#again no shade to anyone in the responses!!!!! i really appreciate everyone being civil and bringing up some really good points

[secondhand-lions]

hey so i get that this wasn't entirely clear in the original post so here's a blanket reblog! to be incredibly clear i'm not mad at anyone, there were just a couple responses that i think got a little too far away from what my original post was trying to get at

1) key phrase of the "society rebuilds, one way or another" part is the "one way or another". the raider gang structure IS a rebuilding.

2) i know the Institute has sabotaged rebuilding attempts in the past. i know this is especially important for understanding why future outreach attempts have not been made.

3) i do not think that returning to pre-war standards is the best thing for any society in the wasteland. to do so would be incredibly difficult and also betray what Fallout is.

4) i Get that fallout is, at it's core, a wasteland game. I get that to show too much progression from that would be disingenuous and would hurt the series more than help it.

⭐️5) moving past all the society stuff, the intended main point of my original post is that the enviroment itself, NOT the people and animals living within it, often does not feel like it's actually a couple hundred years after a nuclear apocalypse.

6) i play fallout because i like fallout and i like wastelands and i like thinking about how society rebuilds and the problems they face. if i wanted something different i would play something different.

7) fo4 gets a LOT of mechanics right!! so many!!! it's a wonderful addition to the franchise, despite whatever issues i have regarding it's handling of certain topics.

been thinking and i think a lot of the problems i have with fo4 kinda just boil down to the fact that bethesda set it that far after the bombs dropped.

everything about fo4 reads, to me, like a world set just after the apocalypse. everything. flags don't last 210 years in the middle of a radiation-filled constant storm, they just don't. bones left in open air crumble to dust and get grown over and get scattered by wildlife. society rebuilds, one way or another, and all the failed rebuilding efforts read like a failed first attempt at it

i suppose it could be read as a character bias - the Sole Survivor is pre-war, so they know what everything's supposed to look like, so any deviation seems much worse than it actually is. but that would be giving bethesda credit and i'll refuse that opportunity at nearly every turn i can

they had a blank slate with the east coast so they literally didn't have to make it the next step in the timeline but whatever i guess

[kiribaku-queen]

The Blood King and his Queen [4]

Pairing: Bakugou x reader

Romance, Angst, Drama

Word count: 2.9K

Summary:  From being a mere servant girl to marrying the scariest prince in existence, your world changed right before your eyes. Exchanging places with the princess, you knew, wasn’t going to be easy. But could you have found love on the way? Or was it never meant to be?

A/N: Thank you for all the love you have given to this series so far! As I’ve said before, this is my side blog so I can’t reply directly to your comments. But I love reading them. I love reading your tags when you reblog. It really makes my day. And if I could respond to each and everyone of you, I really would because I just appreciate you so much <3 Just know that I FREAK out everytime i get a sweet comment. Like, I could comment on my main but like... thatd be weird. let me know though if youd like me to do that?

Anyway. lets get to the chapter! Happy reading :)

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After a whole days worth of exploring this new unknown, the sun began to set in the distance and the dark, night sky was quickly approaching. This led Bakugou and his soldiers to set up camp nearby. Not far away from the town you were in was a hill that came with a very beautiful view. It overlooked the entire town and when it becomes fully dark outside, that’s where the magic comes. Lanterns and torches lit up the entire place, creating this orange and red array of beautiful sunset colors.

Bakugou’s soldiers were split into three groups: setting up camp, starting the fireplace, and making food. While everyone was doing their respective tasks, you were sitting under a tree to shade you from the setting sun. Bakugou, on the other hand, wasn’t resting like how a prince normally would. He was helping along side his soldiers; talking, setting up camp, and… laughing. It was the first time you had seen him with a genuine smile on his face.

You tilted your head at the sight. He looked kind. The way he talked to his soldiers, the way he treated them, how he looked like he could be himself… was this the real prince? How could you have made him out to be this horrible person in your mind, only for him to act like a normal person?

As you were deep in thought, Bakugou couldn’t help but take a few glances at you every now and then. You were sitting all alone at the top of that hill and he was here, actively avoiding you. How could he even approach you? Forget that he was practically with you the entire day. He didn’t know how to start a conversation with you. Or with anyone for that matter. He’s not used to having a fiancée that is also a stranger. Being raised sheltered didn’t help him become a people-person. So he opted to helping set up camp. He needs something to keep him distracted from a beauty that keeps looking his way.

“Just go talk to her,” Mina, his female soldier, finally huffed. She was tired of how shy his highness was acting. It was not a sight she usually saw and if she had to take anymore of this fluffy behavior, she was going to pass away.

“I can’t,” Bakugou gave up so easily.

“What do you mean you can’t? Nothing is stopping you from talking to her,” Mina pointed out. But still, Bakugou was reluctant to go.

“What do I even say?” he asked for advice.

“Get to know her! Ask her how her day was. Ask her what her favorite color is. She’s your fiancée, soon-to-be queen. You’re going to have to spend the rest of your life with her. Ya might as well get comfortable with her when you have the chance,” Mina pushed Bakugou slightly towards your direction. Yet, he still wasn’t budging on his own. The female solider groaned and put her hands on her hips.

“I didn’t say you had to fall in love with her. At least try to be friends!” Bakugou’s face became flushed upon hearing the god forsaken L word. He became so flustered that he couldn’t even talk straight.

“W-Who said anything about… l-love,” his voice became quiet at the end.

“Go on, your highness,” she joked, taking the wood from his hands. “Give me this, and go talk to her,” she said one last time and faced away to continue setting up camp. With a deep exhale, Bakugou finally turned to you and walked up the hill.

You saw his highness making his way up the hill to you. Your breath hitched in your throat and you became stiff. By the time Bakugou had taken a seat next to you, you had already straightened your back to create the perfect posture, as a princess should.

There was an awkward silence at first. You and Bakugou just sat in front of that tree while you watched everyone do their job in setting up camp. It took a few moments for Bakugou to clear his throat and finally talk to you.

“How are you enjoying your trip so far?” he asked. That should be a good start, he thought. He glanced at you and got a glimpse at your big, doe-like eyes. You were a bit surprised that he was talking to you in such a civil manner but also made you relax.

“I’m very much enjoying it. It’s the most fun I’ve ever had,” you told him truthfully, childish excitement twinkled in your eyes.

“I’m glad,” Bakugou replied, still flustered at your reaction. He wasn’t expecting such an innocent response from you. You definitely are different from other princesses he’s encountered. But the conversation ends there. Back to silence once again. It was until curiosity got the best of you. You didn’t think about it and went ahead and just said it.

“Your people aren’t scared of you,” you commented. You didn’t realize how insensitive the comment was until it came out of your mouth. You wanted smack yourself in the head but it already came out. You forgot for a moment that you had to pretend to be the princess. And the princess would think before she spoke. But your dumbass thought it was smart to just say whatever came to your head.

“Why, are they supposed to be scared of their prince?” Bakugou asked. You couldn’t even look him in the eyes. What do you even say to that? Do you address the rumors you’ve heard?

“I-um,” you stutter. Stupid, stupid! Why did you even say that? After you thought the prince wasn’t actually all that bad, he was going to hate you now.

“I see the rumors travel far,” he says. He shifts in his seat, allowing himself to lay back on his elbows. “It’s not like my people don’t know about the rumors. Even I know about them. They just don’t know what their prince looks like.” He opens up to you. Unlike his brothers, Bakugou likes to hide his face from his people. And he does it well. He wanted to make sure that his identity was hidden and wasn’t made known to anybody. This was the only way that he was able to leave the palace and roam around freely in his kingdom without fear from his people.

“Why would you hide your identity?” you ask, curiously. You’ve never heard of a prince or princess hiding themselves from their people. It was only natural that they are bathed in glory and loved from the public. To hide your identity, you are stripped away from a certain power that only they could hold.

“Because I wouldn’t be able to do this,” he says, opening his arms up to the world. You looked out and couldn’t understand what he was trying to say. Bakugou saw the confusion in your face and chuckled.

“I wouldn’t be able to enjoy this freedom. This open air. I wouldn’t have been able to see my kingdom for how it really is. I wouldn’t have been able to be here with you.” You finally meet his eye and you guys hold each other’s stare. That’s when you understood. You could see his story through his eyes. Although you couldn’t see all of it, you understood at least a little. You could see the pressures and difficulties of being the prince, the Blood Prince no less.

Bakugou opens his mouth to say something else but quickly shuts it. He decided that it wasn’t the time to tell you just yet. You caught that little act and frowned.

“What is it?” you ask. Bakugou shakes his head and disregards it.

“In due time, princess,” he says. Before you could rebuttal, Kirishima calls you both down from the bottom of the hill.

“Dinner’s ready!” he shouts. Without a moment’s hesitation, Bakugou is already on his feet to head down. You, on the other hand, take a little longer to head down. Thanks to your dress, you had to gather it, careful not to step on it while getting up. A hand appears in front of your face and you looked up to see the owner. The prince had offered his hand to you while looking away shyly.

Little did you know, Bakugou had planned on doing that. He was already heading down to where the hot food was being poured out in bowls. But Mina had turned to him furious and motioned for him to go back. Bakugou couldn’t understand what she was trying to do. So Mina had physically act out him offering his hand to you as a romantic gesture. Clueless Bakugou did just that. And that simple act made your face heat up.

You and Bakugou made it to campfire with your arm around his. His soldiers held back their snickers and smiles and handed you each your dinner. Inside your bowl was a hot serving of porridge with meat and vegetables to fill you up. The smell was immaculate. You couldn’t wait to taste it. One sip of the porridge and your eyes lit up.

“Delicious!” you exclaimed, downing more of the food.

“I’m glad it’s to your liking, princess,” Sero, another one of Bakugou’s soldiers, bowed in respect while addressing you.

“It’s the only thing he’s good at,” Denki, another one of Bakugou’s trusted soldiers, poked fun at him.

“At least I’m good at something. You’re not good at anything!” Sero bit back and a round of laughter filled the air.

