyelashes as though she was nervous to look at him directly, “It’s no bother, really. My brother gave me a lift up.”

“Aye well, shall we?” Jamie shrugged his shoulders into his jacket, trying his hardest to avoid Jenny’s darting eyes between the two of them as he put his hand in the space just shy of Mary’s shoulder, herding her out of the door.

“Have fun!” Jenny shouted, her voice thick with expectation as Jamie opened the door of his Landrover for his date, offering a gentlemanly hand as she made the slight jump up to the passenger seat. Shutting the door behind her, he shot a death glare to his sister who was practically vibrating on the doorstep and got into the vehicle himself, setting off down the track that took him away from the Lallybroch estate and prying eyes.

The restaurant was fine. Dinner was fine. Mary was nice enough and Jamie had tried to be his most charming self but there was still a cloud of awkwardness hanging over the table. Mary was a quiet wee thing and the phrase ‘like getting blood from a stone’ was ringing around Jamie’s head. There had been more than one uncomfortable silence, neither of them able to bring up a topic of conversation that successfully piqued the other’s interest past a solitary follow-up question. It also didn’t help that Jamie had the constant distraction of his phone buzzing audibly against his thigh the entire time, no doubt Jenny was constantly texting him to ask how things were going.

Once the coffees had been drunk and dessert turned down, Jamie had insisted on paying the bill and held the door open for Mary as they left the restaurant. When they walked to his car, Jamie had held the door open again but this time, Mary halted. With a shy peek up at his confused face, she closed the space between them and pressed a kiss to his mouth. It hadn’t registered in Jamie’s consciousness until he felt her push her body against his with a little more force. He flinched, putting a gentle hand on her shoulder and pushing her away slightly to see her gasp for a breath that had alluded her.

A bright red descended over her cheeks, “I’m sorry, I’m-“

“No, lass, it’s fine. Really, it’s…” he trailed off, realising that he was looking at her mouth, open and inviting. How long it had been that he’d kissed a woman and not been half gone with drink? Steeling himself, his hands went to her waist and he pressed her gently against the car, letting his mouth fall onto hers as she whimpered and relaxed beneath him.

Jamie kissed her. He tried his best to be present as his mouth moved against hers, eliciting noises that he hadn’t heard from a woman in a long time. He let his hands drift upwards, cupping her face in his palms and he felt her instinctively move towards him and press herself against him, more boldly this time, her hands coming to the small of his back and pulling him closer to her.

A persistent buzz from his pocket threw cold water over a lukewarm situation. Pulling away, he looked at Mary, ragged breaths bursting from her lungs as he managed to settle himself quickly, retrieving the phone from his pocket and throwing it a quick glance.

Claire calling… Claire (Eight unread messages)

His stomach dropped as he ignored the call and threw it into the car behind Mary, still standing in the open passenger door with something in her eyes that Jamie prayed wasn’t hope.

“Best get ye home, lass,” he said quietly, immediately walking around the bonnet of the car as poor Mary McNab scrambled to collect herself, sitting quietly in the passenger seat.

He drove Mary to her home in silence, tightened his hand on hers once as he said goodnight with a polite smile that he hoped she would understand as an apology and began the drive home, the single-track country roads twisting and turning along with the myriad of thoughts that were running through his head.

The last thing he needed after a frustrating evening was to get stuck behind a baler on the road but he knew better than to swear at the farmer who was driving the huge piece of machinery as fast as he possibly could. As he tawdled along behind the tractor, his ears strained to hear if his phone was vibrating in its holder, eyes darting to check if the screen was going to light up with her name again.

“Mac na galla,” he grumbled to himself as he pulled into a lay-by and watched as the baler trundled down the road. Within seconds, the cab of his car was illuminated against the black of the night outside. He tried his best to ignore the shake in his fingers as he unlocked his phone and opened his messages.

Jenny: Careful and nae wake the bairns when you stumble in!

Jamie fought the urge to rest his forehead against the steering wheel and worried about how he could possibly tell Jenny that the date had been a bust.

Had been, until he’d kissed wee Mary McNab back. Probably confused the poor woman to no end. Why had he done that? She was a nice enough person and he hadn’t had a bad time but there definitely hadn’t been any spark. And that had been before he’d found out that the incessant texts he’d been receiving during their date weren’t actually from his sister, they were from her.

