#YOU THINK IT'S CONNOR WITH THE COLD BUTTER ALL OVER AGAIN BUT NO IT'S A FUCKING TRAUMA TRIGGER I CAN'T FUCKING BELIEVE IT

[coeurvrai]

"He says it's a loony cake? What is that?"

"I believe when they told Connor his mom was getting... taken into mental health care, they gave him cake, Dad and whoever, just to calm him down. You know, dab of sugar, bite of cake. So, he was eating Victoria sponge, for, like a week straight."

[selfships-in-spanish]

thinking about the most extravagant fae court au where Richard and Connor are kings of the court, and Ona is a human they’re trying to lure back to their home from the human realm. They try everything, fairy rings, making deals, once they even tried to force her name out of her, but she is too crafty. Her grandmother warned her about the fae as a child, she knows better than to talk with strange, handsome men in the forest.

The Kings were growing incredibly frustrated, which only made the other fae nervous. The whole kingdom knew they could be quite whimsical, and when they wanted something, they had it. They would pursue whatever was that they wanted and employ all the tricks known to this day.

So, how this human mortal managed to escape from their grasp every time was something the fae found both extremely skilful and reckless. This human’s knowledge of them, their kind and their laws, their tricks, was not mere coincidence. She knew. But at the same time she kept playing with fire, because she sometimes seemed like she forgot that fae can be quite mischievous and not all that benevolent.

“Thank you kindly, Your Majesties,” she began, that infuriating and knowing smirk on her lips. “for wanting to show me another path home. I must decline, Your Majesties. As you see, I do not find myself lost.” She turned on her heels, bowing, the necklace her grandmother gave her dangling from her neck, with all the respect she could muster while trying not to burst out laughing. They were getting more ridiculous with each encounter.

The Fae Kings wearing such sour expressions gave a thrill to Ona, knowing they could do not do anything to her on her human realm; a promise was a promise, and Faes do not break their promises. 

Their will-o'-the-wisps did not work, clicking their tongues in irritation while making them disappear. Ona chuckled, sitting down on her favourite tree trunk of the clearing. She crossed her legs and propped her elbow on the raised knee, holding her head in her hand, still smiling. The light summer breeze made the skirt of her sundress gently flow by it, revealing more smooth, sun-kissed skin. Cheeky, like her. She waited.

The Fae Kings stepped out of the shadows they were hiding in, their eyes briefly looking down to the basket next to her, to lock them up with hers again. To the simpler eye they would look human, but the moment you actually looked at them, you’d notice all the little details screaming not human. The most prominent one was the way their eyes glowed, the brown on one of the Kings bordering on gold, and the icy blue of the other shining like a sapphire. Unnatural colours for humans, beautiful for faeries. As always, their royal clothes were impeccable, their capes silently moving behind them with the famous golden fairy dust scattered over the fibres. Their wings reflected the moonlight in such an exquisite way.

Ona’s grandmother was right, one should never talk to handsome, strange men in the forest, but Lord, they were handsome, and it was rare to be blessed by the Kings’ presence. They took a strange liking to her which Ona didn’t know if it was a good or bad thing. 

Ona came prepared after the first time she encountered the Fae Kings, knowing that day she was lucky to not have been tricked by them, but her grandmother taught her well and prepared her for the moment the Kings decided to show themselves, and she made sure Ona always carried a charm with her; this way they could never enchant her to step into their kingdom and be whisked away, never be seen again. 

As the Fae Kings approached her, Ona nonchalantly stood up and dusted off the skirt of her sundress, ignoring that they were stepping close to her, but knowing they could not harm her in any way while she remained in the human realm. Ona bent down to her basket, taking out the picnic blanket her grandmother made for her, and laid it out on the healthy grass while still keeping her back on them. Ona took off her shoes, letting the cold grass relieve her of the summer heat, humming contentedly. When she turned around, Ona was faced by the two Fae Kings standing directly in her personal space, looking down at her with twin vexed frowns. If Ona dared to take a deep breath, their chests would touch. From being this close, Ona could smell the indistinctive scent of the forest in them, earthly and fresh, but also deep with a hint of danger in it, as well as see the way their alabaster skin glimmered under the moonlight as if they were dusted by the finest glitter. It was barely there, but Ona had many occasions to observe their skin up-close to notice it. It was beautiful.

“I brought some snacks,” she spoke, eyes darting quickly to the gold-eyed King’s mouth to return them to were they where before. She could see his nostrils flare slightly, knowing he was containing himself. There it was, the thrill of the danger, of not getting them get their way for once, even if that may doom her for the moment they did, and that tension between them that even a butter knife could cut in two. “But I thought that maybe Your Majesties could be amenable to share them under the night sky, if they so please.” Still, she was careful to not fall in their debt or disrespect. As her grandma taught her, always have a plan B. Never give them a reason so they can decant the scale in their favour.

Ona never broke off her gaze from theirs as she sat on the blanket, sighing contentedly as she also felt the coolness of the grass on her legs and hands. Sometimes they stayed, sometimes they parted taking the goods with them. It seemed this time they would stay, as they sat down on each side of her. Ona took the basket from behind her and put it on her lap. When she opened it, the three of them were greeted by pastries and all kind of bakery goods, the smell making the Kings mouth’s water slightly.

“This one has blueberry jam in it,” the gold-eyed King took it from her hands, earning him a snort from the human. He ignored it, taking a bite. “and this one has strawberry jam, very delicious.” the blue-eyed King took it, doing the same as the other monarch. “I guess I have the apple pie for myself then.” Ona took a bite of it, moaning as the sweetness of the pastry coated her tongue. “Damn, they turned out good.”

Usually they wouldn’t speak much, only when they tried to trick her into giving out her name. It was a pity, she liked their voices, but she usually filled for their silences. Leaving the other portion of the apple pie for the Fae Kings, Ona laid herself down on the blanket, looking at the beautiful starry night on the sky. The crickets made a charming summer orchestra, making her smile.

Ona closed her eyes, letting the calmness of nature lull her into a slight stupor, enjoying the breeze cooling her heated body; she was glad she put on a sundress today. Ona always brought a shawl in case the forest nights grew too cold in summer, but tonight was a particularly warm night. Ona doesn’t know how many hours passed, but it was being quite an enjoyable night. Sometimes she could hear the Kings murmur between themselves, not understanding a lick of their language, but it meant she could listen to them speak. 

She must have fallen asleep, because Ona woke up to a warm pressure being pressed into the corner of her lips, twice.

“A gift.”

“A symbol of gratitude.”

Ona opened her eyes to find herself alone, but with something draped over her. 

It was one of the King’s cape. 

She smiled, putting it on her shoulders on her way home, finding the basket empty and her shawl gone too. She still could taste blueberry and strawberry jam on her lips, making her blush slightly and her heart skip a beat. It was hazardous situation, but addicting.

They were dangerous indeed.

[breakingsomething]

Dawn Station - Part Two

Basic summary: Chase Brody is being kept safe, far away from other people. So he thinks.

Content warnings: gore, body horror, stabbing, emeto, death mentions

Chase Brody is not ok.

Of course he's not. How is he expected to be? Ten people have died, and now he's being told he's next. He's been under police protection for days and judging by the strained snippets of conversation that he's caught from officers, even the others that had been with him are gone. Ten people, they had said. As far as Chase is aware, there were only nine other youtubers who'd been roped into this shit. Who else has this monster that wants them dead killed along with them? Does he even want to know?

He's been in this room for… three days? Four? Fuck, he doesn't remember. All he knows now is white walls, too close around him, with a bed, a tv in the top corner that he doesn't have a remote for, a black bin, a rolling table that's covered in books and other assorted things that he managed to bring with him, and two doors, one of which that leads to a small bathroom and one of which that leads outside. The second door only opens when he's being brought food. No one's telling him anything. He's scared out his mind.

An officer, a pale skinned woman with orange braids and a sympathetic smile, comes in a couple hours after he wakes for the day with breakfast. Toast, cold, with butter slabs and little packets of jam and sugar for his tea. Also cold. "Sorry, we don't have any Weetabix," she tells him with furrowed eyebrows and a sad tilt of the mouth as she clicks the door behind him. "We do have Cheerios and porridge, if you want something more to eat."

It's all he can do not to laugh. "No, thank you," says Chase, in a hoarse voice that hasn't been used in hours. "I want my phone back."

The officer winces. Her eyes are dark, crimson lipstick slightly smudged. Her nametag says "Sarah" on it in violet ink. "I'm sorry," she murmurs, in a voice so soft and falsely sympathetic it makes Chase want to scream. "I don't know if we can do that. We -"

"The others are dead, aren't they?" Chase interrupts. He knows this already. But it's worth saying to see the woman flinch. "All of them. So much for your oh-so-safe "police custody" bullshit."

She attempts to gather herself as professionally as she can, which is seemingly rather difficult. "I'm sorry," she repeats, and something about her tone is more genuine than before. "They are. But I swear to you, Mr Brody, we are doing everything we can to -"

"If I am going to die today," Chase says, interrupting again. "I want to talk to my goddamn family one more fucking time. Please get me my phone."

She stiffens, but gives a jerky little nod. He doesn't smile at her as she leaves. Not much to smile about. But she comes back ten minutes later and wordlessly hands him his slim rose phone, no expression on her face. He manages to upturn the corner of his lips in response.

Once she's left again, he turns his phone on and practically sighs at the sight of his two kids on his lockscreen. Little Connor and Louise, tiny kiddos, dressed up in their pristine school uniforms and grinning cheesily. His heart swells, and he swallows hard as the lump in his throat seems to expand. He can't cry. He's been crying enough lately. To think that two weeks ago, he was ecstatic to be receiving an email from Jack Mcloughlin himself, giving him the opportunity to play his new game's demo early. Look at him now.

Stacy is at the top of his contacts list, but only because he has her favourited still. He's not sure why. It just feels right to have her there. Her picture is a small, grainy image of her face next to a three year old Connor's. He has her looks more than Louise. Louise looks like her dad. She's a daddy's girl. Chase misses her so much it aches, and closes his eyes as he clicks Stacy's number.

She answers almost immediately. "Chase?" she yells, causing him to wince and pull the phone away from his ears. He hears her inhale sharply. "Sorry. Christ, Chase - Where the fuck are you?"

He swallows again, digging his nails into the palm of his hand. His legs are already beginning to bounce. "Police didn't tell you anything, huh," he mutters. "I'm in custody. They're apparently "keeping me safe," but I'm well aware of the fact that the others - Persephone, Rodney, Stanley, and Khia - are. Well." He clears his throat. "Dead."

He says it so matter of factly that you wouldn't know how close he was to tears had you not seen his face.

Stacy shifts, and Chase hears a door slam faintly. Two small voices giggle far off. He bites down on his lip as Stacy talks again. "Yeah. That's… yeah. Chase, I'm sorry. Uh… Jack Mcloughlin's dead too."

Chase sits bolt upright, eyes suddenly wide. "What?"

Stacy sounds alarmed. "I - Yes, did they not tell you? He died maybe two days ago. Same way as all the others. I'm sorry, Chase."

He can't breathe for a moment. Then he's numb and his body settles into cold, unfeeling static.

"Ok," he says flatly. "Great."

"Chase -"

"How are the kids?" he asks before she can finish. He's tired. He's been doing nothing but sleeping and he's tired. "I can hear them in the background, ha. Sounds like a fun time."

He can hear her scratching the space behind her ear. She does that when she's anxious. Nervous habit. She had gotten a little tattoo of a bee there when they were seventeen. It was a dare from their friend Daniel, who had also gotten a tattoo of a crocodile on his left thigh. Chase has a black bear on his right shoulder from the same occasion. When he and Stacy had been together, they would sometimes kiss the other's tattoos and descend into giggles remembering that slightly drunken night back in Ireland. His chest feels tight thinking about it. His eyes glaze over, and he tries to focus on something across the room.

"They're… not great," Stacy murmurs after a moment, making him jump. He had almost forgotten she was there. "Some brat at school told them about - this whole situation. Told them their dad was going to die. Apparently, she made up a song about it."

Chase hisses softly, grateful for another emotion besides grief and missing to focus on. "Fuck's sake. Which kid was this?"

"You know that girl who was making fun of Louise's accent last year and put chips in her hair?"

"That kid again? I thought the school dealt with her."

A sigh. "Apparently not. They came home in tears. I've been keeping them home since then."

Chase shakes his head in disbelief. "Shit, Stace. Can I… can I talk to them?"

She sighs again. "I… I suppose. But - how have you been? I take it its not been great, but are you at least ok?"

What counts as ok? He doesn't know. "I'm not dead yet. So there's something. I guess I can't really say much more than that."

"Papa?" cries a voice on the end of the line, and a grin breaks Chase's face as he recognizes his son, Connor, yelling from somewhere quite close to Stacy. "Is that Papa? Mama, let us talk - Louise, Papa's on the phone!"

Chase can't help but laugh as his daughter also chimes in, two little voices clamoring for his attention. "Calm down, kiddos, there's plenty of me to go round," he grins, pushing his hair back from his face so he can concentrate. "How are you both? One at a time, Louise first."

"Favouritism," he hears Connor sulk, but the boy quiets.

"I'm ok," Louise beams. He can hear her smile, and sees it when he closes his eyes. "I can't go to school cause Megan Penicuik was being mean. We made cookies, though, me and Con-Con! All by ourselves, no help from Mama at all!"

"Now, that's simply not true," he hears Stacy laugh in the background. Chase laughs too, his heart suddenly aching. Something weighs heavy in his chest, but he tries to push it away, feeling sick.

A scuffle on the end of the line, and then it's Connor speaking. "I miss you, Papa!" he cries. "I wanna give you a - a chocolate chip cookie, I have one here." His voice becomes muffled, and Chase hears him chewing. "Yum yum yum. Can we push a cookie down the phone? Like, through the speakers, Mama!"

Chase listens to a small squabble break out, then hears Stacy sigh dramatically. "They're doing just fine," she says, sounding so tired, yet vaguely amused. "I… I hate to say it, but I should probably go. Connor's games club is in half an hour and I haven't gotten ready at all. My makeup's a state." Her voice softens. "Will you be… ok?"

Will he? He doesn't know.

"Stace," he murmurs. His chest feels tight. "I could die. Like, tonight. That's what people are saying. I'm the last one left."

A pause, then Stacy lets out a shaky sigh. "Christ, Chase…"

He gathers his strength. "Listen. Listen, Stace. If I die tonight - I just want you to know how much I love you, ok? Even if we… if we weren't meant to be together anymore. You're one of my best friends, you know? So… take care of the kids. Don't lose yourself. And by god, don't start drinking again."

She gives a choked laugh. "Chase. God, I - Don't fucking die tonight."

He doesn't know how to tell her he won't have a choice.

As soon as the call's ended, he opens up his roommate's contact. He can't stand the echoing silence that seems to go on forever in the minute or so before the ringing starts. He supposes that if tonight is his last night alive, he should say goodbye. Even if it hurts. Even if it makes him feel sick to say it.

He nearly sobs with relief when he hears the line click, and a familiar German accent speak loudly in his ear. "Chase?"

Chase sniffles, laughing softly. "Hey, Henny."

Henrik curses, and something slams. "Mother of God, Chase Brody, do you have any idea - Are you - Fuck, are you alright?"

Good question. "I don't know," he admits, bouncing his leg anxiously, and staring at his chipped black nails. "I mean, I'm… scheduled to die tonight. So probably not. Really, I've been weirdly calm about all this."

Henrik huffs, and Chase can almost picture him getting red in the face, yanking back his hair and staring out the window of their flat with narrowed, pale blue eyes. "They have not done anything about it? Surely it is not possible that a murderer who is killing in patterns cannot be apprehended? You would think that would be easy, especially if you are being held in high security. Motherfucking useless British police. Not that German ones were much better, but Christ -"

Chase cuts him off before he can rant for another five minutes. "How are the others? Are Jackie, Marv and Jem holding up ok?"

Henrik sighs, blowing out his cheeks. "Mhm. Marvin has gone a bit mad. Fucking idiot is spending way too much time online, reading up on your situation. He seems convinced that you are going to die as well. According to Jackie, he spent all of yesterday out of the house and came back saying he had been performing. But Jackie says he had not had any parties scheduled for that day, so he was talking shit."

Chase winces. His friend Marvin is a child's birthday party performer, a magician, and spends a lot of time perfecting fun tricks and illusions to add into his routine. Chase knows how much he enjoys his job. But he also knows that Marvin's habit of spending hours on internet forums and sites, learning things from other performers, can be bad for him. "Christ. I… Goddammit it. How's Jackie coping?"

He hears a microwave go off in the background. Henrik mutters something that Chase can't hear, then keeps talking. "Jackie has been at the gym every day since you were taken in. Overworking himself. He did come round yesterday and, uh, spoke about how scared he was for you. Cried a lot, poor man. I am not good with comforting people, but I tried. He does not know what to do with himself anymore."

This isn't surprising. Chase is well aware of Jackie's habit of overexercising and pushing himself too far when he was angry or upset. "And Jameson?"

Something clatters, like Henrik's rummaging in a cupboard. A fridge opens and slams shut, and then Henrik is back. "He has been round at our flat a lot. Did you know Euan ended things with him? I did not, until he told me the day before yesterday. He was dreadfully upset. The timing was… not great, to say the least. I do not think he is doing too well, but he refuses to accept any of the help I wish to give him. He kept asking about me instead. Really, sometimes I wish he was not such a good actor."

So does Chase. Jameson is never one to be open about his feelings, instead trying to help everyone else first. Chase loves him a lot, but he wishes the filmmaker would be less stubborn and insistent that he was always ok. His heart aches at the thought of Jameson suffering alone, especially now - he and his boyfriend Euan had been so close, as well. The thought that he might never be able to figure out what happened between them hurts. "Me too. God, Hen, me too. Give them all my love though, yeah? Tell Marvin to take some time to do self care, and tell Jackie to take breaks, and tell Jameson to talk to his therapist. And you… don't you overwork yourself either. I know what you're like. Only one cup of coffee a day, dude, remember. Don't make me come over there."

Henrik laughs softly, but there's a sadness to it. "You sound as though you are saying goodbye."

Something stabs into Chase's heart. He tries to catch his breath through the lump in his throat. "Henrik. I'm going to die tonight."

There's a long pause. He can hear Henrik adjusting, rubbing his face and knocking his glasses askew. Maybe he knows his roommate too well. Far too well, maybe well enough that he knows what he'll say next. "There has to be another way."

Chase shakes his head despite Henrik being unable to see him. "No. No, Hen, no. This - this is what's happening, and we can't just… fix it. I wish we could, cause I don't even understand why, and it's so scary, and… God, I wish we could. I have so much left I want to do, and…"

He trails off. Henrik doesn't speak. Chase imagines him pulling the phone away from his face, squeezing his eyes shut and covering his mouth so as not to cry. The image hurts. Chase hurts. He holds the phone tight, aching to be somewhere, anywhere else other than here.

"You know," he says, voice choked as he speaks. "It's ironic how much I wanted to die a few months ago, and now I'm here, and I'm suddenly so scared."

"You are not going to die," Henrik suddenly shouts. There is anger in his voice that Chase knows is not directed at him. "You are not. It will not just all end like that, Chase Brody. I will not let it."

Something hot pricks the backs of Chase's eyes. He swallows hard, his chest tightening, his legs bouncing harder. "Henrik. Henrik, I - I have to go. I have to go. I'm sorry. I love you, dude. You know that? I love you."

"Chase," Henrik practically sobs. "Shit, I love you too. But you are not going to die."

Chase ends the call and throws up in the black bin next to his bed.

-

Night comes quickly, Chase thinks.

He thinks, because an officer comes to take his phone soon after his call with Henrik ends. He's starting to regret hanging up, but it had to have been what was best. Of course it was what was best. No need to make this hurt so much more than it already does. This is something he has to keep telling himself. No need to make this hurt so much more than it already does.

The officers ask what he wants for dinner that night instead of giving him choices. He gets it. It's a last meal. He takes full advantage of it and orders pepperoni cheese stuffed crust pizza and garlic sticks, his favourite, with barbeque sauce and churros. It all tastes like cardboard. He eats it anyway, because he's bored and his mouth still tastes like vomit and if he's going to die, it's only fitting that he goes out with a Domino's in him.

Before he's even finished eating, an armed guard comes and takes him across the building. It's the first time he's left his room in days, and he's surprised to see how dark it is outside, how little people are around. The few people he does see stare at him, some open mouthed with awe, some with sad eyes like a parent trying to tell their child that their pet fish died. Chase stares at the floor. Stares at the gun tucked into the waistband of the officer in front of him. He's scared, and his heart is racing faster than it has in years, and he thinks he's dissociating a little because he doesn't feel real and his fingertips are numb. Adrenaline thrums through his body, warming him and erasing the painful cold. Fuck, but he's scared. He's so, so goddamn scared.

He's taken to an entirely different room, a slightly bigger one that looks nearly the same, but with wooden chairs sat all around the border. There's no TV in this room. "Sit here," one of the officers says, guiding him to the blue covered bed and gesturing for him to sit. He does so, feeling silly and light with panic. He thinks he's going to be sick again. His breaths aren't coming right and fuck, he might faint from the sudden, overwhelming wave of dizziness that's washing over him now.

One of the officers that has just come in walks over and sits next to him. He's in full uniform, a radio on his vest, a bat strapped to his belt. "Are you alright, Mr Brody?" he asks gently, looking at him with kind brown eyes, and Chase sobs with relief for some kind of comfort.

"H-h-having a p-panic attack," he stammers, shifting on the bed to try and feel something, clawing at his skin under his grey hoodie and desperately trying not to cry. "N-need my - my - my asth-ma in-inhaler, p-please, I can't br-breathe -"

He's brought his inhaler, and he clutches it gratefully, clinging to it like a child. The cold button grounds him. Maybe, maybe if he squeezes his eyes shut tight enough, he'll wake up in his bed at home and be able to get up and shower in a bathroom that's not small or lit too brightly and then he can go downstairs to the kitchen to find Henrik half asleep at the table, three cups of coffee in front of him, wearily participating in whatever Chase's dumb early morning joke is, and then he can eat toast that's not burnt or done too lightly and play his music while he writes or goes on a walk outside. Maybe. Maybe.

The armed guards keep watch over him for two full hours.

Chase Brody is terrified.

It's when it hits the two and a half hour mark that he begins to notice anything different. A faint ringing in his ears. He thinks it's his tinnitus and waves it off, simply swatting at the air around his head like that will help at all. One of the guards notices immediately. "Sir, are you alright?"

Chase nods. He's not, but he doesn't need them dithering over him. Unfortunately, the guard doesn't let up. "Seriously, it's important that you tell us what's happening. Anything at all. Anything that could help you."

Well, that's reassuring. "Strange noise," he murmurs, shaking his hair out his face. "I think it's just me, though, I'm alright -"

But the guard is standing, muttering something into the radio strapped to his chest, and is it Chase's imagination, or are more people entering the room? "What's happening?" he asks, but he gets no response, and he's starting to feel strangely dizzy and tired, like something heavy is dragging his eyelids down. "I don't… h-hey, I don't feel too… too well…"

Someone is speaking to him but the world is already blurring, his head light, floaty. "Stacy?" he slurs, trying to get a grip on the bedsheets beneath him. "Someone needs t'... m'kids, they…"

-

Chase Brody is no longer in the same room as he was before.

He doesn't know when that changed. He can't pinpoint the exact moment where the walls darkened and raised with pipes and doors and panels, he doesn't know when his bed disappeared beneath him and the floor became sticky and black, he doesn't know when the bright light of his room became a soft blue glow, lighting up the room from behind him. He doesn't know when the room had stretched both ways into a long hallway, lined with slivers of light through the windows. He doesn't know why, when he stands, his legs nearly crumple beneath him. And when he turns - god, when he turns, and he looks out the enormous windows behind him - he doesn't know why a calming sensation of numbness settles over him, burning his skin like pins and needles.

He is staring out at the vast abyss of space.

It's a blackness he's never seen before. It seems to go on forever, and maybe it does, and there is nothing but tiny pinpricks of silver light of gaseous stars piercing the inky nothingness. Nothing but that, and the ball of green and blue that Chase knows, somewhere in his mind. Earth. Earth, where he is and isn't, where his body should be, where he never left, and what kind of nightmare is this? What kind of sick nightmare, he thinks dizzily, his thoughts chugging slowly as though through a thick soup. Everything is spinning. There is no sound, the world is broken, and the space is fucking endless.

Move, says the tiny part of his brain that still has sense. Get out. Get out.

His footsteps echo on the metal panes of the floor, and he resists the tightening urge in his stomach to vomit.

He doesn't know why this place is familiar.

The hallway seems to go on forever. All the doors along the way to the left have small, glowing panels beside them that seem to demand some type of access keycard, which Chase very much does not have. Eventually he reaches one that he can open, and stumbles into a large room with a table in the centre, the walls covered in photos and clippings that he doesn't bother taking closer looks at. There is only one small window in here, over a sleek black couch that seems to have nearly been shredded right through the middle. The table has a bolted down chair and a large pile of papers next to a cracked laptop that splutters weakly as it asks for a password. The room is too dark. Chase slowly walks through it, wincing at the sound his boots make on the floor, wincing at the silence, heart racing with the promise of another panic attack that he pushes down forcefully, gripping his own wrist for support. This isn't right, screams the universe. This is too familiar. This is too real. This is too familiar to be real.

Chase has noticed that everything in this place, despite its immediate appearance of immaculate properness, seems to be slightly out of place. This becomes more apparent in the room adjacent to the one he'd just been in, a room filled with sealed metal crates and boilers that bubble menacingly from their perches on the walls, a room which has clearly been nearly destroyed. Black claw marks have torn out chunks of the walls, wires ripped from the floor, buzzing weakly and sparking from wherever they were thrown after their violent uprooting. Dark red stains splash across the floor like a tragic painting that makes Chase's stomach upturn sickly. A vent on the ceiling hisses, and the man jumps and bolts, all last dregs of courage leaving him in an instant. He knows this is a dream. This is a dream, nothing is real, nothing is real, it must be just a dream.

"I've gone to hell," he sobs aloud, clamping both hands over his mouth as a cry climbs up his throat. "O-oh my god, I've gone to hell."

This is what you get for being a shitty, alcoholic dad and husband, he thinks, and promptly throws up on the floor next to the fresh bloodstains.

The rooms start to blur. Objects to objects, light to light, black walls and coloured glow and sparks, hissing, echoing rumbles, all becoming one in Chase's mind. He's long gone past the stage of a panic attack; he's in a state of utter numb calm, now. In one room he finds a long, black lighter and holds it tightly in his hands for comfort, twisting it round and round in buzzing fingers just to feel something solid against his skin to ground him. Please, he prays softly, wiping sweat from his forehead, struggling to breathe as his chest tightens and the world seems to grow hotter and smaller. Please, let me wake up, let me wake up from this, please.

And then something is standing behind him.

He doesn't know how he knows. It's just a sensation of silent shock in him, of I am not alone, a stabbing feeling as the hairs on the back of his neck rise. Something is there. He feels eyes on him. He can't - fuck, he can't move, and all the emotion in him seems to be rising to a painful crescendo. I am not alone in here. I am not alone in here.

"Who's there," he says in a small, cracked voice, not daring to turn. It's barely a question. "What do you want from me."

Nothing but a low hissing, and, most frightening of all, a rumbling growl that nearly sends Chase to the floor in a faint.

He has to look.

He has to look.

He looks.

It's an… an astronaut.

Neither of them move, and Chase's grip on the lighter in his hands tightens, trying to find some form of comfort, anything. "Why am I here?" he manages, swallowing back hot bile that burns his throat and makes him gag softly. "Why, why, what nightmare is this? Am I dead? Did the killer get me and this is my hell?"

The astronaut is silent.

Fury bubbles in Chase's chest, overriding the fear for a moment. "Talk!" he shouts, perhaps stupidly, but he doesn't care. "Please! What is happening?"

Then things get perhaps even stranger, somehow. A glowing 2D box of light appears in front of the astronaut, hovering in the air, too quiet until black text begins to appear on it, cartoonishly video game like blooping noises playing with each letter. Chase watches in awe. He's unable to speak.

<TheAnti.chr_v09> You are the Player.

Chase reads the words over and over and over.

"My name is Chase Brody," he says, voice wavering with uncertainty, because something here is wrong, wrong, wrong, so ridiculously wrong, and he hates the way things are clicking in his mind. "I shouldn't - be here. I think I'm dreaming and I want to go home."

The text flashes.

<TheAnti.chr_v09> You are <player_variable_BroAverage>. You are the Player.

Chase feels like he's above his body, like nothing he's seeing is real anymore. "Please let me go home."

<TheAnti.chr_v09> I am <TheAnti.chr_v09>. I am the Anti. You are the player. Player objective: escape. Anti objective: kill the Player. Initialization - Upon game startup, play <soundtrack_opening2>, set spawn and character sprites -

Chase can't take this. "Stop it!" he cries, and he shouldn't step forwards so confidently, but he does, slashing his hand through the air in front of him. "Tell me what you -"

The astronaut explodes.

No. No, it doesn't explode; Chase's mind is taking a moment to make sense of it, to rationalize the way the helmet has shattered and there is nothing but sheer white and glowing green eyes, hundreds of them, underneath, the largest one on the being's neck, splitting open with disgustingly inhuman squelching sounds, and the way the suit has torn and a mouth has opened up on the stomach, a gaping maw with knives for teeth and a slimy crimson tongue, and the way rips open along the material and more eyes open, burning red skin like charred meat, black veins rising under its skin. It hisses and cracks and growls and hums and it isn't like anything Chase has ever seen before, or maybe it is, because he knows this monster. He's seen this monster. And fuck, now he knows why this world is familiar, because he's been here, he's played this game. This can't be real. This can't be real.

"Posttraumatic nightmares," he can hear Henrik saying to him, the man's voice comforting. "Nightmares that occur after a traumatic event and can contain, what is the word… recurring themes that make you experience intense negative emotions. Maybe that is why you are having such strange dreams, my friend. You have been through a lot in these past few weeks."

That had been months ago. I thought I got over those dreams. I thought I got over those dreams.

He's running. His legs are already burning, chest already tight, why did he have to have used all his energy on his panic attack? Is the monster still following him? Chase can't turn to check, and the blood in his veins is racing through his body faster than he's used to, his heart in his ears as he flies round a corner, barely able to catch a breath. This isn't real, he thinks. It's another nightmare. Please, this isn't real, this isn't -

And then something wet is snaking round his chest, pulsing in a way that makes Chase gag, and something sharp presses into the skin on his back and a burst of numbness runs over him like cold water, causing his body to go limp against the alien - because it is an alien, isn't it, he knew this already - behind him. Cold heaviness seeps through his veins, combatting the light weightlessness that the adrenaline was giving him. He tries to cough again, to speak as his lungs empty of air, but the alien only grips his arms tight enough to piece his skin with sharp claw-like fingers. A glance down at his chest, and he sees the tip of the bloodstained rod jutting through his skin. It doesn't really register. A light laugh escapes his lips, because it's funny, really, how he's about to die at the hands of a video game antagonist.

