#and it took FOUR YEARS to edit this goddamn

[lostximagination]

11/8/24

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It was just a few scant months ago that Issac Riley and Anna Kahale met with a literal lightning strike. A lot happened very quickly, and the both of them are still adjusting to the changes in their lives.

Anna has to learn to control her newfound magic, and Issac has to deal with the drastic changes to his life from finding out he was the legendary magical figure known as the Master.

Kevin Anderson is still at large, leaving the both of them in grave danger, especially Issac, as he’s still recovering from his last encounter with the dangerous witch hunter.

This is made much worse as threats from the far past are returning, and quickly… And as the first Master in centuries, it’s on Issac to deal with them, and defeat the returning Darkness before it gets too strong. Can he handle the pressure, even with Anna’s help, or will he crack under the strain, and potentially doom the world with him?

-

First book's ebook is free until release day

[luludeluluramblings]

Smalltown!Neglected!Meta!Reader x Yandere!Batfam ☁️ Part Six

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

Part One ☁️ Part Two ☁️ Part Three ☁️ Part Four ☁️ Part Five ☁️ Part Seven ☁️ Part Eight

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

A/N: Sorry it took so long. I just haven’t been satisfied with this, but I think I just need to bite the bullet and let it go. I’ve had this in the drafts for a while and have edited it three times.

A/N: I think I might focus on some blurbs. Or, if y’all want, y’all can submit ideas for what Smalltown is gonna be like. I gotta write down a general background for Reader’s childhood there. I have a plan, but wouldn’t mind y’all toss some ideas on to the pile.

A/N: Thank you 🐑 Anon for the happy birthday wishes!

Warning: Kidnapping, Hostage Situation for Reader, Guns, Violence, Death, Yandere Behavior and themes

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

After the initially panic and dread of being kidnapped settles into Reader’s bones, they’re quickly brought to the Iceberg Lounge. Where a Penguin waits to discuss the details of their ransom with them. He’s kidnapped a Wayne or two over the years, but with how well hidden the family has kept their newest member he might as well scope them out and see if he can make a pretty penny from ransoming them. Give them a proper Gotham introduction.

When Penguin finally has Reader he wrongly expects typical Gotham high society behavior. Threats, insult, bargaining, begging, bribing, hell, even crying. But, Reader, even while terrified, keeps being polite. Referring to him as Mr. Penguin, Sir, and saying please and thank you, while doing exactly what they’re told. Honestly, Reader’s more polite and respectful than half his goons and his own goddamn children. Such a damn shame they couldn’t have been his brat.

So he chats with them. Just for a bit.

How does Reader like Gotham? Who’s their favorite bat brat? What’s their favorite food? How much money did your Momma and Daddy leave you? Just friendly get-to-know you questions to help with the nerves. No need to worry. Everyone’s a bit scared during their first kidnapping. But, do they usually live past the first one, sir? Oh, you’re a smart one, aren’t ya? You’ll have to be careful with that.

It’s all quite tense for Reader, just sitting in an empty club with a dangerous man. That is, until word comes in that Bruce Wayne is paying the ransom in full. Apparently, it made Gotham headlines. The newest Wayne kidnapped. It’s all over the News, nearly every channel. Yet, Reader notices something. Why don’t they show my face, sir? It’s because this isn’t going to be your last time getting kidnapped. You’re in Gotham, baby bird. We’re all hostages in this city. How sweet of them to try to protect you from it.

It isn’t long after that, when the lounge gets visitor before the ransom money could even be dropped off.

Red Hood.

One of the Bat Brats, as Penguin calls him. His arrival raising Cain. Rubber bullets and real ones flying everywhere. Penguin gets a hold of Reader, rest his umbrella gun to their temple. Come now, Red. Don’t make me blow their pretty little head off. I’m actually fond of this one. Best of the Wayne bunch, in my not-so-humble opinion.

And, in one of the few times since becoming Red Hood, Jason hesitates. Because if he fails, if Reader gets hurt like he did, he’ll probably burn Gotham to the ground. It’s not an option. He can’t, he won’t, and he will not allow it. And, that thought, is at the forefront of his mind as he looks at Reader’s terrified face with a gun pointed at their head.