“I’m good at a lot of things!” Denki tried to defend himself.

“Yeah? Name 5 things right now!” Mina joined in. There was more laughter around the campfire when Denki paused to think about his answer. Even Bakugou was giving a hearty laugh at his soldiers joking around.

It was interesting. To see Bakugou’s true self come out around his comrades, or more like his closest friends. Who knew that the angry, scary Blood Prince could smile so wide like this? If you told the girls that the oh so famous Blood Prince wasn’t actually the scary killer we all knew, they’d laugh in your face.

Not long after dinner, you found yourself yawning. Nightfall was already upon you. Since you still had a long way to go for your trip, Bakugou advised you to sleep early so you could depart as soon as possible when the sun rose. Fortunately for you, the tent was already set up. You got into the tent and waited patiently for Bakugou.

This made your heart race. This was the first time you guys were sleeping together and you weren’t wedded yet. Was this okay to do? His soldiers were sleeping a bit farther away to give their prince and his fiancée some privacy. It’s not like you two were going to do anything. Just the thought of having him next to you while you slept in this small tent was something you thought you’d never do. But it couldn’t be avoided. You just had to breath and calm down. It won’t be for long anyway.

You continuously away for Bakugou but he never comes. You peek out the tent and he’s laying out on the grass, hands behind his head and eyes already closed.

“Um,” you speak out and Bakugou peeks one eye out. “Are you not coming in?” you ask.

“The tent is for you, princess,” he says nonchalantly and closes his eyes again. You frown at this.

“Do you not have a tent?” you question.

“I’m used to sleeping on the ground. Don’t worry about me, you should get some rest,” he continues to say with eyes closed. That didn’t sit right with you. It gets very chilly at night. Without any coverage, he’s bound to get cold. It wasn’t fair that you very comfy inside this tent while he is outside in the cold. The more you’re around him, the more your image of him changes. Everything he is doing and saying is making you think differently of him.

You gather your blanket and plop right down next to him. Bakugou jumps and sits up when you get situated in your new sleeping spot.

“What?” you ask, looking up at him.

“What are you-” he couldn’t even finish his question because he is so speechless.

“I’m not going to let you sleep out here by yourself. Come,” you pat the grass next to you. “Lay down.”

Still shocked with confusion, he lays down next to you. Now you were shoulder to shoulder. Going through a roller coaster of emotion, Bakugou is now freaking out because you are so close to him. His heart is beating faster and his mind was racing. There was no way he was going to be able to sleep tonight.

You thought sleeping next to him was going to be no problem. You were so tired that you wouldn’t mind sleeping next to your ‘fiancé’ and just knock out. But it seems like any signs of tiredness was thrown out the window because now you were wide awake.

Probably an hour has passed since you laid down next to the prince. Bakugou noticed that you were restless next to him, constantly moving to get comfortable but never enough that you were able to fall asleep. Should he talk to you? What does he say? Should he follow Mina’s advice?

“Are you awake?” Bakugou’s raspy voice shocked you.

“Ah, yes,” you answer, moving to lay on your back.

“What’s your favorite color?” Bakugou took the courage to ask.

“Lilac purple,” you say. “Do you have a favorite color?”

“Red,” he says simply. “Do you have a favorite food?”

“I like simple dishes like what we ate today. Porridge, soups, stews.” Well, that’s actually all you were able to eat as a servant. But he didn’t have to know that. “You?”

“Anything meat. Favorite piece of literature?” he asked. This made you pause. As a servant, you weren’t able to read anything so how could you answer this question. You tried to think back to a time when you saw the princess studying because for the love of you, you couldn’t remember any names of those books.

“Ah, there’s so many. I can’t name one,” you made up on the spot. But Bakugou believed it.

“I guess I could say the same. Hm, how about favorite animal?”

“Let’s say it at the same time,” you suggested. Bakugou smirked.

“Alright. 1,”

“2.”

“3.”

“Dragon!” you both say at the same time. But at the same time, you both rolled to your side to face each other and that led to your faces being extremely close together. You both stared at each other, wide eyed. Though both stunned, you couldn’t look away from each other. Bakugou looks down at your lips but clears his throat and looks away. You do the same and turn away from him. You cover your face in embarrassment because you saw the way he looked at you. What was that!? Bakugou balled his hands into fists and knocked his head. What was he even thinking?

The more you got into your head, the more you started to drift into sleep. Eventually, your eyes shut completely and you fell asleep. Throughout the night, Bakugou couldn’t sleep. His mind kept replaying how close your face was to his. God, he didn’t even know why his eyes steered towards your lips. As if he wasn’t embarrassed enough, he was even more so for acting like that. He peeked at you and saw you shivering from the night breeze. That blanket was so thin, it wasn’t doing anything to help protect you from the wind. So he takes his cape and wraps it around you. When he adjust the cape to cover all of you, you moved so that you were cuddling up right next to him. You were so close that he could feel your breath on him. Bakugou froze. He was afraid that if he moved, you would wake up. As silently and as slowly as he could, he laid back down with you practically on his chest. Huh, you were so warm for someone who was shivering. It was only a minute that you were on him and he felt his eyes getting heavier with every passing second. Eventually, he falls asleep with you resting in his arms.

The next morning, Kirishima and the rest of the crew wake up early to pack and get ready for the rest of the journey. Kirishima brings Denki along to head up the hill where you and Bakugou were still sleeping. As soon as your sleeping bodies came into view, Kirishima stopped dead in his tracks. You were fully resting on top of his chest, your arm wrapped around his upper body. While Bakugou had a hand under you, wrapped around your waist and his chin rested on top of your head. Kirishima’s eyes softened at the sight. But it was all ruined when Denki got too excited and smacked the red head next to him.

“Dude! You see what I’m seeing?!” Denki whisper shouted. Kirishima rolled his eyes, grabbed his shoulders and turned him around.

“You’re gonna wake them up you idiot!” he scolded, and forced back down the hill to give you guys your privacy.

The sun hit your face just perfectly for you to wake up naturally. You stretched your arms and yawned. At the same time, Bakugou was also just getting up. The moment your eyes saw each other and saw how you were positioned, blush immediately appeared around your cheeks and you both separated from each other. Thank god you guys woke up before anyone saw you like that, you thought. But the soldiers had already seen you two together.

A/N: I’d love to hear what you have to say about this chapter! Lots of fluff so far! I literally can’t wait for the drama to begin but we gotta build up to it! Any drama you want to see happen? Let’s spice this baby up!

Also let me know if you want to be tagged for the next chapter! Spoiler: danger next chapter???? Can’t wait to see you next Monday! Thanks for all the love <3 I love you guys so much!

Tagged: @superblyspeedydragon @melasnchz-things @animexholic @bkgwrites @sam-i-am-1025 @apexqueenie @katsukibabe @germfart3 @tspice283 @angie-1306 @bakugous-trauma​ @bakugousmrs​

[white-collar-lawmen-and-conmen]

Bite (Part One)

Summary: Peter’s team is invited onto a big case in which their involvement will have serious consequences.

Word Count: 4,529

A/N: The summary is vague and doesn’t include the request, because the request itself would give away the ending. This fic was supposed to be a oneshot, but the plot was largely left up to me and I had an idea I thought was fantastic. I didn’t realize it was going to become so long. I think this is part one of three. Anyway... enjoy?

           “Yikes,” you said with a level tone. “Always wear a hard hat, I guess.”

           Ruiz glared at you. “You think this is funny?”

           “Calm down,” Hughes raised his voice to talk over Ruiz and he gave you a hard stare that said not to aggravate the visiting agents. You put your hands up innocently. It wasn’t your fault that Ruiz had such pressable buttons.

           Ruiz glared back at Hughes for all of half a second before he realized he wasn’t going to win that fight, and he used his clicker to make the projector move to the next slide. The crime scene photo went away and was replaced with a candid photograph of a white man in a snug polo with shades over his eyes, hair gelled back.

           “Look, the culprit is Caffrey’s dress sense,” Diana snickered. She earned grins from yourself and Jones and Neal scowled at her from the other side of the table.

           “I resent that.”

           “All of you, shut up,” Hughes commanded, a vein in his forehead looking particularly pink. Everyone from the white collar unit listened and the unit chief gave an aggravated wave of his wrist towards Ruiz, whose agents were all looking either plainly amused or secretly amused and trying to hide it. Neal had always gotten under Eric’s skin, and so did everyone who took Neal’s side by extension. It was funny to see how bent out of shape he could get in such a short time.

           Ruiz clenched his jaw and it looked like he ground his teeth while getting his temper under control. “Seamus Brady,” he said angrily. You still weren’t sure if he was morally outraged by the suspected murderer, or if he was just still being fussy about being ordered to invite Peter and his team onto the case. “43, American, with friends in Ireland and Wales. This bastard works hand-in-hand with suspects on Wall Street we haven’t been able to bag yet, managing a private company and swindling his investors.” He fixed his eyes on you and glared. “Henry Wallace was goin’ to take him to court next month before he ended up with his head bashed in.”

           You just looked back at him. Working in law enforcement, you saw a lot of people do really awful things, and if you let every violent crime get you down, you’d never have been able to do your job for this long. You weren’t going to feel bad for not breaking into tears instead of quipping during the uncomfortable silence following the completely context-free reveal of ugly CSI pictures.

           “You think Brady took Wallace out of the picture because he knew he was going to go down for it,” Peter urged Ruiz to continue, and, because they rarely saw eye-to-eye, Ruiz sent him a disgruntled look before resuming.

           “I’m damn sure of it. Now that Wallace is gone, there’s no one to press charges. Problem is, Brady has got near a dozen people corroborating his alibi for the night this happened, but does that look like an accident to you?”

           “Have you considered he didn’t do it?” Diana asked seriously. “Some people are really unlikeable. It can make a lot of enemies.” You got the distinct impression that she was referring to the number of people in the room who wouldn’t mind popping Ruiz in the jaw once or twice.

           Ruiz glared at her next. The guy needed to loosen up. “I’d consider it if it was worth the time,” he said shortly. “Everyone supporting his alibi’s suspected of getting cuts of his profits.”