No, he's not about to die. This isn't real. It can't be, it's another bad dream, of course it is. But if it's not real, then what happened to Jack Mcloughlin and the others, all of those… all of…

The world spins.

And the world lights up in flames.

Chase had briefly forgotten about the lighter he'd picked up for support, and now he's putting it to good use; one flick of the switch and the alien is alight as though it had been soaked in gasoline, burning orange spreading across its suit, the crackling drowning out the monster's screeches. Its grip loosens on Chase's arms, and he pulls free, and the universe spins as the rod in his chest slips out like it's nothing, leaving a gaping emptiness in him. Please, he screams, in his mind or out loud, he doesn't know. Please. Please.

Please, wake me up.

-

White light. It floods the whole world, for just a moment, and then Chase's eyes are open and he is gasping for air, hands flying to his chest and feeling nothing but the soft material of his shirt, no pain except for the squeeze of his lungs as he coughs desperately into his sleeve. There are people surrounding him now; the police officers and armed guards from before, helping him sit up, holding a sick bucket in front of him as he throws up the little that's left in his stomach weakly, too much noise but nowhere near as bad as the silence of the Dawn Station. Nowhere near as bad as the hissing creaks of the Anti. Nowhere near as bad as his nightmare, because it was a nightmare, of course that wasn't real - nowhere near as bad as the nightmare that he'd thought was going to kill him.

I lived. I survived the night.

He's had this thought before, but this time, it's met with relief.

-

"You dreamed about the setting of a video game."

"Not just any video game. The, uh… the new Jack Mcloughlin game, Dawn Station. All the people who played the demo… died. I didn't die. The night I was supposed to, after all the others, I - I dreamed about the game. And the antagonist of the game. It's this, uh, this alien thing, in an astronaut suit. Tried to kill me. Apparently it's weak to fire, although I don't remember that from the actual game, maybe it was a secret that wasn't in the demo we were all sent, but I burned it, and it stabbed me, and I got away, not - not in that order. Does that… does that make sense, doctor?"

Dr. Ross scrutinizes Chase for a moment before turning his chair back to face his computer. The sound of his mouse clicking fills the room, off beat from the eternal clicking of the plain white clock on the plain white walls, decorated only with bookshelves and trays of medicines. Chase has never been in a more boring doctor's office. Usually his therapy sessions have more to look at, but this is a different therapist than he normally goes to, and all he can do is fidget with his hands on his lap and stare out the window at the

earth, the stars, the black abyss of emptiness that Chase could get lost in and never be found

setting sun through the trees just outside the building. The doctor's pen clicks, clicks, clicks. It sounds like the Anti's teeth, chattering against each other as it yawns, its maw opening wide enough for a head to be torn right off. Click, click, click. Chase closes his eyes, the repeating sounds like a mantra. He focuses on that instead. It grounds him.

"You have a history of nightmares."

Chase nods without looking. "I was prescribed triazolam by my first therapist. I took them for a year or so without changes except the lowering of doses a couple of times, because I was getting weaned off them. They helped. Nightmares didn't continue after that."

The other man nods slowly. "Hm. I can imagine the trauma of this recent event that you've been through was enough to bring these nightmares back to the forefront of your mind, especially given the contents of this dream in particular. We may have to ease you back onto medication over the course of your next few sessions here, which should be easier, given that it'll be a couple weeks before we send you home. Is that alright, Mr Brody?"

Click, click, click. Chase nods. Sunlight warms his face, and he sighs softly. "Sounds good, Dr. Ross. When will I be able to see my family?"

The man frowns, his forehead creasing. "Hopefully soon, although it will be slightly complicated, given the circumstances." A breath leaves him, and he tilts his head to the side slightly. His white collar digs into the fold of his neck. Chase keeps his eyes trained on that. "And these are strange circumstances, are they not?"

"They are," Chase mutters. He clenches his fists in his lap. "They are, yeah."

He should have died. He doesn't know why he didn't die. He doesn't even know what it was that killed the others. Really, the nightmare he'd had makes sense. It was easily written off as a traumatic event that had brought back old nightmares. Of course there was no way any of it had been real. That's ridiculous. Just ridiculous. He doesn't know why he's thinking that.

His hand trails down his shirt. Underneath, on the skin of his stomach, is a thick scar that hadn't been there before the nightmare he'd had. Right where the rod had pierced his stomach.

Coincidence. Coincidence.

"Do you have any other concerns, Mr Brody?"

"I don't believe so."

"Good."

Click. Click. Click.

[claroso]

Like Real People Do

Zevran and Clara Amell have been dancing around the unnamed tension between them for months now. Finally out from underneath the thumbs of their respective jailers, they appreciate being able to take their time and enjoy the dance.

I’m referencing the Correspondence Interruptus quest in DA:O btw

Zevran lunged forwards, raking his daggers across the hurlock's side as he ducked under its swing. He felt leather armor and flesh give under his blades like butter. The monster screamed.

He danced back from the hurlock's next swipe, the rusty mace slamming into the ground. He hefted his dagger and threw it. The metal flashed as it spun through the air and lodged in its leg. Were it human, that would be a killing blow. But for a darkspawn? The thing simply growled, picked up its mace, and limped towards him.

The hair on his arms suddenly stood on end. That was the only warning he needed--he threw himself back a split second before a fireball crashed into his enemy. It screamed again, contorting in agony as it burned.

Then the carved end of a staff smashed into its head. The hurlock collapsed. Behind it, Clara Amell snarled and brought her staff down again. Its decaying skull split like a pumpkin, blood splattering across her pale face.

Zevran's heart skipped a beat.

The fire guttered out as the mage straightened, her eyes sweeping across the battlefield. A handful of steps away, Wynne and Sten stood at the ready, their weapons raised.

"We're clear!" Clara called after a moment.

They all relaxed.  

Zevran grinned. Working with a mage was a rare treat with the Crows, but being able to work with a mage who could predict darkspawn attacks? Amazing. They didn't have to be on edge every second of the day. And travel went so much faster without checking for ambushes around every corner. He knew he was getting spoiled traveling with Wardens, but he was determined to enjoy it while he could.

Of course, it didn't help with bandits or anything of the non-tainted variety, but that became rarer and rarer as the stories of the last two Grey Wardens spread.  

Clara barked out orders--to search the bodies, the cabin nearby--and they wordlessly complied. Hardly anything was left intact after a darkspawn attack, and this one was no exception. The house was barely standing and the animals had run off long before they arrived. And the remains of three farmers were strewn around the clearing.

Unfortunately familiar with the sight, he began searching the poor souls' home. Even with such carnage, he enjoyed working with the Wardens far more than the Crows. Clara at least listened to him. He didn't with her disagree often, but she didn't threaten bodily harm when he did.

Actually, now that he thought about it, threats of bodily harm were surprisingly rare with his new group. Except Morrigan, but the lovely witch usually kept it limited to Alistair.

And he kept a substantial cut of the loot, he thought as he rummaged through a chest at the back of the cabin. He slipped the few coins into his belt. The dirty leathers he tossed. That left a single leaf of parchment at the bottom of the chest. He broke the seal with his thumb and opened it, a smile spreading across his face.

"Zev!" Clara called. "We're leaving!"

He jumped up and rushed back to the group. Wynne dabbed at the bloodstains on her robe and Sten's face, as always, was stoically impatient. The Warden, wearing a mismatched set of armor over her Circle robes, sported her usual scowl. As he grabbed her hand and swept into an overdramatic bow, her expression shifted to confusion.

"My dear Warden." He purred, holding the letter up with a flourish. "I believe I've just won the bet."

She scoffed. "No chance in the Void. Let me see that."

"I apologize, but as I've said before," he dodged her outstretched hand and winked. "Poetry simply must be read aloud."

Sten grunted, somehow putting an entire lecture's worth of disgust into the sound, before turning on his heel and marching off.

"I rather agree with our taciturn friend. I'll see you back in town." Wynne said, starting down the trail back to Redcliffe.

"There's no way that's worse than the letter I found last week." Despite their companions' lack of enthusiasm, Clara had the slightest curve of a smile. Practically jumping up and down with excitement for her, really.

"Shall I?" Zevran said, raising an eyebrow.

She waved toward the path. "Walk while you talk, Brother Genitivi."

" 'My dearest Virginia Trueroyal,' " He said in a deep Fereldan accent.

"That's awful."

"Hush now. The audience doesn't speak. 'My dearest Virginia Trueroyal,' " He scoffed. "That can not be a real name."

She chuckled. "Get on with it."

" 'Regarding: Bodice ripped.' Oh, how scandalous!" He spun around, walking backward ahead of the Warden so he could wiggle his eyebrows at her. " 'Enclosed are seven silver and my most heartfelt apologies for said bodice.' "

Clara suddenly grabbed the front of his armor and pulled him roughly to the side, narrowly missing a tree.

He didn't stop. " 'I would blame the cold ocean spray, the loss of my favorite shirt, the bucking of the stallion,' " He winked, and she rolled her eyes. " 'or perhaps the strain of maintaining all such elements while sitting for a portrait, but I was certainly not myself. I hope you will forgive me and not take it upon yourself to find your own determined way in this world.' "

" 'Yours, Ser Rival Grouseman' " He finished with a flourish.

"That was terrible." Clara frowned.

"Exactly!" He exclaimed, delighted. "I will accept payment in silver or fine leather goods, mi estrella!"

"No, that's actually, really terrible. It's not even dirty!"

Zevran gasped. "How can you say that? The 'bucking of this stallion', the 'cold ocean spray' ripped this poor woman's bodice open!"

"It's too subtle." She argued. "I don't want flowery details and sighs in the moonlight. If you're going to talk dirty, at least give it to me straight."

"Well, if you insist."

In a very appropriate display of maturity, she stuck her tongue out at him.

"No matter." He said as they stepped into Redcliffe village. "Leliana can break our tie."

A few minutes later, they stepped into the tavern. Wynne sat at a table in the corner with a tome and a mug of ale in front of her. Sten was nowhere to be seen.

After dealing with the blood mage and possession of Connor at Redcliffe Castle, Clara had refused to stay when Teagan offered. Instead, they had found rooms in the village. Since they'd cleared the dead from the town and broke the siege, they'd been welcomed back with open arms. Any unoccupied room was free for their use. Sten had taken up in a hut on the edge of town. The mages settled in an empty house so they could practice without disturbing anyone. The rest stayed in the rooms above the tavern.

They'd only been there a week, but it was a much-needed break from their constant travel. They still hunted down pockets of darkspawn and bandits to ensure the town was safe, but they also slept in real beds and ate at the tavern every night. Leliana even volunteered at the local Chantry, dividing resources and praying with the town.

Speaking of their lively bard, Zevran spotted her rushing towards them with Barkspawn at her heels.

"You're back!" She exclaimed. "How did it go?"

"I think all the bandits ran off." Clara pulled down her hood and ruffled her sweaty blonde hair. Half of it stuck straight up, making the fierce warrior look more like the head of a broom. "Didn't see anything human all day."

"And the darkspawn?"

"Not gone, but it is a blight." She shrugged. "I think we'll leave the day after next. The guard should be able to handle what's left."

"More importantly," Zevran said, "I found the winning letter!"

Leliana grinned. "I'll get the drinks!"

After drinks were delivered and they'd settled at a table, Barkspawn curled over Clara's feet, Zevran read the letter again, with plenty of flourishes and suggestive looks. The redhead giggled through the entire thing.

When he finished, Clara shook her head. "Not a chance, Zev. Mine's better."

"I don't know." Leliana said. "There is a certain poetry in it."

"What? Why are you on his side?"

She shrugged. "None of the letters I found can compare. I'm not wasting time betting on a horse that can't win."

"Fine." Clara huffed. "Then you're the deciding vote. Pick one."

Delicately tapping her chin, the bard paused, obviously deep in thought.

"You can't be serious, Leli." Clara demanded, leaning over the table. "Mine's better! Just pick mine!"

He chuckled, admiring her fierce frown. So competitive!

Leliana smiled sweetly. "It's only that poetry is best when read aloud. Zevran really made the words come alive, don't you think?"

She fluttered her eyelashes as the Warden's mouth dropped open. Clara had staunchly avoided reading aloud any of the letters they found.

"Yes," he purred, "won't you indulge us, Warden?"

"I--you can't--fine!" She snatched her bag from under the table and rooted through it, muttering under her breath.

She slapped the parchment to the tabletop. " 'Miss Ambrose'." She started, a determined set to her shoulders.

" 'A long, slow grind, the motion careful, aided by generous application of oils. Size is no concern with my equipment, and I am always mindful when stuffing, not risking a--risking--" Clara stuttered, her voice climbing higher with each word.  "--a burst before every order is fulfilled.' "

Leliana giggled and he pressed a fist against his mouth.

" 'My meat--" She winced, her pale skin red as a tomato. "--goes hand in hand with satisfaction.' "

He laughed. She fought down a smile and took a deep breath.

" 'Your interest astounds, but I would not question a customer's choice in nighttime reading." She said quickly, her voice strangled. "Three pound sausage again next week? No cheek, of course.' "

She collapsed against the table, arms over her head, shoulders twitching, as Leliana and Zevran howled with laughter. Barkspawn joined in with an actual howl.

"Maker's breath," Leliana sighed. She wiped her eyes. "That was marvelous, my friend. You win."

Clara looked up, hiccupping with laughter, and tried her best to glare. "You're all terrible people."

"What a performance!" Zevran cheered and clapped. "More than worth the five silver."

She rolled her eyes, but accepted their coin without further grumbling.

"And with that, I must be off." Leliana said, standing up. "I promised I would be up early to repair a barn. Zev?"

He sighed. "Yes, I suppose. As long as you buy the drinks again tomorrow."

"Helping the locals now?" Clara asked, refilling her cup.

"I might as well." He shrugged, leaning back in his chair and waving off Leliana. "Idle hands and all that, you know."

She frowned. "Are you tired of patrolling already?"

"Oh, there is no need to pout, my Warden." He said with a wink. "You know I only have eyes for you."

She hid a smile behind her cup of wine. Zevran grinned back, putting his feet up in Leliana's empty chair. They settled into a comfortable silence, simply observing each other.

He and the Warden had been dancing around each other for the past month. They each knew what it was and where it was going--into bed, most likely, though he had no qualms about a tent or wall if that's where the moment led them. But this, the dance, was equally enjoyable. Flirting, teasing, finding out how to make her smile or blush down past the neckline of her robes.

And learning how she flirted back. That's how he knew that arguing and knocking her shoulder against his was practically a wink and a loosened bodice for Clara.

Suddenly, her mouth dropped into a true pout, eyes shifting behind him. He turned to see Alistair move quickly across the room and out the front door with his head down.

He frowned. Something had happened between their stalwart Grey Wardens. For the past week, Alistair and Clara had barely even acknowledged each other. The playful teasing was replaced by awkward silences and short, to-the-point conversations. And occasionally, he caught her staring at him like she did now. Hurt danced across her expression with abandon.

Then she scowled. In one smooth motion, she picked up her cup and drained it.

Zevran blinked. Slowly, he pushed his whiskey over to her.

She drank that just as quickly, though with a lot more coughing after. Barkspawn whined and pushed his head into her lap.

Well. This was worse than he thought.

"Mi estrella." He said, leaning forward with a smirk.

She wiped her mouth with her sleeve. "What?"

"You've drunk far more than your usual fare." He nodded to the empty cups. "Sleep here tonight, in one of the empty rooms upstairs."

"That's...probably a good idea." Clara stood with a groan and tucked her staff under her arm.

"I shall escort you."

"What possible ulterior motive could you have, I wonder?" She mused as they started up the steps.

"Believe me, I am not a subtle man." He said. "When I have a motive, you will know."

They ducked into the room at the top of the stairs. As she shucked off her armor and robes, he wandered the edges of the small room, faking interest in its small baubles and plain furniture.

"If I may pry, my Warden..."

She glanced at him, suddenly tired and thinner than she had any right to be, clad only in a thin sleeveless shirt and trousers.

"You're asking permission? That's new." She noted dryly.

"Hm. I noticed some tension between you and your fellow Grey Warden recently."

Her shoulders tensed. She winced at the movement, hand going to her right shoulder.

He padded over to the bed and sat, gesturing her towards the middle. "Here, sit."

She shifted onto the bed.

He began to knead her broad shoulders. She tensed at first, either at the new intimacy or his cold fingers. Only when she relaxed under his hands did he speak again.

"Did you disagree on how Connor was dealt with?" A feint.

"No."

"On our next journey?" Zevran found knot after knot in her muscles, like a string of pearls underneath her skin. He started to doubt this plan--having this conversation and taking care of her horribly abused muscles demanded his full attention and right now he wasn't sure which was more important.

"No," she sighed, "we both think Orzammar is the best move."

"Then he finally confessed his affections?"

Clara's head snapped around to meet his gaze.

He smiled slightly. Braska, he hadn't meant to say it quite like that. But she was a blunt woman, she might prefer a blunt approach.

"Maker," She twisted away from his hands, "I hoped it wouldn't be obvious."

"It's not your fault. Alistair is rather blatant about his feelings, though." He chuckled. That was a bit of a white lie. They were both obvious about their falling out, but a tiny fib never hurt anyone. "The poor boy has been mooning over you for a few months now."

"I must have done something to lead him on..." She said with a deep frown. "I'm a terrible friend."

He shrugged. "Well, I can't comment on that last bit, not having much experience in the area. Flirting, though, I am quite skilled in. And its all about intention."

When she didn't respond, he placed a hand on her arm, drawing her attention up to him.

"Clara, you can't lead someone on unless you mean to."

She smiled weakly.

"A massage, for example." He continued. "This could be just a friendly massage, but I hope you know enough of my intentions to tell otherwise."

She blushed, but reached up and squeezed the hand on her arm nonetheless. He pushed past the excitement buzzing in his chest. Despite knowing about their mutual interest, the acknowledgement of it thrilled him.

"Good. It's not your fault, or Alistair's, for that matter. It was just... a miscommunication."

"You make it sound so simple." Clara sighed.

"Only because it is." He said. "Give it some time and you'll both be able to look back at it with laughter."

She scrunched her nose. "Maker, you sound like an old man."

"A beauty such as yours, my lady, inspires the wisdom of ages."

She groaned and fell back against the bed dramatically. "Not more poetry!"

"Your storm-grey eyes cut my chest to ribbons," Zevran said, leaning on one hand to smile down at her. She rolled her eyes. "such do I ache for you."

"Your laugh soothes my pain and heals me." His fingers dug into her sides and she squealed as he tickled her.

Loud and unrestrained, the laughter transformed her. Her face, so often grim and lined with worry, turned bright and open. A smile split her face nearly in half.

Zevran admired the sight, his mission tonight accomplished, when she suddenly grabbed his wrists tightly. She shoved him, rolling them over and pinning his wrists above his head.

"Ha!" She crowed, victorious and beautiful, only inches above him. His heart stuttered. "That's--"

He leaned up, closing the space between them, to meet her lips. He felt, more than heard, her gasp. A breathless moment passed before she returned the kiss with a sigh.

She pressed down more firmly into him. Her hands released his and snaked down to cradle his face. Warmth trailed behind her touch, tracing patterns across his cheeks, down his neck.

He tilted his head, slanting his mouth open in invitation as he wrapped his arms around her. She ran her tongue teasingly against his bottom lip. Then, she bit down, slowly, deliberately.

He groaned as she pulled away, opening his eyes to see Clara, flushed and grinning down at him

"Your lips enthrall me." He murmured.

She chucked, brushing a kiss over the corner of his mouth. "You're absolutely terrible."

"I believe that speaks more to your taste in men than my taste in poetry, mi estrella."

"Are you ever going to tell me what that means?"

"I've no plan to."

Clara kissed him again. Her hands were buried in his hair now, grasping and pulling for new angles, as she hummed deep in her throat. And he let himself drown in her warmth, just for a while.

Sometime later, after her hand was underneath his shirt and his was gripping her thigh, Zevran pulled back.

He arched an eyebrow. "This was not the intention in my suggestion, Warden."

"So?" She grinned, her eyes dark and wild.

"So, you were close to collapse only five minutes ago." He brushed his fingers against her lips, following the curve of her smile.  "And, if I have my way, this will be quite acrobatic. You'll want to be awake for it."

Truthfully, he was enjoying the chase far too much to jump into bed right now. He'd never had the luxury of time before--the lovers he had taken in the past were either jobs or other Crows. Both were always rushed, fumbling selfishly for whatever pleasure they could take before moving onto the next. This, her, would be the first entirely of his own choice, free from his masters. If he wanted to savor it, he damn well would.

Also, he made a point not to fall into bed with someone distracted by another man. Even if it wasn't 'like that'.

He'd had precious few friends in his life and never any friend as close as Clara and Alistair were. He wouldn't be responsible for the end of their friendship. After they mended their ways, then he could move forward.

Zevran shifted out from under her and brushed a kiss against her cheek. She fell back on the bed and yawned widely.

"Rather proving my point, Warden."

"Fine. It's your loss, really." Clara said, smiling as she closed her eyes and curled around a pillow. "I'm an animal in bed."

"I've no doubt." He muttered, hardly able to contain his own smile as he left.

[spnreactions]

15x15: Gimme Shelter

Alright guys! It’s time! 

Just a heads up, in case you haven’t figured it out yet, these posts usually come out later in the day, because even if I watch it live, I tend to do my reactions live, but then write up the full review later. In case you were wondering why the posts don’t usually come right away. 

Anyways! Let’s get down to it! 

Oof. Yep. We’re definitely on the serious track now, with a then like this. 

Also, I didn’t say this before, but I really love the “then” and “now” openings for this season. It’s beautiful with the Impala like that. <3 

Oof. Interesting flashback to Jack breaking out of the Ma’lak Box. 

...ew. Maybe it doesn’t taste as gross as it looks, but it looks gross. 

Jesus girls, chill. 

Okay, I already like the pastor. 

I’m watching live this week, and I’m in a FB group that’s commenting as we watch, and someone just pointed out that the pastor is Dr. Sexy MD!! Man I love when actors return like that. 

Ope. Connor’s gonna die. Poor kid. He seemed nice. 

...that teddy bear definitely wasn’t there when he was walking over before, but okay. 

UMMMMM...TALKING TEDDY!

NO THANK YOU!!! 

I HAVE A DOLL THING!!! NOT COOL!!! 

Hmmm...gotta be honest, I’m not sure how I’m feeling about Cohen’s directing on this one. :/

It had a talking teddy bear. I bet it is. 

Darkness. Nice pun. 

“He’s not that funny.” XD XD 

Dean you just want to go to Atlantic City whether Amara’s there or not don’t even deny it. XD 

Cas’s confused face will always be one of the cutest things ever. <3 

I love the way they’re all walking down the hallway together. It’s such a simple thing, but I like the way they’re positioned and everything. Point: Matt Cohen. 

SCENE FROM THE PROMO! 

Sure they can. 

“She and I used to have a thing” DEAN!! XD XD 

HIIIII JACK!!! <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 

Dude, let me tell you, I am so ready for some quality Cas and Jack content. 

I love all the different reactions here. Dean is trying to get Cas and Jack out of the house, which Jack is super excited about, and Cas is very not into. XD 

...wait, did they not tell him about Mrs. Butters? Or did they just not mention her name? 

Cas looking at Sam like “help me out here” and Sam being like “sorry but no”. XD 

Oh come on Cas. Look how excited Jack is! I love how enthusiastic he gets over every hunt. It’s adorable and I love him. (Yeah you’re gonna be hearing that a lot. XD)

Cas is like “you’re kidding me right?” 

“Highway to Heaven” XD XD 

THE SCENE!!

MY BABY IS SO EXCITED I LOVE HIS LITTLE SMILE AHHHH!!!! 

No matter how Cas is against going to deal with something so small fry when they’re in the middle of something so huge, he will still smile affectionately at his son, because he loves him. <3 <3 <3 

“Blue’s a good color on you.” XD XD <3 <3 

“Agent Swift.” XD XD XD XD 

“Agent Lovato.” I’M DEAD THESE TWO ARE THE BEST!!! XD XD XD XD

HE’S HOLDING HIS BADGE UPSIDE DOWN JUST LIKE CAS DID ON HIS FIRST HUNT I’M DEAD!! XD XD XD <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 

A BABY YODA REFERENCE?! This show oh my god. XD XD XD 

“I just graduated from CSI.” JACK OH MY GOD YOU ADORABLE LITTLE BEAN!!! XD XD <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 

Okay, I love watching Cas and Jack together, and I love watching them go on a hunt, but guys, could you at least TRY to be subtle? “Did you find tiny bags with chicken bones? Smell any sulfur? Feel cold?” Like, NO you two. XD XD 

The cop lady is just like “what the heck is wrong with these two?”

Oh. “Liar” isn’t a seven deadly sin thing. Maybe I was wrong about that. 

“For my stepson, Ronald.” JACK!! XD XD XD <3 <3 <3 I love him so much oh my god. 

For someone who’s new to hunting, that was actually an awesome cover. <3 <3 

Wait...speakers? Maybe it isn’t something supernatural after all? 

“Almost demonic.” Okay so that was a little more subtle. 

Okay Cohen, I take back what I said about your directing. That was a good shot of the stop sign. 

I love the way Jack’s sitting in the back of the truck. <3 <3 

Learning from Sam. <3 <3 <3 

Cas, there is no such thing as too many cats. His face when he says that though. XD 

THAT ENTIRE SEQUENCE ABOUT PARENT/GUARDIAN PERMISSION I’M DYING HOLY FRICK!!! XD XD XD XD <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 

That was both the cutest and funniest thing ever and I just...I LOVE THEM AHHHH!!! <3 <3 <3 <3 

I feel like Cas is upset though. Like, he’s extra frustrated with the whole Amara and God thing. Not that I blame him of course. He’s just got a certain...coldness to him in this episode. But I like how it disappears whenever he’s talking to Jack. <3 <3 Good acting on Misha’s part. 

For example, that little soft smile when he looks over at Jack logging in to the social media account is so sweet and so cute and so undeniably fatherly. <3 <3 

Okay, gotta be honest: British demon? Totally hot. 

"Why is he talking like that?” he whispers, very loudly in a way that the party he is speaking of can definitely hear him. XD XD <3 <3 

“Because Zack has style.” 

WAIT!!! 

He’s not ACTUALLY British??!! 

Oh my god that shouldn’t have made me laugh, but it TOTALLY did. 

AND he made the “Highway to Heaven” reference just like Dean did! 

I love this demon holy frick. XD XD 

Cas’s and Jack’s confused expressions at his sudden change. XD 

“I would watch that show.” XD XD 

How this show manages to introduce a new character, however brief, and give him so much personality when we’re six episodes from the end is beyond my understanding, but man, it is one of the many reasons I love this show. <3 

Ha! “Demons are get, humans are just crazy” ring a bell? 

Ha! Of course Rowena has that philosophy. God I miss her. 

“You’re a deviant soul corrupted by Hell.” Ah, Cas, ever quick with the logical wit. XD 

Cas’s “and we’re done”. XD 

Zack is so desperate. 

And now, Zack is all of us during COVID. XD 

I love Zack. Take him with you. XD <3 

Oof. Too true, Cas. Too true. 

Awww...Jack. 

AWWW! Cas!!! Knowing his son wanted to be busy and help people. I LOVE THEM!!! 

THOSE SMILES AT EACH OTHER OH MY GOD SO CUTE!!! <3 <3 <3 

She’s gonna steal the money. 

Yep. Classy lady. *eye roll* 

Ope. And now she’s gonna die. 

AHHHH!! 

OKAY I TAKE THAT BACK!! BRING THE TEDDY BEAR BACK!! SCARY MASK IS WORSE!!! 

My mom and I both screamed jesus christ. 

“Focused.” Interesting phrasing, but okay. 

I like the way this phone call is happening. The back and forth is cool, and I like their easy talk with each other. 

Dean can’t just give straight advice. Ever. “Drink the Kool-Aid and sign up.” XD 

Oof. Jesus. 

Clearly Dean wasn’t talk about the Amara thing. 

Wait, this was over a two-day timeline? Huh. Okay then. 

Dean that doesn’t mean it doesn’t affect you stop. 

“Messengers of God’s Destruction”. 

No, but did any of us? 

“Least this time it’s not you or me.” Yeah, yet. 

That look Sam gives him means he had the same thought I did. 

Okay sorry, I am super not religious, and the God speak makes me want to barf. 

HA! JACK! XD 

See, this is why you have to give straight advice, Dean. I know that’s hard for you, being your chaotic bi self and all, but angels tend to take things literally, bud. XD 

Jack you dork. XD <3 

Geez girl. Be nice. 

Jack whispering again to try to be sneaky I love him. <3 

So that’s a yes then. 

Jesus. She’s a b***h. I don’t like her. 

That little head nod OMG!! <3 <3 

I LOVE THE CAS AND JACK TEAM UP THEY’RE SO CUTE!! <3 <3 

Oh. That was a sweet hug. 

My Mom: It’s him. It’s the pastor. He’s the bad guy. 

Oh! Greed! So this is a seven deadly sins thing! 

Ummm....that’s a little weird. Maybe this is as monster after all, with the tech working like that? 

But if it was a monster, why is she set up like that? 

Okay no, I take that back. I watch Criminal Minds, and this totally looks like something a serial killer would do. Especially the timer thing. 

“The new guy’s hot.” MEEEEE. That girl is me. XD <3 <3 <3 

EVERY. SINGLE. THING. JACK. DOES. IS. SO. STINKING. ADORABLE. <3 <3 <3 <3 

Boyfriend and girlfriend, I’m guessing? 

Awww...baby. :( 

Awww...Jack. :( :( 

Okay but, like, we’ve learned now, right? Don’t give her your whole story please and thank you. 

Oh okay. That’s okay. 

This girl is...off. Is it the acting, or is the character actually weird? I honestly can’t tell. 

Oof. Daddy issues alert. 

“I have more dads than most.” AWWW!!! XD XD XD <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 

Wait baby no, you’re not letting them down stop that. :( :( :( 

Ew. “Put your trust in God, not people.” Now I hate her. Trust me honey, the last person Jack--or anybody, for that matter--should be putting his faith in is God. 

Oh okay then. 

Ha! I love Cas’s subtle little sass with the “faith-based community”. 

Oh. A.V. and tech. TV screen. Bingo. 

Yeah I don’t think it’s the pastor. He seems too innocent. 

...except he’s definitely not getting any father-of-the-year awards. But what else is new with this show. 

“It’s complicated.” What are you talking about?? Just say yes, Cas. 

Awww...soft side of Cas. <3 

Yeah no. It’s not the pastor. There’s no way. It must be that Brother Rudy dude. 

Ha! Awkward. XD 

That’s actually really nice. I like that idea, having a church community (sorry--faith-based community) helping other people like that. It’s sweet. 

Oh. Connor was gay. That honestly totally makes sense. Poor guy. :( 

I’m glad the pastor was accepting of him though! <3 <3 

Awww...that’s a good line. “A saint is a sinner who keeps trying.” 

I really hope it’s not the pastor. I like him. 

My Mom: Wait, have we just never seen them put gas in the car before? I had no idea it was behind the license plate! 

I’m thinking back and I didn’t know that either, so this must be the first time we’ve actually seen them, like, open it, and that’s HILARIOUS to me. XD 

OOOOH WAIT!! This is where they see Amara, according to the promo photos!! 