“Swear to Christ, Claire,” he hissed, screwing his eyes shut before they opened again, entirely of their own volition, to look at the other messages he hadn’t read from the evening.

Claire: Hey! I know it’s been ages but don’t kill me! Busy, y’know. Anyway, have you seen the email? Claire: I think I’m going to come over for it, what are you thinking? Claire: Jamie! Claire: Please say you’re going, I don’t want to go stag! Claire: I’m not going to book a flight unless you say you’re going to be there. Claire: Jamieeeeeee! I’ve had a bottle of wine and I am making rash decisions! Claire: Okay, I’m doing it and I hope you know that I blame you entirely. Claire: Flight booked.

His brain was going a mile a minute, sat in his car engulfed by the pitch blackness of the countryside as his fingers furiously clicked onto his emails, eyes scanning through the deluge of special offer gym memberships and an invite to like an old friend’s new business facebook page when he finally saw it.

A reunion of the Graduating Class of 2012!

He gleaned over the information, passing the cheap graphic that had been plastered to the start of the email invite as he swallowed a lump in his throat.

There was to be a reunion of their whole graduating year in two month’s time. Everyone from Alumni to Fellows and tutors invited, partners and families welcome.

Back to rubbing shoulders with some of the best and worst people he’d had the pleasure of knowing, not even able to say that he’d made something of himself five years on from when they’d seen him last. He had graduated with a First, that was true. But he hadn’t moved from his home at Lallybroch and God knows there wasn’t much work for anyone who spoke fluent French and German in the rural Highlands of Scotland. It was true that he’d done a bit of consulting and translating work for the Scottish Government, lending a hand as they began their push for the inclusion of Gael culture into the national curriculum after the introduction of the Gaelic Language Act. But he would’ve been able to do that even without his degree, having grown up speaking both Gaelic and English. It had been a bitter pill to swallow, the knowledge that simply having an Oxford degree had got him on the board in the first place.

Still, he tried to keep his heart from racing as a single thought repeated in his mind.

Claire would be there. And it sounded like she’d be coming alone.

Jamie fought the urge to return her call immediately, his thoughts too scattered to try and figure out what time it was in Boston. Now that he thought about it, he couldn’t remember the last time the two of them had even spoken on the phone. Although they had both promised to keep their phone calls regular after that first one when she’d called to say thank you for the flowers, they had become less and less frequent over the five years since they’d last seen each other. And when they did speak, there was always a tension that would hide in the spaces between their words, one which Jamie was terrified of acknowledging. So he watched what he said and eventually the conversations became routine and dull, neither of them willing to drop a crumb that could potentially lead the other down a path that would end with unspoken truths. Jamie felt drained after every call, lying in bed at night and going over the way her laugh sounded and whether it would have reached her eyes. After a few missed opportunities, the calls became texts which then dissolved into the odd tag on a funny Facebook post and a casual like on Instagram. But nothing of worth shared between two people who, at one point, had been everything to each other.

Two months later, Jamie found himself sat at a large table in the hall of Merton College, where it all began. The fingers of his left hand tapped rapidly against the muscles of his thigh, fingertips numb from rubbing against the scratchy wool of his kilt. He had gone all out, donned his traditional clothing with pride swelling his heart at the sight of the modern Fraser tartan, and sent a prayer of thanks to his parents when he slipped on his Prince Charlie jacket to find that it still fit him across the shoulders. It felt like a lifetime since he’d been at university having parties and society nights in this very hall, the standard stereo system being replaced by the more sophisticated option of a small band situated in the corner, fronted by a beautiful blonde woman who was crooning about it being a marvellous night for a moondance. Jamie certainly wasn’t trying to get drunk but he was already on his second whisky in an attempt to quell the nerves that were brewing in his stomach. He was powerless to the constant roving of his eyes, unable to relax until they found their target amongst the throng of people.

“Are you listening to a word I’m saying?” Jamie looked towards the sound of John’s exasperated voice, ever the perfect Lord in his coat and tails.