           “Ah, the old “you knock mine, I’ll knock yours” method.” Neal nodded with his nose wrinkled in distaste. It was an increasingly commonly-known way of getting alibis to discount a motive, but mostly, the artist had never thought highly of violence, or anyone who resorted to it.

           “Looks like,” Ruiz grudgingly acknowledged. “But instead of waiting for the turnabout, we want to lock this monster up before more bodies start dropping dead in Queens. I’ve already talked to him, so I want your boy to go undercover, Burke.”

           No one commented on the way he referred to Neal. Infantilizing and deriding were pretty much the norm when it came to Ruiz’s interactions with the ex-con, no matter how civil Neal tried to be, and now everyone had stopped batting an eye because it would only fire him up more if you did. Neal certainly didn’t appreciate it, though, and neither did Peter.

           “You just showed us all a picture of the last guy who threatened him,” Peter objected, pointing up at the projection screen. “I can’t send Neal into that without a good plan in place.”

           “I’d prefer you didn’t at all,” Neal interjected dully, looking very aware of the fact that his vote didn’t really count.

           “We got a plan,” Ruiz told Peter, his nostrils flaring from the quick and negative response. “You think your team’s the only one that does any field work? Nah, Burke.” You and Diana both looked at each other at the same time, wondering if Ruiz had intended to rhyme or not. The organized crime agent clicked his remote and the projector went to the next image – some fancy-shmancy residence for the rich you’d never be able to afford to spend a night in, much less live indefinitely. “Every other week these dirtbags get together. It’s probably where we got the best chance of getting something incriminating on them.”

           “So you want Neal to somehow get invited into that high-as-heaven loft and wear a wire,” you predicted, finishing the plan for Ruiz and crossing your arms. Neal mirrored you, also crossing his arms, going off of your tone of voice to figure out that you didn’t like the plan and deciding to lend his support to anyone interested in keeping him out of it. “That’s a long-term op. They have to build rapport before anything happens.”

           “Unless we apply some pressure,” Peter theorized, and immediately, Neal uncrossed his arms and looked at his partner, wounded, as though he were thinking how dare you get on board with this?

           “Let’s be careful where we go applying pressure,” Neal requested pointedly, “Because pressure can be deadly. Especially for me.”

           “It’s good-cop, bad-cop,” Ruiz puffed, putting a hand on his belt. “A crook goes in looking for a legit, high-profile, high-payoff job and a fed makes it seem like the bureau’s gonna get our guy unless he moves faster than we can,” Ruiz finished, ignoring your interruption. “Guy knows the crook’s history, knows he’ll take a risk for a heftier profit, knows he’s got the skill to do it. He takes the chance, except the crook’s on our side, tapped and live.”

           “We’ve done some really similar ones,” you said thoughtfully, recalling a particular case where Neal had gotten himself hired as a political fixer while Peter filled the role of an obstinate, dogged cop. The pressure Peter put on the dirty politician led the man straight to Neal, who, under an alias, pushed things in the right direction. It hadn’t gone exactly to plan, but it had ultimately worked out.

            “It’s this or the guy walks.” Ruiz looked at Peter and almost dared him to disagree. The man had a very aggressive way of cooperating with other agents and you were tempted to ask if he’d ever considered being less of a hardass. Maybe people would like him more. “Chatter says he’s gonna be takin’ a trip out of New York in the next couple months. We don’t try now, we may never get this chance again.”

           Peter didn’t answer right away, looking at the loft on the projector screen and thinking deeply. As you had remembered, the last time this scheme had been used, it almost ended poorly – if Diana weren’t so quick with her gun, she may have been badly injured. However, there was probably not any chance of things going as unexpectedly off the rails as they had that time, and since Neal would be wearing a live transmitter, he could use a safe phrase the moment an attitude shifted the wrong direction. If he had to call it, then the bureau would probably lose the case; Brady would clam up and leave the jurisdiction, if he had any brain cells to rub together. It was unacceptable to let Neal be harmed for the sake of a ploy that may or may not work, so Ruiz was banking on Brady not being quick to anger or turn to violence. It was a brave gamble, considering his entire basis for being so pushy was that someone was already dead.

           “Say I agree,” Peter said slowly, and Ruiz made the hand against his belt into a frustrated fist. “Neal goes under first, gets to know the guy, see his baseline. Then we introduce a federal agent. If he gets agitated, Neal can spot the difference and get out.”

           Ruiz said briskly, “Yeah, duh, if he doesn’t think Caffrey’s an option there’s no point in sending an agent in.”

           “Who plays the agent?” Neal piped up again. “Because I vote it’s not you.”

           “Can’t be you, Ruiz,” you agreed, having Neal’s back. You tended to agree because he was a good strategist. It had nothing to do with a personal dislike for your fellow agent. Nothing at all. “If he’s already seen you, it’s too risky, he might think something’s up.”

           “But if it were a different agent, from a different division…” Jones trailed off and held a hand out like he was saying it could work.

           You nodded, and you, Jones, Diana, and Neal all looked to Peter. Your team leader was often very diplomatic about the choices he made in how to pursue cases, and this was no different. He saw you all seemed prepared to plan the operation, and gave Neal an extra look to make sure that his CI wasn’t completely opposed to the idea. Then the senior agent looked to Ruiz, and Hughes, and nodded assent with a tired sigh.

           “Alright,” Madeline, one of Ruiz’s agents, said, making a note on her laptop. “Burke is the bad cop.”

           “Or is it good cop?” You asked thoughtfully. If the fed in the plan were trying very hard to arrest an embezzler, then wasn’t the cop actually doing his job?

           “Not to Brady,” Neal told you, shaking his head. “Bad cop. Good criminal.”

           “No such thing,” Peter corrected right away.

           Neal pretended not to hear him. “Who’s the good criminal?” He asked, leaning in. “Rydell’s probably burned after last time.”

           “Nick’s got a history with math and money,” you suggested.

           “Nicholas Halden?” Madeline asked, trying to keep up. You kept Neal’s aliases pretty close to the vest for his own safety, but a little bit of word occasionally got around. Offhandedly, you questioned why Ruiz’s agents had been so quiet during the meeting. Maybe they were more afraid of their boss.

           Neal gave a full smile. It wasn’t the real thing – you knew the difference – but it was still an attractive smile, all confident and charismatic. “I think Nick has the time free to fit this into his calendar.”

~~~ Bite ~~~

           You definitely had to give the bureau credit – they could move fast when they wanted to. Nicholas Halden was a ghost most of the time, but the FBI, combined with some work in the shadows on occasion from Neal and Mozzie, kept the man alive through talk and false documents.

           “You’re a lucky man, Nick,” you called as you waved the file over your head, walking over to Neal’s desk and joining him as he readied for his first meeting with Brady. “Costa Rica and the Dominican Republic in the same three months.”

           “What can I say, I have a taste for the Caribbean,” Neal responded with a playful grin. He reached up and took the file from you, then started flipping through it to see what had been added since the last time he took the identity out for a spin.

           You sat down on the edge of his desk and picked up the papers he had been studying. He was intently looking at the most recent public reports on Brady’s company’s finances. A little bit of job research went a long way, no matter who you were applying to. While putting the papers back down on the desk, you caught Neal looking up at you instead of reading Nick’s file and you flashed him a little smile, rolling your shoulders back and sitting straight.

           “Happy with the edits?” You asked, not that you could change them if he wasn’t.

           Neal kept his eyes on you while he answered, “I’m just thinking how lonely it is Nick doesn’t have a partner.” Your heart felt like it skipped a beat and Neal added on, “Nick and Y/N sound good, don’t they?”

           You knew there was a blush on your face but you refused to let an expression of interest go by unrequited, even if he could clearly see the redness in your cheeks. “I can think of a pair that sound just a little better,” you said to him, not looking away from his eyes until you were done talking. Neal and Y/N…

           “I like those,” he said evenly, his face open and sweet. “Y/N-“

           “Neal!” Peter snapped his fingers and both of you jumped a little. You leaned back and wondered exactly when you had started leaning forward. Your boss was standing on the mezzanine, looking exasperated. “What, is your phone dead? Hurry up!” He turned and went back into his office, but his coat was on and so was his holster, so you knew he would be coming out in seconds.

           You cursed his timing, but there wasn’t anything you could do about it. When you and Neal turned back to each other, the moment was gone, and although the mood was still there, it wasn’t the time or place to try to bring the magic back.

           Neal saw the frustration on your face and touched your knee gently. “Later,” he said, standing up. He took out his wallet and started swapping out his ID cards for those of Nick Halden that had been included in the folder.

           “I’m going to hold you to that,” you told him wistfully.

~~~ Bite ~~~

           Diana drew van duty with Peter and Madeline, leaving you in the office with Jones while the rest of your team was in the field. No matter how often it happened, you never got used to the itchy feeling in your legs of sitting around when your teammates were being shot at, for all you knew. (Though you could be reasonably sure they weren’t.)

           It took about half an hour longer than you had expected it to, but it was impossible to tell until you got the call whether that was a good or a bad thing. Sometimes things took longer when there was a better opportunity than expected for building rapport, or even going straight to the throat, so you didn’t get too flustered. Peter eventually called, said that the op had gone well and Neal did good, and that since it was already later in the evening than planned, he, Neal, and Diana were going to head back to their respective houses and work from home. They would relate the details of the afternoon the next day. He invited you and Jones to do the same.

           Jones, who had a girlfriend in his life, took the advantage of an early leave, but you stayed in the office and caught yourself looking at Neal’s empty desk more than a couple of times. No matter how much you had observed it already, it still surprised you just how much you missed Neal when he was gone. The thief felt like a more necessary part of the office than the chairs or the lights or the cheap and gross office coffee, which really sucked because one day he wasn’t going to be here. Whatever he chose to do after the anklet came off, he wasn’t eligible to be an FBI agent – his days in the office were numbered, no matter how well his work-release went. And it was going to be really hard adjusting to work without him.