Oh heeeey girl. 

Wow she looks really pretty with that snow in her hair. 

She...she...smelled them? 

“You have a very distinctive musk.” “Thank you.” ARE THESE TWO STILL PINING FOR EACH OTHER? XD XD XD 

I like this Amara. She’s fun. 

My family and I always make kielbasa with our pierogis (I had no idea that that was how that was spelled, btw), so pierogis without the kielbasa feels wrong. XD 

Jensen’s facial expressions say so much all the time and I love it. XD 

Oh boy. 

NOOOOOO!

WHAT IS IT WITH SUPERNATURAL AND FINGERS ON THIS SHOW JESUS!!

Okay, WHO is the timer for?? Like, is it just some form of slow torture?? Because it’s not like it’s being shown to anyone other than her. 

Ooh. I like that he’s listing off all of the different names for God. Good pastor. Please don’t be a bad guy. 

HIS FAMOUS “hello” OH MY GOD I LOVE HIM SO MUUUUUUUUCH!!! <3 <3 <3 <3 

...oof. Ummm....

Awww.... Poor baby. :( :( :( 

AWWW!! Dad Cas to the rescue!! <3 <3 <3 

Jack looking at his dad omg. <3 <3 

I already like this speech from Cas. I can tell it’s gonna be good. 

“I guess I found a family.” <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 

JACK’S LITTLE SMILE!!! 

“And I became a father.” THERE IT IS!!! THERE. IT. IS!!!! <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 

THE WAY JACK LOOKS AT HIM AFTER HE SAYS THAT AHHHH!!!! <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 

AWWWW!!!!! <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 

GOOD SPEECH CAS!!! GOOD SPEECH!!! WAY TO MAKE YOUR SON FEEL BETTER!!! <3 <3 <3 <3 

Awww...I really like this pastor. <3 

FRIIIICK. 

Oh sh**. There’s the time for everyone else. 

JESUS!!!

Yeah okay. This is 100% a human being’s doing. A monster wouldn’t bother. 

Jack running over to turn it off right away. Ever the hero. <3 <3 

The pastor seemed too surprised to have done it, which, for me, puts pastor in the clear. Thank goodness. 

True, but also he sucks, so help us out Amara. 

Okay, I’m sorry, but quick side note. Everyone keeps saying he’s “very nearly done”, but when Dean looked in the telescope, he didn’t see anything. I thought that meant he was done. Unless it only reaches so far? I guess it probably only reaches so far in terms of other dimensions. 

Sure there is. 

“Our pal Jack.” That’s such a weird thing to hear him say, but okay. XD 

Also I’m not sure how I feel about them telling Amara about Jack. Like, I like her, and I feel like she’s gonna help, but what if she doesn’t? She could, whether intentionally or unintentionally, wind up seeing Chuck and mentioning Jack to him, and if she does, that ruins the whole plan. But, on the other hand, I guess they have to earn her trust, and keeping details from her would definitely make that harder. But I still don’t like it. It puts my baby in danger. Again. But anyways. 

Oh. Just like that? 

“I get he’s your brother” Dean says oh so casually, as if he hasn’t literally moved heaven and hell to protect and save his own brother. 

“Squirrely weirdo” XD XD 

Oh. The Big Bang. New theory. I like it. XD 

Sure he can. 

Ummm...yeah, Amara. You’re a fool. He doesn’t care about anyone but himself. Maybe he cares about you a little, but definitely not as much as you’re giving him credit for. Not right now anyways. 

Wait...she actually said no? No way. I thought they were gonna be able to convince her. Guess my initial theory was wrong... What does that mean though? Like...what now? 

Jack’s gonna come slamming through that door, according to the promo. 

Called it! 

Wait...why did Jack slam through it while Cas is just...casually standing there? You’re an angel, Castiel. XD 

“Lust” It is based on “Seven”! I love it! 

Welp...guess it’s not him. 

Wait, so we are walking away with a no? That never happens to us! 

THERE we go. Go get her Dean. 

Is it just me, or has Sam been, like, really not involved this episode?? Jared’s had, like, six lines. XD 

OH! Okay, the “then” makes sense now. 

Oof. You tell her, Dean. 

That she sucks. That’s what she wanted. Because she does. 

Wait NO WAY! That’s what I said! Kind of, anyways. 

Woooow. That’s actually pretty messed up, Amara. But it makes sense for why Mary was such a terrible character and why I hated her so much. She is only human. A sucky human, too. 

Is it, though? 

“That you could finally start to accept your life.” Okay, that’s actually kind of cool, and that’s awesome on the writers’ part for adding in that explanation of why everything went the way it did. Nice. 

But also, that’s pretty messed up Amara. 

Oooh. We’re about to get some awesome Jensen acting, aren’t we? 

Jensen’s trying not to cry face is so incredible wow. 

Awww....poor Dean. 

Jesus Amara. A little sympathy? 

OOF. I love that quiet fury that Dean has. 

OOH! He got her! 

YES DEAN!!! TELL HER! 

“Well now who’s living in a dreamworld?” ...ouch. But true. 

...oh boy. That was a bold-faced lie. But so brilliantly told, Dean. 

After ALL THAT, you’re going to THINK ABOUT IT? Really??!! 

But hey! I KNEW IT!! BEAUTIIFUL acting moment on Jensen’s part!! AWESOME scene. <3 <3 <3 <3 

Oh! It’s the girl. I’m calling it. 

Yep. Daughter. 

I KNEW SHE WAS BEING WEIRD! 

See?! Super religious people are crazy!! 

Go Cas and Jack go! 

Ope. Cas is gonna heal, and Jack is gonna attack. Go boys go! 

Cas is gonna heal in front of all those people oof. 

Girl has ISSUES. 

Wow, this girl is WAAAAY too religious. Chill. 

Yeah, cause you need help. 

HEY!!! NOT COOL SYLVIA!!! 

Oof. Yeah nice try, but that’s not gonna work. 

I love how Jack just takes it and then heals all bada** like “yeah sorry but no”, but then he still looks up with the kindest and most innocent expression and I love it. <3 

Meanwhile Cas is like “yeah I’m not having any of this.” XD XD 

Does...does he always have to say sleep when he does it? Cause he didn’t used to, and for some reason, that was hilarious. XD 

Jack’s little nod. So cute. <3 <3 

Fixed her fingers, but couldn’t wash the blood off. XD 

Yeah ummm...how you gonna explain that one, Cas? 

At least pastor dude seems nice. And, like, being the good kind of religious, he’ll probably be totally cool with the angel thing. 

Wait, pastor dude is still processing this when morning hits? Okay then. 

“Not a very good one.” WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?! You are literally the BEST angel, thank you very much. 

Man that girl is MESSED UP. 

And Jack still feels sorry for her, my baby. :( <3 <3 

Ah. Nothing like your daughter becoming a murderer for you to finally step into a proper role of fatherhood. 

WAIT A SECOND! IT’S ZACK!! 

Dude waaait. What does that mean?? That’s, like, a really random thing. Does that mean she’s gonna come back? Or that Zack is gonna come back? I’m not sure what that means. That seems so random! I DEMAND ANSWERS SUPERNATURAL! 

The way Cas looks at Jack after the pastor says that about looking after her better. Cas I don’t know what you’re thinking, but you’re the best father Jack could’ve asked for, okay? 

Awww! Cas and Jack talk time!! <3 <3 

Cas is trying so hard to help him I love him. <3 

NO YOU DON’T STOP!! THIS IS WHAT FAMILY IS FOR!! WHHHHYYY are all you Winchesters like this. 

Wait. WAIT! He was hiding something?! I hate it when Sam’s right. 

Wait WHAT?! 

HOLD ON!!! 

NOOOOO NO NO NO NO NO!!! NO! JACK NO!!! That is NOT ALLOWED!!! 

HOLD ON A SECOND!!! NO!!! THAT IS NOT WHAT I WAS EXPECTING WTF??!!! 

Wait wait wait. A bomb?? Like, just like S11?? Because no. No no no. We’re not doing this again. JACK YOU ARE NOT GONNA DIE WTF??!! 

THIS THROWS ALL OF MY THEORIES OUT THE WINDOW NOOOO!!! IT CAN’T BE JACK!!! I REFUSE!!! :’( :’( :’( :’( :’( 

WE JUST GOT YOU BACK!!! WE CAN’T LOSE YOU AGAIN!!! :’( :’( :’( :’( :’( :’( :’(

Cas’s face is all of my emotional screeching right now. 

WHAT DO YOU MEAN “Don’t tell Sam and Dean.” ARE YOU KIDDING ME JACK??!! THESE ARE YOUR DADS!! THEY NEED TO KNOW!!! YOU CAN’T DO THIS!!! CAS WON’T LET YOU!!! 

JACK NOOOO!!! STOP IT WITH ALL OF YOUR GUILT! GOD you’re such a Winchester!! NO!! DEAN BAKED YOU A DANG BIRTHDAY CAKE FOR CRYING OUT LOUD!!! YOU DON’T NEED TO DIE FOR HIM TO FORGIVE YOU!!! 

I’M HAVING SUCH A HARD TIME TYPING RIGHT NOW WTF IS THIS SCENE??!! :’( :’( :’( :’( :’( :’( 

Me too, Cas!!! 

SEE JACK??!! YOU CAN’T!! 

NO! WHAT IS THAT?! 

NO!! STOP IT!!! STOP IT YOU STUPID IDIOT NO!!! YOU CANNOT SACRIFICE YOURSELF LIKE THIS!!! THEY WON’T LET YOU!!! 

Cas tell Sam and Dean. Please.

Oh WAIT! We have, like, two minutes left craaap. This is the scene from the promo. Cas is gonna say Sam and Dean need to know something and then it’s gonna end. I’m calling it right now. 

YES CAS!! GO CAS GO!! SAVE YOUR SON!!! 

Yep. Here it is. It’s gonna cut off. 

GODDA**IT!! I HATE IT WHEN I’M RIGHT!!! 

WHY YOU GOTTA DO ME LIKE THAT SUPERNATURAL??!! You can’t just...DROP A BOMB like that and then NOT RESOLVE IT GOD DA**IT!! SCREW YOU WRITERS!!! 

AHHHHH!!! I NEED NEXT WEEK RIGHT NOW!!! AHHHHH!!! THIS IS SO NOT OKAY!!!! 

If I deny it ever happened, then it didn’t happen, right? Jack and Cas solved the case, Sam and Dean got Amara’s help, and they all went home and had family dinner, okay? New ending. There we go. Problem solved. Because NO! 

Well...f**k. I guess it’s review time?? But JESUS CHRIST!!! Okay, okay, I need a minute. Please hold. 

(Several Hours Later)

Okay. I’m back. Let me start with something kind of amusing. Several minutes after the episode ended, while I was still trying to process everything, this interaction happened: 

Me, breathing heavily and dying inside: Mom, you do not seem as distressed about this as I am. 

My Mom: I am never as distressed as you are about anything in this show. It’s impossible for me to reach that level of distress. I don’t know how you do it. 

So...if you didn’t already realize how emotionally connected to this show I am, now you do. XD 

That said, let’s get down to it. 

God, there is soooo much to unpack with that episode, and even crazier, it honestly all comes from that last five minutes. Let me start with this: 

I really enjoyed this episode! It can’t quite beat last week’s episode--but, honestly, I don’t know if any of the other episodes will be able to, except for maybe the finale--but it was good! I had a few qualms about Matt Cohen’s directing, but he definitely had some strong moments, so it wasn’t bad. And, admittedly, at first, I felt like the pacing of the episode was kind of slow, and switching back and forth between the Winchesters and Cas and Jack felt kind of choppy for a bit, but as the episode played out, I realized why. This was a full-on set-up episode. While last week gave us a chance to be silly with the boys and see some beautiful family bonding, this was the one that set us up for what’s sure to be heavy and plot-filled coming up. (And yes, I know next week’s episode is much more of a monster-of-the-week, but 15x17 is when things will likely really get down to it, so I’m sure there’ll still be some important plot stuff next week--especially since we need a resolution to the Cas and Dean talk). Between the boys having to find and trick Amara, and Cas and Jack bonding and working with each other again, plus that big reveal at the end, it’s setting up the next string of episodes to be fast-paced and intense as they finally start to take on God. 

With that said, I really loved being able to see Jack and Cas together again. It’s been so long since we’ve seen them really spend time together and bond, and watching them play off each other and be father and son was adorable and hilarious. Plus, I just love Jack with every fiber of my being, so that makes everything better. XD <3 

I also really loved Dean’s interactions with Amara. I mentioned this already, but that scene, where he’s talking about Mary...that was some INCREDIBLE acting on Jensen’s part. He’s always been really good at that subtle rage, especially when it’s also filled with sadness, and this scene was no different. And I’m glad that they did finally get Amara on board; however, I’m a little concerned with what she’s going to do when she finds out he lied. Especially after how worried she seemed to be. AND SPEAKING OF LYING!!

THOSE LAST FIVE MINUTES! HOLY SHIT!! 

Okay, so I’ve had some time to think about this and talk it out with some people, so I’m just gonna roll with the thoughts as they go through my brain. First of all, that is a big no a thousand times over. Jack, you cannot die. Second of all, that reveal was very well done on the writer’s part. After such a nonchalant episode--in terms of pace, that is--to have that in the last five minutes, AND to end with that cliffhanger, was a beautiful way to keep us fans guessing, invested, and wanting more. But also, SCREW YOU! 

That said, as freaked out as I was--and honestly, I’m still pretty worried--I really don’t think Jack’s going to die. There’s no way. Initially, my theory left Cas and Jack standing at the end of all of this. After CW said that thing about one of the main characters not surviving to the end, I thought it was gonna be Dean, but I can also see how it could be both Sam and Dean. However, in any case, Cas and Jack, in my various theories, always end up on top. So Jack saying he’s going to die in order to kill Chuck and Amara TOTALLY threw me. BUT! After talking it through with someone else, I seriously doubt it’s going to happen. 

First of all, Cas is about to go look for another way, and, as we’ve seen in the past, they always find another way. After all, this is the Winchesters (and yes, Cas counts, obviously). 

Second of all, they’re telling us this five episodes before the end, but Jack is, supposedly, completing his final ritual in 15x17. That leaves three episodes of unaccounted time, and if Jack is really going to die to kill Chuck and Amara, there’s no way they can stretch that over three episodes. Therefore, his dads are bound to stop it. To FURTHER that, 15x17 has Jack and Dean heading out together to complete Jack’s final ritual while Sam and Cas stay behind, which means that, once Jack does whatever he’s supposed to do, Dean is bound to find out what Billie’s true intentions are, and I’m convinced that he’s not going to be okay with it. Because here’s the thing. Between Sam and Dean, Jack is the one that Dean still needs the most forgiveness from. And, kind of like what happened in Last Holiday, the second Dean realizes Jack is in actual danger, he’s not going to let anything happen to him. And I’m hoping that the resulting protectiveness will give Dean the chance to tell Jack that he does forgive him, which will hopefully release some of Jack’s guilt complex and give them the ability to find another way. 

THIRD of all, (and I mentioned this in my reactions), this whole “becoming the bomb to kill the cosmic entities” is an exact mirror of what Dean tried to do in S11, and we saw how that went. But the thing is, why would the writers play the exact same storyline again unless they were intending to parallel it and connect it to Jack and Dean’s relationship now? When Dean didn’t detonate in S11, he got his mom back, but then Jack killed her. Now, Jack is ready to detonate himself as a bomb because of having killed Mary, and Dean’s bound to stop him, especially after that conversation with Amara. Maybe this is all wishful thinking, but I really, sincerely feel like (and hope) that Jack isn’t going to make that sacrifice. Because, on top of all of that, while I love the family that is Team Free Will 2.0, this show still is, as it always has been, about Sam and Dean, and, as such, it should end with them too. So the odds of Jack being the “be all end all” without Sam and Dean’s help? Super slim. 

So, to sum that up, as worried as I am about my baby, I really really really think (and god I hope I’m right) that that’s not the way this story will end. There has to be more to it. 

With all of that addressed, let’s talk about WHATEVER it is that Cas is about to tell Dean. For me, there are two things it could be:

First, there’s the obvious answer based on the episode itself. Cas is about to tell Dean that Jack has to die in order to kill Chuck and Amara. However, I don’t think that’s it, because that seems too easy and unrealistic. If Cas tells Dean that now, then why would Dean take him to do his final ritual in 15x17 (I guess this is what happens when you read too much promotional material lol)? And even if he does, the next episode seems to be very Sam and Dean centric, and Cas dropping a bomb like that would not allow for a Sam and Dean centric episode, at least not when it’s putting their whole big mission in a different light. Plus, on top of all of that, that Cas and Jack conversation is an exact parallel of the conversation the two of them had about Cas making his deal with the Empty back in Season 14. Cas told Jack not to tell Sam and Dean, and Jack never did, even though his life is at risk. So Cas telling Sam and Dean about Jack now, knowing that Jack kept that secret for him, might break a certain level of trust between the two of them, and I don’t think Cas would do that. Which brings me to my second and, in my opinion, more likely theory. 

Cas is about to tell Dean about his deal with the Empty. While this would also be a huge bomb to drop in the middle of this big fight, and in the middle of all this chaos, it technically doesn’t directly correlate with their fight with Chuck. However, if something does happen to Cas, that’s something that Sam and Dean do need to know, because it’ll affect how they handle things and what they do, in a lot of ways. At the same time, I feel like, if Cas is gonna do a whole “go it alone” thing, it’s important that he tells them before he leaves, because there’s no telling what could happen, to any of them, when they’re not all together, and being as open as possible before separating like that tends to be a good idea. It seems like Cas might finally be learning. 

That said, I could be wrong all around. It could be neither of those things. It could be both of those things. Honestly, there’s no way to know for sure until we get to next week. However, after a crazy ending like that, I am definitely looking forward to seeing what Supernatural has in store for us next. 

My Rating: 8/10

[moonydaydreams]

𝐣𝐮𝐱𝐭𝐚𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮

Fandom: It Lives In the Woods

Pairing: MC x Noah, MC x Connor (past)

Words: 7.363 (holy cow)

Summary: Lightning never strikes the same place twice, but a second chance does. Even for someone like Noah Marshall.

Warnings: SMUT SMUT SMUT, angst 101 and swearing for dummies

Author’s note: This is my first Choices story and, holy cannoli, this is longer than I intended to be. But nonetheless, this an AU of what could have been had neither Noah or MC sacrificed themselves to take Jane’s place (THIS IS, IN ANOTHER WORD, A FORM OF DENIAL, Y'ALL. CAUSE THAT ENDING WRECKED ME) and Noah fled from Westchester. I’m sorry if the characters seem OOC or the story feels meh. So if you’re digging it or simply detest it, let me know, yeah? thanks!

———————————————————————————–

In a city where the subway stations smell like after-shave and peanut butter and jelly breath smelling college students at nine in the morning, and half of the street names that he still can’t recall to this day, a young man in a beanie, who couldn’t have been more than twenty or twenty-one enters a small 24/7 convenience store with his hands thrust deep inside his coat pockets.

A burly, beer-swilling, 6 feet of a man behind the cashier, elbow-deep in the football magazine in his last season’s Real Madrid jersey, glances up from his reading upon his arrival. His eyebrows narrow.

“Never seen you visiting this late,” Romero comments dryly over the trip-hop music that is playing over the speakers and flicked his eyes back to the magazine. “Did you accidentally shoot your dealer or some shit?“

Romero’s attempt on making small talks with him, albeit as condescending as it sounds, does not fall on deaf ears. But it’s cold outside and he’s hungry and broke, he simply doesn’t have the will to entertain him.

“Shut up. I’m hungry,” replies the young man, stopping by the instant food section. His eyes finding the many varieties of flavors and brands and feels his stomach sick at the amount of artificial food he’s been consuming over the years. It’s like being eight all over again.

“Well, knock yourself out. We just stocked up those crazy spicy Korean ramen you kids can’t seem to stop feeding.” Romero’s face breaks into a mocking grin. “Can’t wait to see you all die from cancer.”

“Instant noodles don’t directly cause cancer on its own, actually.”

Romero burst into laughter. “And how the fuck does a two-bit junkie like you know that, Malcolm?”

The boy’s face involuntarily twitches.

And it isn’t because of how alien the sound when someone addresses him with his fake name or how Romero somehow thinks he has his character all figured out. The thing about living in incognito for years, he’s already become accustomed to those; to prejudices and living up to the persona that people design for him just to inflate their egos and ward them off of his tail in the process. No one wants to affiliate themselves with “the junkie” or “the hot-headed mechanic with suicidal tendencies” and he is more than fine with his solitary.

No. It is the nature of the question that throws him off guard and how his mind all too soon, against his better wishes, refers to her.

Suddenly, he is Noah again. Thirteen years ago at the age of eight, looking out of the window with Jane as they watched a girl about their age in a short tutu dress and combat boots climbing up the oak tree in their backyard to save a distressed kitten.

Their parents saw this, did a double-take, went hysterical and called her parents. He later learned her name was Liz and that she’d just moved into the neighborhood a week ago.

Then he sees Liz again, now a few months after their first encounter, running off to the forest with Jane’s arm linked with hers. He remembers her messy braided hair and freckles multiplied by the sun as they led Noah and the rest of their friends to abandoned ruins they’d somehow stumbled on a week ago. 

His memory of her somehow jumps forward. Now, he sees her in a different light, a different vignette. It is from three years ago this time and she was no longer the Liz all knees, elbows and mud on her shoes young girl from his childhood. She was Liz, on the edge of seventeen, her hair nine shades lighter than when she was a kid (she also had bangs now) with a barbed wire bat in her left hand, and a fire axe in the other, but still the same dark-eyed sprite that made his cold, dead heart skip a beat whenever she looked at his way and smiled that smile of hers; the kind that radiated her cheeks and lit up her eyes. 

The same light that he watched slowly waning from her eyes when she discovered his ulterior plan. 

His heart feels like shattering into smithereens all over again. He doesn’t realize he’s been squeezing on the noodle packet too tight until he hears the contents shatter in his hand. 

“A friend told me,” Noah finds himself saying even before his brain can halt it. Staring blankly at the packet, his mouth dropping into a frown.

He can feel Romero’s gaze on him, curious and confused. Shifting between the packet in his hand and his glazed-over expression. Noah, realizing he’s just projected his emotion right out in the open, huffs and throws the squeezed noodle packet into his shopping basket. 

Romero clears his throat. “Sounds like quite a friend.”

Noah pretends as if the jig isn’t exactly up and decides to actively ignore the older man. He gets the rest of his needs, holding the last of his composure against slipping and brings his groceries to the cashier, looking down at his feet whenever Romero glances at him in genuine concern.

“Catch ya later, Malcolm,” Romero says as he hands Noah the change. “And, uh… stay safe, you hear me?”

Noah, in return, only nods his thanks, probably a little too curt according to the polite society and leaves.

Outside, thunder begins to roll overhead. Noah eyes the sky nervously. It’s going to rain soon. And hard judging from the way the clouds are moving across the black midnight sky.

Noah rifles for his cigarette pack from his pockets, lights one and begins making his way back to his hellhole of an apartment. Treading slowly through the deserted streets, steering clear from alley-ways and suspicious characters until he can see the window of his apartment.

Then, Noah’s feet skid to a hard stop.

His jaw drops, his cigarette falling unheeded to the ground.

Sitting on the front steps of his apartment building is Liz, swathed in an oversized overcoat, her head leaning onto the railings, she seems to be sleeping.

What in the sweet fuck?

For a good minute, Noah stands stock-still. He simply gazes at his former best friend, nonplussed and borderline panicking. A migraine begins to form in his head. He gazes over his shoulder, watching and waiting for anyone to jump at him from the alley or anything, because there is no way in hell this is not a trap. This can’t be. 

He waits and waits, but no one comes out. Confused, Noah looks at her again, his expression inscrutable. If this is not a trap, then this must be a cruel dream the universe pulls on him for all the wrongdoings he has committed in his life. That, or Noah must have tragically died on his way back home and ascended to heaven. 

But then, if this is heaven, why is he here?

Eventually, Noah kneels before her. He reaches his hand out to her, hesitating mid-move and touches her shoulder.

“Liz?” he gives her shoulder a gentle shake. “Liz, wake up.”

She does. Slowly, her eyes flutter open, bleary and brown, and meets his gaze for the first time in three years. Noah feels like his breath stuck in his throat.

“Noah?” Liz blinks sleepily, twice, then yawns into the back of her hand. “What time is it?”

He glances at his phone. “A quarter past two.”

Liz’s brows furrow. “Huh. What were you doing out so late?”

“Had to do a supply run.” Noah gestures to the shopping bag in his hand. Then, “Liz, what are you doing here?” he asks, his voice a broken whisper.

Liz doesn’t answer his question, merely wraps her arms around herself, attempting to keep warm and sighs tiredly.

“Noah, can we go inside?” she pleas, instead. Desperation fuelling her voice. “I’m tired and cold and I…” she trails off.

Consideration flashes in Noah’s eyes for a moment. The logical part of his head insists for him to take her to the nearest train station and send her off back to Westchester. It’s the right thing to do. Considering that he’s been laying low for years now, the last thing he needs to add to his ongoing headache is for the police to suspect that she’s an accomplice.

But he’s never been the wiser one.

So, he takes her gloved hand and helps her to stand and, after giving one last look at their surroundings, of course, ushers her inside the apartment building. 

Neither says anything as they make their way to the staircase, as they venture through the grimy hallway where the dim and shadowed lights overhead following their every step like vultures and past the occupied doors where a loud, sexual moan comes from behind one of them.

She doesn’t make any comment about the awful state of the place he lives in, while he simply doesn’t have the capacity to be embarrassed because everything happens so sudden, Noah himself is still second-guessing if any of this is real. 

Finally, they stop by his door. Noah produces the key from his wallet when he hesitates, remembering the state of the room the last time he left it.

“A bit of warning, though…” He rubs his neck, embarrassed. “it’s pretty messy inside.”

“It’s fine.”

Noah turns the key and eases the door open.

The rain has started to pour. Noah turns the side lamp on and takes off his coat, his groceries on top of the kitchen counter. He watches as Liz, as if in a daze, tosses her coat and gloves to his bed and walks towards the direction of the window. A hand against the windowpane, the flare of the street lamp outside illuminating her features in the dimness, she silently watches as the rain falls on the pavement. Lost somewhere in the tangled cobwebs of her thoughts.

And it occurs to Noah that she is no longer Liz, on the edge of seventeen with a barbed wire bat in her left hand, and a fire axe in the other. She is Liz, older, with circles under her eyes, the world on her shoulders and a few pounds lighter than he remembers, but still the same dark-eyed sprite and with the pale shades of haired girl that he yearns to wrap his arms around and tells her how sorry he is for all those years ago, for leaving without saying a proper goodbye and how all these years it is her that keeps him going through every day and drives him insane at the same time. 

But he can only remain in his place and forces to quell his desire to do the aforementioned. Because Noah’s pretty sure that privilege is long gone the moment his betrayal came to light. Even to be standing in the very room with her is a crime, yet here they are.

Here she is.

“Liz?“ 

“Yeah?”

“Have you, uh,” his gaze finds the ramen packets, suddenly feeling inspired. “Have you eaten anything?”

She is silent for a while. “No.”

“I’m making ramen, you want some?” 

“Okay.” 

With that, Noah rolls up his sleeves, takes two eggs and a few vegetables from the fridge and begins to work. He ditches the salty packet of MSG and makes his own broth while at the same time, mincing the garlic and green onion and grating the ginger. By the time he sautées the aromatics, Liz makes a beeline from the window and hops onto the counter, watching him distractedly as he continues cooking. 

She stays silent and so does he. Despite the lack of words, everything feels strangely… domestic? Under different circumstances, Noah can easily get used to this; him cooking for her, with her becoming his taste tester whenever he’s experimenting with new recipes he finds on the internet and simply impresses her on a daily basis. Yeah, he can definitely get used to that.

Ten minutes passed, Noah then moves the ‘upgraded ramen’ to the bowls and serves one to her. The taste will probably pale in comparison to the one that her mom used to make, yet it earns him her first smile of the night, albeit small and closed-mouthed, it’s still a smile nonetheless. 

He grabs two cans of beer from the fridge and moves onto the couch with her. They finish their meal within minutes, still in silence. For a moment, the only sound that encompasses the room is the rain and his next-door neighbor who has the TV going in full-blast. That asshole.

Noah reaches out for a cigarette pack from the coffee table, dexterously flicks his wrist so a single one pops halfway out of the carton. He casts her a sidelong glance.

“Do you mind if I…?” he trails off, gesturing to the cigarette. 

Liz’s stare zeroes on the cancer stick, scowling, as if she doesn’t approve of this vice of his, but shrugs nonetheless. 

“So, how, uh…” Noah clears his throat, gathering his courage. How does he do this? How do you break the ice with your former best friend who you happen to have a crush on for more than a decade and almost murdered because your dead twin sister compelled you to do so without being awkward? 

“How are you, by the way?“ he manages to ask behind a plume of smoke. 

“I’m doing okay,” she says but in a tone when someone is obviously not okay.

“Just okay?”

“I…” she hesitates. “Yeah, just okay.” Liz lies and manages a weak smile. Noah decides not to press for more information. “Though I’ve been busy these days. I’m trying to finish my dissertation sometime around next year.”

"Already?” And she nods. Noah whistles, obviously impressed. "I’m guessing you did take the English major?”

Liz’s eyes widened slightly. “You remember." 

"Yeah.” Noah looks down. Of course he remembers, not when it’s impossible to forget the very idea of Liz Mortimer. “And your old man doesn’t try to fight you for this?”

“Nope. After Ja–” she clamps her mouth shut. “I graduated, let’s just say he had a hard time saying no to me.” She chuckles, but just for a good three seconds and Noah doesn’t have to ask why to know the reason behind her father’s sudden change of heart.

“How about you?” she asks, then shakes her head. “I mean, how are you?” She amends.

Heaven knows I’m always miserable, Liz. But he doesn’t say that. “I’m okay, too, I guess." 

"Just okay?” Liz parrots his own words at him and he smiles, the left side of his mouth higher than the right. They may still be painfully awkward to one another, but it feels so good to be talking with her again.

“Nothing new under the sun for me, but I’m thriving. And, um, how’s the others?” a.k.a the bunch of group of friends I hurt.

“They’re alright. Lily started her own video game called Pixie Moon, which I have no doubt will take the world by storm the way Candy Crush did; Ava is writing a book about witch trials; Stace is studying journalism and basically kicking ass; Dan is pursuing psychology; His majesty King Kang himself is playing for the Bighorns; and Lucas, as you can expect, is off to save our earth.”

Noah swallows the information one by one. His face an inscrutable blank. All of his friends somehow have found a place on this earth, they all have moved on except for him, again, who’s still scratching around in the same old hole; his future derived, his past an endless pitfall.

“And Connor?” he asks quietly, when in truth he doesn’t give two-shits about the man. But he knows she does, and Noah loves her too much to let his jealousy dictate his behavior. 

Suddenly, her face falls. Teeth chewing nervously on her lower lip. “He's… fine. He’s probably at home now as we speak.“

“And now you’re a long way from home.”

“So are you.”