John Grey was one of the only people besides Claire that Jamie had kept in contact with since leaving Oxford. The two of them had met on the rugby pitch and had immediately taken a liking to each other. John had been the only person besides Jenny that knew of Jamie’s feelings for Claire although he had once termed it a ‘soft spot’ and Jamie hadn’t corrected him, not wanting him to know how deep the feelings went. He knew that John was gay himself and it had taken an uncouth joke from another member of the rugby team at the expense of John’s sexuality that had seen Jamie ramming a knee a little too hard during a ruck that had fused the two of them as good friends.

“Sorry, I’m wi’ ye now,” Jamie huffed, letting his shoulders relax slightly as he turned his body towards the man sitting across the table from him. “What is it ye were sayin’?”

John’s faux-irritated expression softened as something behind Jamie caught his eye before he smiled at him.

“Looks like you got your wish.”

Jamie could feel the air in the room as it changed, shifted to one full of static energy and promise. Without looking back, he got to his feet and smoothed out his kilt making sure that the pleats were sitting properly.

John rolled his eyes knowingly, “You look fine, stop fidgeting.”

Breath left Jamie’s lungs in a shaky sigh as he expelled the nerves that were sitting in his throat and turned to look upon her for the first time in years.

She was radiant. Not that he was surprised by the fact but he found that he was counting himself lucky just to be in the same room as her. Claire, his Sorcha, dressed in a deep red gown that was cut daringly low at her bust, a neckline that perfectly showed off her bonny wee shoulders and contrasted against her pale velvet skin. He knew that she would’ve paid good money to have someone wrestle her curls into a loose bun on top of her hair but she hadn’t bothered with too much make-up, just a simple blush on her cheeks that almost matched the colour of her lips. Jamie felt something tug in the dead space beneath his ribs, as though the tether that had been separated years ago was suddenly trying to fight its way back to her.

He had the priviledge of seeing her reaction at the moment she caught sight of him, shoulders rise sharply in a quick inhale of breath that she wasn’t in control of. Jamie couldn’t move, finding himself instantly fixed to the spot as she smiled at him, huge and beatific, before making her way across the room to stand in front of him.

“You’re here,” she said simply.

“Of course I’m here. Wouldnae miss it fer the world.”

He immediately cringed at his words as he saw her smile softly. He had forgotten, just for a moment, that this woman knew him and would be able to infer what he was really saying—that he wouldn’t miss her for the world. Suddenly shy, Claire looked away as she offered her open arms. He greedily accepted, crushing her into his chest and fighting the insurmountable urge to bury his nose in her curls and breathe like he was coming up for air.

“It’s so good to see you,” she whispered against his chest, her breath dampening against the material of his crisp white Oxford shirt.

“Aye, it’s good to see ye as well.”

At the sound of someone clearing their throat, Jamie reluctantly let her go so Claire could beam at the sight of John Grey, placing a delicate hand on his shoulder as she kissed him on the cheek in greeting.

“My dear, you look transcendent,” John remarked as a blush of mild rage began to creep up Jamie’s neck. Of course Lord John would have the proper words for this situation, not the awkwardness that tumbled out of Jamie’s mouth. He glared at John who raised his eyebrows as if to say ‘well, you weren’t going to say it’ and Jamie resisted the urge to clip him around the back of his perfectly coiffed head. “Would you like a drink, Claire? Champagne?”

“Please,” she breathed a sigh of relief as John excused himself to the bar.

They were in a room of hundreds of people but in that moment, Jamie felt like they were truly alone. Claire was standing in front of only him and he let his eyes feast on every minute detail, how she was different and how she was exactly the same. Hazel eyes roamed over his face and he tried to control the tingling sensation in the tips of his fingers that were fighting to reach out and touch her.

“How is everyone? Jenny and Ian, the little ones?” Claire asked after clearing her throat.

“Aye aye, they’re all braw. Young Jamie is in school now and wee Maggie is the spit of her mother.”

“I miss them,” she said in earnest, her brows sloping upwards on her forehead, “I think of them from time to time, even if they were too young to remember me.”

“Yer none sae easily forgotten, Sassenach,” he said it without thinking and heard her take a sharp inhale at the sound of his pet name for her. It had been years since the name had left his lips.

“Now there’s something I don’t get called in Boston.”