The pause, however, is noticeable. Not just to Reader, but to Penguin as well. A sign of weakness or a sign of something more foreboding. It last for a brief moment. Then Red Hood is back in action. Only, in that single moment, a decision was made. A dark decision. Something that had been healed and supposedly buried.

Batman had always fostered the importance of preparedness in them. So, of course, Jason had a magazine of live bullets ready to go for an emergency. And, this was a fucking emergency. Who cares about a few goons? And Penguin fucking deserves it.

Bruce will understand this time. How sad is it that he does?

Penguin barely escapes, with only a handful of his men still breathing and a few bullets in his shoulder, but he lives. Along with the information that the newest Wayne brat is precious enough to a Bat Brat to break the no-kill code again. Though, that might in itself become a problem for Gotham. Once again, Gotham will baptized in blood. Only, the sins are still growing under the red water. Perhaps, this time Gotham will drown in it instead.

Jason grabs a shaking and terrified Reader while leaving the lounge filled with bodies. He’ll take care of it later. Right now he needs to get Reader back to the manor, or somewhere anywhere safe. Away from Gotham, away from its criminals, and, most of all, away from him.

For a moment he had been… enraptured when he saw how scared his precious Reader looked with a gun to their head. How they looked at him with such a pitiful pleading expression. The way the shook and quaked. How fucking big their eyes got in fear.

Reader kept looking at him with those same watery fearful eyes. Those shaking fingers. A tremble that they must be all the way down to their bones. Cute. Cute. Cute. Cute. Cute.

He didn’t make it for before he snapped, grabbing Reader’s face to ask what they talked with Penguin about. What did he want from you? Why did you look so friendly with him? Don’t you know he’s a criminal. He’s dangerous. He just wants to see them cower like that again. Just once more.

It takes a long moment for him to calm down and pull himself away from terrifying Reader. Eventually, noticing an oncoming storm and realizing he had better get Reader somewhere safe and back to Bruce so he can go back and clean up the trash.

Jason leaves a throughly shaken and distraught Reader on the GCPD roof. Right next to a lit Bat Signal for a tired Jim Gordan to find.

Jim finds Reader in the storm, mildly despondent from the entire ordeal. After ushering them inside and trying to lightly question them, he makes a call to Bruce that Red Hood had rescued Reader and they the GCPD had them safe. Bruce, naturally , breaks all sorts of traffic laws to get to them when he hears the concerned tone in Jim’s voice.

Reader, exhausted from the days events and shock, falls asleep in one of the spare chairs in the GCPD building. Bruce practically melts in relief when he finds them, picking them up and gently loading them in his car. NOT A DAMN TRUCK. To take them back home. Most of the GCPD find the gesture touching. What a sweet father he is. How lucky Reader is to have such a loving father.

Arriving home, Bruce puts Reader to bed, and makes sure Alfred is on stand by to comfort them and see to their every need. Watch them. Let me know if there’s even the slightest sign of a nightmare.

After taking a moment to let his eyes linger on a sleeping Reader, he heads down into the Batcave. Calling the family together for a meeting.

Stephanie is distraught. It’s her fault Reader got taken, all her fault. She shouldn’t have left them alone. She should have been right there be their side the entire time. At every moment and got every second.

And, Bruce, with deceptively calm yet devastating words, confirms just as much.

Surprisingly, there’s no shouting. No disagreements. Not from Stephanie, and certainly not from any one else. Just the cold realization that it was her fault Reader was nearly hurt and the solemn acceptance of it. They were supposed to have a chance to get close. Stephane won’t ever let it happen again. She’ll always be close from now on. In every way she can. Even if she’s not worthy.

Jason having gone back to clean up his mess before reporting back to Bruce and the others had more startling news. No one mentions a thing when they see the blood on him. Nor the empty magazines. Nor that familiar look in his eyes that reminds them of when he first came back. Someone had torched the Iceberg Lounge before he got back. Penguin is still running free, but the lounge is up in fire and smoke.

He did manage to see a figure leaving when he finally saw past the flames.

A Talon.

The Court of the Owls was active once more.

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

With the whole Kidnapping thing and the Court being active again despite its previous destruction, Reader’s life went on completely lockdown. They aren’t allowed to go into Gotham at all. Not that they wanted to. The only reason Bruce didn’t just unenrolled them from Gotham Academy is because Damian, Cassandra, and Duke vow to watch them closely and report everything back to him.