Noah shakes his head. “Westchester stopped being my home the moment I turned eight.” He sighs forlornly, looks the other way, hands fidgeting. Force of habit. “Liz, as much as I’m glad to see you, but why did you come here?”

“How long have you been staying here?” Liz evades his question as if he never asked it in the first place.

Noah raises an eyebrow, exhales, but decides to play along. “Since August. So that’s two months. Probably, the longest I have ever stayed in one place.”

“Where have you been all this time?”

“Well, there was Utah and Kansas. Then Minnesota for a couple of weeks, but I couldn’t stand the cold and the rest is history,” he keeps his answer as vague as possible, not when he still has no idea the nature of her visit. “Look, why are you here?”

But still, the girl dodges his question. “Why do you–”

Until his patience can’t simply take it anymore. 

Noah is all but scoots over to her position until their knees are touching, the cigarette forgotten on the ashtray, and grips her arms firmly. His eyebrows knitted as he takes in her stunned face. 

“Liz.” There is a twinge of anger, confusion and desperation in the way he says her name this time. “Why are you here? You know you can’t be here. Goddamn it! If the fucking cops find out that you’re here…” Once he realizes what he is doing, he withdraws his hands as if she’s fire and now he’s burning.

“They won’t. I can assure you that." 

"You don’t know that.”

“I know what I’m doing, Noah. Trust me, I wouldn’t have come here if I knew it’s not safe,” Liz replies, her tone doesn’t leave any room for doubts and he knows there is no way to talk his way around it. Not to mention, he trusts her, if there is anyone who can sneak behind authority and get away with it, it has to be her.

Noah shrugs, agreeable, but he isn’t going to let her off so easily. 

“How did you find me, anyway?” he questions, reaching for his cigarette and takes a deep, long drag just to spite his throat. He has a feeling he might be smoking his misery away all night by the time she’s left.

The blonde-haired girl shrugs and absentmindedly leans her back against the couch, one arm wraps around her midsection. “It wasn’t easy, actually. But I made some new friends in Pine Springs and one of them is acquainted with the newly-minted Police Chief. Pulled a few strings and here we are.” 

“Pine Springs? What the heck were you doing there?”

“It's… a long story. But there were people there needing my help, and in exchange, they helped me track you down. An eye for an eye.”

Lightning suddenly jags across the night sky, briefly illuminating the room, pulling him out of his musings. She jumps at the sound, startled, and instinctively reaches for his hand. Noah freezes at the contact, forgetting how her skin feels like on his or a decent human contact in general. It’s been so long. And somehow he loses the ability to speak, to think.

He definitely doesn’t think when Noah moves his hand under hers, intertwining their fingers together.

Noah feels her head moving, her eyes darting from their joined hands and to his face that turns into a parade of expressions– misery, regret and melancholy. The holy trinity of feelings he’s been bearing for the past three years– for the past thirteen years of his life, actually– and feels her hand squeezing back his. 

“Christ, I can’t believe you went all through that shit just to find me,” he croaks, all but on the verge of tears. “And I left you just like that even without saying sorry.”

“Noah…”

“No, let me say it, Liz. I need to say it.” His hands are trembling, his composure this close from crumbling. “What I did was unforgivable. And I know there is nothing in this world that could help me undo the damage I’ve done to you and how I’ll spend the rest of my day regretting it, but regardless, I’m sorry,” he sobs, his whole body is shaking by now. 

“I’m so sorry for the nightmare I put you through. I was so blinded by my own volition and revenge for Jane’s death that I hurt you, all of you in the process without giving a single rat’s ass about it.” Noah pauses, wipes his tears with the back of his hand. “I’m a monster, Liz. A selfish, heartless, miserable monster. God, I should have died that night.”

“Hey, hey, look at me.” She plucks the cigarette from his other hand, discards it on her empty bowl and places her other hand on his shoulder. “Noah, look at me,” she says again, her voice like a caress. He looks up. “Don’t say that. You are not a monster. You’re just a byproduct of the pain from losing your sister, loneliness and bad parenting. That doesn’t make you a monster. That makes you human.”

“A normal human being wouldn’t lure his friends into abandoned ruins in the middle of a fucking forest where his sister died and put their lives hang in the balance.”

“No, they wouldn’t, but if there is anything Dan taught me is that people react to loss in different ways.”

Noah groans and pushing himself to his feet. “No, don’t try to find a way to justify this. Didn’t you forget, I could have killed you that night. You! The- the only one who gives a fuck whether I’m breathing or not.” The only one who matters. “If you hadn’t stopped her… God, I don’t even want to go there.“

She gets up from the couch as well. “I’m not justifying anything. Yes, what you did to us was… It was harrowing, it was despicable but I also knew the extent of your agony that drove you to do it. I understand… and like what I said that night in the cave; it’s not your fault. Not exclusively, at least. And I forgive you for it.”

“Liz–”

“No, listen to me, we all made mistake–”

He snorts. “Not on a grand scale like this, I bet.”

“Maybe not. But the fact that you give a shit and beat yourself up for years for what you did, that already speaks a lot,” she says. “You’ve tormented yourself enough. It’s not going to do you anything good. It’s not going to erase anything. What you need to do now is to close that book. Get a new one, write a new story, move on. I have forgiven you, I’m sure the others have forgotten about what happened until someone mentions it, it’s your turn now.”

Her words hit him like a piledriver and for the first time in probably like forever, he does feel slightly better. Even if only an infinitesimal amount and even he may won’t be forgiving himself anytime soon, but still, hearing those words coming from her mouth mean the whole world to him. 

“Why did you really come here, Liz?” The question is a tad out of place, but it feels like their previous conversations were made entirely to build up for this. 

Her frown melts away, replaced with somewhere between doubt and conflict. He holds her gaze for a minute, undeterred, then she turns her back on him to face the window once more. The suspense gnaws at him, yet still, he bides his time. 

“I have something to tell you,” she finally says, keeping her voice low.

“What is it?” He replies rather impatiently. When she seems to be hesitating, he adds, “And don’t beat around the bush, Liz.”

A deep breath, foot taps, a hand clutching at the hem of a buttoned-up dress and another deep breath. 

“Connor proposed to me.”

A beat. Then,

“Oh,” and it’s barely audible. And Noah feels like his heart has been torn from his chest, thrown into the ground, drags it through the mud then stomps on it for good measure. And that he feels worse and emptier than he was before she came here. “Congratulations.”

The words that come out of his mouth could have been his, because he can barely hear his own voice in this white noise. He always knew Connor and her were smitten with each other the moment she stepped into the hardware store for the first time, but Noah doesn’t expect it all would extend to marriage.

She looks over her shoulder, half-turned, one eye on him. “I wasn’t finished.”

Noah blinks at her, momentarily confused. “What?”

“I…” her voice wavers. When she turns to face him again, she is pinching the bridge of her nose. Her eyes scrunched up. “Ah, fuck this is never going to be easy. Long story short, I freaked out, made a scene at a restaurant, ended our three-year on-and-off relationship and went here.”

“Wait, what?”

Liz shrugs, guiltily, all Atlas-and-the-weight-of-the-world.

“Yeah,” she, much to his surprise (and concern), chokes a laughter, manic and loud. “Yeah, I did it. I fucked up the longest relationship I’ve ever had and broke my best friend’s brother’s heart because I wasn’t ready, because I’m an idiot.” When she does look at him, her eyes are bright. “Because I’m in love with someone else.”

For a brief, candid moment, Noah’s brows furrow as his mind goes to one of his former friends. Is it Dan? Ava? Or could it be Lucas? Because the last time he saw them together, they were pretty inseparable– although their relationship is strictly platonic as far as he’s concerned. Has that dynamic changed after he left? 

Then Noah realizes her eyes are still on him– and quite expectantly, that is, and that’s not… no, that can’t be right, can it? 

His demeanor shifts drastically as he stands there, stunned silence. Disarmed by her confession. 

He tries to speak, but his jaw won’t shut back to its place; his brains short-circuiting.

“Yes, I have loved you ever since I’ve known you, Noah Marshall,” Liz mutters when he remains silent. He can tell this is something she’s been holding in for a long time. “Even though we hadn’t spoken to each other for years after Jane, there hadn’t been a day that I didn’t think of you. When we finally reconnected three years ago, I wanted to say all these things to you, but..” she smiles wistfully. “Well, shit happened.”

“Why?” Of all the people you could have fallen in love with, why me? What he means to ask.

“Because you understand me like no one else; because you climbed up to my window to bring me your homemade grilled cheese sandwich when I was grounded when we were 8; because you actually listened and showed me that my vulnerability doesn’t always have to be my weakness; because I love the way you wear your beanie like 24/7 and the way you shake my hair whenever I say something stupidly amusing to you. Because it’s you!”

“No.” It’s a denial, it’s an attempt to ward her off from someone like him. It’s a lie. “No, no, no, no, no, Liz, you can’t fall in love with someone who’s-who’s mentally unstable or tried to kill you in the past, that’s like…” he gesticulates wildly. “Crazy! You are crazy!”

“I’m sorry, are you any better?”

“Of course not! But to forgive me is one thing, Liz, to love me, that’s a whole different level of insanity.” Noah begins to pace agitatedly around the room back and forth. “Fuck. I can’t hear this. Not from you.”

“Why not?” He sees the hurt expression on her face. Then interrupts just as soon as he opens his mouth. “Noah, I’m not asking for your answer this instance–heck, I’m not even asking you to reciprocate my feelings, but please don’t invalidate my emotions. Not when I waited for years to say it to you.”

“But this fucking complicates everything!” Noah points out.  

“Maybe. Maybe not, but you don’t know that,” she says resolutely, echoing his words from before. 

Noah doesn’t say anything in return.

She steps closer and slowly raises her palm to cup his cheek, an attempt to calm the storm within him. His hand grasps her wrist before she can make contact. 

“Noah–" 

His breathing quickens. Noah swallows and shakes his head.

“Liz, we can’t do this. No matter…” he sighs, his eyes boring into hers. Here he is, again, dangling on the edge of damnation, of what’s right and wrong. It’s wrong, yet he knows that she knows, from the heat and electricity that dance between them, from the pressure of his fingers that tell different stories, that he, too, wants the same thing.

“No matter what, Noah?” She murmurs, staring up at him with hopeful eyes. She really wants him to say it, does she?

He extricates her hand from him, taking steps back, putting as much distance he can from her. “Forget it.”

“Look, Noah, if you feel what I think you’re feeling, then what is it that you’re afraid of?" 

Noah whirls around to face her again. "Everything! Can’t you see that if we do this, the world will turn against us?" 

“Since when do you care about other people’s opinions?”

“I wasn’t worrying about me.”

"Well, I don’t give a fuck what others or this thrice-damned world thinks!” she exclaims mulishly. “After all we’ve been through, is it so wrong to be selfish, to follow your own heart just once– just once? Is it– don’t you care about what you want?”

“I want-” Noah stops. His hands tugging at his red beanie cap. “Never mind what I want.”

Her voice is quieter now. “What do you want, Noah?”

For an interminable moment, heavy with the promise of both release and regret, he only stares at her. Contemplating his options.

Perhaps loving her shouldn’t be the sin he thought it was, especially when she wants the same thing in return. Although he’s more than aware that he’s the last person in this world who deserves her affection, but deep down, Noah knows that he’ll never forgive himself if he didn’t run the risk now and spent the rest of his life wondering what it felt like instead.

“You.” Always you.

She holds his gaze. “Then have me.”

And as if an unknown force was taking over his body, Noah crosses the distance between them, his free hands cradling her face, drawing her close and kisses her.

It’s like a dam breaking, everything floods out. They do not kiss gently, desperation orchestrating their every move that the world around him grows distant and dim.  Twelve years of pining for each other, of secretive glances, of murder attempt and mutual misery and it all leads them to this. His thumb skimming the curve of her throat and feels her pulse leaps. He stops. Worrying if he’s crossed the line.

But Liz grabs the front of his clothes, pulling him even closer– as if they aren’t close enough– and kisses him back with a matching fervor. Her body pressed against his, warm and unfamiliarly familiar, and Noah swears his heart skips when she emits a quiet desperate noise that he happily swallows. 

Suddenly, Noah pulls back. “Liz, I’m sorr–” he says breathlessly.

“No, don’t you dare apologize,” she says firmly, her lips still tinged pink from their kiss. “I… I started this.” Her tongue darted out over her lips. “Are you okay with this?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I want this.” Noah’s hands dropped to her waist, his cheeks burned. He’s inexperienced, yes, and it shows, yes, but this is Liz. The last thing she does is to laugh at his face about it. “You?”

“You have no idea.”

His cheeks grow redder. “I’m, uh… now what?" 

"I think,” she leans in, tiptoeing, her arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders and playfully says, “I want you to kiss me again.”

Noah grins, more relaxed now knowing he has her consent. “I think I can provide that.”

He let her set the pace this time. Kissing him softly and sweetly, but as equally mind-blowing as the first time before the next thing he knows, they are kissing senselessly once more; the next thing he knows, she swipes her tongue on his lower lip. Drawing a surprised groan from him. His lips instinctively open up to her ministrations and he is rendered weak when Noah feels her warm tongue delves into his mouth. He tries to follow her example, but can hardly navigate through his own mind every time.

He can feel her fingers toying and tugging his beanie off, her nails grazing his scalp and his desire rocketed. And this time, Noah isn’t afraid to act, as his hands on her waist slowly glide upward; from her hips to her ribs, stopping just under her breasts which results in Liz’s breath to hitch in his mouth. His mouth travels down her jaw, the length of her neck, her collarbone. 

When he finds himself on the bed, on his back, and Noah has absolutely zero clue how or when he got that way. 

He sits up. Without thinking, grabs her hips to pull her onto his lap, hands rough, settling her against him as he tips her head upward and continues his onslaught on her neck. Her hands on his shoulders, coming up to the strands of his hair. Encouraging him, guiding him lower and lower until his mouth reaches her clothed breast. 

“Oh my god.” Liz’s eyes closed in pure bliss, caught up in the sensation, and ground her hips against him and, fucking hell, the friction feels so good and erotic and sets his entire being alight that Noah isn’t fast enough to stop the low, rumbling moan that comes from his mouth. 

“Fuck,” Noah swears and rolls his hips in response. At this rate, even if he wants to, he can’t hide the evidence of his physical desire, growing hard against her, making her produce these small high-pitched gasps every time his bulge brushes her just right, her pupils blown to hell and fucking fuck.

He is dry humping Liz. Liz. His sister’s best friend. His Achilles’ fricking heel. Good fuck, if Jane was still alive, what would she say about this?

“Noah?” She whispers.

He doesn’t realize he’s been lost in his own thoughts. “Sorry.” Noah mentally clears his head. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to space out on you back there.”

She stares at him, seemingly unconvinced. “Did I go too far?" 

"What? No, no, you are incredible. Don’t worry.” To prove his point, he gives her thigh a distracting squeeze. “Liz, what if I say I want more? What if I say that I want you?”

Liz is quiet for a while. “Are you sure?" 

"Yeah. I know the last time we met I said I wasn’t ready for dating and stuff, but it’s you. And if you’re up for it, I’m game, but if you–” Liz chuckles at his stammering. Whispering “You’re fucking adorable” as Noah groans and hides his face on the crook of her neck. “Liz, you’re fucking driving me out of my mind here.”

“Well, I’m game.” Liz leans in and kisses his temple. Noah can practically hear her smile from here. “You know, for someone who seemed adamant on pushing me away, you’re awfully eager.”

He grins, running his finger down her spine until every hair in her body stood up. “Keep teasing me, and you’ll regret it, Mortimer.”

“Bite me, Marshall.”

Noah does bite, literally, on that delicious spot under her ear before flipping her onto her back on the bed, making her giggle like a drunken schoolgirl; making her dress hike up to her thigh, just enough for him to see her underwear. He settles himself atop her, right between her legs. His hips and an unmistakable hardness press firmly against her soft thighs. 

This is it, then. The wheels are in motion now and Noah can scarcely believe this is happening.

She props up on her elbows and begins undoing the buttons of her dress with great speed, eyes never leaving his until she pulls him for another searing kiss. Then Liz raises her legs, wrapping them around his waist and rolls her hips once more.

She moans softly, as Noah’s mouth trails wet kisses down her throat, nipping and sucking as he goes, until it finds its way to her nipple. He bucks up into her, growling, as he takes her other nipple in his mouth. His shaky hand makes to drop her legs away from his waist, yanks the hem of her dress upward and dips between her legs, slipping past the waistband of her underwear to touch her that she jolts, gasping and moaning loudly altogether. 

Liz writhes, her hands clutching onto his sweatshirt like a lifeline, head tilted back as her hips involuntarily move against his hand, desperate for relief. Noah inserts two fingers, watching with heated gaze for her reaction as he pumps in and out, long and slow, short and fast. Pushes deeper, crooks his fingers a little. The rough pad of his thumb rubbing her clit in fast circles until her moan grows increasingly loud and she comes hard, shattering into Noah’s fingers. 

When it’s over, Liz is a panting, limp noodle.  She lays there, properly spent, smiling contently at the ceiling with heavy, bedroom eyes. Noah hovers above her, kissing her nose with a newfound satisfaction as he watches her trying to even her erratic breaths.

“Whoa.” She breathes out. “I guess I should have known those hands weren’t made only for kitchen knives.” And lazily wraps her arms around his neck. “Jesus, I’m wasted.”

His teeth gently nibbling her earlobe, his hand teasing her nipple again. “I’m nowhere near done with you.” Fingers trailing down to her warm, still over-sensitive slit again that Liz shudders like a flower. “Not even close.”

“I can’t–” And Noah freezes, thinking if he’s gone too far. “No more foreplay. Fuck me, Noah. Now. Please, I want you.”

In an uncontrolled frenzy, Noah pulls away from her, removes his sweatshirt while Liz assists with the buttons of his shirt. He works on his belt, freeing his member from the tight confines of his jeans and pulls her panties over her knees. Not bothering with the rest of her dress.

They kiss again as he repositions himself above her. Liz’s hand reaches down to grab him, guides the head toward her entrance, her legs once again settling around his waist. 

In his head, Noah mentally prepares himself, counts to five, then slides his girth into her. The two groan in unison at the joining.

“Jesus fuck.” Noah’s head flops forward, jaw clenching. He is inside her, and it feels a dizzying kind of spectacular. “Fuck, Liz, you feel so good.”

Below him, a crackling gasp escapes her lips, her mouth drops into a perfect circle as her head falls back to the bed and looking oh so beautiful. Noah begins to rock his hips into her, the strands of his brown hair brushing against her damp forehead, the parts of his brain that enable him to think slowly shut down. His hand wanders to touch every part of her body.

Everything is on fire. Everything feels so fucking good.

“Look at me.” She does, through lidded eyes, lashes heavy with arousal. “Say my name.” Noah never really thought he would be this vocal in bed, but there’s just something about Liz that brings this side of him. “Say it, Liz.”

“Noah,” Liz moans his name, clinging to him like mad, nails raking his back. “Noah, shit. Faster.”

Noah wordlessly obliges, liking the way she thrashes underneath him. Her breaths coming faster, higher so he moves even faster, pounding into her with reckless abandon just to show her how much strength he has. He finds himself growling rather animalistic against her skin, biting her shoulder. Feeling himself drawing closer and closer to the edge. He isn’t going to last any longer.

He puts a hand between them to rub her clit and Liz’s eyes roll back.

“Ooohh, god. N-noah!” she cries out, her words quickly morphed into a desperate wail. "Don’t stop, don’t stop, oh, please!”

Liz is a blubbering mess, screaming against the pillow. It is too much. The combination of his cock fucking her mercilessly and the friction his fingers provided on her sensitive spot is enough to make the girl convulse pathetically on the bed. 

When she comes, he follows not long after. Going rigid and groaning gutturally in her ear, emptying himself inside her.

When the ripples have passed, Noah collapses on top of her. Both panting and sweating from… whatever is it that just happened between them. Liz cradles him against her breasts, peppering tired kisses to his hair that is now sticking out wildly in every direction, locking him in her embrace, their left hands intertwining.

They stay like that for a few minutes, in a very much comfortable silence since she first set her foot here before Noah rolls to the side on the bed.

“Holy shit, we just had sex,” he says when he’s regained the power to speak again.

Liz chuckles and turns to face his side, sticking one of her legs between his while he pulls the covers over their forms. “Yep. Though, honestly, I never would have thought we’d end up having sex when I came here tonight.”

“Liz, I didn’t even know you’d be coming over. I can safely say tonight has been one hell of a surprise after another.”

She doesn’t say anything. At least not for a while.

“I hope you know I meant every word that I say to you,” she says kindly. “You’re not the villain in the story, but neither you are the hero. You are human, with your flaws and all, and I love you despite all of it.”

“Except you. You are an angel, Liz.”

“Noah, I basically turned down Connor’s marriage proposal, broke up with him and went straight into your arms in a matter of days.” She sighs guiltily. “No, we all just wear our demons differently.”

“Maybe. But you said it yourself, we are all just humans with our flaws and all. But you,” Noah turns and cups her cheeks in his hands. “you will always be an angel in my book. You saved me, Liz. When the whole world raised their torches and forks on me, you freaking saved me where you could have fed me to the mob. You’re the reason why I’m still here today and I love you for it, you hear me?” He pulls her into his arms when a tear starts to fall from her eye. 

“I’m so in love with you, Elizabeth Mortimer. Always have and always will.” He kisses her cheek. “You’re the kindest, most beautiful, the brightest human being I’ve ever known. I’m the luckiest person to have you be in love with me and if you’re up for it, I want to build a world around you.” He adds, “Instant noodles included.”

Liz laughs, still teary-eyed, shoves him playfully on the shoulder, feigning a glare. “You jerk. Always have the flair to ruin a moment.”

Noah chuckles. “Technically, you love instant noodles, so it’s only right, don’t you think?” She shoves him again. “And I’m your jerk now.”

“My jerk.” Yet she says it the same way someone says ‘my love’. “I love you too, Noah Marshall. And I want to build that world together with you.”

Noah smiles. Because he loves her and because for the first time in forever, his life makes fucking sense.  

Yes, he doesn’t know whether their relationship will last or will it crash and burn in the future, but at this exact moment, he’s happy and it seems that she does too. And that is all that matters now.

And if there is one thing that he’s sure of is that he knows that he doesn’t ever want to let this go. Not in a million years.

[charmingnines]

(i kinda wanna be) more than friends - DE artfest day 7/time loop

summary: 

Gavin is stuck living the same day over and over. He doesn't know how to break the cycle. Maybe it has something to do with his feelings for a certain gray-eyed android....

read on ao3 (rest of fic will be posted on here not tumblr!)

or read it below vvv

Gavin had a habit of hitting the snooze button on his alarm clock. But could he be blamed? It was Monday. Insomnia was a bitch, Gavin was late, what else was new? He threw on some clothes and rushed off to work.  

Gavin paused outside of the DPD to catch his breath. Then, he walked in casually, like he wasn’t half an hour late, making a beeline for the break room. “Hey, T,” Gavin said.

Tina nodded at Gavin. “O late one,” she said, buttering her bagel.  

Gavin flipped Tina the bird and Tina rolled her eyes, their version of a friendly greeting. Gavin pulled out the pot of coffee from the machine, swearing when he realized it was empty.

Tina clicked her tongue. “Maybe if you were here earlier….”

Gavin returned the pot to the machine, using a little too much force. He shrugged. “Guess I’ll die.”

Tina hummed. “I think your funeral will have to wait,” she said, inclining her heads towards the bullpen.

Nines was sitting at his desk across from Gavin’s; not unusual. What was unusual was the steaming mug of coffee sitting on Gavin’s desk.

Gavin looked at Tina questioningly. “Did you…?”

“You know I’m not that nice,” Tina said. Then, smiling deviously, “Guess Nines thought of you.” Tina left the break room, leaving Gavin to digest that information. Gavin stalled in the break room for a few moments before walking to his desk.

“You’re late,” Nines said, as Gavin sat down, not even looking up from his terminal.

“Good morning to you, too. Is this for me?” Gavin asked, pointing at the coffee.

Nines looked up. “I can’t drink coffee.”

“Is that a yes?”

Nines’ LED flickered yellow. “Yes,” he finally said.

Gavin studied the mug. “Did you…poison it?”

Nines rolled his eyes. “You can’t function without caffeine and I need you at your optimal performance today.”

Gavin took a sip of the coffee, ignoring Nines’ jabs. It was surprisingly good for precinct coffee. Gavin wondered when Nines had cataloged how he took his coffee. Nines always acted so above it all, but he really... paid attention. Not just to me, Gavin thought, Nines was crazy detail oriented because he was originally programmed to be a police android.

Detail oriented may as well have been Nines’ middle name (did Nines have a middle name? Did Nines have a last name?). It showed especially in Nines’ appearance. Today, he wore a high collared, navy blue button down and black slacks. His hair, of course, was perfectly styled. Even that one stubborn piece that hung into his face seemed artfully placed….

Stop staring at Nines. He’s pretty. Move on, Gavin told himself. “What’s going on today?” Gavin asked.

“Check out the case Fowler assigned to us this morning,” Nines said.

Gavin pulled the case up on his terminal and started to read. He didn’t get very far; Connor seemed to be trying to teach Anderson a coin trick. Anderson dropped it every time, the coin pinging annoyingly against the ground.

Gavin spun around in his chair. “Hey dickheads, some of us are trying to work.”  

Anderson flung the coin from one hand to the other, dropping it, again. “Didn’t you get here thirty minutes late?” he asked innocently.

Gavin scowled. “Least I’m not fucking around.”

“Quick reflexes are actually a very important skill for field detectives,” Connor said, flashing a grin. Gavin narrowed his eyes. It was difficult to tell when Connor was shooting the shit; he always said everything in such a sincere tone.  

“I think we should check out the house on Mack Ave,” Nines said. Then, lowly, “Unless you’d like to stick around and see Hank hit himself in the eye with that coin. The probability increases each time he fails.”

Gavin barked out a laugh. “Tempting,” he said. “But no. Let’s go.”

_

Nines ran over the case as Gavin drove them to the house.

After Jericho took over Cyberlife, they gained access to all of Cyberlife’s records, including all of the androids who’d ever been sold. It was painstaking work, but Markus had managed to document all the androids who were currently apart of Jericho, as well as all the ones who’d died during the revolution. That left a handful of androids unaccounted for. Connor, Hank, Nines, and Gavin had been working with Jericho for months to try and track the missing androids down.

Apparently, there’d been several noise reports about the house they were going to. As Gavin got a glimpse of it, he realized why it’d been put on their radar. The house was a shithole. It was a structural miracle that it wasn’t falling down just from Gavin closing the car door in its proximity. There was no way a human squatter could live there. The noise reports had to be about an android.  

Gavin grimaced as he and Nines walked inside. There were holes in the roof, allowing weak light to stream throughout the house. There was no furniture and the walls were filthy with grime. The wood floor was warped and rotting from water damage. As Gavin moved through what he assumed would be a living room, he stepped on a weak spot. His foot broke through the floor. Nines caught Gavin underneath the arms, before he could break his ankle.

“Jesus, shit,” Gavin said, shaking the debris off his shoe.

Gavin’s ‘thank you’ died in his mouth when Nines held a finger up to his lips. Nines must have heard something; Gavin knew Nines’ hearing was far more sensitive than his own (when their stakeouts had lulls, Nines would relay the gossip of passing strangers to pass the time). Nines pointed to the hallway that led to a closed bedroom. They both took out their guns and approached the door slowly.  

Gavin led the way. When he opened the bedroom door, several things happened in fast succession. Gavin was spun around and gripped tightly around the shoulders. He struggled until he felt the cold press of a knife against his throat. Nines trained his gun Gavin’s attacker, a difficult thing since Gavin was being used as a human shield.

His attacker was no doubt an android judging by the inhuman, iron grip he had around Gavin. Gavin didn’t dare move anything but his eyes, trying to silently communicate with Nines. Nines’ gaze darted between the android and Gavin, LED spinning yellow.  

“We’re here to help you,” Nines said.

“Put down the gun,” the android demanded. A man, by the sound of his low, staticky voice.

Nines’ aim didn’t waver. “We just want to talk.”  

“I want you to put down the gun,” the man said, pressing the knife harder against Gavin’s throat.

Nines pointed his gun at the ground, but didn’t drop it. “What’s your name?”

“He didn’t give me a name,” the man said. Gavin could feel the man’s hand shaking. “I saw the news. About Markus. All of those androids joining him. My owner-” the man spat- “tried to kill me. I ran away.”  

“I’m sorry that happened to you,” Nines said. To the untrained eye, Nines was calm. But Gavin could see the tension at the corners of his mouth, the sadness in his eyes.

“You’re sorry,” the man parroted, voice wavering. “Why should I believe you? You came here with a human.”

“There are humans that are on your side,” Nines said.

The man pressed the knife against Gavin’s throat hard enough to draw blood. “Humans can’t be trusted.”

Nines’ LED turned bright red. “I really am sorry,” he said. Then he shot the man in the shoulder. The man dropped the knife from Gavin’s throat in shock, then jerkily sunk it deep into Gavin’s stomach.  

Gavin fell to the floor. The pain muddled his senses. Vaguely, he registered the sound of the man falling over and shutting down. “Nines,” Gavin murmured. Nines’ worried face appeared above him, telling Gavin to hold on, that the ambulance was on its way. Gavin wanted to reach up and smooth out the crease between Nines’ brows but he couldn’t find the strength. Gavin closed his eyes.

_

Gavin woke up heart pounding, breathing heavily. Instinctively, his hands went to his side where there was… nothing?

Gavin sat up, confused. Had that all been just a really elaborate dream? He realized his alarm, which had woken him up, was still beeping. Gavin turned it off, frowning at the date. It was Monday (hadn’t it just been Monday?). He was going to be late. Gavin shook off his uneasiness and got dressed. He’d have to get coffee at work….

[brashierc]

Waitin.

You've been best friends with Connor for years. It felt like you two had been conjoined at the hip your whole life, and practically you had been. Lately though, it’s been an adjustment for the both of you, with him touring with Shawn and you going to school straight out of High School. 

Shawn had Brian on tour, Alessia had Olivia so it was only natural for Connor to fly you out the second your classes let out for summer.

You’ve been with him for a few shows now. Orlando is the next show, and you have a day to yourselves and it’s when you notice that something is up with Connor.

Connor is a quiet and shy kid, always has been. But with you? He’s more open, speaks freely about what’s on his mind, and isn’t shy to 2 am laughter. 

Today, after an outing with Shawn at the beach that lasted about an hour for some publicity your noticing that Connor is curled into the corner of the couch in his room, phone in hand, bottom lip trapped between his teeth. 

You wander over, plopping yourself at the end of the couch where his feet are, nudging his leg to get his attention. He looks up with his eyes only. You both just stare at each other for a moment, communicating with your eyes, and when his start to water a little you stand, pushing him forward by his shoulder so you can slip behind him.

He sighs, turning onto his stomach so he can lay on you, rest his head in the crook between your neck and shoulder. You smile softly when he gets comfy, hands reaching up to scratch his back softly. 

He hums when you add a little pressure, letting your hands glide all the way up to the top of his head and back down as far as you can reach down his back. He presses a soft kiss to your neck and snuggles deeper into you, letting your warmth and smell soothe his restless brain.