“No, I imagine not, Doctor Beauchamp,” he grinned as he placed a hand on her elbow and lead her back towards the table. “Tell me everything, I want to know it all.”

The air around them was full of the words that poured out of their mouths, quickly falling into the same groove that had developed between them. It was so easy with her, Jamie thought to himself, like breathing air or falling into bed along the longest day. He was grateful to find that there were no awkward pauses or worries about what to say and what to keep to himself. The first time she hit him on the knee with her bonny wee hand, he nearly felt it jerk towards her involuntarily as if to catch the pressure of her touch again. If she noticed, she didn’t let on and tipped her head backwards to laugh at something he wasn’t even aware of saying.

John returned after a slightly longer than normal trip to the bar, apologising for the delay with the explanation of getting caught with an old friend but the look that he shot to Jamie told him it had been intentional to allow Jamie time with Claire. Jamie thanked him with his eyes but noticed an uneasy look on John’s face as he handed Claire’s champagne to her, placed Jamie’s whisky in front of him and took a deep sip from his own gin and tonic while cradling a fourth glass in his hand.

“There you are, darling.”

The sound of his voice made the whisky in Jamie’s throat burn that little bit more as it went down. Jamie tore his eyes from Claire’s face to see Frank settling himself into a chair, taking his drink graciously from John’s hand.

“Ah James, John mentioned you were here,” Frank nodded his head and glass towards Jamie in a small toast of greeting and Jamie nodded back, trying his hard to smile through the grimace.

“Nice to see ye again, Frank,” he lied.

“Yes, you too. Serendipitous, actually, I wonder if I could pick your brain about a few things?”

Claire cleared her throat and placed a gentle hand on Frank’s knee, “Darling, I don’t think Jamie wants to talk about your work, we’re here to enjoy ourselves.”

“Nonsense, I’m sure he’ll be interested to hear. You see, I’m away to specialise in the immigration of the Scots to the Americas after the Clearances,” Frank leaned across Claire and planted his forearms on the table, effectively blocking her off from the topic of conversation. Jamie tried his best not to glare at him in response and caught a small smile from Claire that told him not to bother, she was used to it.

“Fuadaichean nan Gàidheal,” Jamie muttered before knocking back his whisky in frustration and watching as Frank’s eyes lit up. Claire’s mouth twitched and Jamie had to resist the temptation to smile, knowing that she enjoyed hearing him speak in his mother tongue.

“Oh, wonderful! You speak Gaelic then?”

“Aye. We were speakin’ the Gàidhlig in the house before English, really.”

“Jamie is on a board that’s implementing the legislation that protects the use of Gaelic in Scotland,” Claire chimed in, much to Jamie’s surprise. He hadn’t told her anything about it.

“Keepin’ tabs on me, have ye?” Jamie smirked and she simply winked at him over the rim of her drink before bringing it to her mouth. “Aye, I’m part of the Bòrd na Gàidhlig. Just advising here and there.”

“He’s being modest. He’s been involved in writing a National plan for the Gaelic language over the next five years,” John added, refusing to let Jamie talk down his achievements.

Frank’s eyebrows raised into his forehead, creating deep lines in their wake, trying not to sound too surprised when he said, “That’s very impressive.”

“None sae impressive as a Harvard lecturer and a surgeon,” Jamie beamed at Claire who rolled her eyes in response.

Their collective heads turned towards the corner of the hall as the singer in the band announced the arrival of the President of the university. Welcomes were offered, donors were thanked and information provided about the up and coming renovation of a library that sorely needed funding. Jamie really tried to pay attention to the speech but at the mention of money, he was happy to find himself distracted by the sight of Claire in front of him. She was sat facing away from him and it allowed Jamie to look more closely without her being aware. He followed the line of her neck until it disappeared into her hair line and was struck by a vivid memory of pressing his lips there the night they shared in Amsterdam.

Of course he knew that it was going to be a shock to his system, seeing her in person after so many years. And he had stared his reflection down in the mirror that night, willing his fingers to stop shaking as he tried to fasten the belt that held his sporran, having to consciously take steadying breaths. He had wondered over the years if he had imagined it, had built up their connection in his mind in an attempt to not feel so alone. To have the knowledge that somewhere, out there in the world, there was someone who knew the bones of him, all his black and twisted bits, and not only accepted them but loved him for it.