Alfred, from then on, drives them all to and from school. Leading to quiet, bordering awkward, mornings and afternoons.

After the whole ordeal with Penguin and Red Hood, Reader is ninety percent certain the family is Gotham’s Bat vigilantes. Mainly due to the fact that Red Hood reminded Reader eerily of how Jason acted to be around them. Luckily, he barely managed to hold himself back. But, it was clear, enjoyed their fear and wanted to scare them. The whole situation resulted in Reader’s momentarily loss of control.

It also didn’t help that everyone seemed to disappear now.

Sure, Reader rides to school with Cassandra and Duke everyday. Damian is also there, but he just silently watches them with those poisonous green eyes of his. The three of them now hovering in the distance down the back of Reader’s neck. Nevertheless, as soon as they were all back in the Manor, the place becomes like a ghosttown. Even Alfred disappears for hours on end now.

Reader rightful assumes it’s more Bat work. But, there’s no one there to talk about how the incident made them feel. To help them verbally process the ordeal. It hurts.

What hurt the most, however, was Stephanie avoiding them.

Now, if Stephanie had just given them even an empty excuse and left the room it probably wouldn’t have hurt so much. But, to watch the blood drain from Stephanie’s face at the sight of Reader and then physically run away from them was offensive and down right painful.

Then there’s the additional fact that, coincidentally, Jason starts showing back up at the manor. Undoubtedly, helping the others with whatever they’re doing in the library. But, Reader sees him as more often as they pace the empty halls of the manor. And, that hysterical gleam in his eyes reminds them of that night they were rescued.

Tim has been like a ghost since the beginning of Reader’s stay. Every time Reader seems to make progress befriending him, he disappears. Only to reappear and act like nothing happened. Unnaturally, he acts like they’re somehow even closer than before. Each and every time. Like he’s never let Reader alone. Ever. Like he’s always been there watching. And, then he disappears, again and again. Only staying for brief moments.

Barbara is just a thought in Reader’s mind. Reader has seen more of Jim Gordon, her father, than Barbara in the recent weeks.

Mr. Gordon had been wanting to check in on them after the incident and ask them a few questions on what happened that night at the Iceberg Lounge. He was quite gentle in his interrogation, if you could call it that. Barbara had told him Reader wasn’t used to Gotham’s madness and must be treated gently.

Not to say Barbara isn’t checking on Reader. Tim’s not the only on constantly checking the manor cameras as Reader paces.

Dick was like a stray wind. Blowing through the manor, knocking Reader over with the shower of affection then disappearing again. To the library. To Buldhaven. To the ends of the world and back for all they knew. Unfortunately, Reader was growing desperate for any sense of comfort and would cling to him when he came. You have no idea how happy that made him. It was so cute how sad Reader was when he left now. How nice it felt to be needed.

Bruce was different, though. After the incident, he somehow managed to find a way to suffocate Reader with his presence without even being in it for long. Appearing at random to just watch them before disappearing again. Nothing was ever said. He just watched them then vanished.

Reader dreads having to bring up the whole incident with Penguin and Red Hood to Nana. They don’t want to cause anyone back home to worry. Besides, it’ll just remind everyone about that incident a few years back. The one that Reader does everything to forget about. The incident that would probably change a few things for better or for worse. For the family and for Gotham.

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

A/N: Yeah, Penguin lives. But, for a reason. Don’t get mad, please. (I did research and found out he was basically Yandere for his mother and killed his father and brothers to have all her attention for himself. And, he has children. 👀)

A/N: Also, reader’s getting some mild tragic backstory. It’s the DC universe. Everything’s gotta have a bit of bitterness. It’s all for the plot.

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

Taglist:

@starsdotalk @sleepyghoster @maicenitas @box-of-kinderjoy @yandereheros @skwunkler @cl0esblogg @delias-stuff @rosecentury

[chaoticbardlady99]

More than Your Hard Days (Sylus x GN! Reader)

Synopsis: It's been a shit day and you really have no desire to end up at the bottom of a bottle again. Thankfully, you don't have to go through this alone. (GN! due to no real reason for gender to be specified)

CW: Mentions of alcohol abuse, mentions of grief, descriptions of thoughts of self-hatred/ self-deprecating language, descriptions of vomiting.