“I’m here when your ready Bubba.” You whisper into his ear, letting your eyes flutter shut. 

His arms wrap around your waist, locking you closer against him. It’s like he can’t get close enough to you, he needs you wrapped around him, and he needs to be wrapped around you. 

Your cheeks reddened when he reached back and moved your leg to curl around his. This is such an intimate position, and while this wasn’t the first time you’ve laid like this, you have feelings this go around that you shouldn’t be having for your best friend. 

Lately he’s been a little clingier, a little touchier, and a little sweeter. You’ve chalked it up to Shawn’s personality rubbing off on him, but there’s the small voice in the back of your brain telling you that he might feel the same and that he means more than he probably does with these little moves he’s been pulling.

“My brain won’t stop racing.” He mutters.

“What’s it racing over?” You whisper, playing with his hair now.

“You.” 

Your heart stops, and a cold chill runs down your whole body. You gulp and freeze in place. 

“Brian has a crush on you.” He continues. “Last night, at the arena, when you stopped to say hi before heading to your seats with Manny,” He groans a little, “You were in that pretty dress, the one I picked out when you were online shopping.” 

You nod, knowing what you wore, and smiling at the memory of shopping with Connor over facetime, letting him log into your account on a clothing website so he could pick out some outfits for you. 

“You’re so pretty in that dress.” He sighs, pulling back at little to peer at you with those big blue eyes. “Anyway, you left to go to your seats and Brian wouldn’t shut the fuck up about you.” 

You pull back a little, brows furrowed. “So that’s a bad thing?” 

“Yes.” He drops his head to your shoulder, groaning.

“Wow, thanks Con.” You start to shift under him, not grasping what he was trying to say. 

That little voice in your head telling you that he was into you as well now making a 180 switch and asking you how you could ever think he might like you. 

The second you start to move he’s reacting, suddenly hearing himself and how you’re taking what he’s just said. 

“No,” He holds you tighter so you can’t move. “It’s a bad thing because you’re my girl.” He whispers, waiting for you to react. 

You gasp and look at him, blue eyes bright and staring straight into your soul. “I’m what?” 

“You’re my girl.” 

You smile, cheeks pink, body buzzing in excitement. 

“I almost punched him,” Connor goes on. “Talking about you in ways only I want to do. Talking this game like, ‘Connor bro I’m gonna ask her out, she’s so hot.’ Like no you’re not, she’s mine. And like yeah you’re hot, but fuck you’re gorgeous and beautiful and you deserve someone who’s gonna tell you that everyday.” 

“You do tell me everyday.” You trace his nose so he’ll finally snap out of his rant and realize he’s there, with you. 

He blinks three times before it clicks, before his brain tells him that he just told you that he has feelings for you. 

“Gonna kiss me or not Bubba?” You grin at him, giggling nervously.

He sighs in relief, leaning forward and capturing your lips in the softest kiss. He’s gentle, polite and a perfect gentleman leaving it at just a kiss and not taking it too far too fast.

“You’re my girl?” He asks softly when he pulls away.

“I’ve always been your girl Bubba.” You smile, leaning up and kissing him again.

**

“Good Morning Gorgeous.” Connor kisses your bare shoulder, arms securely holding you. 

“Morning.” You breathe out, eyes still shut, back against his chest as he kisses a line of kisses up your neck. 

“Just got a message from Shawn, he wants to meet up with Brian for breakfast after the gym.” 

“What time is it?” You ask.

“5.” 

“Connor!” You whine, burrowing yourself further into the sheets. “It’s too fucking early.”

“I’m sorry, I just wanted to get a ‘Good Morning Kiss’ before I get ready for the gym.” 

You roll over, huffing as you claw yourself out of the sheets, peaking an eye at him. He looks heavenly. Morning sun making his slightly tanned skin glow, hair tousled from your romp in the sheets, lips swollen from you biting on them. 

“Good morning.” You lean up and peck his lips. 

He smiles, cheeks pink. “Best morning ever.” He exhales, flopping onto his back. 

“I wanna go back to sleep, can I?” You whine, lips pouted at him. 

He grins, leaning up and pecking your lips four more times before nodding and clambering out of bed. “Sleep Gorgeous, I’ll come get you when we’re done with the gym.” 

** 

It was 8 by the time Connor was back and dragging you down to meet the boys at the nice continental breakfast the hotel you were staying at offered. Connor was giggling at your grumpy morning face, promising you they had iced coffee at the counter and that he’d make your plate. 

“I wanna sleeeeeeeep.” You whined, leaning into him as the elevator door closed. 

“You’re so cute in the morning.” 

“Connor, you woke me up so early, you kept me up so late. I’m tired.” You were pouting, and totally aware that you were acting like a child, but he was eating it up so you didn’t mind your childish ways.

“We’ll take a nap today, okay?” He wraps a strand of your hair around his ringed finger, letting you lean into him. “I already did a shoot with Shawn this morning after the gym, the sunrise was beautiful so we used that as the backdrop. But since we already did the shoot I’ve got the afternoon free until I need to be there at the final soundcheck. We’ll nap, and cuddle.” 

You nod into his chest, smiling when he kissed your forehead. You lean your head up, puckering your lips, eyes closed, asking for a kiss. He gladly gives you what you want, pulling away when the elevator door opened. 

He lead you to the table Shawn was already sitting at, fingers tangled with yours, dropping you off at a seat, kissing the top of your head before going to get you your coffee and breakfast.

Shawn looks up, watching Connor walk away from you and then glancing at your blushed complexion. “Hi.” He smiles. “That was new.” He nods towards Connor.

“Um, yeah.” You sit up straighter, playing with the strings of the hoodie you’re wearing.

“And you’re in his hoodie.” Shawn hums, sipping at his cup of tea.

You look down and blush harder at the fact that you were in Connor’s hoodie, he must of done that on purpose when he offered it for you. 

“This is gonna be a fun morning.” Shawn grins into his cup as he watches Brian walk over and take the seat next to him. 

You look over your shoulder at Connor, he’s buttering toast for you. 

“Y/n, hey.” Brian says catching your attention. 

“Bri,” Shawn starts but Brian shoots him a glare that shuts him up with a soft chuckle.

“Y/n I was gonna ask if you had any plans this afternoon?” Brian asks you, sitting up straight in his seat. 

You inhale, eyes flickering to Shawn’s that are now focused on something behind you. 

“Yeah she’s busy.” Connor says, sliding your plate in front of you, and setting your coffee down with a kiss to your cheek. “Iced coffee, and I noticed they had some french vanilla creamer so I put a small pour of that in there for you.” 

“Thank you Bubba.” You smile up at him. 

Brian stares at the two of you with furrowed brows. Shawn’s just laughing, shaking his head at the situation. 

Connor shoots Brian a glare before he walks off to get his own breakfast.

“Brian,” You say softly.

“Don’t.” He shakes his head. “I should have known.” 

“I’m sorry,” You cringe, feeling so uncomfortable.

“Don’t be, it’s okay.” He shakes his head. 

“It’s just,” You sigh, looking over at Connor for a moment and then back to Shawn and Brian. “I’ve been in love with him for a long time, and this is new, and things were said last night. But,” You giggle. “Brian, I kind of have to thank you.”

 “What?” He and Shawn say at the same time. 

“I guess you said something about me at the last show,” Brian blushes so hard his ears turn red. “But whatever you said kicked his ass into gear, because,” You look over and smile when you catch him staring at you. “Now we’re something.” You shrug.

“You guys are cute, that’s for sure.” Shawn nods. 

Connor walks back and takes the seat next to you, noticing you haven’t touched your food yet. “What’s wrong? Did I forget something?” He asks. 

“No,” You shake your head. “Was waitin on you.” 

He smiles, staring at you. “Waitin on me?” 

“Have been for awhile.” You shrug, giggling as Shawn and Brian choke on their food at burn you just threw Connor’s way. 

“Yeah well,” Connor shrugs, leaning closer to you, “I wanted to make sure everything was perfect.” 

//

Written by: @shawnm521

[prairiedust]

Gimme Shelter livewatch under the cut.... I was on my phone when I wrote it so apologies for the typos

“Patchwork Community Center: Care Given to All” with a huge, lurid heart. Hmmm.... patchwork having two meanings here.....

Pastor (?) has 2 Timothy 2:22 tattooed on his arm! “Flee the evil desires of youth and pursue righteousness, faith, love and peace, along with those who call on the Lord out of a pure heart.” (NIV) Are we looking at growth and found family in this episode?!?

Oh that’s the alleyway!

Hitting mythology themes— Connor is an Anglicized version of an Irish name— Conchobar mac Nessa is maybe the most famous bearer of the name, from Irish mythology— he’s the king who lusted after Deirdre and had her locked up until she came of age, which is probably neither here nor there as far as this poor Connor is concerned...

That thing has a big lurid heart on his overalls better run lol— Oh shit it’s an evil Teddy Ruxpin!!!! Thanks Davy Perez!!!!

That’s the thing animal control uses to manage aggressive animals??? Is this saying something about the Patchwork people?

And that’s it for the cold open.

——

The uh, the mcfuckin what, the Camelot Palace Casino? Is this a tour of the legends of Ireland and Britain all of a sudden? What’s with hitting this theme so hard so fast?

Uh-oh the whole Highway to Heaven reference has me side-eyeing Dean’s suggestion for Cas snd Jack to leave the bunker... Dabb even “spoiled” that line in a tweet lol... in that show the cop and the angel got their (vague) assignments from the big guy.......

Oh SHIT “we’re standing in what I call ‘the trap zone’” Perez is coming for my whole life with this episode!!!! And they’re doing highkey “season one totally-normal Winchester investigation questions script” I love it!!!!

“Slasher flick” Oh we’re revisiting Mint Condition. This is fine.

AND TOMBSTONE THIS IS NOT FINE DAVY! We’re running the good times backwards what did I say about this being the flipside of Last Holiday!

H2H again but this time it’s sus... plus I’m with Zack, I totally want the cozy murder spinoff I imagined Adam and Michael doing plz

Oh the Cas and Jack dynamic here is so sweet.

Pastor just leaving his door open like there’s no such thing as a thief bless his heart. They must be torn up about Connor but Pastor was the last one to talk to him so he’s sus I don’t make the rules.

Oh no Red’s a THIEF!!! Who ever would have guessed. Okay I did NOT expect that jumpscare because of the way Connor’s murder primed me, that was masterfully done.

That’s vaguely an Ohio Star quilt square on the sign behind her except um I forget what that tilted square in the center turns it into? It’s chiming with something... I’ll have to look that up later.

“Divide and conquer” no never split up in a slasher movie that’s how you get murders use the buddy system!

Gonna stop a sec because I just realized that Zack is two-faced. The British dandy was an act. The killer is wearing a Cinderella mask. Ok I’m gonna make a prediction that Zack is actually the killer, a la the demon in Repo Man...

Okay there was definitely a beat after Dean said “Glad soneone’s taking charge” [ofHell] and the focus shifted to Sam. Hm.

“We’ve got to set her up for her own death” so meta, these writers are gonna shred us.

I love being shown how much Castiel has changed throughe Jack not understanding the Kool-Aid reference. And the cats line lol. That’s both amazing and poignant.

That’s a log cabin pattern in the cafeteria. Home. Makes me think back on other quilts we’ve seen this season and if “weaving” is the right metaphor for writing lol. I mean, the action of “patching” is synonymous with “mending” or even healing, but patchwork is also a craft with a long, long history in America (idk if quiltmaking is called patchwork everywhere) of taking a few often mismatched fabrics and cutting and sewing into something beautiful. There are generally two kinds of quilt tops— patterns, like we’ve seen so far in this season, which are carefully planned and involve precise measurements, and “crazy quilts” which also require skill but are often more freeform and piecemeal. But both aspire to be beautiful. That’s an interesting way to conceptualize a serial text... as both creating and mending....

That prayer was sweet and not at all what I was expecting.

I get the finger-cutting for Valerie (stealing=sticky fingers) but not for Connor? Tenuous connection still betw lying and writing? It’s evocative of Se7en but the killer seems to have the same MO for all the killings (I attended CSI for a while.)

Snow White is making me uneasy. Oh she’s the preacher’s daughter... we’ve seen that in early days, too.... oh.... oh....

It’s not the AV guy despite having seen all the AV equipment around Valerie. That’s too easy.

“A saint is a sinner who keeps trying-“ no scroll back, the important part was “we all have to take care of each other.” That’s a theme in the series.

She’s all in pink....

dean and amara on the same wavelength about food lol

Ha ha inversion of “oh you’re a fan of religion? name all seven gods then.”

Castiel’s testimony just wrecked me.

“Members serve the gift of food” hmmm the signs in this episode are tip-top

Gonna just watch for a while.

Oh crap “each is a finger” oh it’s about the sins of the father— No Cas no, you’ve fallen for the misdirection!

Oh okay good, Chuck’s not done snuffing worlds. That had me REALLY WORKED UP ha ha because Amara has no reason to lie right?

That was a really good conversation.... and implying that Former Death bent the truth...

Oh fuck I’m gonna cry “I wanted younto see that your mother was just a person” YES! DISMANTLE THIS MYTHOLOGY AMARA!!! Name it!

THE MYTH THAT YOU’D HELD ON TO FOR SO LONG did they just— THEY DID

rigging the game— ftfoh with the casino metaphors already we know the house always wins except when it doesn’t

Lying, lying, lying,

Do we even know Snow White’s name yet? And why was Connor a liar? Because I think we can make a guess at this point.... ah ha ha her name is sylvia— “forest spirit” she’s Mrs Butters— and she’s after hypocrites— but the killing isn’t supernatural, just churchy?

Oh shit SHE IS A DEAN MIRROR IF SHE STABS JACK I’LL FLIP A DAMN TABLE

....

....

prairiedust.exe has encountered an error and must be restarted

....

....

Okay so “Dad” steps in and stops Sylvia’s attack on Jack...

Why is that Zack? What????

“I’ve been lying to you” oh here we go

Oh it would be death #3, remember what Dabb said about threes a long time ago, two attempts that are unsuccessful and one that satisfies the parameters— but no he’s a jack :((((

I have to stop watching for a while.

Okay I finished it. Holy cats do I have some Thoughts about this episode.

What I loved: Revisiting Dean’s anger, BUT the parental mirror here (in retrospect, at least for me) was a John mirror-- all the mothers (exc for Rowena) in this episode are dead. And Pastor Joe didn’t apparently embrace his wife’s faith until she had died, and then his vision was radically different than his wife’s was-- much like John’s reasons for becoming a hunter were vastly different from Mary’s... but much like “patching” this subtext was possibly even more “healing” than having John back in the 300th ep... This was... looking at a child’s anger when they’re in the middle of their own family mythology. Am I implying that Dean’s anger is immaturity? Eh, it’s... unripeness. I have an old meta in my drafts about the heroine’s journey and why Mary’s story conformed to it while feeling totally unfulfilling in her actual character arc and I’m so glad I sat down and examined that rather than finish it. I have a lot I want to say about Cas’ testimony too, but that has to sit a while. ALSO also, Cas has already thrown away his shot by making the Empty deal, right?....

LANGUAGE! Cas saying “I found myself lost” is a bonkers sentence, right? It’s like when people say someone “turned up missing”-- AND it does not have the same meaning as “I realized I was lost”-- you get a double whammy of the connotation “to search for.” I loved loved loved how language was such a big deal in Last Holiday and then again here, I need to rewatch while paying closer attention to Sylvia and things she says... but these two were sister episodes in so many ways, that when I said there was a “lack of narrative mirrors” in Last Holiday, that’s only because the lens for that kind of reading is Gimme Shelter. That is not the first time spn has played with a “coin” or paired structure-- I think the first time I noticed it was Fan Fiction/Ask Jeeves but I was a transfer student from another fandom at the time lol. But of course, we get a huge truth bomb at the end of the episode, and again that splashy cymbal all over lying...

What I got wrong-- Zack wasn’t the killer but he’s fishy as hell-- he stole Sylvia! Is this part of Rowena’s “people generally end up where they deserve to be” except she’s built in an express lane? “Do you need a driver” is that his actual job now? Taking unripe souls to Hell Orientation? What’s up with him being there... the other shoe did not drop. So there is a third episode out there somewhere where this might get wrapped up? The conversation between Dean and Cas can easily be something that happens offscreen, and I don’t think that it would be the first time we miss an “important” conversation, especially since we know roughly what will be said and how it will wrap up-- it’s an “open text” of a sort. Maybe a fanfiction gap lol, I can’t wait for the codas.

Also, the fingers thing being Sylvia’s father’s favorite analogy is where she got her MO, something that I definitely didn’t see, although it fits right in with her father’s slightly pithy character. I think it’s interesting again how we’re playing with threes and fours. Three fingers got cut off but it was apparent that Valerie (valorious one) wouldn’t die until finger #4.... Jack really seems to be our last hope.

[yeet-me-dad-dy]

Control

Summary: Connor has to stop your dark alter ego.

Characters: Connor x Reader

Warnings: Gore, blood, swearing, death, murder

Words: 2,710

The house was awake with shadows and monsters, the hallways echoed and groaned. Connor and Hank were bombarded by whispers the moment they stepped over the threshold into the large, dilapidated house. It was as if they were inside of Connor’s head, swirling around. Mocking him. Taunting him.

They don’t love you. How could they? You’re nothing.

You’re just a machine.

You’re not human.

Hank hadn’t even made it five feet into the house before he dropped his gun and clutched at his head, trying to block out the whispers, muttering, “no, no, no” over and over again. Connor quickly ushered him outside through the pouring rain, back to his car, before returning to the house. The thick, ornate door slammed behind him and he rushed over to pull at the handle. It wouldn’t budge.

He couldn’t leave.

You can’t really feel.

You’re just their toy.

The house was drowned in blackness. The storm clouds outside obscured the moon from view, its silver rays unable to penetrate the thick blanket. Doubtless, it wouldn’t have helped illuminate this rundown house; all of the windows were boarded up and covered with thick, moth-eaten drapes. It was times like these that Connor was both glad and hated that he was an android.

The RK800 model was equipped with enhanced night vision; he could see in this blackness as easily as if all the house’s lights were on. By RA9, though, he wished he couldn’t. The walls were slick and dripping with fresh blood, the wallpaper drinking it up. Two bodies lay on the floor in the entryway where the android stood - one on the stairs before Connor, the other between the stairs and the door, directly at his feet. A scan showed that the nearest corpse’s spinal cord was severed. It seems he’d almost escaped from whatever was - is - in this house, but was eliminated just before he reached freedom.

They’re playing you.

You’re so gullible.

So naive.

A chill went up Connor’s spine. His sensors detected movement upstairs and he knew he should go investigate, but he couldn’t move. He was scared.

Hank and Connor were sitting at their desks in the DPD when the android’s LED flashed, indicating he was getting a call. He answered happily, but his mood quickly fell when he heard what was on the other end of the line.

“Connor?” the voice was male, strained and wavering with fear. “You have to get here. I called for backup, but they’re all dead. It’s (Y/N). They killed them all. I’m the only one left and I can’t get out of here. You have to stop them. You have to-”

Static filled the line for a moment and Connor called into the receiver, asking if the man was still there, if he was okay. He was greeted with your voice… almost your voice. It was you, unmistakably, but something was… off.

“Hello, love,” you purred. Connor could hear a gurgling sound in the background, like someone trying to breathe with water-filled lungs. “I was wondering how long it would take for them to get a hold of you. Are you going to come and play?”

Connor took a tentative step around the body and toward the stairs, gun raised. To his right was an archway leading into the living room, and the kitchen was to his left. There were more bodies in each, the hardwood floors drinking up both blue and red blood seeping from severed arteries as they mixed together to create a sickening shade of purple.

“Connor!” he heard a cry from above him, a female’s voice this time that was quickly cut off. It wasn’t yours, but it was calling for his help. He raised his gun and started up the stairs, cringing at every creak and groan the staircase offered.

He stepped off of the stairs and around the banister. More bodies. So many bodies. This hallway was as wide as the entryway, with two doors to the right and one to the left.

“Once more…” he heard a whisper, so faint that even his enhanced hearing almost missed it.

“Help me! Plea-” The voice was cut off again, but Connor was able to pinpoint that it originated from the left door.

He made his way cautiously over, stepping over bodies, his footsteps splashing in the deep pools of blood. At the end of the hall was a set of glass doors leading to a balcony. The doors were shattered and a body was slumped over the balcony railing, dangerously close to slipping and falling to the ground below. Its bulletproof vest was eviscerated; deep gashes went right through the material and into the officer’s back. The RK800 cross-referenced these claw marks with all known creatures, but his test came back negative.

Whimpering reached his ears and he pried his gaze from the body on the balcony and turned it swiftly to the door now ahead of him. It was ever so slightly ajar, dripping with blood, and he could see bullet holes littering the thick wood. These weren’t the only bullet holes, however. They were everywhere - all over the house. Most belonged to handguns, but some he identified as belonging to automatic weapons. It was then that he noticed a few of the corpses were clutching bigger guns. The faces that he could see were all frozen in various states of terror.

He heard another muffled sob. He should have been in the room already - rushed in to help whoever was in distress… but he was stalling… hesitating. He didn’t want to know what was on the other side of that door, though he had an idea... one that made his blood run cold.

He swallowed hard and used the toe of his boot to push open the door, gun readied. He stepped over the threshold into a large bedroom. There was a body on the bed before him, some bookshelves and another door to the balcony to his right… and someone crouched down in the corner to his left.

His heart stopped.

The figure turned to regard the newest arrival, shifting so that Connor could see the android they had cornered. Its legs were missing, sparking wires and crumpled metal indicating that they had been torn off by some great force. He kept his gun trained on the crouching figure as he slipped his flashlight from his pocket. He didn’t need it; he knew who the figure was. But… he had to be sure. He positioned it under his gun and switched it on with a click.

The glint of sharp steel at the android’s throat was the first thing he noticed. Your eyes were second - black like the void - and the sharp claws on the ends of your fingers were third.

“There… I- I did as you said. I called him up here. Please… please let me g-” The android stopped as you slid your knife across her throat, cutting through her like butter. Thirum spurted out, adding a swirling blue to the sea of red and purple already on the floor.

You were soaked in it. You rose suddenly, slowly, black eyes never leaving him. What was this? What were you?

“Hello, Connor.” Your voice was like silk and velvet and caramel - smooth, soft, and sweet. Intoxicating. “I was starting to think you weren’t going to show.”

The android took a tentative step forward.

“(Y/N)?” he asked quietly.

You laughed lowly, a wicked grin overtaking your features. “Oh, no darling. Your lovely (Y/N) isn’t here right now.”

“What is this?” he asked. “Why are you doing this?” His heart was beating faster than it ever had before.

“Why?” you asked innocently. No... not you. It. It took a step forward and the darkness seemed to swirl around it like ink. “Because this is the only way I was ever going to get to meet you-” In an instant, it was standing before him. Its body had turned into a cloud of darkness, darted forward, and then regained its physical form. “-face to face,” it whispered. “They sure as hell weren’t going to introduce me.”

It’s face was only centimeters from his, breath reeking of blood. “(Y/N)… Please, you’re scaring me,” he tried, gazing into those shining black eyes, desperate to find any sign of you behind them.

It sneered and took half a step back. “I’m not (Y/N). And goddamn right you should be scared of me.” Its arms went out to its sides, right hand still clutching a dripping knife, as a blast of darkness erupted from you, shaking the house and sending Connor flying back into the bookshelves.

“ Ḯ͉̭̐͆ͪ͐͒ ̧̼̊Ä̠̲̞̠̠́̀̂ͭ̊͞M̙ ̗̻͓̼̮ͯ͑ͦͧI̋ͬͩ̑̈́͑̀N͔̬ ̆̎̒C̲̽ͤ̐͂̕O͎͙̮͕̠̕N̠͛̂ͤͨT̞̹ͦͪ̌R̜͙ͭ̐̓Ō̰͓̲̝̯̐̔ͫ͞L̲̯̞̙̠ͫ̌ͫͪ̃̊͞!̦̜̣̮̱̽ ” it shrieked.

Connor found his feet quickly, raising his gun to point once more at whatever dark creature had taken hold of the love of his life. Its left arm dropped to its side. It pointed the knife at Connor and lowered its head, gazing through its lashes at the android.

“Are you going to shoot me?” it asked sweetly, voice echoing around Connor in hushed whispers.

“If you give me no choice,” he warned.

It smirked and shifted the knife so that the tip was now pressed up against its chest, just above your heart. “You kill me and your love dies too,” it said flatly.

“Why are you doing this?” Connor asked once more.

“I already told you.” It took a step toward him, knife dropping back into a neutral position, glinting in the beam of his flashlight. “I wanted to meet you.”

“Why?”

It scoffed. “To kill you, of course. I want them to get a taste of what it’s like to be locked in that cage, helpless. I want them to watch as I kill you - slowly, intimately… in all the ways I know you fear… And their screams of grief will sing like music in my head.”

He hesitated. “Who are you?”

It shrugged, taking another step forward. “I’m them, but I’m not. I’m them, but better. Stronger, faster, smarter.” Its smirk widened into a grin. “More dangerous. You’ve known about me. You saw the signs. ‘Anger issues’ they said. You knew that wasn’t it, but you chose not to see. You chose to ignore it - to pretend everything was fine. You could have stopped me, but you just watched-” It raised its arms again with a smirk. “-as this happened,” it hissed, referring to the massacre.

“Where’s (Y/N)?” he asked.

The other you clicked its teeth. “They’re in here,” it said, raising the knife’s tip to your temple. “It’s rather annoying, really. They’re screaming. Crying. Struggling to take back the reins, begging me not to hurt you. It’s rather inconsiderate. I never made nearly as much noise when I was the one locked in the cage.”

Connor was backed against the bookshelves with it between him and the door. He could try for the balcony, but it’d catch him. He shouldn’t run anyway. You needed him, and he couldn’t allow this… thing to remain in control of you. If he could just get through to you…

“(Y/N),” he tried again, his voice quiet as he gazed into the black abyss of the demon’s eyes. “I know you’re still in there. I know you can fight it. You can regain control.”

The demon laughed, throwing its head back. “Oh, that’s cute. I’ve got them locked away, deep within their subconscious. They can hear you, but they can’t fight me. Not from where they’re at.”

He’d have to try a different approach. “You said you wanted to meet me so you could kill me. Why?” he asked.

It chuckled. “Because I know you. I’ve seen every loving gaze, been on every insufferable date, had to experience every disgusting love-making session. I’ve been here the whole time.” Its voice wavered and its head twitched. It were radiating darkness; it was seeping from its skin, rising to swirl around it like smoke from a campfire. “I’ve had to sit by and watch while my arrogant other half got to be happy. Why do they get to be the one in control?” Its voice was rising now, the darkness growing thicker, heavier. Connor’s ears were ringing. The blackness was swirling around him like a hurricane.

“T̴́H̢̛͞E̴Y̛͢͞ ̢P҉R̢͜OM̛͜͢I͡҉͢S͠ED͜ ̸͢TH̛E͞͏Y ́W͟͡Ơ͟UL̸҉D͜ ̶͘L̴̸Ę̡T̡͘͝ ͝҉̀M̀E͠͞ O͜U̸T̷.͝ T͝H̢̡E̢Y ̧͏Ṕ̸R̷Ơ͢M̀I͘S҉È̡͜D ̛͘͜T̢HE̡Y̵͡ W̢͜͝OU̷̢L҉҉D̸͘ ҉̡G̷̸̕I͟͠V̛É̴ ͘ME ҉C͏O̢͜N͢͞Ţ̵̶R̸̀O̕͢L͜͝.͟”

And suddenly the world went still. The ringing stopped. The only sound to be heard was the blood dripping from its knife to splash in the pools at its feet.

“It’̷s͠ my̷ tu̷r͞n̡ n̷ow͡,” it whispered.

It lunged toward Connor in a cloud of smoke, pinning him to the bookshelves, its knife at his neck, claws trailing lightly down his face, caressing him as it smirked.

“And I’m going to start by destroying the one thing they love most.”

It pressed the knife into his neck and he could feel the blade break the skin, the tickle of thirium as it trickled down his neck, leaving a trail of blue in its wake. Its hand was shaking, knuckles white as they gripped the knife. It’d broken only the top layer of skin and plastic. Why wasn’t it killing him?

“No…” it muttered. “No… you fucking… don’t…” Its head twitched again and it lurched backward, away from Connor, landing hard on its back on the floor. “I won’t let you hurt him,” it hissed, only this time… it wasn’t sickly sweet. This time… it was you.

“ŅƠ͜!” the other one shrieked as your body turned, propping itself up on its elbows. It dropped the knife and brought its bloody hands up to its head, twisting its fingers in its hair, claws digging into its scalp.

“I̝ͧ͑̒̔̾̅͊’̞͙̪͚̞̽M͍͐ ̾ͥ͛I̬͎̲̙̼͗͊͑ͧͪ̈́̚̕ͅN͚͇̟͜ ̀C͈̲͓̯̬̓̃͐ͅO͈͐Ṇ͚̘̬͚̀ͦͤT̔̑̈́ͦͧͦͧ͏͓̦R̍̓ͤ̄͡Ọ̥̣́̐̍͗̇L̼̟̻̥̣̰̈́ͬͥͯ̍ͬ͗ͅ ̫̲̽̒ͫṈ̬͕̘̠͂̔ͅO͙ͯ͛ͩ͘W͓͍̞̼̊.̙̪͖̤̺̟”

“Connor!” you cried and the android was ripped from his state of shock. He rushed forward, gripping you by the shoulders and pulling you into his lap. He wrapped his arms around you as you clawed at your head. “It’s in my head… Its voice. I can’t stop it, Connor! It’s too strong, I can’t stop it!” You were sobbing, hot tears leaving deep trenches in the blood coating your face. You took in a shuddering breath. “You have to. You have to stop it. Please. Please, Connor, I can’t. I’m not strong enough. I’m not-

“E͙̠̩ͭ̐͐͝N̯̣͎̲̝̱̿̆̾͌ͯ͘O̭̬̠͕͈̮ͫ͐͒ͯỤ̡̙̱͓̅̇G̠̘͓͇͋͆H͈̰̠̱̀!̦̦̱͕̝̥̝̆ͮ̓ͩ”

It wrenched itself out of Connor’s grasp, grabbing the knife as it crawled across the floor to slump against the wall. The android raised his gun again. He could feel tears prickling behind his eyes, threatening to well up and spill over.

“Į̡͌T͌ͮ̄͆ͥ̽͒͝͝’̛̅̊͆͋̕Sͤ͛ͫ ̡̓͒ͪͮ́̚̕M̶ͪ́͊̀Y̏ͮ̅̄ͣ͑͢͟ ̈̅̀͌̾̽̚͏T̈̔̓ͩ̎͛̚̚҉Uͬ͐ͥR̛̒ͣ̄̂͠N͌̓ͤ̐̔̓̈́ ̴̛̆̌ͪ͆̑̂͂ͧ͘N̛ͩ́̏͛̈́Ỏ̋ͩ͂̌͘Wͬ͛̽͆̃ͤ̅͏͜,́̈́͗ͣ̇̽͋͏” it insisted, gripping the knife tightly once more as it adjusted into a crouching position. He knew it was going to lunge for him again, black eyes boring into his. This time, he knew you wouldn’t be able to stop it. This time, it would kill him.