But being in her presence, even after all these years, simply confirmed what he knew in his heart. What he felt for Claire Beauchamp was painfully real.

The room filled with polite applause and the band started up again with an upbeat song, inviting people to take to the dance floor. Jamie took a sip from his drink and watched as Frank’s eyes caught someone across the room.

“I’m just away to say hello to some friends,” Frank announced as he sent Jamie a wink that slithered sickeningly down his spine. “Keep the old girl out of trouble for me, boys?”

He was off with a shot and John was soon to follow, clearing his throat politely and smoothing down his coat as he stood.

“I believe I’m also overdue with making the rounds, please excuse me you two,” he said with a gracious bow of the head, leaving the two of them alone.

Just as Jamie was thinking of the perfect thing to say, the tone of Claire’s voice shocked him.

“Not very subtle, is he?” Claire remarked as her eyes found Frank across the room, watching as his hand fixed around the elbow of a very pretty blonde woman and his lips came to her cheek, just a little too close to the corner of her mouth. As Jamie looked on confused, he turned to see Claire downing the last of her champagne, something burning behind her eyes that he couldn’t put his finger on. His heart twisted as he realised that he didn’t know her tells anymore.

“What d’ye mean-“

“Dance?” She sent him a dazzling smile that he made his heart stutter but she hadn’t become so alien to him that he couldn’t see the look across her face that said ‘please, don’t ask’. He mumbled something about having two left feet as he stood, the skin of his hand becoming afire when she took it in hers.

Claire settled them on the dance floor, confidently wrapping his arm around the small of her back as she held his other in her hand. He didn’t recognise the song that the band were playing and realised that he couldn’t care less, fervently trying to keep his head even though her body was pressing against his in a way that he realised he’d been starving of since the last time he saw her.

“So, tell me what’s new with you.”

He raised an eyebrow at her, the corner of his lips following its trajectory upwards, “Sounds like ye were keeping an eye on what I was gettin’ up tae anyway.”

“Well, I can’t deny the odd google here and there. Can you blame me? Its not like we know each other like we used to and when I knew that I’d be seeing you again, I refused to act like a stranger.”

He heard the honesty in her tone of voice and nodded soberly, unable to bring himself to look at her and so he pulled her that little bit closer, the added height from her heels allowing her to tuck her chin into the space between his shoulder and his ear.

“Aye, we’ve no’ been great at keepin’ in touch,” he acquiesced. “Mebbe we should try to make more of an effort? I ken yer busy wi’ yer work-“

“I’d like that.”

He let her pull away from his body and look at him, that sad smile playing on her lips that he hated to see.

“Aye, me too, Sassenach.”

As soon as her pet name left his lips, her glass face betrayed her feelings as a huge smile split across her lips, her eyes twinkling.

“I didn’t realise how much I missed that.”

He laughed at her then, spinning her under his arm in a feat of grace that surprised even him and earning a delighted burst of laughter from her mouth before she tucked herself back against him, closer than before. With a strength that he didn’t know that he possessed, he stopped himself from pressing his cheek to the crown of her head.

The upbeat song that they she had dragged him onto the floor to dance to ended and a slower one took its place. He felt the muscles in her body change and melt into his grip as Jamie tried his best to lead her through the dance even though he knew that he wasn’t moving in time with the music. She let him anyway, not seeming to care that they weren’t moving with the same grace as the other couples. Before he even realised that they were shut, Jamie’s eyes snapped open at the sound of Claire gasping.

“Did I step on your toes?” He asked jokingly as he went to look at her, seeing that her eyes were transfixed on something over his shoulder. He craned his neck, following her eyeline to the set of double doors that the skinny blonde was heading through, Frank following closely behind with what could only be described as a ‘shit-eating grin’ on his face.

Jamie’s head swivelled back to her as he searched her eyes for the fury that he knew must be brewing in the pit of her stomach. He was shocked when all that he found was defeat.

“Claire?”

His Sassenach shook her head once before casting her eyes downward and muttering under her breath. The next second, she was looking at him again, her teeth showing in what was meant to be a smile but looked more like a grimace.

“Huh?” she feigned ignorance. Jamie was having none of it.