           “Good thing that’s still a long time away,” you told yourself, leaning back into your chair and letting out a long sigh. Still, it wasn’t the best thing in the world that your thoughts kept drifting back to him when you should have been working. You blamed it on the warmth in your knee, where it felt like his hand was still touching you. His gaze caressing your face. Voice soft and words just for you.

           Yeah. You had it bad.

~~~ Bite ~~~

           Peter briefed you all in the conference room the next morning, alongside Ruiz, Madeline, and the other two agents Ruiz had picked for the collaboration, whose names you learned were Matt and Damien. Nick’s interview with Brady went exceptionally well. From what Neal could tell, he was the most qualified applicant and Brady had been particularly interested when he’d been deflecting questions about the hedge fund he had briefly worked for. (Said hedge fund had been part of an older case in which Neal pretended to be a corporate spy and almost got killed for it.)

           Now that Neal was in your mark’s good graces, you had to take the biggest gamble of all and decide how long was long enough to wait before sending Peter in to make Brady jumpy. It was a balancing act of factors. On one hand, a greater time gap made Brady’s introductions to Neal and Peter appear less connected and gave him more time to reach out to Neal to build a stronger rapport, increasing the odds of him going to Neal when Peter started waving the hammer over his head. On the other, if you waited too long, then the risks increased that Brady would look too deeply into Neal’s cover. There were a lot of ways that it could fall apart – he could find out that the manager of that hedge fund was now in a federal prison; he could do a reverse image search of Nick’s face and come up with Neal’s pictures from when the FBI had him on their website; he could try to talk to shadowy contacts and realize that very few people had actually seen Nick in person over the last six or so years.

           “I haven’t heard anything from him,” Neal announced, but his posture was relaxed. It had been less than a day. “Give him time to come to me. I say if he doesn’t do it on his own by Monday, then we go in.”

           “How quickly does he make his decisions?” Peter asked, looking to Ruiz instead of Neal, even though only one of them had a friendly relationship with the man in question.

           Ruiz curled his lip. “Can’t say. It’s hard to find any intel on this guy. He covers his tracks.”

           Before Peter could say anything, you were already guessing his priorities. “On it, boss,” you promised, opening up your laptop. Digging up information on slimy businessmen was one of your favorite ways to spend your work day, just on the off chance that something particularly scandalous came up that you could use against them.

           “Get Diana to help you,” he said, pointing at Diana as the other female agent let out a soft sigh of complaint before taking her own computer out of its bag. “Di-“

           “I get it,” she cut him off. “I already got my excitement. Out of the van with me.” She smirked slightly as she said it.

           “And into the van with me,” Jones dryly said. It was no secret that the only person who hated the van more than Jones was Neal. “Yippee.”

           Peter frowned at both Diana and Jones in turn before continuing with the conference. When you all came out of it twenty minutes later, there wasn’t much new on your docket. Unfortunately, you couldn’t stop everything and only pursue one person when there were so many other cases waiting to be investigated. It wasn’t to the point that this one was prioritized highly enough that Peter and Ruiz could justify having almost ten agents working on nothing else.

           What you did have was the decision that, if Brady hadn’t reached out to Neal by Monday, then Peter would go in on Tuesday; if he had, then you would re-evaluate the following workday. In the meantime, Neal was to keep his head down and minimize his chances of being seen in public as much as possible while you and Diana were to continue trying to find any more background information on Seamus Brady.

           While you worked on both the Brady case and your other cases, you tried to catch spare time to fulfill the promise of talking later with Neal, but the opportunity was just out of reach. You were busy when he wasn’t and vice versa, and because of how deep he was in the undercover portion of the operation, he was spending his lunches with either Peter or Ruiz, being debriefed and making statements. By the time the end of the day was near, everyone on Peter’s team was just tired, and between your irritable temperament when you were tired and Neal’s tendency to be more guarded when he was stressed, you had both seemed to agree that it was better not to touch the subject yet. The weekend was especially needed for recuperating after the work days, and since Neal was being holed up safely away from any risk of sighting or scrutiny, you knew you shouldn’t be heading over to his penthouse during the case, anyway. It was disappointing, but the bottom line was that your “later” didn’t come that week.

           Although you had Neal weighing on your mind, your weekend was pretty relaxing. You grabbed a couple of naps, started reading a new book, and walked your neighbor’s dog for a little bit of exercise and homemade lasagna. By Monday morning, you were ready to go back to work and deal with whatever had happened since Friday.

           It turned out that there were no new developments. Honestly, it wasn’t shocking. Working for the FBI was rarely as glamorous as people tended to think. Neal reported no contact from Brady, and so Ruiz and Peter began working up a tweaked profile of Peter’s work history in order to suit the purpose of his role in the con (no, not con, operation. Peter was very picky about that). That was going to occur Tuesday, right before lunch, and it would be a quick in-and-out of attempted police intimidation.

           Then they turned the attention back to Brady, who he was and what he had done, and you and Diana had a lot of small things to report but no major discoveries. It was like Brady had suddenly come into being nine years ago, which made you suspect that it was probably a stolen identity, but you had exhausted all possible avenues for finding out who he had been before then. According to Neal, he spoke like an American, but you couldn’t find a social security number and now you weren’t totally sure that he wasn’t undocumented, which only made the situation messier.

           That conference lasted until eleven, and just as it ended, you met Neal’s eyes as you both stood up. He gave you a small smile, almost like he was inviting your attention, and you made an equally small gesture with your hand towards the door, asking him if he wanted to leave with you, maybe get lunch together. He had just started to nod when Peter brought his hand down on his shoulder, not noticing that he was interrupting.

           “You, me, my office,” he said. You looked down – you couldn’t fight the boss over Neal’s time when you were both on the clock.

           “You know,” Neal said, sounding a little stiff. It was gratifying to know that he didn’t like it much, either. It had been almost a week since the incident that wasn’t really any sort of incident at all, but possibly could have become one. “Sometimes humans eat lunch at this time of day.”

           “The Domino’s menu is downloaded to my computer,” Peter replied, missing the point and shepherding Neal out of the conference room.

           The artist caught your eye as he went past and grimaced. You nodded sympathetically, understanding.

           And your time still didn’t come at all on Monday, with Peter insisting on triple-checking everything he and Neal had related to each other about Brady, what he might be doing, and how best to get under his skin. You knew the case was important, but damn. At five in the evening, Peter clocked out (not really – you didn’t work on time cards). You knew that El made Peter come home on time with Neal and had them both sit down and eat a full meal every Monday, so you didn’t even bother hoping that Peter was leaving alone. You left not long after.

           Tuesday morning wasn’t your friend. Traffic made your commute to work particularly slow and you got there a few minutes later than you would have liked. Another case task force conference drilled everything into your head until you could’ve recited it in your sleep, and then Ruiz, Matt, Peter, and Neal all left for the next stage of the scheme. You really weren’t sure why Neal needed to go, but at this point, it was probably your irritation talking, not the thorough agent you worked hard to be. When they all returned, both bosses gathered their respective underlings into the same conference room for another update which lasted through the lunch break, and since your entire morning had been spent on one case, you were then told to spend your afternoon and early evening working on the rest of your caseloads to compensate.

           You wanted to strangle Peter. You didn’t meddle in his marriage. In fact, you supported his marriage and sometimes offered advice on presents or gestures for Elizabeth, and this was how he repaid you? By making it his life’s mission to ensure that you never, ever got any private time with Neal ever again, right after it finally seemed like the playful workplace flirting was going to result in something more meaningful?

           With enough hurrying, you managed to power through a good half-day’s effort with about ten minutes left before five. You took another look at the clock on your computer, relieved you made it. Ten minutes was enough for a conversation. Ten minutes was –

           You looked up to see if Neal was done, and he wasn’t even at his desk. After looking around for him with exasperation, you spotted him up in Peter’s office. You couldn’t see the thief’s face, but you could see Peter’s, and the seriousness of his expression made you want to throw your hands up in the air. You knew that look. It was the serious breakthrough look.

           Brady had been intimidated into contacting Neal.