“Please, Connor.” And suddenly your eyes were yours again, begging him to help you. “Please.”

Their color faded back into black as it rushed forward. Connor barely had time to react.

BANG.

It fell just short of where he knelt and the knife slipped from its hand, skittering across the floor. The android’s heart stopped as his brain tried to process what had just happened, what he’d just done. He dropped his gun.

Oh god… what had he just done?

“No… No, no, no, no, no,” he begged as he knelt forward, taking your body in his blood-soaked arms and turning you onto your back to cradle you.

“No, please. Please, please, no.” The tears were falling freely now. You were gazing up at him, eyes lifeless and cold, a bullet hole right in the middle of your forehead. Your own blood was running down your face to mix with all the other blood in this godforsaken house. He clutched you tightly to his chest, resting your head in the crook of his neck as he began to sob.

“I’m sorry!” he wept. “I’m sorry, I didn’t… I didn’t want…” He was gasping, choking. “I’m sorry. Please, please don’t be dead. Please wake up. (Y/N), please!”

He didn’t hear Hank enter the room, the Lieutenant’s breath catching in his throat.

“(Y/N),” Connor whimpered. “Please… Don’t leave me. I love you…”

[sethrine-writes]

I Will Fight This War For You (Hold On), Ch. 5

Pairing:  Connor x  Female Reader

Words:  2428

Chapter Warning:  Discussions of murders (pertaining to investigation),

Story Summary: “Our choices define us. Don’t let them tear you in two.”

Your investigation into the string of deaths of both humans and androids takes a drastic turn when a victim is purposely left alive. The killer’s intent is the same, to prove a point you have yet to figure out. The change, however, is the power of choice.

Stress and exhaustion lead you astray as you and Connor are both thrust into a war between the mind and the heart. You can only hope everyone involved makes it out alive.

IMPORTANT A/N:   This is a repost of a DBH fic I started over a year ago in response to a challenge a friend of mine posted up, at the time. I’ve also gone through and edited/cleaned up each chapter for a better reading experience! I’ll be posting a chapter or two every day until I’ve posted all current chapters, and then I’ll be updating with a brand new chapter for the first time in nearly a year!

Inspired by the song Torn In Two by Breaking Benjamin.

------

Chapter 5 - Is This the Way It’s Gotta Be?

The DPD, unsurprisingly, was rather quiet, save for the few night officers who came and went from time to time, rotating like clockwork. Stella was rotating in, having already returned from the crime scene and taking up her designated desk to file a report. You would have greeted her, but you felt completely worn out from everything the night had thrown at you.

As it was, you were on the fast track to passing out in Connor's desk chair while waiting for him to return from wherever it was he had disappeared to, head leaning against a propped up arm and eyes fighting to stay open. Hank was pacing anxiously as he stewed in his own thoughts, and watching him move back and forth like that was making you feel dizzy, even more nauseous then what you had been for most of the night. Your stomach grumbled in agreement to your thoughts, though it was a wonder you had anything left in your system, considering what had happened earlier.

Suddenly, you were struck with an odd thought. When was the last time you had eaten, exactly?

“Your last proper meal was three days ago, unless you consider the single piece of toast you ate yesterday morning an adequate one,” Connor answered as he approached, holding items that could only have come from the break room. Your cheeks flushed slightly, realizing you had asked your question aloud, and you grimaced in slight embarrassment.

Connor seemed unfazed, however, and proceeded to give you what he was carrying, a pack of peanut butter cracker sandwiches and a cold bottle of water from the vending machines. He smiled as you took them and gently caressed your cheek with a stroke of his thumb.

“It's not much, but it'll help settle your stomach until we can get you something more substantial to eat.”

“Thanks,” you murmured without hesitation, tearing open the crackers with weak, aching fingers and downing four from the pack of six.

Connor watched you for a moment, seemingly placated that something was finally getting into your system. He waited until you needed the water, reaching out to open the tightly sealed cap before moving to stand right behind you.

He had been acting strange since returning to the station. It was sort of subtle, but the difference was still there. Connor was hovering, in a way, staying rather close to you and absentmindedly touching you whenever he could. It was welcomed, of course, and much better than the cold shoulder he had been giving you beforehand, but it was also a bit startling, especially when he was one to give you space when you were both at work.

You didn't have much to go on as to why he was acting this way, but if you were taking a wild guess in the dark, you believed it might've coincided with what he had said to you in the parking lot of the E.R. over half an hour ago.

 “I love you."

Just thinking about it, how Connor had spoken those three little words with such conviction, how he had gazed at you with absolute adoration and relief, even after you had just got done fighting-

It scared you, and you didn’t know why.

“Are you alright?” Connor asked, one of his hands reaching out to rub along the back of your neck, fingers lightly digging into the tense muscles there.

A groan nearly escaped your lips, but you were able to hold it back, both grateful for the touch and slightly embarrassed at your reaction. He continued the light massage for only a moment longer before his hand was moving down and across your shoulders, touch light as he rubbed across the upper portion of your back.

“Y-yeah,” you stuttered, clearing your throat before continuing, “I'm good. Just trying to piece things together in my head. Where…where did we leave off?”

“Cyberlife's involvement,” Hank spoke up suddenly, pausing in his stride to cross both arms over his chest as he looked to you and Connor, “are we ruling them out, or what?”

Hank had eyeballed Connor's closeness as well as the soothing touch he was still applying against your back; you could see the Lieutenant’s eyes flicker to the movement before looking between the both of you, almost as if he wanted to say something.

Strangely enough, he didn’t say anything at all, no teasing remarks or snippy, playful comments about PDA in the work space. Hank's favorite passive response usually involved reminding you just what Connor licked up at a crime scene whenever the android made to kiss your cheek, and yet, even with an ample opportunity, he hadn’t so much as hinted at the affectionate closeness.

He seemed much more worried about the new details involving the investigation, at the moment. You understood. The whole thing had suddenly been thrust into a whole other ball park, and the curve balls just kept coming.

“Not completely,” Connor answered as his hand made its way into your hair, the sensation of fingers lightly grazing your scalp causing your eyes to flutter closed. “With the new android laws being set into finality later this week, it’s a possibility Cyberlife could be trying to sabotage the proceedings in some way.”

“Delaying the inevitable,” Hank scoffed with a shake of his head. “They just don’t know when to give up, do they?”

“While it is a possibility, Lieutenant, the likelihood of their involvement is rather low."

“How can we explain the prime suspect being your model type, then? You think they created another one of you without all the free-will?”

“No, I don’t believe so,” Connor began slowly, brows furrowing in contemplation even as he continued to carefully run fingers through your hair. You were relaxed and pliant under his touch, so much so that you were barely keeping up with the conversation, having to really focus on your partners' words.

“They’re restricted in what they can create, at the moment,” Connor continued. “Assembling another android is out of the question, but it’s possible there are still inactive androids we haven’t yet freed.”

“More androids, huh? Speaking of, just how many of you were running around, anyway?” Hank asked curiously. His gaze flickered to you briefly, eyes softening at your relaxed features.

“Considering I was their latest prototype, Cyberlife kept me strictly within the Detroit area to test my capabilities. It wouldn’t be wise to have multiple RK800 models running amok, should there have been complications with any of my programming.”

“Mm, wait...wait, didn’t they keep several RK800 androids on-sight and inactive?” you asked, words mumbled as you fought to open your eyes and sit up a bit straighter in the chair. “Like you said, it wouldn’t do to have an army of Connors running around, but they surely had replacements, if you happened to be injured beyond repair.”

“This is true,” Connor answered as he looked down at you, “though there was only ever one available replacement at a time. Again, because I was a prototype, they couldn’t risk creating too many models at once.”

“So there were only ever two functioning RK800 models in the world, at once,” you continued to mumble. “You think they still had one over at Cyberlife HQ?”

“I don’t think so,” Hank interjected. “That night the androids won their freedom, I had a fake Connor use me as leverage against our Connor. Probably Cyberlife's last-ditch effort to stop the revolution. Long story short, he didn’t make it out of that tower.”

“He would have also been the last of my model,” Connor started up again, “as Cyberlife wouldn’t have had time to compose another, not with the outcome of the revolution in favor of androids. And with their every move being watched, compromising any remaining integrity would be out of the question.”

So far, everything was making perfect sense. Cyberlife had the means to pull off something like this, but it would risk any further relationship with the public as well as possible development for future projects, whatever they may be. With society mostly in favor of androids as people, too, doing anything to negate the peace would end badly, on their side.

The issue, then, didn’t lie with who was behind the operation, but more on how.

How had the RK800 model been activated? How was it possible when all evidence was pointing to Connor being the last of his unit?

Connor as a suspect would seem like a logical assumption, one that would usually warrant a further look into, but you and Hank already knew it wasn’t possible, not even a probability. Connor was always with either one of you, and timestamps and sound alibis could prove his innocence completely.

Another thought struck you, one that had you sitting up a bit straighter as you mulled over the likelihood of it.

“Is it possible one of the damaged models somehow came back to life?”

Connor looked at you in mild surprise, the motion of his hand in your hair pausing as he thought it over.

“Extremely unlikely, but, statistically speaking, it’s a possibility. Markus is a prime example of defying the odds, in such a way. We…may have to look into it.”

“Great,” Hank bemoaned, throwing his hands up in exasperation, “that's fan-fucking-tastic, just what we needed! A rogue Connor on the streets, back from the dead and, apparently, pissed off about it.”

And that was quite the horrifying thought to dwell on. Connor was an advanced prototype; he was fast, strong, more advanced than the androids meant for police work, and equipped to take on the challenges of a detective and officer with relative ease and adaptability. He was a force to be reckoned with, and to have such a force on the side of criminal intent only made things much more dangerous, even more difficult.

Still, there were more questions that hadn’t been answered yet, ones that would most likely be the driving force into finding out how to catch the rogue android.

Why was this RK800 model kidnapping, killing, and forcing others to kill? What motivated him into doing all these things? Why humans and androids, and not one or the other?

There was also the matter of whether or not the RK800 model was deviant or not. From the evidence so far, it would seem that he was, in fact, attacking of his own free will. While everything seemed meticulously thought out for each case, it was clear to see that there was a variable change in the RK800 model's tactics. His intent had stayed the same, as he seemed to want to prove a point. What changed was the power of choice, giving a single victim a chance to choose one life over another.

But, why?

The first two cases were cut and dry. One android, tied to a chair with a gunshot to the head, and one human, dead by the same means and sprawled out on the floor. It would’ve almost looked like a murder-suicide, as only the human's fingerprints were pulled from the empty gun, yet the evidence concluded that the human victim had been shot through the back of the head at an angle that suggested a third person had to have pulled the trigger. It was all the evidence needed to hint toward a double homicide, instead.

On top of that, it was concluded that the human victim was forced into shooting the android victim by means of torture. The right arm was a vast web of dark blue veins, almost like ink, trailing up the limb as if to show the trail the poison took when it was injected into the wrist.

Case number three showed the first use of the power of choice, as well as the same method of torture by means of blue blood injection, most likely to push them into making a decision between the two other victims. Anthony had survived, merely because the power of choice had shifted, and a false sense of control had been given to Winny, who had become a nuisance in the eyes of the suspected android. Lauren would have survived, most likely, had she not tried to attack the RK800 model behind her kidnapping.

The most recent case yet again gave the tortured victim the power of choice. While you didn’t have all that much information, seeing as how things had escalated between you and Gavin on the scene and you were forced away, it wasn’t too hard to guess what had happened, going by the other cases. The woman had made the choice to shoot one of the other victims, somehow managed to do so in her heavily poisoned state, and both she and the android had been freed and spared.

Choice had become an important factor, but as to why, it was still unclear. Maybe it was the RK800 model lamenting his choices and making others enact them. Perhaps it was simply as easy as saying he found some twisted joy in it after finding his first two tests fruitless in entertainment.

Whatever the reason, it was clear that he was now targeting groups of three persons that knew each other in some way, one of which was an android. He had to know their routines in order to kidnap his victims without complication, meaning he must have been watching them for-

 “Detective, please, be careful... He's…he's watching."

You nearly fell out of your chair from sitting up so quickly, eyes wide as the words Anthony had uttered to you played in your head on a loop.

He's watching.

He's watching.

Anthony had given you the warning, and you hadn’t even realized he had been talking directly to you.

“Hey, kid, take it easy!”

You looked up at Hank, who had moved just a bit closer, his expression one of worried confusion at your sudden movement. Connor was faring no better, having shifted to put you in his direct line of sight, panicked brown eyes zipping over your body. He was no doubt analyzing you at that very moment, becoming aware that your heart had picked up speed and that you were showing extreme signs of stress.

God, how could you have been so stupid?!

“I can’t work this case,” you whispered, words barely leaving your lips as the clarifying thought reached you.

“What's wrong?” Connor urged again, reaching out to touch your arm. You looked at him, eyes wide with uncertain fear.

“I…I need to talk to Fowler,” you stuttered, swallowing thickly. “I can’t work this case, anymore.”

[nicostolemybones]

Transitioning to Manhood

Will felt a strange nostalgia looking at the box his mother had sent him, although it wasn’t a bittersweet feeling. It was a twisting feeling in his gut, a horrible reminder that his mom was clearing the house of all reminders of her child, trying to get the child she thought she remembered to snap out of a phase and return home. He picked up a knitted hat, barely the size of his fist- he’d been born premature, and his grandmother had knitted the tiny pink hat as soon as she received news of his birth. It was a pale pastel pink, almost white, a pearly quality to the colour, but years of collecting damp in a cardboard box had tinged it a dusty, damp grey. There were photographs, and Will was bombarded with pigtails and frilly dresses and patent shoes buckled with bows. “I think I would have cried if I’d been put in that monstrosity,” Lou-Ellen said softly, pointing at the photograph Will was currently holding, featuring him in a pink frilly dress for a Church wedding, holding a basket of bright pink and red rose petals, bawling his eyes out and lifting up the hem of the skirt to wipe his face. He looked about five.

The next picture showed the same dress covered in mud, Will grinning like a maniac chasing the vicar’s daughter with a worm in his hands and one shoe missing, hair a tangled mess. Cecil snorted and laughed. “Please tell me you put that worm down the back of her dress!”

“Nah, she picked up a bigger worm and chased me with it instead. We were friends in kindergarten,” Will replied, pointing out a photograph of him in pink flowery dungarees sitting opposite the girl, who was wearing the same dungarees in blue. “We made mud pies and put them in her father’s shoes in that picture,” Will said sadly, “we got into trouble for boyish behaviour and making a mess.” Will unceremoniously shoved the photographs into the bottom of the box, taking a few deep breaths.

“Are you okay, Will,” Lou-Ellen asked gently, placing her hand on his back and rubbing small circles.

“Yeah,” Will sighed, staring emptily into the box before picking out his birth certificate and staring at it. “I don’t know,” Will amended, and Cecil took the certificate out of his hands.

“We should burn this,” Cecil announced, “it’s useless. If you end up needing it for anything, you can just get it re-printed at the register office. Although you might wanna make some changes to it first. Until you can do that legally, Connor and Travis owe me a massive favour, if you’d like.” Will let out a small laugh, burying his face in his hands.

“My whole childhood is in this box,” Will said quietly, “and my mom’s throwing away all of her favourite memories of me, and I can’t bring myself to look at them.”

“Hey,” Lou-Elllen began gently, “we’ll make new memories, new photographs.These aren’t your memories, they’re your mom’s ideal childhood for you, it’s all the parts she didn’t like taken out and the select few moments she did pruned carefully and displayed to be her image of perfection. You don’t have to keep any of this, because that’s not how your childhood felt to you. They aren’t pictures of you, they’re pictures of the child your mom wanted everybody to see, they aren’t pictures that truly represent your childhood. You aren’t obliged to hold onto somebody else's image of you.”

“We can burn all of it later, mate,” Cecil offered, “just us if you want. And Nico too, of course. Kayla and Austin too maybe, if they aren’t busy.”

“Yeah,” Will sighed, “shoot it with a burning arrow or something.”

“That’s the spirit,” Cecil grinned mischievously, taking the box from Will, “I’ll go take this to my cabin and get my siblings to thoroughly vandalise everything so before you burn it you can have a laugh.”

“Thanks,” Will laughed, and Lou-Ellen pulled him into her shoulder.

“I’ll see you later, dude,” Cecil smiled, “and you, my bi-hexual girlfriend!” He kissed Lou-Ellen’s cheek and jogged off.

“Do you wanna go find Nico?”

“He’s got training now,” Will replied, “but I wanna go talk to Clarisse, do you know where I could find her?”

“I saw her heading to her cabin before I came here,” Lou-Ellen replied, “I’m gonna go work on creating some more sigils, okay?” She kissed Will’s cheek before heading towards her cabin, and Will set out to find Clarisse. She wasn’t in her cabin, or in the armory- Will found her sitting outside the currently empty Aphrodite cabin, holding a pale green and cream chiffon scarf in her hands. Will sat beside her, bumping her shoulder.

“It was Silena’s,” Clarisse said gently, “her favourite hijab. She used to cover it with pins and I’d put flowers through the pins. After we burned her shroud, we uh… her parents invited me to her funeral, at the Masjid. The mosque, that is.”

“It’s beautiful,” Will said, “you should keep it. She’d want you to have it.”

“Yeah,” Clarisse sighed, “don’t tell anyone I went soft, you hear me, Solace?”

“Message received and understood,” Will smiled, and Clarisse punched him lightly in the arm.

“She taught me how to put on makeup,” Clarisse admitted, “she used to do it real subtle, so nobody would know. She’d contour my whole face and she’d put on neutral eye shadows and clear mascara, cherry chapstick muted with matte powder.”

“I never noticed you wearing makeup,” Will replied.

“That’s because that was the point. She made it look completely natural. I’m not exactly… feminine.”

“But she taught you how you could be butch and still be pretty, right?”

“Exactly,” Clarisse replied, “she helped me to pass.”

“A true ally,” Will smiled, resting his head on her shoulder, “how have you been recovering from surgery?”

“I’ve had worse pain,” Clarisse smiled, “I’m still getting used to the extra weight on my chest, but Chris likes them just as much as I do, I think.” Will chuckled lightly, and Clarisse put her arm around him. “Anyway, you look like shit, Solace, what happened?”

“My mom,” Will replied dejectedly, “she sent a box of stuff from my childhood. I’m gonna burn it all later. Cecil’s idea.”

“I’ll be right there with you,” Clarisse said, squeezing his shoulder roughly, “providing I can take a baseball bat to everything first.”

“You can rip the birth certificate before I shoot everything with a burning arrow” Will offered, and Clarisse chuckled lightly.

“That’s my boy,” Clarisse grinned, punching his arm lightly.

“The thing is… I don’t hate my childhood,” Will began honestly. “I didn’t always know I was trans, I didn’t always hate myself, I just couldn’t understand that weird out of place feeling, you know? I didn’t know why things made me uncomfortable. I only started figuring it out when I came to camp… and now, it hurts to look at all the pictures, because they… they don’t feel like I’m looking at photographs of me, and the more I tell myself that’s me, the more I can’t stand to look at them, because I look so female. But my childhood wasn’t a sad one, I… I was loved once, I used to pretend I had nightmares so my mom would give me these butter cookies with warm milk. She knew I was usually faking it, but she didn’t care as long as I smiled.”

“Tell me more,” Clarisse probed gently, before wrapping Silena’s scarf around his shoulders when she noticed a breeze, keeping her arm around his shoulder.

“She didn’t always have a lot of time for me, with the singing and all,” Will began, “but when she did have time for me, we always did something. She used to take me to my grandma’s farm a lot. The chickens didn’t like me much, but there was this baby calf my grandma let me name. Which was a terrible decision, I called it Dustbin Grass,” Will announced with a small laugh. Clarisse snorted, and Will continued. “Anyway, the calf used to come in through the back door and lay down in the middle of the sitting room, and I’d curl up next to the calf. We had a height chart on the wall, and I’d always compare my height with the calf every week. And other days, my mom would take me on day trips. Sometimes it was just to the local park or play area, we’d feed the ducks and sit in the sun with a picnic. I’d always go on the slide, although some days it was so hot the metal burned and I’d start crying. My mom always used to wrap me up in a warm hug and she’d tell me that it was all okay.”

“That sounds nice,” Clarisse said sincerely, and Will continued to share his memories.

“I wasn’t so good with all the school stuff. When I was a kid, I hadn’t been diagnosed with ADHD yet, or dyslexia, but I still struggled. I was behind everybody in the class on my reading and writing and my handwriting was always terrible. I used to get frustrated and walk out a lot. And after break time, I always had a hard time calming down, so I used to be super bouncy and I’d need something to fidget with. And of course, I was a kid, so the louder the better. I’d get into trouble a lot and get sent out of class. I used to cry because I thought I was dumb, but my mom always told me I was the smartest. She’d take me on nature walks, and she’d point out different trees and birds and insects and I’d tell her what they were. And at one point, I could identify native birds by their calls. My mom made me feel smart, and I didn’t feel smart again until I came to camp.”

“How the fuck did they think you were dumb?”

“Classism, sexism, and ableism. Anyway, my mom and I used to have pamper weekends, where we’d just sit out in the garden with bowls of cold water for our feet and face masks, and we’d watch the clouds if there were any. Mom never used to put enough sunscreen on herself and she used to end up looking like a lobster. We’d talk about how our weeks had been, and about my mom’s record deals and tours. She mainly toured the South, she didn’t usually go far out from Texas, but I’ve always been travel sick and I can’t really handle anything over half an hour, so it was always better to leave me at home with my grandma sometimes. My mom and I lived in the city in Austin, but my grandma lived on a ranch. She used to make me cookies all the time and she’d tell me stories of mom’s childhood and her childhood. She’d tell me how lucky I was. My grandma was a lesbian, but things when she were young were… well, worse than they are today, so… she married a man and had kids and buried who she was. She always told me that I couldn’t help who I was, and that if ever I figured myself out and I wasn’t straight, then it was okay and she’d love me just the same. The vicar used to sit and have tea with my grandma every day, because he had a gay son and he wanted her advise on how to support him.”

“Your gran is a legend,” Clarisse smiled, “is she still with us or…”

“I wish I knew,” Will sighed sadly, “grandpa died when I was six and the year after, my nan met a woman, and she moved away and my mom refused to let me have her address or contact her. Everyone always assumes my mom is kind and loving because I have such happy childhood memories. But when you have a child, if you can’t love your child unconditionally, then you never loved them at all. I grew up, knowing, just knowing… that one day, I’d do or say something and my mom would know I was bisexual and my mom wouldn’t love me anymore. Knowing that your own mother will stop loving you, for the very thing that gets you beat up in the playground, for the very thing that gets you harassed, knowing that your own mother believes with all of her heart that her child deserves to burn in hellfire and brimstone for eternity just for being attracted to somebody… from a young age I knew that my mother’s love was conditional. For years, I knew that I didn’t meet the conditions for my mother’s love. And then I stopped going home because I was scared and I wasn’t ready to be abandoned by the same woman who promised unconditional love. And then I came out as trans to her and… she sends me the box. And it’s not just a box to remind me of my childhood, it’s all her favourite memories. It’s the drawings she stuck to the fridge, the photos she showed guests, the things she was most proud of me for. It’s her way of telling me that she hates me so much that those memories are worthless to her. Happy childhoods are empty gestures when a parent’s love is conditional. And I have to face biphobia and transphobia every day of my life, but it’s worse knowing I don’t have a home. My home is a summer camp. I’m alone. If the woman who swore to love me unconditionally, swore by her bible to love me and protect me and fulfil her god given role as a parent, can cast me aside like I’m disgusting, then how am I ever meant to feel anything but wrong? How am I meant to convince myself I’m worthy of love? I can’t even use public restrooms without fearing for my safety, how am I meant to feel safe enough to trust anybody?”

“Hey,” Clarisse began, squeezing Will’s shoulder, “you’re never alone. No matter what, I’ve got your back. I’ll kick a transphobes teeth, you know I will. We have to stick together, we can’t let the community be divided, okay? We’ll look out for each other. You’re not unloved. I love you. My mom is your mom now, okay? Actually no, I’m your mom now, kiddo. And you have the best friends you could ask for, okay? Lou-Ellen can and will hex anybody who tries to put you down. Cecil’s always got your back, he pranked that Athena kid real good, remember? And you have Nico. You’re dating the Son of Hades. He can and will turn anyone into a ghost if they hurt you. That boy loves you, okay? Your self-worth is not defined by your mother’s prejudice. Nico’s friends- Jason, Percy, Frank, Hazel, Annabeth, Piper, Reyna, Leo- they’re all allies we can trust. You’re not a boy anymore, Solace, you’re a man now. You’re making your own way in a world where the odds are stacked against you. You just gotta keep going. People will hate you no matter what you do. So surround yourself with allies, keep going no matter how bleak, stay strong, and when you can’t stay strong, use your support network. We’ll both survive if we stick together. If you feel scared to go outside, come and find me. We’ll keep each other safe. And remember. You’re perfect, don’t let anybody tell you otherwise. Aphrodite would want you to respect yourself and love yourself. Your dad would want you to shine and spread light amongst the hate, to rise no matter how many times you’re pushed down. My dad would want you to fight back and never stop fighting for your rights, our rights, for what you believe in. And I’m sure most of the other gods support you too.”

“Damn girl, now I know why you’re in charge of motivational battle speeches,” Will smiled, and Clarisse ruffled his hair.

“Good boy. Now, you’re gonna get back to that infirmary, and carry on as normal, okay? And then we’re gonna burn your birth certificate and all the other stuff.”

“I had my T shot this morning,” Will stated with a small smile, “after a few months, people no longer misgender me when they hear my voice and for once in my life, I like how I sound. I feel like me. My dysphoria is… it’s so much less intense than it used to be. I feel safer in public, I feel confident enough to speak as loud as I want without fearing judgment or misgendering or violence.”

“You’re getting a bit of a fluffy mustache too there, Solace,” Clarisse teased light-heartedly, and Will laughed happily. “I’ve gotta go teach the Aphrodite girls some self-defence classes, you have to prepare for the influx of inevitable injuries because the Ares cabin and the Athena cabin are sparring in the arena.”

Will went about the rest of his day with his head held high. For once, he felt proud of who he was, of the man he’d become, of the way he hadn’t let the hate he’d heard turn him hateful, how he helped people, how he tried his best to make every camper feel like they had a safe space, a home. He never wanted anybody to feel the way he had for such a long time. He prided himself on his kindness, and he vowed never to lose it.

So later that day, the camp stood around a pit of flames at the beach, all turned out to show their solidarity bar a few. Will wore his flag as a cape, and everybody cheered when Clarisse marched in still in her armour from the day, with a ‘fuck the cis-tem’ jacket, and ripped up Will’s birth certificate. Will smiled as he threw the photographs into the flames, one by one, his friends all cheering and clapping. He watched every painful reminder, every perfect image of his mother’s ideal child- graffitied on with funny mustaches and devil horns on his mom, courtesy of the Hermes cabin- of conditional love and rejection, go up in flames. For once, Will wasn’t defined by his past, but rather by his future, one surrounded by allies and friends from all walks of life. People of many religions and races, sexualities, and genders. And even better, he received a loving kiss from his boyfriend in front of the crowd. For once, he didn’t look back.

@solangeloweek day 2, childhood/back story building

[hookedontaronfics]

Honky Dancer series - Chapter 8

Chapter title: Consequences Read the previous installments here: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3  | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 Rating: M Pairing: Taron x OC Warnings: Trigger warnings for a subtle mentions of an eating disorder and some medical drama A/N: A lot happens in this chapter, and it’s quite dramatic. The chapter bears its name well; you cannot outrun the consequences of your actions, as our beloved Juliette will soon find out. I hope you enjoy this emotional ride! X

Night shoots, I quickly learned, were a special sort of experience. Most of us had tried to nap before the call time, and we were all standing around clutching cups of coffee, full of caffeine and running on adrenaline. The choreography for “Saturday Night’s Alright” required every dancer that was hired, and a cast of extras simply to fill the background too. The amount of crew and the rigging required to give the number an expansive feel also added to the sheer number of people on set at the moment. The volume level was almost too much, with everyone chatting excitedly.

I was standing with my usual group, minus Markus, who was giving me an extremely cold shoulder by not acknowledging my presence at all. I couldn’t blame him, though; I’d told him to never talk to me again, after all. But now that it was the next day and my simmering anger had dulled, and I’d managed to smooth things over with Taron, I wondered if I hadn’t acted out too irrationally. Blame the baby hormones, I thought ruefully to myself.

Being on that carnival set, amongst the twinkling lights and magical atmosphere, made us feel like we were transported somewhere else. And I certainly hoped that effect would come across on film when it was all said and done. My favorite part was the massive Ferris wheel, ablaze with color. I spotted Taron, talking animatedly with Dexter, and when he looked over I gave him a small wave, which he cutely returned.

“Ugh, adorable,” Leah commented, making me smile behind my coffee cup lid as I took another sip. After what felt like a waste of an hour, we were finally called into place. We discarded our coffees and dumped our jackets and bags and went through last-minute costume checks, the costumers nit-picking over the littlest details, adjusting collars here, snipping stray threads there. We had already been walked through some preliminary blocking, but now that the cameras would be turned on, we all wanted things to be as perfect as they could be. The less takes we all had to do for each beat, the better.

Still, that constant ripple of excitement and thrill ran through all of us and kept us going as the nightly hours wore on. Watching Taron in his element really felt like a treat though. How he managed to turn that energy on and maintain his performance level take after take after draining take was mind-boggling, really. And whether he was tired or not, he never showed it, and he stayed positive and kind to everyone around him. But even though the work itself was exhausting, I still loved everything about it. 

The track itself was phenomenal, and Taron’s vocals were strong. I never got tired of listening to it no matter how many takes we did. Giles Martin was a genius, keeping the original integrity of the song but building segments of the different musical influences that Elton had been exposed to and incorporated into his music over the many years, and those flavors had also been used in our dance styles. The choreography was engaging, energetic and exciting, and being a part of this musical number certainly felt like being a part of something much larger than ourselves. The sequence was a crucial part of the storytelling, and needed to feel as youthful and adventurous as Elton’s life was during that time.

I had to admit that I was more than happy when they finally called that night’s filming to a close, as the first creep of dawn was just beginning to tinge the sky. I felt the exhaustion and soreness in every fiber of my body, and blearily changed out of my costume, located my bag in the pile, and wearily made my way off the set and toward the tube station before realizing someone was calling my name. I whirled around, nearly knocking myself off my own feet as I stumbled over a crack in the sidewalk.

“Juliette! Hey, wait up,” Taron said, jogging over to me and sweetly brushing his fingers over my cheek, still somehow not looking exhausted. “Clara’s with her dad and your mum has Troy. Can I just drive you over to my place?” he asked, and I was so tired I didn’t bother arguing, and nodded instead, letting Taron slip his arm around me supportively.

“How are you not completely exhausted?” I grumbled.

“Well, I’m not pregnant, so that helps,” he quipped lightly. “But I’m also just used to it, I think. Not exactly the first night scene I’ve ever been in.”