“Claire, tell me what’s going on.”

She pulled away from him, fully, leaving him bereft. He watched as he squared her shoulders, her eyes determined on the doors that she had just watched her boyfriend disappear through with another woman.

“It’s nothing, I just need to grab Frank and-“

He stopped her as she made to rush past him, closed his hand gently around her wrist to stop her from running after the man that clearly didn’t deserve her.

“Talk to me,” he implored.

Claire looked at him, the rage that had been missing from her eyes now well and truly present. But the surprise was when he realised that it was being aimed at him.

“Let me go, I need to find Frank. Before he-“

“Shags someone else?” Jamie said without thinking, immediately regretting his words at the sight of Claire’s chin lifting into the air in defiance. She tensed the muscles of her arm as if to test the grip he held on her and Jamie immediately let her go, horrified at the concept of her attempting to see how tightly he was holding her. Trying in vain not to jump to conclusions about the dynamics of Claire’s relationship with Frank, he immediately raised his hands, hoping that she would understand what he was trying to say — that nobody should ever be touching her with any sort of force behind it. The look in her eyes made his stomach turn with revulsion.

He moved to close the distance that she had created, wanting to keep her safe, and saw her recoil from him instinctively.

Eyes wide and full of shame, Jamie quickly rectified his error and gave back the gap that he’d made to close.

“It’s just me, Claire. Talk to me, please.”

Christ, she looked like an animal ready to bolt from a burning barn. He could see the frisson of adrenaline moving through her body, her muscles waking up and ready to act, whether the reaction was fight, flight or freeze.

“Don’t look at me like that, I don’t need your pity,” she spat the words at him and Jamie felt his head spin from the speed of which the situation had changed.

“It’s not pity, Sassenach, it’s concern. Tell me yer nae livin’ on the other side of the world wi’ a man who’s— who’s playin’ ye false.”

It might have been because of the fact that Claire had never allowed herself to say it out loud, let alone be on the receiving end of it from someone else, but the rage flamed its way through her body. And Jamie has in the firing line.

“And what am I supposed to do, leave him and live in Boston on my own? I don’t have anyone.”

He couldn’t stop the words from leaving his mouth even if he’d tried, “Ye have me.”

Jamie felt his stomach turn to stone at the sight of the fear that passed across her face.

“It was nice seeing you,” she muttered under her breath as she made to leave.

The frustration bubbled in the pit of his stomach as he seethed, “Dinna do that.”

Claire bristled with indignation as her eyes fixed on him, “Do what?”

“Nice to see me, aye? Fucking hell, Claire.” He ran his hand through his hair in exasperation, the hand that had been wedged in the space between her ribs and her hip bone just a few moments before. “Ye ken fine well ye deserve better.”

“Excuse me?”

“Ye heard me jus’ fine, dinna pretend. Ye deserve better than a man who’d play ye false,” Jamie took a step towards her, lowering his voice so it was barely a whisper. “Ye ken, if ye were mine, it wouldnae even be a question in yer mind.”

The palm of her hand landed on his cheek as a bolt of lightning before he even registered that it happened. Stars burst into his vision but when they finally began to fade, all he could see was the broken look on her face and he immediately regretted his words.

“Fuck you, James Fraser.”

Before his brain could form a response, an apology for speaking out of turn, she was gone from him and he could only watch as she left through the doors that Frank had disappeared through moments before. Jamie made to go after her but was stopped when a hand landed on his shoulder.

“Not here. She’ll be more angry for you making a scene,” John said quietly before nodding a polite smile to the couple that had been closest on the dance floor and had no doubt heard the entire thing. Jamie sighed angrily, forgetting that he was around people that would love to go home with the tawdry gossip of what happened at their university’s five year reunion party. Well, he wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction. And he definitely wasn’t going to do it at the cost of Claire’s reputation.

John’s hand exerted a firm pressure on Jamie and he allowed it, letting himself be lead back to their table. Miraculously, John had another whisky waiting for Jamie as he sipped his own drink, closely watching his friend with gentle eyes.

“I thought it might just be a crush but seeing you tonight… I understand.”

Jamie rubbed the heels of his palms into his eyes, trying to dull the war in his brain that was pulling him between the notion of chasing after her, making her listen, and giving her the space that she had asked for.