~~~~~~

~~~~~~

A/N: Remember, there is at least one more part to this story and possibly two, so keep your eyes peeled!

If you like my writing and would be interested in skipping the request queue, please consider checking out the details of my Ko-Fi commissions here or go straight to my Ko-Fi page here. Imagines are $1, oneshots start at $4, and a story of this length would be just about $8.

[chrysalispen]

Prompt #7 - Forgiven

@sea-wolf-coast-to-coast

this is actually a scene i’ve wanted to write for these two for some time now, so here we go 

For the first night in twenty years, the sun was setting over a free Ala Mhigo.

The sky over Loch Seld was as bright a blaze of glory as she remembered it, staring out over the darkening outline of the wind-carved hills from the secluded remains of the overgrown garden. If she shut her eyes, if she blocked out the happy shouts from within and without the city, she could almost pretend she was sixteen years old again, young and arrogant and invincible.

Almost–but not quite. She wasn’t that girl anymore, hadn’t been for a very long time now. Too much had changed, for better or worse.

She sighed, wrapped her arms around her knees, and hugged them to her chest. It hurt that she couldn’t feel the joy they did. And there was every reason to celebrate.

She thought about the shimmer of happy tears in Lyse’s bright blue eyes when she sang. The sound of all of those voices, that rolling broad lilt she’d always associated with the simpler, better parts of her girlhood, lifted to the heavens singing a song with a tune she knew but lyrics she had never learned. And she had felt… utterly alone. It had been the final realization that this wasn’t her home anymore than any other part of the Empire had been. And it wasn’t anyone’s fault, hers or theirs.

She’d been a child when she was brought here but she had still been a colonizer. A symbol of their oppression.

While she’d been full glad to lend them her strength, this was not her victory. It was theirs, and she knew it. So she’d made her excuses to a confused and very concerned Lyse and gone out for a walk.

She had gone to the old palace district, unsure what to expect, and had found only empty buildings, dark and silent. There were precisely two people she would have wanted to see, and one of them was long gone, and the other- … she still didn’t know what had happened to L'haiya. Didn’t know if she had passed away in the last decade, or if she had been killed in the fighting, or if she had remained in Ala Mhigo at all.

Is it really asking too much, Aurelia thought, staring through the bars of the familiar wrought-iron gate, wanting to feel like I belong somewhere?

Like I have a home?

She had let herself in.

The gate had been unlocked and the house as empty as all the rest, either abandoned or looted. She didn’t even know if anyone had lived here since she’d left over a decade ago, and she didn’t stop to look. 

She meandered through the area that had once been the drawing room, leaving footprints in the dust that had gathered on the floor, and passed through the galley kitchen to the back door on her way. The koi were gone and the fountain was dry and filled only with weeds, but she had paid that no mind. Even lonely and abandoned, this place was familiar and more importantly, quiet. 

So when she heard the sound of something atop the street-facing side of the wall and the Echo did not raise the alarm, she didn’t react.

“You know, you are a surprisingly difficult woman to find when you do not wish to be found.”

Aurelia blinked. Straddling the stone wall, next to her old zelkova tree, was one Nero Scaeva, his eyes hidden by a pair of ridiculous-looking shades which he was already removing. He carried a bottle in one hand, and he raised it with a toothy, boyish grin flashed in her direction.

“There is quite the party going on in the city limits. Without as well, I daresay. The Reach is chaos.” Without waiting for her response he swung his long legs over the wall and let himself drop the last two fulms. There was a flat thud as his feet gracelessly hit the ground. “Were I you, I should be enjoying the fruits of my labors. Perhaps dancing a merry jig upon Zenos yae Galvus’ newly dug grave, may he forever rest upon stinging nettles.”

She winced at that, and did not reply. Nero seemed to take notice of her discomfort, for his smile faded somewhat.

“May I sit?” he asked.

“If you like.”

She heard his footsteps in the grass, then a soft grunt as he sat down at her side. He placed the bottle in his hand on the lip of the stone fountain so he’d have both hands free to work the laces of his plated jackboots loose. Aurelia watched, somewhat bemused, as he kicked them off, then removed the heavy leather vest and outer doublet. There was something familiar about the attire she couldn’t quite place; maybe he’d actually thought to disguise himself. She had to admit it probably wasn’t the worst idea he would have had, given the current mood of the city’s smallfolk.

“Much better.” Carelessly he tossed the glasses on top of the pile he’d made, rolled up the sleeves of his linen undershirt to the elbow, and reached for the bottle he’d set aside. “…You’re not a temperance sort, are you?”

“Hardly.”

“Excellent, because I am not about to let a Suhd Viandja go to waste.” That ridiculous grin was back. “And I’ve not yet sunk so low as to drink the entire bottle by myself.”

Aurelia took the bottle from him and stared at the label. She almost asked Nero how he’d gotten his hands on a wine this rare and expensive and decided it was probably best if she just didn’t ask at all. After a moment she passed it back. “The thought is appreciated but I don’t- I’m not interested right now. Maybe later.”

A shrug. “Then I suppose you have the privilege of watching as I guzzle a ten million gil rosé like a fifty-gil Ilsabardian posca.”

“Nero, I’m really not-”

“I don’t allow Garlond to engage in his ridiculous self-pitying nonsense and I’m certainly not going to give you a pass for same. Talk to me.”

Aurelia glared at him. He gazed steadily back, and she was the first to look away, busying herself with pulling up enough of the weeds around her that she had a comfortable place to sit and tossing the uprooted places into the fountain behind her. Knowing perfectly well she was stalling for time.

Once she realized that he was not leaving her alone, and was in fact more than willing to wait her out, she let out a sigh. Try as she might, Zenos’ dying words wouldn’t leave her. They fluttered about the dark chambers of her mind like restless ghosts that could not be bestilled.

“He said we were alike.”

“Hm?”

“Zenos. He said we were alike.” She clenched her fists at the memory and felt the sting of her nails digging into her palms. “He asked me to accept him-”

“What did he know about you?”

“What?”

“Did he know anything about you? Anything at all? Other than the bits everyone in the civilized world knows?”

“Scaeva-”

“Did he even know your name?”

“Implying that you ever care to use it.”

“Funnily enough, we do not happen to be discussing me at present. Thus your point, while valid, is not germane.”

“All right, well, if this line of questioning is quite finished-”

Those bright blue eyes rolled practically into the back of his head. “The man faced you on the battlefield… what, a brace of times? And had the astonishing arrogance to declare you a kindred spirit simply because you lasted longer than ten seconds? I would advise that you take his words with a grain of salt. Possibly an entire pillar.”

“But what if he was right?” Instead of the measured response she’d expected, he began to laugh. She swatted his forearm with a fierce scowl, but he didn’t stop; he just leaned back, bracing his weight against his hands, and his laughter echoed against the darkened windows and dirt-caked stones of the old house. “What- why are you laughing? I’m being serious!”

“I know you are, sweetling,” he gasped, “that’s why I’m laughing.”

“Great. Bloody terrific,” Aurelia huffed. She rolled away and let herself flop onto the grass, pouting at him. “I’m glad you find my existential crisis so godsdamned amusing.”

“Before you returned to Gyr Abania,” he managed between chuckles, the bastard, “you rang me over that long-distance receiver prototype we put together while very deep in your cups, and was it for some dire emergency or news that these Doman friends of yours had been captured? No, no it was not. You rang me to cry over a stray kitten you and your friends found in some Kugane alleyway.”

Her face colored. She (vaguely) remembered that.

“In my defense, I didn’t realize just how strong Hingan rice wine could actua-”

“Literal crying. Actual tears. I compromised a castrum’s signal tower so that the eikon-slayer could drunk-dial me from Othard in the middle of the night to sob across two thousand malms of ocean and continent about ‘toe beans,’ whatever the hells that is.”

“…Are you trying to be funny?”

“I’m always funny.”

“That’s debatable,” she grumbled.

“At any rate, my point being, and yes, I did have a point– crossing blades with a madman doesn’t have to hold some greater underlying meaning about man’s conscious embrace of our inherently violent nature, or whatever tiresome and self-aggrandizing monologue he chose to inflict upon you.” Nero paused mid-speech to uncork the bottle, raise it to his lips, and tilt it back for a long draught before he continued. “Meanwhile, you are sitting here consumed by guilt because you’ve taken some absurd notion that he might have had a point. The very fact it worries you should tell you he was wrong.”

“I just… I don’t want that to… is that really how everyone looks at me?”

“No.”

“You’re sure?”

“Certain.”

(This is who we are! This is all we are!)

“I’m not a beast." Her voice cracked like cermet fired in an industrial kiln overlong, brittle and harsh.

"I know,” Nero said quietly.

“I’m not like him.”

“I know you’re not.”

“…I think I feel in the mood for a drink after all, if you’ve enough to share.”

He smiled. “I believe I can spare a glass or two.”

Aurelia sat up, leaned against the fountain, and took the bottle. The warm weight of his arm had settled across her shoulders, but it was not unwelcome. 

Despite the fact it was a warm night and she was still sticky with sweat, she leaned into him as she tilted the bottle back, resting against his side. A warm body was certainly more comfortable than unyielding masonwork, and she could feel the fingers that had been draped over her shoulder idly toying with a stray bit of her hair.

For a long time she was content to just sit like this, the two of them watching the last light of the sun fade from the sky, admiring the fantastic colors it had left in its wake. A flock of white water-birds took flight at the sudden sound of thumping and the whistle of exploding fireworks overhead, fired from the Porta Praetoria cannons across the loch. They rose aloft as one on soft wings beyond the walls of the city, calling to each other as they fled the sounds of jubilant humanity.

“Aurelia?" Her name, so very rarely spoken by him, pulled her attention away from the fireworks. Nero was still staring at a fixed point in the sky, platinum blond hair haloed in scarlet-streaked blue and encroaching twilight, and she realized he was very pointedly not looking at her. "I assume you’ll be staying in Gyr Abania for some time?”

“Are we making small talk or are you actually asking me to stay?”

“…You know perfectly well what I think of small talk,” he said testily. “Perhaps instead of answering my question with a question, a simple 'yes’ or 'no’ might suffice.”

“Then say what you meant to say and stop dancing about it.”

There was a trembling pause between them. He sighed.

“By the seven hells, woman.” His voice was perfectly even, but she saw the tension in his body. He’d already steeled himself for the rejection he clearly expected was imminent. “I am operating upon the hope that at the very least, after all these months, I might have done something to finally earn your forgiveness for what passed between us in Mor Dhona.”

She gave him a long and unflinching stare. And then, right as his eyes began to shift nervously away from her face, she kissed him. His mouth was soft and warm and he tasted of ridiculously expensive wine. It was quite nice so she decided she really ought to kiss him again, just to seal the memory of it in her mind’s eye. When the second wasn’t enough she kissed him a third time.