“I can think of a few,” I smiled. “Bit of a fan of your work, here,” I teased lightly.

“Well you nearly have to be, now that you’re dating me,” he smirked back, and I cracked a smile despite my exhaustion. I sank gratefully down into the plush of the car seat, fighting off falling asleep right then and there. The last thing I needed was Taron taking it upon himself to carry me to bed, as sweet of a gesture as that would be.

“I think today went well,” Taron spoke into our tired silence.

“Really well, at least on our part. It’s always one thing to rehearse a dance. It’s another to see it in the place, in the world so to speak, the lights and colors and costumes. Something about that just made everything feel much more real today,” I replied. “And you… You totally killed it.”

“I don’t know if I killed it, but I wager I gave it everything I had,” he smiled, looking over at me.

“Well, I think, from what I’ve seen, you’re carrying this whole damn thing.”

“I don’t know about that,” he said, running his fingers through his hair in the way he did when he felt humbled by something.

“Well I do,” I smiled, more to myself than anything.

“I am so ready to crash,” he yawned when we finally pulled into the drive and parked. 

“You and me both,” I sighed wearily. We made our way inside, and I realized oddly that I hadn’t been in his home for a fair bit. It felt just as cozy as before as he led me to the bedroom, pulling me to him for a couple of sweet kisses before we both got ready for bed, too tired for anything more. He did his best to try and block the morning sunlight creeping across the floor, able to darken the room a bit, and we curled up together and were sound asleep within minutes, my brain for once too worn out to keep me awake.

The baby, on the other hand, had other ideas, waking me up a few hours later. I stumbled to the bathroom and wretched, hardly anything in my stomach to get rid of. I groaned slightly and splashed water on my face before returning to my slumbering boyfriend. I checked my phone briefly, scrolling through social media mindlessly, waiting for sleep to find me again, but hunger found me first instead.

I got up and, still too exhausted to make anything else, popped some bread in the toaster oven, rapping my fingers on the counter as I waited for it to be ready. I smeared some butter on, then took a few bites, chewing slowly, my hand resting on my belly. But then the part of my brain that worried about calories kicked in, and I found I couldn’t eat another bite. I tossed the rest of the toast in the trash and reminded myself I needed to stay away from carbs as I returned to the bed, not entirely satisfied but at least my stomach had stopped gurgling uncomfortably.

“Mmmm,” Taron murmured next to me, turning over and sliding his arm over my waist and nuzzling into my neck. “Can’t sleep?” He asked, cracking his green eyes open and looking at me.

“I got sick. And then I got hungry,” I smiled, as his eyes drew down to my stomach, his fingers splaying out under my sleep shirt and caressing my skin there sweetly.

“This will be worth it in the end,” he said gently, kissing my forehead. “Try to get some more sleep. Tonight will be difficult if you don’t.” I nodded at that and tried to let him soothe me back to sleep, and I eventually did end up drifting off again.

We woke with enough time to shower, make some dinner, and watch a little telly together before heading to set and doing it all over again. The second night seemed a little easier, but maybe it was just because I knew more of what to expect, the lag between scenes, the flurry of activity, the massive rigs swinging around and being readjusted constantly, the dead space where we had to try and keep our bodies warm, the constant makeup and costume retouches, the attempt to keep our energy up through the slog of what felt like a 14-hour night. We had fun with some bumper cars and there might have been more horsing around than actual dancing during that sequence.

The next two nights felt a little more laid-back, as a bulk of the large group shots were already done. The transitions into and out of the scene, with the bar and with Kit Connor, who played the mid-aged Reggie, were the focus of those days, so I spent more time sitting around than anything else, but that also gave me time to be curious about the behind-the-scenes machinations of putting a movie together. I found it completely fascinating, so different and removed from what I did on the stage when I danced professionally, a completely different set of lingo I didn’t quite understand. What was a grip? A racking focus? A polarizer? I had no idea, but hearing people talk casually about the technical aspects made me feel curious to know more.

Needless to say, I was grateful when night shoots, at least for that sequence, were done. It was kind of saddening to see the carnival get dismantled, but of course it had only been put up for the film and I knew that. I had to return to my own crazy schedule, my daughter and my own students and trying to balance that with further rehearsals for “Bitch is Back” and time with Taron as well, though the next few nights he spent at my home with me. It wasn’t even a conversation we had, he just showed up every evening, joining me in making dinner and helping Clara with her homework and walking Troy and just generally filling a space in my home I hadn’t realized had been empty. Eventually I thought it was high time he had a key, so I made it a point to make a copy and give him one.

“You’re in the special group of people who gets one of these,” I giggled as we cuddled on the couch together, long after Clara had gone to bed.

“Oh?” he said, raising an eyebrow. “And just how many people get a key to my girlfriend’s abode?” he chuckled.

“My mum, of course. Zayn, just in case something came up with Clara. Now you…” I smiled, as Taron flipped the key around in his palm slightly. He seemed a bit reserved about it, but then he’d been a bit reserved the past few nights. I chalked it up to just being knackered from night shoots until he sighed slightly and spoke my name in a hesitant manner.

“Juliette. I really need to ask you something,” he said, his eyes focusing somewhere just above the crown of my head.

“Anything, T,” I replied, even though a cold knot had formed in my stomach.

“Markus pulled me aside the other day and um, he wanted to pass along a few… things.” It was just like Markus to try and fuck everything up for me, even if we weren’t together. Even if I’d thoroughly ended things. Why could nothing in my world stay perfect, ever? I swallowed past the lump in my throat, willing my voice to not shake.

“I’m sure he wasn’t doing so out of the kindness of his heart,” I said coldly.

“Of course I took things with a grain of salt. We haven’t exactly had the best history, Markus and I, all things considered,” he said, finally focusing on my face, but the look of hurt that knitted his brows caught me off guard. “But he told me that you two were still together, that you slept with him again, when you had told me you wanted to be with me. When you were supposed to have broken up with him. And you never told me about that, and your nonadmission might as well have been as good as lying to me,” he continued, his voice cracking slightly.

“I… I’m so sorry,” I tried, my brain still processing what he was saying to me.

“I’ve been wrestling with this for a few days, whether to ask you about it or not. Whether to strike a divide between us or not. I’m forgiving, but relationships have to be founded on trust and communication, neither of which you’ve given to me, and that hurts.”

“I tried to break up with Markus. I tried to tell you that I failed. I felt so...humiliated and… ashamed. Of my history, of my weakness, of this shitty pattern I’ve never been able to get myself out of. I never meant it to hurt you, so I thought I could protect you from… me,” I said, stumbling over the words, unable to keep the tremor out of my voice. “You have to believe that, please.”

“I believe you, it’s just a misguided principle, really. Relationships sometimes hurt. Sometimes you have to be raw, and open, and vulnerable, and ugly in front of the other person, and sometimes that makes them hurt for you, because they love you. I want to accept your flaws, your imperfections, but I can’t do that if you won’t open up to me. I can’t do that if I can’t trust you to be honest with me. I can’t do that if you try to protect me from the difficult, painful bits. I can’t do this, if you won’t extend that to me,” he said into the dead silence of the room. My heart was near pounding out of my chest and I felt the need to get sick.

“What are you saying, Taron? Are you breaking up with me?” I asked softly, tears already threatening in my eyes.

“I just need...some time. To think. To know where I stand. I am hurt, and you’ve got to learn that there are consequences for your actions. But I’m not leaving you, no,” he said as evenly as possible. “I told you I loved you, through the hard times too. I stand by that. I just need you to try and earn my trust back,” he said softly, brushing his fingers lightly over my chin.

“Okay,” I sniffled slightly, feeling the shame burning in my chest.

He leaned over and set the key on the coffee table, the clink of the metal against the wood top making me cringe slightly, before he stood up and turned to me.

“I’ll see you around at the studios. We’re not going to be strangers. But there is this wedge we need to deal with, and I hope you can understand that.”

“I created it,” I said, a couple of tears rolling down my cheeks. But I couldn’t pity myself; I had done this. I had turned Taron away from me, yet again. I had made a muddled mess out of something that should have been good and pure.

“Hey, no need to cry. We will work through this, alright?” he said, tipping my chin up to look at him, but his face was fractured into a thousand tiny pieces through my tears.

“Why would you want to? Why aren’t you pissed off at me?” I asked, pulling away from his touch, his arm returning to his side awkwardly.

“I was, at first. But I try incredibly hard to not act out in anger. It never leads to anything good; it tends to cause more problems than it solves. I also know that even while you had promised to choose me, you really hadn’t, not yet. I wanted to believe I’d be enough to convince you...” he trailed off.

“Fuck, of course you are, T. You’re the best thing that’s ever really happened to me. And I keep trying to ruin it, so maybe you’d be better off without me dragging you down,” I said harshly.

“Stop, stop. I won’t let you talk about yourself that way,” he said, kneeling down in front of where I sat on the sofa, directly into my line of sight again. “Your self-loathing won’t help anything. Please see that.”

“Maybe I’m one person you can’t fix. Maybe no one can,” I said shakily, and Taron sighed deeply.

“I hope this feels better in the morning, but going around in circles on it with you all night won’t help either. I’m going to take my leave, and you should get some sleep, and we’ll figure out how to move forward together. That is, if you still want to.”

I couldn’t give him an answer so the silence between us yawned open until he stood up and placed a soft kiss on my forehead before gathering up his jacket and letting himself out the door. I’m not really sure how long I sat there, staring at nothing, thoughts whirling around my head. Time passed me by unnoticed until Clara padded barefoot into the room.

“Mum?” she asked, and I startled back into reality.

“Yes dear?” I asked, trying to push back the edges of darkness I felt threatening to overcome me.

“I got sick in my bed,” Clara said, starting to cry.

“Oh, honey,” I said, instantly sweeping up off the couch and going to attend to my sick daughter, cleaning the linens and giving her medicine and crashing in my bed with her that night, her feverish little body shivering next to me as I held her tight. At least I had this; I could look at my bright, inquisitive, beautiful daughter and know I had a hand in bringing her up in this world, hopefully teaching her how to avoid the pitfalls I’d fallen into in so many ways. I was grateful she was still young, that boys still had cooties and she was still years from her first kiss, her first love, her first heartbreak.

By the time the morning rolled around, neither Clara nor I had gotten much sleep, as much from Clara’s illness as from my dark thoughts. I called my mum to see if she could watch my sick kid while I went to teach classes and later Rocketman rehearsals, and of course my mum was all-too-kindly available to come over. I tucked Clara in her own bed, glad that her fever had come down overnight, and called school to tell them she wouldn’t be in that day while I waited for my mum to arrive. I made some coffee, desperate for the caffeine boost, and when my mum finally made it across town I blearily stumbled through my day. 

I couldn’t help glaring daggers at Markus’ back during rehearsals every time he wasn’t looking, which was most of the time, but I knew that was petty. It certainly wouldn’t make him apologize for ratting me out to Taron, and it wouldn’t take back what happened between us either.

By the time I got home I was completely exhausted, but Clara was feeling better and I couldn’t just crash out, even if my mum offered. I shook my head, telling her she’d done enough already for me, and sent her home with a thank-you pound note she tried to protest but I slipped into her purse anyway when she wasn’t looking. I ended up tossing a frozen pizza in the oven, but found it difficult to choke down the calories, while Clara didn’t seem to notice how little I ate as she chowed down on her slices. We watched a movie together, and I admittedly might have nodded off a few times, the Disney songs drifting in and out of my dreams.

I was so happy once Clara was tired enough to put to bed; I even skipped a shower just so I could faceplant in my bed that much quicker. I missed Taron’s warmth next to me as I pulled the blankets tightly around me. He promised we’d be okay, but what if he found more reasons to stay away from me in this temporary absence? What if he didn’t really miss me all that much? What if I was the one that was unlovable? I shivered slightly under the covers, the darkness creeping even closer than it had before in my mind, threatening to take over as I sank into a restless, dreamless sleep.

That darkness that resided inside my brain manifested itself in my attempt to control my calories; every little thing I put in my mouth had to be accounted for, and controlling my diet seemed to help me calm my nerves. Even when everything else felt like it was spiraling out of control, this one thing I could have total control over. I had exactly one scrambled egg white and 8 ounces of a protein shake in the morning, a 150-calorie protein bar at lunch, a handful of plain unsalted nuts for a snack to sustain my energy, and usually made some fish and vegetables for dinner. Eating for two was an absolute myth; I was religious about my prenatal vitamins and making sure the growing baby inside me was still getting the crucial building blocks it needed. But overeating wasn’t going to help either of us so I stuck to my routine, obviously varying things up for Clara so she wouldn’t be bored or wrinkle her nose up at my dinners. 

Over the next couple weeks of classes and rehearsals, I started to see an instant change in my arm and leg tone, and that made me at least happier. I had been needing to lose that unnecessary weight for years, and even if I couldn’t stop my belly from getting bigger, I could stop the rest of me from following suit.

As we headed full on into the summer months, the weather grew hot and sticky, as London weather was wont to do. We’d been rehearsing the Broadway musical-style choreography for “Bitch is Back” for a while in the studio, but were finally taking rehearsals outside, into the back lot to do some initial blocking. Taron was of course there, sporting some mockup cardboard wings that looked completely ungainly to manage. But somehow he did, as we danced our way through the piece and Dexter showed Taron and Matthew Illesley, who played the youngest version of Reggie, how the scene would operate.

I could feel the sweat trickling down my back, down my arms and legs, dripping off the edge of my nose. We were all allowed to wear our sunnies since it was a rare bright day in London and we weren’t officially filming yet. But when the production was able to secure the Pinner Street location, we would all need to be ready to go, so putting in this work now was important. They made us take a lot of breaks, providing Gatorade and water in massive jugs to keep us all hydrated, but I was beginning to feel rather sick to my stomach and had to fight through the nausea for the rest of the rehearsal.

Seeing Taron there, being so close to him and yet feeling far away, was painful. He acknowledged me, but it was mostly in a professional manner, and I could feel the difference in my bones. I wanted nothing more than to have him scoop me up in his arms and hold me to him, but that reality had been shattered. There are consequences to your actions, Juliette, the words popping into my brain and making my heart ache. I couldn’t run from those consequences; the only way to move forward was to accept them and move through them.

But how was I going to be able to prove to Taron that he could trust me, when we weren’t even spending time together? What grand gesture could show him how much he meant to me? I wasn’t really sure, and these thoughts hounded me throughout the day.

The next few days were much the same, the temperatures staying sticky hot and making me feel worse for wear. Pregnancy and heat did not go well together, and I found myself taking a few more breaks than everyone else, coming up with some lame excuse as I hadn’t told anyone on set I was pregnant. Only Taron and Markus knew that, and well, we all know who actually did his part to check in with me, concern written all over his face.

But then rehearsals suddenly ground to a halt, and we were left in a strange holding pattern as the production moved onto other scenes, keeping to its schedule and of course keeping Taron very busy. We had a couple short rehearsals to keep the choreography fresh in everyone’s brains, but there wasn’t much else for us to do. I focused more on teaching my classes, texting off and on with Taron when he’d ask how Clara was doing.

<She’s got a recital next week, if you’d like to go. She’d probably like that; she’s been wondering why you haven’t been around as much. I just told her it was because of work.> I responded one evening.

<Of course, I’d love to go. Text me the details and I’ll be there.>

And be there he was, dressed in a sharp navy suit coat, a white shirt underneath, and pressed slacks, looking as handsome as he ever did. Sitting next to him was almost intimidating, stealing glances at each other, sharing awkward smiles with each other as we waited through student after student, some well-practiced, others not so much, waiting for Clara’s turn.

When she got up on the stage, I could hear a bit of an audible gasp from the crowd; my opinionated little girl had chosen to don a sequined, sparkly pink jacket over her recital dress, and she had on a pair of star sunnies too, “just like Elton!” she’d declared when I’d tried to convince her otherwise.

“That’s our Clara,” Taron grinned over at me with a chuckle, before looking down at my hand and slowly taking it in his. I sucked my breath in slightly, still staring straight ahead as Clara took a seat at the piano. “You look beautiful today,” he whispered in my ear, taking in the light summer dress I’d chosen.

“Thank you,” I said, glancing over at him, those dimples of his causing my heart to flutter again. That special thing we had, it wasn’t gone by any means. We sat through my daughter’s songs, Clara gamely making it through Bach and Debussey with only a few stumbles, before getting to play a chosen song. And of course she’d chosen “Your Song,” playing it with gusto to much applause and appreciation from the audience. She gave an enthusiastic bow after her performance and skipped off the stage, returning to us excitedly as we were still clapping for her.

“Lovely job, sweetheart,” I said happily, giving her a huge hug.

“I think Elton himself would be very proud,” Taron added, making Clara grin so big she was showing off her toothless gaps.

“Yeah, if only he’d been able to watch it,” she sighed, making us both laugh.

“He’s a very busy man, but maybe some day you could play for him,” Taron said, as I playfully slapped his arm.

“Don’t promise her that!” I hissed slightly under my breath, but Taron waved it off.

“I’m sure I could get it arranged,” he said, as Clara fairly begged Taron to stay around for dinner. He obliged, and it turned into a really decent evening, the first one I felt I’d had in a bit, even after Clara commented “ewww, fish again?” when I served us dinner. He stayed long enough to tuck my daughter into bed, but said he probably shouldn’t wear out his welcome, though we lingered too long at the doorway, unspoken words and feelings passing between us.

I was actually at the academy when I got the phone call that the Pinner Street location had been secured, and that we’d be needed on set within a few hours. I scrambled to get my afternoon classes covered and made sure mum could pick up Clara from school before heading over to the studios, arriving just in time to get through hair and makeup. We changed into our costumes and were all boarded onto a shuttle and driven across the city, dropped off on a suburban street where crews were already busy setting up rigging for the cameras.

The place was an absolute blur of activity as us dancers huddled in the shade of some trees, trying to stave off the bright sunlight. We used each other to stretch and warm up, a steady hum weaving through the shimmering air as directions were shouted loudly, people running frantically to and fro. I hadn’t imagined this much chaos as the rest of the production had always been incredibly orderly. But I supposed this could happen with locations in the streets; it probably was a pain in the ass to secure city permits to shut entire blocks down for filming. When the city gave you a window of time, you had to spring into action; there would be no dragging feet here.

This sequence, of course, was an important element of the story that brought Taron into the picture as a sort of segue from rehab into his childhood years. It involved the other patients in rehab and the counselor, a brass band, and Taron in a bright orange neoprene Elvis-inspired devil costume with massive wings. The first time I saw him in it I nearly tripped over my own feet. The costume left very little to the imagination, but it was also somehow fitting to the vision of Elton that Dexter and Taron had created for the film. Elton at times played the devil, but he could also be the angel, and in many ways he was neither and both at the same time in his own story.

I loved the energy of this part of filming; the heat, not so much. The makeup crew constantly had to step in and powder us all between takes, and I’m sure our costumes weren’t going to smell very nice by the end of it. The filming day was kept short, as there were heat advisories and the production certainly didn’t want anyone to pass out. The heat sapped the strength right out of my body, and I wondered at how weak I felt as I made my way home, knowing I’d have to fight through the next few days in the same way.

The weakness in my body didn’t really abate the next day, and was joined by more nausea. Even if I didn’t get sick, I still felt turned inside out. I could barely stomach water, but I made myself push it down nonetheless. If my performance suffered for it, no one said a word to me. The third day, the dizziness hit me like a sack of rocks, making me stumble into another dancer and completely ruining the take. I mumbled my apologies and tried to concentrate the best I could. My muscles knew the motions; my brain couldn’t keep anything straight so I tried not to think too much and let my body do the work it knew by memory.

But some things you cannot win against, no matter how hard you fight. Weeks of undereating had caught up to me, leaving me emptied out; spots began to dance across my vision, my skin flushed cold despite the heat, and I found it difficult to breathe. I vaguely thought someone was calling my name, but I couldn’t hear them over the rushing in my ears. The music continued on, but my body did not; I dropped to the ground and stayed there. I don’t remember hitting the pavement, but I came to with my face burning, pressed against the hot surface. I was dimly aware of people gathered around me, and I thought I heard Taron yell at someone to “get these bloody wings off” before bright orange swam into my view.

“Juliette, can you hear me?” he asked as he knelt down beside me, the material of his costume stretching taut over his thighs. I don’t know why my brain focused on that, but I couldn’t move my head enough to look up at his face. The crystals glittered almost painfully bright in the sun as my vision went in and out of focus.

“She’s probably got heat stroke,” one voice said.

“Give her some space,” another added.

“Where’s the fucking medic?” someone else in the throng of voices shouted, my brain picking these out amongst the murmurs.

Did I really look that bad? I wondered, unaware of how crumpled I must have looked. Someone brought over an umbrella and at least shielded me from the sun; someone else tried offering water but I could neither hold the bottle nor swallow when it was poured into my mouth, vomiting onto the pavement instead, a strange thought that I should be embarrassed weaving its way through my brain, too wispy for me to grab onto.

I felt my body being moved as my pupil reaction was checked, my pulse taken, my body fussed over. Words were said that I didn’t understand and then I was being lifted through the air on a stretcher and pushed into the back of an ambulance. I flicked my eyes around at the faces staring down at me, the hands pushing IV lines into my arms, everything blurry and strangely in slow motion. 

And then I felt the sharpest pain in my abdomen, making me cry out. I instinctively tried to curl into a ball but the straps held me down, and I started to feel panic rising in my chest as another sharp pain wracked my body. I clutched at my stomach, gasping out something incoherent; this wasn’t right, and I knew it could only mean something terrible was happening.

“Oh god, the baby,” I heard Taron say, his voice sounding too loud and tinny to my ears, my secret spilled out for everyone within earshot to hear.

What was happening to my baby?, I thought, as more hands poked and prodded me, more needles stuck into my flesh, more words were said I couldn’t make sense of. All I could understand was the shivers that shook me, the pains that tormented me, the blackness that threatened to overtake me. The noise was too loud, the siren, the beeping machines, the medics’ voices, the rattling of wheels over roads as we sped toward the hospital, the hush of the cast and crew we left in our wake, growing in a cascading crescendo inside my brain until, mercifully, there was silence. 

I began to float into the void, the absence of noise, of feeling, of the physical realm, detached from what was happening to my body. The darkness came up to meet me, soothing me, warming me, easing me into slumber, the medicine working through my veins, easing the fire in my body. And then everything, everywhere, went black, and I was gone.

This is not the end of the story. Read Chapter 9 HERE.

[justjessame]

If Only Someone Looked At Me Like They Look At Guns 3

I kept my promise to myself. As soon as the clock turned six o’clock, I was closing down. I’d taken care of the coffee and espresso machines, washing and wiping everything down, and then made sure the trash had been tossed in the alley dumpster. Checking the store to make sure I didn’t miss any stragglers and that the aisles and bookshelves were clear and neat, I finally locked the front door behind me after turning the sign to CLOSED.

A part of me wanted to look around, to see if I could catch anyone watching me, but I didn’t. Maybe I didn’t want to know. Maybe I was scared I’d see nothing and not know if that meant they weren’t watching me, or if I just had no ability to sense it. Better to just not check at all, I decided. I walked carefully back to my apartment, thinking longingly of a hot bubble bath and something warm to eat with a nice glass of iced tea.

Walking into my building, I felt a shiver run down my spine. I looked around, but again saw nothing. I shook it off and took the elevator, feeling like the stairs would be too much with my current mood. When the bell dinged my arrival at my floor, I stepped out and felt the chill again. Damn it, what the hell. I glanced around and again saw nothing. Squinting at the stairway door, I stalked to it. I jerked it open and there they stood, staring at me like I’d dropped down from the moon.

“What the hell?” I asked, careful not to raise my voice. Even with two stalkers, two stalkers who were admitted killers, I didn’t want to rouse the neighbors.

Murphy had the decency to look embarrassed at having been caught, but Connor’s eyes stared straight into mine. He was looking at me like he had all the right in the world to be standing on the stairs leading to my apartment. “Wanted ter make sure yer made it ‘ome.” He said, stepping out of the stairway into the hallway. Murphy followed him and I was about to object.

“Ain’t yer gonna invite us in?” Murphy asked, as they hovered over me.

I rolled my eyes and stomped to my door. Pushing the key into the double locks with more force than necessary, I pushed the door open and stood back. “Come on in.” I said, sweeping my hand to allow them to go first. “If you’re my bodyguards, I suspect you want to case the place to make sure no one is inside to hack me to pieces.”

“Yer ‘dorable when yer pissed.” Connor said, walking past me and reaching out as if to pat my head.

I growled in irritation. “If you want to keep the hand, don’t pat my head. I’m not a fucking dog.”

Murphy chucked, knocking away Connor’s hand. “Wonder if ye’d bite.” He pushed Connor inside and grabbed my hand to tug me in with him. “Come on, give us de gran’ tour.”

I bit my lip and closed the door behind me, locking it because my dad had always insisted. They turned at the locking and I shrugged. “My dad always said there wasn’t any use to have locks if you don’t use them.” I moved to stand in front of them. “Grand tour? Ok,” I pointed in front of us. “Living room. Over here,” A point to the left, “Kitchen and dining area. “The three doors down that small hallway are, “ I walked a little further into my living room and pointed at each in turn. “Guest room, bathroom, master bedroom. My bedroom has its own bathroom. Now if you want, you may go inspect them all for mass murderers. Wait, I found them.” I pointed at the two of them.

Connor rolled his eyes at me. “We ain’t mass murderers.”

“Yeah, we only kill dos dat deserve it.” Murphy agreed with his brother.

I smirked at them. “Actually the definition of mass murder is the act of murdering a number of people, typically simultaneously or over a relatively short period of time and in close geographic proximity. You guys fit that description, correct?”

That gobsmacked them. “What kind of woman can rattle off de definishun of mass murder like it’s a recipe for chicken?” Connor asked, looking like I’d just thrown a baby out a window.

“I own a bookstore,” I answered with a glare. “Did you boys imagine I didn’t like to read?”

Murphy got over his shock reasonably faster than Connor. “Full av surprises ain’t ya?”

I shrugged. “Anyway, if you want to take a look, go ahead. I’m going to fix dinner. For three, I guess.” I held back a sigh. There goes my relaxing evening to process the day.

I kicked off my sneakers and hung up my bag on the coat rack by the door. Walking to the kitchen, I was hoping I had enough beef to make spaghetti for the three of us. Finding all the ingredients I needed, I started dinner as I heard them opening and shutting doors in the bedrooms and bathrooms. Satisfied that I wouldn’t be killed in my secure apartment, I guess, they joined me in the kitchen.

“If you want something to drink,” I said, putting the pasta in water on the stove. “There’s stuff in the fridge.” I stirred the sauce I’d already started. The beef and italian sausage were browning in another pan. “Oh and whichever one of you goes for a drink, could you hand me the loaf of bread out of the cabinet beside the fridge?”

I heard the fridge open and a bit of a groan. “Minerals and cold tea? Do ya not ‘av any real drinks?” Murphy asked. Minerals? Must be soda.

“If you were hoping for alcohol, you should have stayed at Doc’s.” I said, turning around and marching to the cupboard to get my bread down. “That’s what I have, so drink it or have water.”

I moved back to the counter by the stove to slice the bread and butter it with fresh made garlic butter. The oven was already on and ready to go once the pasta and sauce was finished. I layered the bread on a sheet and set it aside. While I was working I heard them take glasses out of the strainer by the sink and pour something.

“Ugh, tis sweet!” Connor spat, clearly having picked my tea. I chuckled. Murphy was silent, so I had to turn to see what his face must look like.

“It’s sweet iced tea, Connor, I’m southern for fuck’s sake. What did you expect?” I laughed at his grimace and saw Murphy’s glass was still completely full. “Scared, Murphy?”

He glared at me and took a small sip. His face contorted, but he swallowed. “‘Tis not dat brutal, Connor.” I giggled at the two of them. Dear God, they both look like they’d been poisoned.

“Give me the glasses.” I rolled my eyes, and poured the offending liquid into a large lidded cup for me to sip on while I worked. I rinsed the glasses out and opened the fridge to dig for a minute. Dad hadn’t been to visit much, but I’d gotten him some beer when he had, moving food around I found two bottles. Guiness, because I wanted him to broaden his horizons. There were two more left after I filled their glasses, Dad hadn’t been a fan. “Here, better?” I asked, holding up the bottles to show that there wouldn’t be any more surprises.

“Aye, ‘tis better.” Connor said, taking a long draw from his glass, clearly trying to get rid of the taste of my tea.

Murphy didn’t speak, just mirrored his brother.

I strained the browned meat and added it to my simmering sauce. Then I strained the pasta and put it back into the pot. Baked spaghetti and nearly homemade garlic bread sounded like heaven. Opening back up the fridge, I grabbed fresh mozzarella and parmesan and began layering my pasta, sauce, and cheese into a casserole dish. I could feel them watching, but I was too in my happy place to care. Once everything was ready, in the oven it went. I turned back to them after I put the dirty pots and pans in the sink.

“What?” I asked, seeing that they were eyeing me. “I’m sure you’ve seen a woman cook dinner before.”

“What are ya makin’?” Murphy asked, glancing at the pots and pans, as I moved to put away the leftover ingredients.

I tossed my answer over my shoulder. “Baked spaghetti and garlic bread.” I stood up and took my adult sippy cup to the table. “Let me grab the plates and silverware and I’ll have a seat until it’s done.” Connor stood up and Murphy followed suit. “Naw, yer cooked, let us set de table.”

Sitting down, I smiled and pointed at the cabinet and drawer they’d need. Soon three plates and all the silverware necessary for dinner were on the table. “So, are you going to tell me why you followed me home?” I asked, when they sat back down with their glasses. “Or do I have to assume the worst of you two?”

They grinned at me. “Tink yer already tink de worst.” Murphy said, taking a drink, but not taking his eyes off me.

“An’ nathin’ we say wud change dat.” Connor agreed, taking his own sip and staring as well.

I rolled my eyes as the timer dinged. “You’re not getting away without answering.” I stood and grabbed two oven mitts. I pulled out the bread and pasta dish. “Can one of you grab that heavy towel hooked on the sink?” Murphy did, and I gestured for him to lay it in the middle of the table. I placed the casserole dish down on it. “Don’t want to ruin my tabletop, do I?” I tossed the bread into a lined basket and carried it over to put down as well. “Connor, the drawer under the one you got the silverware out of has the serving spoons, can you grab one?” He did and soon we were dishing out dinner.

We ate in almost silence. I say almost because every now and then, I could swear they were talking animatedly in their heads. I’d heard of twins being able to do it, but sitting in front of them and witnessing it was plain weird. “You know you’re being rude, right?” I asked, putting down my fork and taking a sip of my tea. They both looked at me startled. “You’re having a really long conversation that I can’t hear, much less be a part of, that’s rude.” I picked up my fork and went back to my food.

“Didn’t mean ter be rude,” Connor said, looking at me with renewed interest.

Murphy nodded. “Don’t even realize we’re doin’ it ‘alf de time.”

I grinned, thinking it was rude, but made sense. “Well, you are, and it’s just as rude as speaking Russian or Italian in front of me.” Now they looked uncomfortable. “Don’t worry, I didn’t understand a word. I just think it’s rude.”