Author Note: I've been having a really difficult time lately with coping using alcohol again so here's my self-indulgent fic in my desperate attempt to NOT go drink. (Please do not read if you feel you will be triggered- take care of you please). All reblogs, loves, and comments are appreciated. If you have anything untoward to say about alcoholism or myself (or anyone else in the comments), you will be deleted and blocked. Addiction isn't easy. If you are wanting to become sober- please educate yourself about the dangers of alcohol withdrawal and seek medical support as needed. You are not weak, you are not less than, and you deserve to live a happy, healthy life. You got this!

*this, my friends, is not edited well 🤭🤫😏

You hate the grocery store- especially after the week you had.

Between the stress of social commitments and the recent increasing demands at work, you haven’t really been given a moment to decompress or even begin to help yourself and when you finally do, someone else needs something from you.

 You haven’t had a single drink in three months and you have been determined to remain completely sober for at least a year- a hard reset. You wouldn’t call yourself an alcoholic, but you certainly began teetering on that ledge when Caleb and Gran died.

It hadn’t been something you confided in someone about until Sylus had arrived at your house in the middle of one of your intense crying and drinking sessions, took care of you when you ultimately blacked out, and he stayed by your side even when you were miserable with a hangover. After that, you wanted to get a handle on this- Sylus deserves the best and you aren’t your best when alcohol is involved. 

 One night often turns into two, then three, then four, and then suddenly it’s been a month and you feel like you may keel over from a small breeze. You have been fighting this on and off for longer than three months, this is the first consistent streak. 

 However, the bottle of hard alcohol in front of you at the store is begging to go home and be consumed.

 Think about how much fun it will be, it seems to say to you, you’ll be floating like a fluffy cloud. No sadness. No real thoughts- just silly, happy, bubbly fun. Let me be there for you- let me help you feel better.

But it never is just that, is it? Your brain adds, you can’t control yourself. You’re incapable of it. You pick up that bottle and you may as well forfeit the entire sober thing because you’re a goddamn failure and might as well accept your painful liver cirrhosis-filled death in twenty years. 

 It’s a glass bottle- it can’t hurt you if you don’t let it. It can’t open the lid and make you drink it’s own contents. It doesn’t have any actual power. 

 And yet, it’s the most powerful villain you’ve ever faced. 

 What would Sylus think? The inner bully says, I bet he’ll leave you. Why should he have to date someone who isn’t adult enough to handle their booze?

 You gulp- your mouth is dry and your heart pounding. The distress of losing your relationship is only pushing you to want to drink even more.

 Sylus knows what you are attempting to do and he is completely supportive- alcohol at his base basically vanished after you made your declaration of sobriety and he doesn’t drink in front of you at all. It’s odd watching him try to find any other flavored drink he likes- so far he has decided soda isn’t his thing- and it’s been fun for you too. It has reminded you that there are more fun, healthier things to enjoy that don’t destroy you from the inside out. 

 You should call him- tell him you’re struggling. He would come and get you, take you away from here, and somehow you would still end up with groceries in your fridge. Sylus told you to call him whenever- for anything- and he said he wants to help you. 

 No, this is your problem, you lazy fuck. The voice rings through your head, stop bothering others with your shit. Stop pinning this on others- it’s not their fault you can’t handle yourself. It’s not their fault you’re weak.

 A shaking hand begins to reach for the bottle without you wanting it to- you can feel the dopamine and serotonin practically flowing into your nerves. 

 Your stomach turns over and you can already feel the hangover waiting for you tomorrow. 

 The regret. The fear.

 The shame. 

 Holding onto your toilet and being afraid your eyeballs may pop straight out of your head- straining against the floor in pain as you try to get rid of the nausea and beg whatever entity out there to save you from yourself.

 Crying in the shower with a headache and wondering why you cannot stop- will not stop- and feeling trapped in this ferris wheel of hell forever. You are so scared and your stomach hurts even looking at the alcohol and yet…

 Just one more inch…

 A hand catches yours and twirls you around right before you make contact with the bottle- you almost drop your basket in your hands but a red string of energy is quickly holding it back up to you along with Crimson eyes filled with nothing but concern and you would even say determination. 