The hand that had been stroking her hair paused in surprise, then cupped the back of her head as he responded in kind, small featherlight touches of his lips that ran together like water.

“Far be it from me to object, mind you,” he murmured against her mouth as she pressed her brow against his, “but what’s this all of a sudden?”

“I can stop if you like." 

She felt the soft huff of his breath against her mouth as he laughed mid-kiss. Her fingers teased at his thick curls, gave them a light tug, nails scraping very lightly along the back of his neck- and she heard that laugh catch in his throat, a soft, ragged and quite undignified sound that vibrated against her lips.

"Consider yourself forgiven.”

[maple-leafing]

Ammuntion: Part II (Mitch Marner x Reader)

Request: A few different asks that I got (thank you so much for being so kind)

Summary: You and Mitch don’t get along. You’re like oil and water, clashing constantly and harshly. Can you find a way to fix your non existent friendship and tell each other how you really feel?

Player: Mitch Marner

Team: Toronto Maple Leafs

Word Count: 1868

Disclaimer: I mean no disrespect to the players that I am writing for and everything is purely fictional. None of the gifs I use are my own.

A/n: I’m so sorry for the long wait, but......HERE IT IS! I really hope you guys like it. Feedback is greatly appreciated 🥰

You felt tired, almost drowsy. There was a lingering hint of anger that you couldn’t place, but as soon as you’d opened your eyes, it all came flooding back. Last night was not a good night. You felt more than overwhelmed by your surroundings, all your senses seemingly heightened. The smell of bacon seemed to waft through your apartment, hitting you violently, and you hear the fan above the stove loudly doing its job.

You push yourself up off your couch, that Auston had clearly left you on last night. Looking around, you notice a figure dart through the halls, and back into the kitchen, indicating to you that he must have stayed the night.

Following the figure, who you assume to be Auston, you step into your kitchen.

“Good morning sunshine.” Auston grins, a toothy grin that could rival that of the Cheshire Cat. It slightly unnerves you but you ignore that feeling. “Sleep well?”

Of course you know that he’s just pulling at your leg, but that doesn’t stop you from being grumpy. “Fuck off Aus. I’m too tired for you to be all joyful this early in the day.”

Why was he smiling anyway? If there’s anything you know about Auston, it’s that he is not a morning person. He’s way worse than you’ve ever been, and he’s just about the moodiest human being you’ve come across. So, what had happened since last night, when he’d been calming you down after your near fist fight with Mitch, to make him so smiley? And to top it off....Auston never cooks for you. Sure, he knows how, and he’s pretty damn good at it, but he never does it unless it’s some kind of special occasion.

“Why are you doing all of this?” You gesture to the plate of food he’d just placed in front of you. “I mean, I totally welcome it, but whatever this is, it’s way out of character for you.”

“So you’re saying I can’t just be a good friend?” He asks with another shit-eating grin.

“No. And stop being weird.”

“Fine.” He replies still smiling.

Auston knows how terrible he is at keeping secrets, especially with the way he realizes he’s acting, so he’s extremely surprised that you haven’t begun interrogating him on his weird behavior yet.

He couldn’t keep the smile off of his face with what he now knew. And it all happened after you had fallen asleep.....

/////

Auston stared down at his phone. Mitch was calling for the fifth time in the past seven minutes, and at this point, he decided he’d answer it.

“What?” He harshly whispered, glancing over at your sleeping form. Not wanting to wake you up, he moved down the hall and towards your bedroom.

On the other end of the line, Mitch sounded panicked. “I fucked up Aus.” He paused to take a breath. “Has she talked to you yet?”

“Of course she’s talked to me.” Auston could hear how upset Mitch was with himself, but that didn’t stop him from feeling angry with his teammate. “Did you think she wouldn’t tell me what happened, or that she’d just forget about it? You and I both know that while (Y/n) may be good at hiding her feelings from you, she can’t hide them from me.”

“Is she alright?” Mitch worried.

Auston’s tone seethed with venom. “Give it up Marns. It’s not like you care how she’s doing. You’ve never cared about how she’s felt, or you wouldn’t have pulled any of the shit you have.”

“Look.” Auston could hear the desperation rising in the young Canadian’s voice. “I know I’ve been an absolute jackass, but I really do care for her. I want to know how I can fix this. I want to know how I can make things right with her.”

“Why now?”

Mitch groaned. “Do I need to spell it out for you?”

“Yeah,” Auston almost growled at him, “You do.”

On the other end of the line, Mitch’s eyes widened in surprise. Auston had never been this angry with him before. “Fuck, alright.”

He needed to figure out how to say it without panicking. It had been eating at him for hours now, and he couldn’t rid himself of the sickening feeling that was in his stomach. He’d only just been able to admit it to himself, but to admit it to another person...that would make it very real.

“I won’t even begin to consider letting you near her again, unless you tell me why. (Y/n) means way too much to me for you to-“ Auston was cut off by Mitch.

“Alright! I get it.” He shouted back nervously. Placing the phone on speaker phone, and setting it down on his dresser, Mitch began to pace. He twiddled with his thumbs, never having felt an anxiety like this before.

“I’m serious Mitch. I won’t let you hurt her anymore....I can’t.”

“I know, and I’m trying to find the best way to tell you this, but I....I just can’t seem to get the words out.” Why was it so hard for him to tell his friend the truth?

Suddenly, everything fell into place for Auston. It felt like a lightbulb had gone off in his mind and his stern demeanor dropped, being replaced by a smile. “I can’t believe I didn’t see this before! God...you’re seriously...man am I stupid.” He trailed, “Fuck...you’re in love with her.”

Mitch’s voice cracked in protest, too afraid to admit it. “No!” He let out before relenting....“Yeah,” he paused, “I’m in love with her.”

Over the phone, Mitch could hear Auston’s voice raise an octave. “My best friend...and my other best friend....in love, with each other.”

/////

“Auston,” you snap your fingers in front of his face, “What the hell is going on?”

“Nothing.” He replies, his phone dinging as he picks it up. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

“Oh.” You nod. “I just thought, maybe you had something else to say.”

“No.” He smiles suspiciously. He couldn’t tell you about his conversation with Mitch from earlier. He wanted his teammate to be the one to tell you how he feels. It didn’t feel right to Auston being the middleman any longer. “Sorry, I ugh, I have to take this.” He says as his phone goes off again. “It’s my agent.”

His voice carries down the hall as he walks into your guest bedroom and closes the door. You knew that he wasn’t telling you something, but you didn’t know how to get it out of him. You weren’t too happy with any hockey players at the moment. First Mitch, and now Auston.

“Fuck”....you thought out loud, “Mitch.” For a moment, you’d forgotten how angry you’d been, and now that you’d thought of him, he’d definitely be difficult to rid your mind of. Even when he isn’t around to annoy you physically, he finds a way to mentally torture you.

You look down at the clothes you’re wearing, realizing you hadn’t changed before you fell asleep last night. Well, no point in waiting for Auston to leave your room for you to be able to change. It wasn’t like you’d stand out wearing these clothes, and surely no one would notice.

Walking towards the front door, throwing your shoes on, and grabbing your purse, you yelled “I’m headed out Aus! Call me if you need me. You’re welcome to stay as long as you want, just use your key and lock the door behind you if you leave.”

Taking the loud “okay” that was thrown back at you as his response, you took it as your opportunity to leave. A few blocks from your apartment was this beautiful, quaint park that you liked to hang out at. It was small, and clearly older, and almost always deserted, but that’s what made you fall in love with it: the peace and serenity it held.

For a sunny day in September, it was actually perfect. There was a light breeze that you felt drift across your skin as you made your way to the tree swing that you liked to call your thinking tree. Sitting down on it, you took a moment to drift lightly, back and forth, enjoying the shade the large tree provided. If there was any place that could help take your mind off of Mitch, and Auston....and just about any Toronto maple leaf and their shenanigans, it would be here.

/////

Mitch had a place where he liked to go and think. It was your place, with your special thinking tree, but after you’d shown it to him, it also became his. That night had been the only night where he’d been civil with you, and you both had gotten along. It was also the night that Mitch knew he’d started to fall for you....

/////

Sitting on the grass, both your backs leaned up against the bark of your favourite tree, you watched the sun set. Everything about this small, abandoned park was beautiful, and although you hadn’t wanted to share it with anyone, you could see how much Mitch needed this.

“Auston didn’t tell you to go easy on me did he?” He doesn’t wait for your response before he continues. “Just because Steph and I didn’t work out, doesn’t mean that everyone has to walk on eggshells around me.”

“I know that Mitch, and no, Auston didn’t put me up to this. Actually, this was my idea.” You said softly. “I know we haven’t always gotten along in the past, but I can see how much you’re hurting, and I thought I could let you in on this place. It always calms me down when I’m feeling upset and it reminds me of the beauty of life, you know?”

“Yeah.” He replies. “I can definitely see what you mean.”

Unconsciously, your hands touch each other’s, and immediately you each retract them. Looking each other in the eyes, you blush. It felt weird, but oddly right touching him, your emotions confusing you heavily.

“Sorry.” He says.

“No no. It’s all right.”

Silence consumes the conversation as you both struggle to compose yourselves. Mitch coughs suddenly, and you look up at him.

“Thank you.” He gestures, “for this.”

You smile at him gently, “Anything for a friend.”

/////

That had been the best day you’d ever spent with Mitch. He wasn’t angry with you, and that night, you’d actually gotten to know him. As you drift back and forth on the swing, it reminds you of a time in which the two of you could have been friends. It was the first, but also the last time that the two of you had gotten along, and you still can’t figure out why.

You have no idea what triggered him to hold such a grudge against you, but it’s been causing you trouble ever since.

Drifting your feet through the grass, head down, your thoughts are interrupted by a cough. Snapping your head upwards to put a face to the cough, you see him.

You’re not sure you want to see him, but he’s there, and there’s nothing you can do about it.

“Hi.” He says, a nervousness in his voice. “Can we talk?”

[earlymorningmassacre]

Neutrality Means Little

Hetalia Historically Based (Hopefully correctly)

Genres: Angst, Wartime, Hurt/Comfort, Family and (probably) Drama

Characters: Spain, Netherlands, Romano, Prussia and Belgium 

Summary: The Spanish were neutral in this godforsaken war, they deserved at least that much. But their ties to the Germans... leading soldiers to them. Perhaps they were not as neutral as they’d like to be. None the less, for their warrior’s sacrifice to the German people Spain is given a gift. One filled with memories, pain, and suffering. Yet one he feels obliged to fix. ~ Ffnet ~

It's not unusual for people to come to his house unannounced, everyone seems to do it. It actually seems to be a bit of a trend. France will do it on very rare occasions, Prussia will randomly appear out of thin air, Romano will just kind of materialize in his bed some nights, but fewer times as of late, and Portugal can easily be seen wandering his gardens on an early summer's morning. It didn't seem to matter if he was considered neutral nor did it matter that he was in fact 'isolating' himself from the rest of the world.