“It’s no’ a crush. Hasnae been fer years.”

“Yes, I can see that now. I do know how that feels, you know,” John agreed quietly causing Jamie to pull his eyes up to meet him.

The look on John’s face told Jamie everything he already knew. John had admitted his feelings about Jamie during their time on the rugby team together, the two drunkenly stumbling to a taxi rank after a night of celebrating a win. John had managed to secure the win by way of a miraculous drop kick, only having the space and time to do so because of Jamie’s perfect blocking. Jamie hoped he’d been gentle in his rejection of John, placing his large hands on either side of the smaller man’s ribcage and keeping him at a distance that stopped him from landing the kiss that he’d tried to deliver.

“Aye, mebbe ye do,” Jamie admitted, smiling slightly at the man who simply laughed. “Does it ever get easier?”

Unsteadied at being on the end of Jamie’s typical Scottish directness, the corners of John’s eyes crinkled as he answered truthfully.

“Not really, no.”

[aggressive-positivity-network]

mercs and nightly rituals? 👀

Those are the kind of off-the-wall asks I live for!

Spy:

The Frenchman has a very strict retiring routine.

It might have been because of his meticulous nature, or maybe because of his time at the academy, but he had almost a sixth sense for his bedtime as a result.

No one was really sure why he was so strict about it.

He has left in the middle of card games, arguments, and chats just because it “time for him to sleep.”

After a bit of prodding from Engineer - whom Spy trusts more than any of the other mercs - he reveals that the spy school he went to had alarmed halls that activated at a certain time. A few students had even died as a result. The habit had come from a place of pure terror.

Engineer is slowly trying to break the habit. Spy can now wait ten minutes after his usual time.

Spy puts his pajamas neatly on his bed, which he makes each morning, and turns on the fan so that his pillow can cool while he’s getting ready.

He makes sure all of his disguises are in the right place, takes off his mask and puts it on his coat hanger, brushes his teeth for two minutes exactly (again, an academy habit), and then changes completely into his pajamas.

Finally, he flips the switch next to his bed to activate his alarm system.

Spy goes to bed, sleeping on his back, and barely moving until morning.

And Scout learned the hard way that Spy keeps his butterfly knife in a makeshift pocket carved into the mattress.

Scout:

Can and will just konk out wherever possible.

He’s fallen asleep in Engineer’s workshop, outside, in his doorway, on the floor, against the wall...dude has even fallen asleep in the middle of hitting someone with his bat (NyQuil coma).

He will sleep anywhere, usually not his own bed.

His sleep schedule is also all out of whack, which is why he drinks so many Bonks.

He doesn’t have ADHD - his bloodstream is just pure caffeine and sleepy giggles.

If you get close enough to him, you can actually see dark circles under his eyes. He tells everyone they’re bruises.

“This...uh...Soldier punched me in the face! Yeah, that’s it!”

Boston boy, I love you, but please take a nap.

Take two. God dangit.

He very rarely changes into pajamas, he just strips and jumps in bed. He always brushes his teeth, though - he takes special care of his teeth.

Scout says their his “bread and butter.”

He also literally jumps in bed because he has a fear of somebody reaching out from under the bed and grabbing him if he gets in bed too slow.

Sometimes he even takes a running start.

He’s broken several bedframes that way.

Heavy:

Heavy has the standard fare: putting on his pajamas, brushing his teeth, and washing his face.

When he gets in bed, though, he picks up a book he got at the nearby library and starts to read it.

He has these small reading glasses that barely stay on his nose.

This is mostly to help him read and speak English, so he occasionally reads sentences that he doesn’t understand out loud.

He also has a legal pad next to his bed, which he uses to write down any words he doesn’t understand.

In the morning, he usually goes to Miss Pauling or Medic and asks what certain words mean.

He is currently at a middle-school reading level, and his favorite novel by far is The Giver.

He even bought the Russian audiobook so he could better understand the message.

He’s also a big fan of To Kill A Mockingbird, but he had an incident where Miss Pauling had to explain why their word for black person was so hurtful and why it should never be used.

Heavy didn’t understand at first, so Miss Pauling had to relate them to Russian slurs. Heavy understood really quickly after that.