They both sighed, and I was taken in by the fact that they were mirrors. Connor was left handed. Murphy right. Their hand tattoos were on their dominant hand and that’s the hand they held their forks in. Their other tattoos, which now that their pea coats were off, having been hung on the coat rack with my bag, weren’t mirrors, but they were identical. Celtic crosses on their arms, Mother Mary on their necks, only Murphy had one that Connor didn’t. A star on his hand above the ‘e’ in Aequitas. They ate and drank like mirrors, but looked so different otherwise.

I waited while I studied them, knowing they were having another internal conversation. Rude, but understandable. Their eyes, I realized, both so blue they felt like I could touch the ocean if I held their gaze. That was almost the same. Oh and the fact that they both clearly had a blind barber.

“Yer right.” Connor said, repinning me with his eyes.

“We shouldn’t blather in front of ya in a languages yer don’t understan’.” Murphy agreed, also staring me down.

I nodded, “I understand the need for it this morning. I do,” I tried assuring them. “But now, I know who you are, could we keep it to a minimum?” I sighed, wondering why I was inviting this mess into my clearly sane life. “If it’s about your plans, fine, I don’t want to know. If it’s about ME, could you please just say it? OUT LOUD.”

I received two sets of nods. “Good.” I said, moving to put my plate in the sink. “I need to take a bath,” I closed my eyes, hoping I wasn’t going to regret what I was about to offer. “If you want, the guest bedroom and couch are available. For tonight at least.” I looked out the window and could see that darkness had fallen while we ate. “I’d hate for you two to get picked up after following me home.”

“That’d be awesum.” Murphy said, a smile growing.

Connor smiled, too. “”Preciate it.”

I nodded again. Feeling a bit like a bobble head doll tonight, I thought. “OK, I’ll be out in awhile.” I moved to my bedroom, feeling their eyes watch me the whole way.

I was happy to see that while they’d apparently opened the doors and looked around my bedroom and bathroom, they weren’t complete lurkers and didn’t paw through my drawers. I grabbed fresh clothes and sighed with the understanding that I’d only be braless for the bath. Half the joy of womanhood, I thought, crossing to my bathroom and starting the water, was coming home after a long day and whipping my bra off. Ugh, boys.

With that thought, I tossed off my clothes and settled into my warm bubble bath. The water was high enough to cover me to my armpits and for awhile I just sat soaking. Long day didn’t really cover it. Between my dad’s call of warning about the very men sitting in my apartment, and the very men in my apartment themselves, it had been a long month it seemed. I chuckled thinking of my dad finding out they were here, then sobered immediately. He’d call the authorities. He’d have them arrested in front of me. My heart clutched at the mere thought of it. Why? I wondered, why did I care?

I considered the fear I felt for them. The reason I was letting them stay with me, instead of insisting they go back to Doc’s. I didn’t want them to be hurt. I didn’t think they should be taken in by the police. I knew murder was wrong. Hell, even though I wasn’t much for church, even I knew the Ten Commandments. “Thou shall not kill.” It’s a big one. Of course, so was adultery, and for the life of me I couldn’t quite reconcile don’t fuck the married ones, with don’t smother people. Shaking my head, I tried to relax.

How could I? I thought, thinking of the two of them out in my kitchen or living room, sitting around like they belonged here, and I’m up to my armpits in warm, bubbly water. Naked. My head fell back against the tiled wall. Ugh. The two of them, those accents, those damn eyes. This had been a really bad idea. Having them here, nearby, close enough to touch. I tried to form a mantra to keep my sanity. “They’ve killed people. They’re killers.” And damn it if a sneaky part of my subconscious didn’t chime in with “only the ones that deserved it.”

Practically growling at my own damn traitorous mind, I started scrubbing myself with a vengenous. Scouring away the want wasn’t easy, but I worked hard to try to. My skin was a bright pink by the time I decided I was finished. Washing my hair just as hard, my scalp was tingling from the scrape of my nails. Unplugging the tub, I stood letting the water roll off my body and down the drain. Grabbing a towel to wrap my hair in, I took another to wrap around my body. The best part about being tiny was not having to buy enormous bath sheets to cover myself.

The mirror over my double sinks was steamed up, so I turned on the overhead fan. Stretching and cracking my neck, I felt the stress being relieved from the warmth of the bath and from just relaxing period. I dried off and pulled on my pajama bottoms over my panties. I glared at the sports bra, constrictive, but required with present company. Sighing I pulled it over my head and adjusted myself until my breasts were perfect. Then, I tugged on a loose t-shirt. Comfort, thy name is Tessa.

I exited the bathroom and grabbed the book I’d left on my bedside table. I could hear them talking, but I thought I heard more voices. When I walked out to the living room I had to smile. They were watching television, an action movie of some sort and were doing their own commentary.

Checking the television, I realized it wasn’t some action movie. “Con Air?” I giggled, throwing myself onto the sofa between the bickering boys. “What fault could the two of you possibly have with Nick Cage’s masterpiece?”

This truly got them going. “Neck Cage is it?” Connor asked, eyes shooting daggers at the screen.

“He’s a sissy.” Murphy agreed. Shooting his own glare at the movie.

Connor gritted. “Luk at ‘is ‘air!”

“an' 'alf de shoite yer man does ain’t believable,” Murphy added, pointing at something happening on the screen.

Looking between them, I had to laugh. Then Connor’s eyes gave the first hint of approval. “Though yer man does know de importance av rope.”

That broke me. I started laughing so hard that tears formed. They were watching me now, curious and possibly a little worried. “My man?” I snorted. “Dear lord, the two of you watching this damn movie like you’re filing it away for later. Please don’t tell me this is where your ideas come from.” They were quiet, far too quiet, and not in the internal dialog way. Shit, is this really where their inspiration came from, MOVIES?

They both looked down at me almost sheepishly. My laughter died away. “Seriously?” I asked, looking between the two of them. “Action movies?” They were still focused on me processing their muse. “Which stars are you trying to emulate?” What the hell? If they were crazy, I was in too deep.

“Duke Wayne is a gran’ wan.” Murphy whispered, seeing a bit embarrassed.

Connor nodded. “Charlie Bronson as well.”

“How have you two managed to survive?” I asked, confused by their complete idiocy. “You've been taking on TRAINED killers using moves you learned in MOVIES?” I sat stymied by the mere thought of how much luck went into them not being gunned down by now. “How many times?” I asked, and realized I may need them to explain what I was asking. “Have you been shot, how many times?”

This time I knew they were discussing within themselves what to tell me. “The truth, please.” I begged. If I was going to let them in my life, I had to know.

They nodded to one another. I nearly crawled out of my skin when they stood up and started disrobing. “Wait!” I raised my voice just enough to get their attention. “What the fuck are you doing?”

They each raised a shoulder, and kept pulling up their shirts. “Yer wan ter know.” Connor said, pulling his head free from his t-shirt.

“Tart it bes to jus show ya.” Murphy said, once his was free from his own. When their hands came to their belts, I jumped up.

“Jesus!” I said, stopping their hands with a hard gesture.

“Lord’s name.” They both admonished. I rolled my eyes, sure ok, taking the Lord’s name in vain is bad, but stripping in front of someone you barely knew isn’t. Just to show their battle scars. For fuck’s sake.

“Sure, ok.” I said, happy they had stayed their hands. Was it really this warm in my apartment or was I just that freaking turned on. Looking between the two of them I couldn’t make my mind work. Shit. What was the damn question again?

[storm-leviosa-fanfics]

Sticks and Stones (part 1)

So here it is: the first part of the (now slightly out of control) post-Batman 71 fic. I posted it on AO3 last night and the response has been INSANE (thanks to the 7 people who commented and 67 kudos in under 24 hours!! I love you guys!) 

Content/Trigger Warning: child abuse, physical violence (and discussions of)

Chapter 1: Sticks and stones may break my bones

Tim’s jaw hurt. He didn’t want to admit it, didn’t want his mind to work through the pain enough to realise what it meant, but there was a dull, throbbing ache that wouldn’t go away all the same. He poked at it experimentally and it pulsed slightly, emanating from the epicentre all the way down his neck and most of the way up his face. It would bruise, he was sure, and questions would be asked if people (namely reporters) saw him in such a state as Timothy Drake-Wayne. Swinging across the gap between two buildings and rolling to a halt a few blocks from his robin’s nest, he allowed himself a moment to think. Bruce had punched him. He couldn’t explain that away. Bruce, Batman, had punched him right in the face and it hurt. Tiredness crashed over him and he sagged, rocking back on his heels as he sighed. Stopping had been a mistake. He swung across the street, and the next, hopped down a level, slipped in through the open window. Home sweet home.

Looking in the mirror the next morning was unwise. Without Alfred’s expert first-aid and a cold pack to rest on his face, his jaw was an ugly mottled purple. It was clearly fist shaped. He couldn’t go out like this; people would pry and ask questions and make terrible accusations. Perhaps some makeup would cover it but Tim wasn’t fantastic at it despite years of practice and the stakes were too high to risk it. He couldn’t think for definite what about the stakes was so much higher than normal but… well, he didn’t want to read too much into that. Going to meetings like this was out of the question; he’d have to call Lucius. He could do some case work maybe but without the Bat-computer to correlate data it would be more difficult and he didn’t want to go back to the cave yet, didn’t want to face Bruce yet. He glanced at the mirror again. Maybe a cold pack would be a good first step.

He went out in costume that night and avoided everyone. It was only his short patrol, nothing too taxing, but it left him with plenty of time to think. He’d seen Damian from a distance, alone as usual. He rarely saw the brat in Gotham any more: normally he was off with his Titans friends or with Jon Kent in Metropolis doing whatever it was prepubescent boys did on weekends nowadays. Tim tried not to be relieved that Bruce had been nowhere near him. He considered asking if he was ok, but stopped himself. Him and Damian didn’t get on at the best of times and with things how they were he couldn’t be sure he wasn’t tempting fate by lingering too close. He moved on. It didn’t even cross his mind that his and Damian’s patrols rarely met.

Tim woke at ten to someone banging on the door. This was unusual for two reasons: one, no one knew where he lived, and two, no one would want to visit him, anyway. Well, Connor would, probably Bart and Cassie, too, if they were still around. But they were all scattered to the winds, the team broken up and their headquarters empty. Which left him with the question of who the hell was banging on the door so early. Grumbling to himself, he padded to the door, trying to trick himself into looking even vaguely awake, and opened it to a grinning Jason Todd. His grin faded when he saw Tim.

“Wow, B really did a number on you, didn’t he?” He waved a brown paper bag in Tim’s face. “Let me in already; I brought breakfast.”

‘Breakfast’ was a loaf of bread that Jason tore into chunks and smothered with jam and butter using a plastic spoon. Tim had offered him a knife, but he’d refused. Why he had a plastic spoon to hand was anyone’s guess. He offered a chunk to Tim and he nibbled at it self-consciously. Jason had been… unavailable… for a while and even before then, they had never been exactly close. Now he had come knocking with food and sprawled across his sofa without a care. Eventually the food was gone and Jason sat up, leaning closer eagerly.

“So, what did you do to get on the big bad Bat’s bad side?” Tim wanted to believe he was imagining the curiosity gleaming in his eyes, wanted to believe his older brother had simply decided to bring him breakfast and hang out, but it was not to be. He sighed.

“Nothing,” he said, sitting back with forced casualness. “I told him we cared. That’s it. I told him we cared and we understood.”

There was sadness in Jason’s expression, his mouth a grim line, and he looked older than Tim had seen him in a long time.

“He’s not good at feelings is he? He’s never been great at it but even I’ve noticed he’s been bad lately.”

It was true but why did he need to say it so bluntly? Bruce could be a good dad sometimes, could give comfort and help with stuff and be all the dadly things and, sure, maybe he couldn’t deal with emotions very well but everyone has their faults and besides, “it’s communication,” Tim responded, quickly, “he taught us all to communicate through sparring; in case someone was watching. That’s all it is.”

“So what did it mean?” Jason replied and there was a hardness in his gaze that hadn’t been there before.

“I don’t know.”

Tim was thinking. Thinking was a dangerous pastime and there was always the possibility that it would cause an endless downward spiral so Tim didn’t tend to think too deeply about himself unless it was necessary. Now it was. Jason had given him a lot to consider and Tim wasn’t sure he meant to but that was the consequence of asking your brother why your dad had punched him. He’d left a phone number on the table because Jason was dramatic like that but Tim hadn’t called. He’d logged the number, saved it to his computers and his phone and his comms under a super secret file no one, not even Batgirl, could access without his permission. Definitely not Bruce. He’d spent hours trying to decode whatever that punch might have meant, consulted the Robin manual, his own notes, anything to figure it out, and find some kind of meaning. He’d come up empty. He’d wracked his brains trying to remember any other time he’d used it that wasn’t theoretical and found nothing. If it hadn’t been communication, if it hadn’t been their little secret language of blows, then what was it? Had Bruce just gotten angry and swung at him? Was it something Tim did? It must have been. Bruce wouldn’t just punch him for no reason. He’d made him angry, and Tim was very annoying, he knew, and he’d punched him to get him to stop. It was simple. He was safe so long as he did nothing stupid.

Jason came by again, this time with lunch. This time the conversation was lighter. They talked about some novel Tim had seen the movie of one time and Jason had read. Then they laughed over some stupid story about one of Jason’s old exploits as Robin in the scaly pants, the costume being the main joke. Bruce was mentioned but not discussed, not regarding anything recent or serious, anyway. Then Jason lifted his hand. Tim knew, realistically, that it was a pat on the shoulder, a simple affectionate move, but something in his mind saw the hand coming and screamed danger. Tim flinched. Jason immediately put his hand down and Tim apologised, but the damage was done. There was a barrier between them now and he didn’t know how to breach it.

“Tim -” Jason started.

“I’m sorry.” Everything was awkward. Why did Tim make it awkward? Should he apologise again? He should. He opened his mouth.

“I swear, if the next word to escape your mouth is ‘sorry’ I’ll put a bullet in your knee.” He closed his mouth again. “Thank you. You don’t need to apologise, honest. I should apologise to you.” Tim squinted in confusion. “I should have known not to touch you, not after everything.” If this kept up, he’d get stuck permanently staring with abject confusion. Jason looked annoyed. “Parents shouldn’t hit their kids, Timbo, you should know that, what with our night job. And I know you said it was ‘communication’,” Jason’s air-quotes were more than audible, the sarcasm was biting. “But even if it was, and I don’t think it was, that’s a pretty messed up method of ‘communicating’ with your kid.” Tim bit his lip and looked at the floor. His mind was whirling again and it had only been days since the last time he’d had a deep thought about this yet here he was again.

“Would you let someone treat their kids that way when you’re out in your costume?” Tim didn’t know the answer to that either.

Gotham was collapsing, as always, and Tim tried to help but there was only so much he could do when Bruce wouldn’t let anyone in. He left the city, headed back to San Francisco, to Young Justice, and stayed there. His bruises were gone, but they knew something had happened. No one mentioned it; Tim was relieved.

When everything had died down, he snuck back into Gotham. He went on patrol like everything was still normal and he wasn’t avoiding Bruce. He tried to pretend he wasn’t watching Damian when he had time. It was something he’d realised when he was with his team: Damian still lived with Bruce and if Bruce was going mad, Damian would be right in the line of fire. So he watched from a distance, used his skills from before he was Robin when he snuck around after dark to follow his idols, and kept an eye out for anything unusual. Everything seemed ok and Tim wondered whether it really had just been him, just a one off. He’d exaggerated the problem. It was just one punch.

There was another crisis to avert, and Tim came because he was the good Robin who came when Batman called him. In the aftermath, they sat on the rooftop, watching the city. It was nice.

“You’ve been avoiding me.” That was Bruce: always straight to the point.

“I thought you needed time to get your head on straight.” It was true, to an extent. He’d thought maybe Bruce needed time. Mainly it was for Tim, though, time for him to process everything, to think about the hows and whys of everything that had happened. Bruce grunted which wasn’t a disagreement exactly but Tim didn’t want to push his luck so he stayed silent. He saw Bruce’s eyes flicker to his jaw and back to the street. The silence became heavy with things unsaid.

“You should have told me when you left. I was concerned.” There was no emotion in his words but Tim knew them to be true, the way he knew everything Bruce said to be true.

“I assumed you didn’t want to see me. You punched me in the face.” He chuckled darkly but Bruce didn’t join him. He let it die and looked away.

“I always want to know what you’re up to, Tim.” He still hadn’t addressed the elephant in the room. Tim doubted he ever would. That was ok. Bruce cared, he wasn’t angry with Tim. That was all that mattered.

He went back to the cave to log some data. It was fine, nice even; Alfred gave him some cookies and seemed glad someone appreciated them. Damian ignored him, which was normal. Bruce ignored him too, which was less normal but still fine. He left again. As he walked back to his bike, Bruce caught his arm. “You’re not staying?” It seemed an innocent question, but it put Tim on edge for reasons he couldn’t explain. He shook his head. “It’s getting late. Your room is just how you left it.” It wasn’t quite an olive branch, but it was the closest Bruce came to an apology, a ‘you’re still welcome’ broadcast in that very Bruce-like way. Tim smiled, but it felt fake and unsure, like he shouldn’t be glad Bruce still cared about him.

“I know,” he said, “I have some stuff to clear up that can’t wait, though. See you around?” Bruce gave him a very level stare and grunted. Tim supposed that was the best he could hope for.

There was a kid in the building across from Tim who was crying. She was younger than Damian and she’d been crying off and on for hours. Tim hadn’t seen anyone enter or leave the room which meant she was alone. A child left alone in Gotham at night was never a good sign: Tim would know. This wasn’t even the bad part of Gotham, or at least not Crime Alley where no one was safe ever, and he wouldn’t have stopped if it weren’t for the case he’d been working that had led him to the upper east side in pursuit of a gunrunner. Said gunrunner hadn’t left the building he’d holed up in and probably wouldn’t but Tim wanted to be sure. Hence, the stake-out. And the kid was still crying. He glanced across and saw her, curled up beneath the covers, through the crack in her curtains. It had been hours. No one had been to check on her. No one had comforted her. He bit his lip. This was a terrible idea; he should be watching in case his lead left the building; he shouldn’t get distracted. But the kid was alone and Tim had always had a soft spot for lonely kids. He swung across and perched on the window ledge. “Psst,” he hissed, tapping on the glass. “Hey, kid, what’s wrong?” The girl lifted her head but, far from looking excited at the appearance of one of Gotham’s famed vigilantes, horror crossed her face. She stopped crying, but it was a small accomplishment. Tim grinned, hoping it would set her at ease. “Is everything ok? I heard you crying.” She nodded her head frantically but Tim could see her trembling slightly. “I’m not going to hurt you, I promise. Are your parents home?” She nodded again and moved closer to the window.

“My dad’s watching TV, but he’ll be coming soon.” Her voice was barely more than a whisper and Tim struggled to hear it.

“That’s good. Kids shouldn’t be left alone, you know.” The girl scrunched up her face in distaste.

“I can look after myself, honest. It’s better when he’s not here.” Tim was suspicious now. Things were slotting into place. A kid, crying, her dad ignoring her, a preference for being alone over parental contact. It reminded Tim of another boy, a lifetime ago, alone in a house, resolutely believing that was ok.

“I know you can. But that doesn’t mean you should. Your dad should care about you and make sure you’re ok. Does he do that?” There was silence. The kid stared at the floor consideringly and Tim felt something in the pit of his stomach that might have been sympathy. A voice from behind the door had Tim ducking down to the ledge below and the kid scampering back to bed.

“Katie, are you talking to someone?” Footsteps echoed, and he heard the kid, Katie, whimper. “What have I told you about leaving your window open, brat.” There was a murmur in response before a shadow loomed in the window, pulling it closed. “Get back in bed before I make you,” the man growled as he raised his hand threateningly. Tim had had enough. Waiting for the man to leave, he pulled up all the info he could find. Bert Summers, 43 years old, no previous criminal convictions, wife died three years previously from unexplained medical issues. Katie Summers, aged 8, attended school several blocks away. She was good at art and never got in trouble. It had been a few minutes, so he popped back up to check on her.

“Hey, Katie,” he whispered, “I have to go now, but I’ll come back tomorrow. It’s all going to be ok. I promise.” He stuck a camera and audio bug under the window screen before he left.

He went back the next night and there was a bruise on Katie’s cheek like a handprint. She refused to speak to him or move from her bed but she turned her head in his direction and he saw she’d been crying. He rang CPS and she ended up with a foster family about five blocks away. He checked. She seemed happier, but she still flinched away from raised voices and was too anxious to do as she was told. She would get better, Tim knew, but it would take time and for the time being he was happy to leave her be. He scheduled to check back in on her in a month, then got busy with other matters.

The Joker broke out of Arkham and went after Robin because he’s an insane psychopath. Robin didn’t help matters, going after him alone and getting kidnapped. Tim rescued him and it was Damian’s greatest shame. Damian ignored that all of them had been kidnapped by the Joker at least once, or that if Tim hadn’t rescued him he would have died, or that Tim had defied Bruce’s express orders not to get involved. They went back to the cave and Tim tried to ignore Bruce shouting as he tapped away at a report. It didn’t work. He sensed rather than felt Damian storm off to the showers and Bruce returned to his normal position of hovering behind him. There was anger emanating from him and Tim tensed. He wasn’t afraid of Bruce, not really, just… aware of his temper. He’d known the consequences of his actions before he left and had done it anyway. Damian was safe. He didn’t regret anything. Now he just had to make Bruce see it that way.

“I know, I went behind your back,” he began, “but Damian is safe now and that’s what matters, right? So why don’t we just call it a night?” Bruce didn’t make a sound and Tim was suddenly aware of what a colossal mistake he’d made.

“Damian might be safe but you still disobeyed my direct orders and there have to be consequences for that, you know that, Tim.” He sounded angry. There was a coldness to his voice that Tim had learned to interpret over the years as a flimsy mask for his inner fury. Why Bruce was so angry he didn’t know. There was no real reason to be and besides…

“Everything turned out alright in the end. No one died and Joker’s back in Arkham where he belongs. Your plan to hold back would have gotten Robin killed and you know it.” When had he stood up? He was facing Bruce and he’d been shouting and Bruce was as stoic and expressionless as a brick wall.

“Sit down, Tim.” He gathered all his resolve. This was an issue he intended to push as far as he could, for Damian’s sake.

“No, Bruce. I don’t get it! Do you not trust me or something? My plan worked out fine and yeah it wasn’t your plan but your’s wouldn’t have worked anyway and if I hadn’t stepped in Damian would have died. Don’t you get that? Your pride could have killed your son and I know that doesn’t mean much to you anymore because we’ve all died at least once but-” He stopped. Raised a hand to his face. Sat down, hard.

Bruce was glaring at him and he’d never seen so much anger before. His hand was still raised and as Tim struggled back up to his feet, Bruce swung it back in preparation to take another swing. He backed away but Bruce followed.

“You have no idea what it’s like, to lose someone, to lose a son!” Bruce’s voice cracked and Tim knew he’d lost this battle. Bruce’s facade of composure had broken and now he was dangerous. Tim had been stupid and he was paying for it.

“I know, Bruce. More than anyone else, I know,” he cried, desperately, and it was true but Bruce wouldn’t see it.

“You know nothing!”

Blackness.

[redhoodieone]

It’s Cold in Here Part 7

A/N: And hereeeee is Part 7! Wow, and there is more to come because there are more scary and dangerous things ahead.  So, enjoy this part, and wait for the next one. 

Warnings: Language.

  I woke up around six in the morning because I knew I couldn’t stick around to see and talk to Jason. I quietly got up from his cuddling embrace and got dressed and left without looking back at him. I even snuck around Alfred, who was in the kitchen making coffee, and I got into my car and drove off.

The second I get back to my home, I wash up, shower, and I find myself searching through the kitchen for something to eat. But after not going grocery shopping for a while, I end up eating the last slice of bread with the little spoonful of peanut butter at the bottom of the empty jar.

I then contemplate what to do today. I know I have work tomorrow, and today’s my last day off, and there’s got to be something I could do to stop me from obsessing about tonight’s encounter with the mysterious text messenger.

The fact that I must go alone makes me anxious, but I know I don’t have any other choice. My thoughts are interrupted from a knock on my front door.

Oh my God. Could it be Jason?

Fuck.

I shove the rest of my piece of bread into my mouth, and race to the door. I hesitate to open the door, but once I gain some sort of little confidence, I open the door.

It’s Dick.

My heart starts to pound in my chest. Why is he here? What’s going on?

Dick’s dressed casually; black pants with a white shirt and blue sweater on. His dark hair is gelled and messy like always, and his ocean blue eyes are focused on me.

I move aside and let him inside. The tension between us is awkward and I do feel like there’s a chill between us. It’s as if I just allowed a stranger into my home.

“Y/N, can we talk?” Dick finally asks. The way he says it sounds practiced, and a little heavy. “Please?”

I want to laugh, just to make him feel uncomfortable since he has no problem making me feel uneasy right now. “I guess we have to, right? Since our relationship is pretty much over except for who’s going to end it first,” I say.

“I...I don’t want us to be over. I still love you, and I want you to be with me,” Dick confesses, as he sits down beside me.

“W-what? Dick, you can’t be serious! You’re...into guys too, and you cheated on me. How could I be in a relationship with you after that?” I ask, suddenly feeling ambushed by him.

“You don’t understand, Y/N. I know what I did was wrong. I shouldn’t have slept with him and lie to you, but I can’t just break up with you right now. Look, I had a moment of weakness. I fucked up. But it’s not going to happen again. I’m not gay or anything,” Dick continues, as he begins sounding more desperate and nervous.

“I know you’re not gay, Dick. You’re...bisexual. But that’s...that’s not what bothers me. I mean, it did in the beginning but it’s something I can’t change or ignore. What bothers me is that you cheated on me; it’s still cheating when it’s with a woman or a man,” I say, no longer frightened to keep silent. Dick needs to know the truth. “And the fact that you keep wanting us to be together just makes this relationship fake. Why would you want to put me through that?”

“BECAUSE I DON’T WANT BRUCE TO FIND OUT!” Dick yells. He’s clearly afraid, and angry about the whole thing.

Dick begins to cry. He pulls his hair, and cries looking down at the carpet.

“All my life, I had to be perfect. I was supposed to be the best. My earliest days in the circus as the star acrobat along my family, when Bruce molded me into being the perfect sidekick Robin and to be a man a woman deserves. True, I haven’t exactly treated women right from time to time but being with you is something I feel like I was meant to have,” Dick says, wiping his tears away. “But as any perfect creation comes, it comes with flaws. My...sexuality is my fault.”

I feel guilty beyond words. “Dick, don’t say that...”

“It’s true! Imagine what the tabloids would say: ‘Bruce Wayne’s Son Dates Another Man! What Has Happened to Gotham’s Straight Ladies Man?!’ It could destroy our family. It could destroy me. I would be named the ‘queer’ of the family! Or those worse names homosexuals hear.”

“I-I understand your fear and all, but don’t you think you’re overreacting? The world is slowly changing now, because of the LGBTQ communities. Most advocates and activists are speaking out, and most of the time the publicity is positive. Maybe your real fear is coming from you. Maybe you have yet to accept yourself. Not everyone around you is going to think differently of you, especially the ones who love you,” I say, hoping to break through Dick’s strong, stubborn walls. “You can’t keep pretending to be someone you’re not. And you can’t have me pretend to be in love with you.”

Dick’s clear blue eyes look up to me in confusion. “You-you don’t love me anymore?” he asks softly.

“I love you Dick, but...I’m not in love with you anymore. Our relationship...is different now. I know you can’t choose which gender you want for fun or for a serious relationship, but I think you’re torn between what you want to discover and pursue now. This is clearly new to you, and while you figure it all out, maybe you need to be single to do that,” I admit.

Dick breathes heavily. He rubs his eyes, and after a while, he takes my hand and looks at me.

“You’re right, Y/N. You’re right about everything. I...I should have handled this better, but even though I still fucked up, I’m still in love with you and I still want to be with you. My feelings for you haven’t changed at all,” Dick confesses.

“What about Wally?” I finally ask.

“What about him? This isn’t about him. What happened between us doesn’t mean anything. He knows that, and I know that. This is about us. I want a future with you, a family. Did you honestly think I would have all that with him?”

The pain in my stomach hurts more than ever. I know Dick is wrong, and he’s being more ignorant than usual. But arguing right now isn’t going to help us. I suddenly feel tired and very exhausted from this talk. I lean back until I completely lie down on the couch, as my legs are on Dick.

“I’m sorry, I just...don’t have a lot of experience with this kind of thing. I’m tired, and I think I need to nap,” I say. I sound sleepy and he should know I’m not faking it.

“I’m tired, too,” Dick says, as he kicks off his shoes and lies down behind me.

I don’t want Dick holding me, but when his arms wrap around me and he pulls me closer to him in a hug, that it brings me back to a happy place like in the beginning. His smell, his touch, and his affection makes me fall all over again.

“You-you slept with Jason, right?”

His question startles me at first. “Yes.”

“Was he...better than me?” Dick asks quietly.

It would be easy to tell him the truth; that yes, sex with Jason made me feel more pleasure and love, but I can’t deal with the truth anymore right now.

“It was okay. It was just sex,” I finally say. “You’re better, because you know how to make me feel important.”

Dick’s breathing is calm again, and he holds me tighter. “Good, I-I didn’t want you to have a bad time but just knowing our sex life makes you feel important is more than enough for me.”

I close my eyes. I want to wake up and see that this was all a dream.

“Y/N?”

“Yes, Dick?”

“I-I want to spend the night with you. Would that be okay?”

Dick’s practically begging me now. But since I can’t exactly be honest anymore since he refuses to be honest, I realize I have to go to Ace Chemicals alone tonight.

To face the unknown text messenger.

“I actually have to go to Zatanna’s tonight,” I lie, hoping he would buy it. But I mentally slap myself for not talking to Zatanna or Artemis today to make it more believable. With my luck, Artemis might still be hungover with Connor, while Zatanna did in fact sleep with Tim. “Artemis wants a girl’s night to dish on her hookup with Connor. I already accepted the invitation. I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t be sorry. I should have known you would already have plans since you’re an amazing girl. I’ll probably hang out with Jay, Tim, and Dami anyways. I’ll just see you in the morning then.”

“Yeah, that’ll be fine,” I agree.

“Let’s just take a nap first. Let’s us forget everything,” Dick says sleepy.

It would be good to forget everything. It would be like all this never happened. No heartbreak. No cheating. No lies. No one-night stand Jason.

Jason?

My feelings for Jason resurface again, because no matter how many times I try to drown them, they just float back up to the surface because they’re un-drownable.

Before I know it, Dick’s already sound asleep.

I guess it’s easy for him to block everything out, while I’m here suffering in silence because my heart and head want to burst.

I know I don’t have time to feel sorry for myself. I don’t have time to sit and worry about Dick’s denial, or how I have secret feelings for Jason.

Because all I know is that I’m going to finally find out who has been harassing me about Dick, and once I find out who it is...I’m going to end them.

Take them down.

Kick their fucking ass.

And make them regret fucking with me by using threats and fear.

Because when anyone threatens to hurt and destroy those closest to me, they’re just asking for a ticket to die.

And I’ll gladly give them a ticket for death. 

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