Well, technically anyway. But today all he really sees is the beating sun and the shade disappearing from the front side of his house. He doesn't mind the silence most of the time, but the silence can get deafening if he remains in it too long. Especially when his country, his people are so divided, sighing he resigns himself to leaning on the windowsill and watching the day begin.

That's when he notices the shadow appearing at the end of the road. The Spaniard cranes his neck out the window to get a better look. He can barely see it, but it's there. The vague outline of a car just at the far end of the drive, a large dust cloud in the machine's wake. Engine gunned and the tires spitting up the dust and rocks; it reminds him of some sort of beast coming to drag him to hell's gate. But as he watches the machine realizes something.

It's Prussia's car that he's looking at and for a moment or two he's actually excited to have company until he can hear something. A scraping noise, almost as if…as if something is being dragged behind the car. His excitement quickly disperses.

This is not a social visit, this is business. The Spaniard lightly frowns, pulling himself back into the house from the window and tiredly makes his way to the door, only turning the knob and going out when he knows the car is closer. He stands what is left of the shadow in front of his house, watching the vehicle make its way up. The heat wouldn't bother him most days but today he doesn't feel like baring it now.

The car is exactly what he would expect of the Prussian. The underside being a shiny black that seems to shimmer in the light, the upper part the same if not a darker color, and in the middle a thick white line with an unfinished decal painted on the door. Appearing very similar to that of the nation's own flag. The car stops in front of the door and enthusiastically Prussia leaps over the door and window, landing directly in front of the Spaniard. Posing like some kind of hero that the world has yet to know.

"Spain! My isolated friend," Prussia swings his arm over nape of his neck and wraps it around so his arm is resting on the opposing shoulder. Spain doesn't mind it, Prussia is a friend, but he finds it to be rather warm for such a heated day. Nor does he find the physical contact all that friendly but rather threatening as of late.

"Prussia," is all he can really say to greet him. He feels the need to properly greet his old friend but he can't seem to bring himself to do that. He can smell the irony scent of blood, the smoke that's clinging to his skin, the burnt flesh and the decomposition on the Prussian from a mile away. He's been in a battle recently; it will take more than one bath to rid him of the scent. But it's a scent he's well used to by now.

The Germanic laughs, the obnoxious sound filling the quiet air of the later morning. The stench of alcohol under his breath. "Nothing else?"

Spain doesn't even dare look him in the eye. Prussia just grins again and finally removes his arm from behind the Spaniard's head. "I bring gifts!" It's far too joyous as the Prussian swings his arms up in the air and practically dances to the mangled thing that he knows is laying there. There's too much happiness in his eyes as if he doesn't realize what he's done, what he's doing. Spain stares in the opposite direction, Prussia reminds him of a dog he'd seen once, playing with a dead cat long after it had passed. He supposes the dog killed it in a futile attempt to play with it. It apparently thought the cat was still alive and continued on, swinging the corpse around and chasing it. Perhaps at the time, the dog didn't understand the concept of death.

He doesn't want to look at what's been dragged behind the back of the car. He's seen his fair share of war, its carnage, and destruction. He's seen it all before, he was an empire after all and it's how you become such an empire, but he doesn't want to see it now. He's different now, he doesn't… he's done with war…

The Prussian cuts the rope tied to his bumper, grabbing the thing's legs and swings the mangled body at the Spaniard's feet. Spain still doesn't want to look at it. He just wants to admire the garden; this isn't his war. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Prussia bow as he would to any great ruler or king. It's less of a formality and more of a mockery... "It is with my great pleasure, that I, the Awesome Prussia present the Kingdom of Spain with their lost colony! The Netherlands!" The Prussian is laughing his ass off again. He's laughing so hard he can't even breathe. Holding his stomach and keeling over with laughter. Spain convinces himself he's not shaking with some sort of fear and some sort of anger.

"Have fun España!" And with that, the Prussian jumps back into the car, narrowly avoiding the window and almost taking the mirror clean off, and drives off. Still cackling at something he finds so very humorous that Spain doesn't get. No goodbyes or stories to regale, just that, do your job and be done with it.

That was not the Prussia he knew, yes, the nation was vile and a bit of a pervert sometimes but he didn't drag people behind cars on a regular basis. Prussia was part of Nazi Germany now, and they were willing to do anything to get back the all power they had lost and then some. Even if it meant doing things like this, but to do that, they needed allies. Strong allies, not weak allies that were in the middle of recovering from a civil war. But despite that, his boss was still lending troops to the Germans… he hated politics. Therefore, apparently as at token of the Germanic's appreciation he decided to give Spain a 'gift'.

Spain still didn't want to look down or even in the general direction of what was lying before him. He knew what to expect either way but he didn't want to see it. For a brief moment, the thought crossed his mind about leaving Netherlands there and going back inside. Like nothing had ever happened. But even he's not that cold and there was no way he could ever do something like that to anyone… anymore…

Internally wincing, he sucks in a breath and finally looks over and down at his former colony. Netherlands is lying on his stomach, head turned to the side, his normally spiky blond hair muddied and matted, and his eyes pinched shut. But he looks rather unharmed, despite the crimson-tinted mud clinging to his every feature and clothing. He was probably dragged off the battlefield that way and no one bothered to clean him off. They didn't care, it wasn't their problem. He frowns at the very thought of it. To think, that he, was once like that, but aren't they all at some point?

Spain kneels down, brushing bits of dirt off the man's once tan jacket. Netherlands groans in response, cracking an eye open. The Spaniard grins, "Heh, I guess you were just knocked out, you know for a guy who just came out of an all-out war with someone you don't look too bad."

The former colony glares, or winces, one of the two. Spain smiles happily and moves to help the nation up from the dirt. Wrapping an arm under his chest, careful to avoid the scrapes on his shoulders and neck. Lars screams, actually screams, it's short and not very high pitched but a scream nonetheless. It takes the Spaniard a moment or two to actually register exactly why. He doesn't quite remember the dirt being so red earlier, or muddy. Actually, it had been quite dry earlier, and sandy. Spain fully turns Holland over.

He's riddled with bullet holes. He can't even really tell exactly where the bullet holes are, that kind of riddled. His chest probably took a couple and his abdomen looks worse, if the Spaniard had, to be honest with himself it looks like they took him down to a shooting range and used him as the target. Netherlands coughs, blood spattering the untouched spots and smaller droplets onto Spain's pant leg. It continues on for a moment before under the nation's breath he mutters, "Not bad aye?"

Spain swallows, okay, okay, okay, and he ignores the bile that's threatening to make its way up his throat. He really doesn't like blood anymore, blood's messy, blood's part of living beings, blood's blood and there's a lot of it here. Netherlands draws a ragged, wet breath and Antonio wonders how exactly he missed that noise in the first place.

Lars winces and mumbles to himself in Dutch, periodically spitting out or coughing up said accumulated blood. It's even dripping out of his nose. Finally, Spain manages to fully collect himself before reaching for the Dutchman. Moving a bit closer and peeling Netherland's previously blue shirt from his wounds and skin. He barely even touches the fabric before the nation hisses through his teeth. Antonio tries to ignore it, continuing on, but even as he's looking under the tattered fabric he can't even see the injuries very well at all either.

He's not a doctor, nor a physician or even a medic. Spain himself has a very basic idea of battlefield medicine and even that's a bit outdated. It takes him a moment to retrieve any information about treating wounds. He needs to clean them; otherwise, the chance of them getting infected is higher. "Please, tell me you can stand?"

It takes about half a minute for the Dutchman to even understand the words that are coming out of his mouth. "Not well." It sounds more like a choke than actual words, but he can understand them.

"Linkernie geschoten." And we've slipped into two different languages, forget understanding.

"I don't speak Dutch, ehe…" The Dutchman grits his teeth and tries to get his arms underneath himself in a futile attempt to get up.

Spain jumps in to help, immediately taking the arm nearest to him and pulling Netherlands shakily to his feet. The nation grunts as soon as he's up, painfully glancing down at his chest and stomach. Whatever veins that had clotted before seem to have been opened again, he's bleeding more steadily now. Antonio gives a barely audible curse and ushers Lars to move a bit faster but the man is almost dead weight at this point, and he finds it almost impossible. But Netherlands still has his pride and despite everything is, with very little effort, pushing Spain off him. Idiota.

Even though he's not using his left leg no matter what and refuses to place all his trust in the Spaniard to basically drag him inside. In short, it was making the Spaniard's life that much more difficult. Opening the door was a bit of a trick and he didn't even bother closing it after. He barely manages to get Netherlands upstairs to the washroom without falling back down them. He's basically dragging the persona by the time they get up to the second floor.

Spain unhooks Netherland's arm and manages to get him into the empty tub. The Dutchman's head lolling back over the edge despite his boots touching the footer. Spain has officially concluded that the Dutch are just far too tall.

Netherlands continually switched from consciousness to unconsciousness now, once and awhile he'd throw himself forward and choke out an amount of blood Antonio didn't even think was in his body anymore. Then there was the fact that cleaning the wounds in the first place was almost completely fruitless. You'd clean them off and they'd only continue bleeding. He'd managed to remove the sand and the mud though which was at least a small accomplishment.

Clothing was getting to be an issue too; he couldn't really get Lars to take his jacket off, or his scarf, much less his shirt. They'd probably had a pretty one-sided conversation a couple of times about how if Netherlands wanted to keep his human body alive for much longer he'd have to actually be able to treat the wounds properly. He just kind of lay there, eyeing Spain or the wall, mumbling to himself in his strange, harsh language.

Eventually, he did manage to shrug off his jacket, hissing away Spain every time he even looked like he was going to help. The shirt he gave up on and just peeled it off the skin before cleaning around the wounds so Antonio could at least gage where to bandage the persona. God this was a mess. Although only to reveal that the Dutchman's right side was bruised and mildly malformed, probably a couple broken ribs. As if it didn't hurt to breathe already…