His copy now has all the slurs blacked out in ink.

“What if Demo reads? I need to...disappear them.”

Sniper:

He almost always practices his shot before he goes to bed.

It helps him relieve all the daily stress.

You can tell if Sniper is having trouble sleeping because of the gunshots.

“‘Old on, mate, one more round.”

One time, after being ghosted for a date, he stayed up shooting until six in the morning.

The only reason he stopped was because he had tears in his eyes and couldn’t see the target anymore.

He ended up just sitting on the floor and cleaning his gun while trying to not get tears on the muzzle.

No one knew what had happened, but they did notice that Sniper stabbed his enemies a little harder and more violently that afternoon. He even broke a Scout’s spine because he walked on the body after withdrawing the knife.

Do. Not. Anger. The. Aussie.

Demo:

Demo drinks so often and so much that he usually doesn’t sleep during the night.

This has scared his teammates on multiple occasions, since you can’t exactly see uniform color in the dark.

He has been shot and/or trapped on multiple occasions, especially by Spy, who is a very light sleeper.

It got to a point where he now has to wear fluorescent bands so that people know he isn’t an enemy.

He also has a “sleeping eyepatch” that’s made out of the same cloth as his pajamas.

It has blue stripes and a little black X in the middle.

Engineer:

He tends to turn his light on and off many times before actually going to sleep.

Engineer also does this with his lamp, and if anybody ever walks by his room and asks why, he says that he needs to turn it off and on until it “feels right.”

He also checks every alarm system before he goes to bed.

And if there is a single update, virus, or false alarm, he has to get up and fix it.

He also tends to get very anxious at night, especially if he’s overtired or recovering from an injury.

If he and Scout are up at the same time (Scout gets nighttime anxiety as well) they make each other hot chocolate and watch MythBusters.

Engineer likes the explanations, Scout likes the explosions.

They either fall asleep on the couch or wait until Spy comes and makes his complaint known.

Since Spy’s so quiet, he has been known to move Scout, cloak as Engineer, and then scare the living daylights out of the Texan when he wakes up.

Engineer more than gets him back come next day’s battle, though.

Soldier:

Soldier has his own room on the other side of the base

And there is certainly a reason.

He fights with his pillow until he goes to sleep, making all sorts of ungodly noises.

At first the mercs thought Soldier was having some overzealous “private time”.

One night they walked in on him to find a triumphant Soldier body slamming his pillow.

He even drew Hitler’s face on it with a Sharpie.

I mean, he could be into that.

Honestly, no one knows.

Pyro:

As stated in a previous post, Pyro catches fireflies to use as a nightlight in order to go to sleep.

However, while the sun is still setting, Pyro winds down by sorting their shell and trash collection.

She sorts by color, then shape, then material.

If there are any new additions, he cleans them and put them in their own drawer.

They have a little plastic dresser they keep everything in.

Their favorite additions are pieces of broken glass from beer and whiskey bottles, bonus points if they are tinted a cool color.

They also have these sheets with a bunch of sheep and cows in nighcaps.

If they are feeling scared or overtired, however, they sleep in a unicorn sleeping bag surrounded by beanie babies she has collected over the years.

Fun fact: they sleep with their mask off, and for that reason, they usually sleep with a pillow on their head and their comforter on top of that to hide their face.

If they are in their sleeping bag, they zip it as far as they can upwards without struggling for air.

Medic:

You think you have a bad sleep schedule?

Hah! How cute.

He will run on energy serum and cocaine for an entire week, then disappear into his room for a few days.

And yet he always makes it to battle.

Some think he may have a clone, some think he has the ability to see the future. Neither would surprise anyone.

When he does sleep, though, he is fully clothed and usually holding either an organ or his bonesaw.

He has lost many specimens that way.

Archimedes usually wakes him up if he falls asleep at his desk, as Medic trained him to do. However, this doesn’t work very well if his head is down on his desk because of a mental breakdown. But hey, you can’t win them all.

Heavy has slowly been trying to change Medic’s sleep schedule. He’ll offer him tea around nine, or ask if he wants to go for a walk at eight. He’s trying to link relaxation with night.

It’s been working so far, but there’s only so much you can do.

Ms. Pauling:

What’s sleep?

@uprisist