Netherlands seemed almost completely out of it after he'd been bandaged. Staring at nothing particularly and now completely limp instead of tense like he had been before. There was a two-minute time frame of where Antonio actually debated about leaving him in the tub and just covering him up with a few blankets. The idea was rejected after a couple moments of consideration.

So, dragging the impossibly-too-tall Dutchman out of the tub and readjusting his position to better suite Spain, they went on. The Spaniard would continue to readjust this position throughout their little 'walk'. But he got the persona to one of the nicer guest rooms of his house. "Alright Netherlands," grunting, Spain eased him onto the bed in a fluid motion that he was quite proud of, "and there we go. You're just lucky that most of those bullet holes had exit wounds otherwise there'd be a lot more pain than what you're feeling now mi amigo."

"Don't call… me… that…"

"Ah… so we're back to English, finally, I was wondering if you'd ever get back to it."

Lars groans, lazily opening his eyes to glare at the Spaniard again. Spain perks up, "Which reminds me," turning around and padding off through the door, he disappears around the corner.

Netherland's just eyes the doorway for less than a moment before letting his head rest again. What'd he say? Which… what does that mean… sleep seemed like it would be a good idea at this point. Not translating, translating takes time. He can't even really tell exactly what's hurt and what's not hurt anymore. It just all hurts, every little movement just makes it worse. He doesn't even really think this body will make it through the night in this state even. So what's the point? What's the point of Spain saving him? It's not like he'd go away forever, it'll be such a pain to heal anyway.

Spain wanders back into the room, small vial in hand and ever-present grin, "This will help with the pain."

Lars rolls his head over to the side and flinches away, bringing on some more undesirable pain with it. He hisses a breath and weekly mutters, "No."

Antonio gives him a perplexed look, "I know you really hate me but I didn't think it was that bad."

Netherlands gives a slow blink, "Not what… I never… hated you…"

The persona relaxes into the far side of the bed, keeping himself a good distance from the Spaniard and the vial. "'ust… keep that away from me."

With half-lidded eyes the Dutchman watches Spain slowly glance at the vial, placing it on a table to the far side of the wall and slowly walk out. "Well, I guess I'll go then."

He doesn't close his eyes until the door is shut before he drifts off into the nothingness that knows him all too well.

…TO BE CONTINUED…

So previously I have been posting on Fanfiction, and continue to do so. But I was advised by some people to post on Tumblr as well, just to get my stuff out there. So basically, I’m going to see how this is received and probably put the chapters up I have done. It’s a tester if anything. So, thanks for checking this out if your reading this. :) 

~EarlyMorningMassacre~

[bitter-ramblings]

I’ve been incommunicado since April 1st and now I will say why. Currently, only four people know this story, so gather round children and let me tell you a tale.

April 1st I hadn’t slept all night due to frequent anxiety attacks, the reason for the anxiety attacks being that I’d got a date. Started talking to said date in the morning but couldn’t get out of bed due to aforementioned anxiety. By the time I was finally done worrying about what to wear and actually got out of the house it was coming up to midday. I wasted half the day in bed panicking.

Finally met up with my date, and they were lovely. Such a wonderful warm person. I got comfortable with them quickly, and they even let me do their makeup (subtle as it was, it was there, didn’t want to overwhelm). Honestly, we had to climb 3 sets of stairs to reach their room, we were both fucking winded by the time we got up there. They kindly painted my nails for me, and coincidentally they used nail polish the same shade as my lipstick.

I had so many plans for the day, and at best 2 came true. The first being that I actually showed up and met them. I’m not exactly lucky on the relationship front (partially my own fault but I’ll explain that another time). The second being I dragged them into the sticks in order to visit my favourite steak house. Naturally, I drank too much and made a tit of myself, but not too much of a tit I don’t believe.

After the mealtime was trudging on and they wanted to go shopping, I did too coincidentally so off we adventured to the intu potteries shopping centre. Such excite. Everywhere we went the clothes were too small or just plain shit (again more on this in a separate post), and eventually, dejectedly we wandered into the zoo that is Primark. I brought myself a Nirvana t-shirt like the 90s grunge kid I am, but my date got nothing, and that kind of made me feel crappy.

Just as we were leaving and about to head back to their hotel, I got a text from my friend Emii asking that I buy her some fake nails. Now both my friends, Emii and Mousey, are fully aware that I am on a date, and they’ve both been texting me practically non-stop since about 12. I assumed to make sure I was safe and having a good time, but they kept asking me when I was going to be finished and to come over asap.

My date was very patient with me picking out the nails, and God fucking bless them, they even drove me to Emiis house and dropped me off… And that’s when the day turned sour. The date was pretty okay, the company was good, I just don’t think either of us got to do as much as we’d liked, but we had the following day to continue adventures. Except we did not.

As soon as I let myself into Emiis i can feel the tension in the air. Baring in mind I’m 2 pints of Peroni lager down and had a drink before I even left the house that morning. So I wander up the stairs and there’s a stranger waiting for me. It turns out that Emii invited her tinder date over for a night out with us (emo night at the underground, it was a busy weekend for me, who rarely leaves the house), and it turned out he was a bit of a dickhead. Other Sam as he is known (there can be only one), started out pretty okay. Just a regular bloke. But mousey and Emii are both sitting away from him, he was on his own eating pizza.

I sat by him as it was the only seat and introduced myself, we started having a polite chat about fandoms and personal beliefs, and all the time I can just see Emii and Mousey shrinking away from him. Other Sam misgendered me multiple times, and as it was the first time he’d met me there was really no excuse, he did it to Mousey too. As the conversation went on, we went into relationship politics and had a discussion about attraction and how one's sexuality changes and evolves over time.

In the room, we’ve got a cisgender female pansexual, a transgender male asexual and me, a fucking nonbinary pansexual mess of a person but a male identifying one. He was discussing how in his highschool years he thought he might be bi, but that he found he’s not fond of penises. I then said “maybe you’re biromantic. Besides, it’s not like all men have penises” and then gestured to myself. In response to this, he goes “well, actually-” and Emii shut him up quickly. I encouraged him to go on. Everyone is entitled to their opinions, I’m not everyone’s cup of tea. And I always encourage healthy discussion and debate, which we then engaged in, in a civil (bit tipsy) manner.

I’m pretty much always willing to find a compromise, and I wasn’t about to prove my intemperance by knocking him on his arse, especially not in my friends flat. He genuinely argued that Nazis don’t deserve to be punched. I shit you not. By this point, he’s the Nick Griffin of the room now. Not quite on Donald Trump’s level of bigotry, but y'know, probably voted UKIP and for Brexit. Actually, I think he mentioned being in favour of leaving the EU, but by this point, my eyes had rolled so far back into my skull they were doing roly-polys.

As the conversation was pretty sour, Emii put on some music and cracked out more alcohol so we could get back into the party mood. P!ATD, FOB, MCR, all the emo greats… Also, Mariana’s Trench because yessss. Things got better with alcohol and simultaneously worse. As so often happens when lads are in a group and are drinking, it soon dissolved into “banter”, slapping each other on the back and generally being too loud and making others uncomfortable.

“Ah all in the bantz mate, we’re pals yeah?” He’d say every time he misgendered me. Walking through Alsager was fucking bad, it’s full of elderly people, and here are two rowdy 20-somethings here staggering along and singing… And we’ve not even been to the event yet, this is all predrinks. Other Sam the decided to spend some time with Emii so me and mousey had a chance to talk. I can fucking see why they were so eager to have me there, as I’m the resident arsehole wrangler. Dealing with obnoxious lads is essentially the entirety of my college experience (more on that another time.)

On the bus, Other Sam was once again demoted to be my travel buddy. Emii was just barely tolerating him at this point, but he couldn’t leave as he’d come all the way from Liverpool and had no means of returning home. We got to The Underground and the place was deserted, just the DJ and the barman. I got the first round in, therefore being dubbed a “top lad” by my charge.

People filtered in slowly, but it never got so packed out as to be uncomfortable. I even got up and danced (I’m only capable of dad dancing), Emii can get along with anyone and she was tearing up the dance floor most of the night, something Other Sam did not appreciate. Miserable sod wouldn’t get up and dance, just sat there chuntering that “she’s giving all her attention to other blokes”. He’d deluded himself that she was trying to take someone else home, and outright accused her to her face a little later on. The event itself was pretty great, but afterwards, Other Sam had a rate temper tantrum, so me and Mousey played bouncer. Other Sam’s there telling me what a “nice guy” he is and how he “didn’t have any expectations”, and yet he’s made her cry because he’s a jealous piece of shit.

We got the taxi home and Other Sam did apologise, but by this point everyone was tired and Emii had no time or interest in him. If it wasn’t for him not being able to get home she’d have kicked him out without a second thought, and rightly so in my opinion.

Fun part was, Emii and Mousey went off to bed, and I had to share the sofa bed with an inebriated nice guy complaining about how women have wronged him. I just put my pyjamas on and got into bed and prayed for the best. He’s strutting around in nothing but his underwear, touching himself, and I am filled with dread. He slips in behind me and puts an arm around me. I can't hear what he’s slurring, just ringing in my ears as he touches me.

Thankfully he was too drunk to get it up and mistook the inside of my thigh for my genitals… Somehow. Anyway, I just kept insisting I was going to sleep until he gave up and rolled over saying “we can finish this tomorrow, sweet dreams”. If I hadn’t been so drunk there’s no way I could have slept. I woke at about 5 that morning and climbed out of bed onto another sofa, I didn’t want to be next to him when he woke up, or indeed ever.

Emii got up at about 7 getting ready for work. I’m massively hungover and stressed out so she shepherded me into bed with Mousey and woke Other Sam up, politely but firmly asking him to be gone by 9. After Emii left, Other Sam went back to sleep, and me and Mousey were unable to relax with him in the next room.

Emii actually had to come back on her dinner break to get him out of the house. Once he was gone I practically passed out, I was so hungover I didn’t even hear Mousey come and go, tidying and getting shopping. Got up around 1, with Emii expected back at 2. Emii bless her, cooked us a beautiful Sunday dinner, it was a really nice end to the weekend. But because of all that nonsense, I wasn’t well enough to see my date again… Which was shit. But he drove to see his girlfriend on the way home and they had a good time together which was wonderful.

I’m slowly getting my mojo back but right now my head is massively fucked up. I need to take some time. Right now every little thing is just too much for me to handle.