“Sy-Sylus?” You sputter, “what the hell are you doing here?”

 He doesn’t actually answer your question- just begins pulling you away from your vice and your medicine. 

“I saw your favorite frozen pizza, Kitten,” he drags you away from the alcohol section, “and your favorite muffins in the bakery and those snacks-“

  Logically- you know you shouldn’t feel so offended or hurt because that is not his intention, but the beast that still desires the bottle on the shelf is not having it.

 Does he really not believe in you? Does he not think you are capable of stopping yourself on your own?

 Well- you aren’t. 

 That doesn’t stop the uncomfortable feelings from swirling together in a montage of self-hatred and it doesn’t help your already fragile and bruised self-esteem. 

 You feel so… embarrassed. 

“Did you follow me into the store?” You feel like a child who has been caught with their hand in the cookie jar, “I don’t need a babysitter.” 

 It seems to catch him by surprise for a second- you typically aren’t snippy when your favorite foods are involved and he was certain it would be the right redirection. 

 But he knows you better than that, doesn’t he? In spite of everything, you are a prideful person.

 You don’t openly accept help without it being a mental wrestling match of self-doubt and hatred for being “weak”. You feel like a burden and like you need to be ready for others at any given moment while you (the metaphorical ship) continues to sink. Sylus loves that you are selfless and caring- he thinks anyone who knows you is lucky to even have the opportunity to. 

 But it will never matter what he tells you- you, to you, are meant to be entirely independent and to only depend on yourself. One day he hopes that may change- that you will be willing to depend on him more freely- but for now, he merely needs to protect you from the day you’ve had.

 Sylus shakes his head with a smile, squeezing your hand gently. You are still emotionally a bit of a poofy kitten, but he isn’t afraid of your scratch or your bite. In fact, he would even say he welcomes it. Sylus is happy to show you that he’s not just here for when life is easy. 

“I was heading to your apartment anyway, sweetie,” he says firmly, “I was going to try to poke your side and get revenge, but instead, I noticed you eyeing these bottles.

Sylus twirls you towards the alcohol, “if you want to buy a bottle, then by all means, I won’t stop you. I support you either way and will be here on the other side of that decision.”

 He knows you are still learning to trust him- he knows that substances and struggling with them is not a linear path, but rather a swirly straw that is tangled within itself. You knew this going into it- you told him such and gave him his out- he has no intention of getting off of this highway now, even if you relapse. 

“Even if I am throwing up in the toilet?”

“I’ll be there to keep your hair out of your beautiful face.” 

  You had been prepared for a battle- to feel belittled and to have to fight to prove yourself. Instead, whatever desire to grab the bottle and cope with the stress… vanishes. Not entirely, but the urge isn’t strong. There is still a pull, but…

“You’ll support me either way?”

 Sylus nods and squeezes your hand again, placing a kiss on your knuckles.

“And if you float away,” he pulls you towards him, the faint glow of the linkage emphasizing his point, “I’ll keep you anchored in place so you don’t accidentally go too far.” 

“Why?”

“Because I believe in you,” he says simply, “and because you are more than your hard days.” 

 There’s a lump in your throat that is sticky like glue. You always take care of others- you are always taking on more than you can carry because no one else wants to and everyone needs you.

 You- alone- floating in space and fighting to find something to hang onto. Now you have Sylus to help keep you in place and he believes in you.

 With one final glance at the bottle of alcohol on the shelf- you take a deep inhale and exhale with a large sigh. Your callused fingers hold onto his tightly, grounding yourself in him- his strength, your strength. You are a team and together, you can truly achieve anything.

 You can do this.

 Walking in the direction of the frozen pizza, you pull Sylus along behind you. 

“Where did you say you saw those muffins?”

[undead-supernova]

Brutal! / Masterlist / 18+

part 1 / part 2 / part 3 / part 4 / part 5 - tbc

Playlist

pairing: Eddie Munson x fem!reader

plot: it's all fun and games, all soft kisses and gentle words until the past is revealed and new perspectives are learned

contains: talks about past sexual trauma, eddie reliving trauma, confident!reader

note: this chapter is different than the others and it is on purpose. when we erase the stories and feelings of victims, we erase the possibility of recovery and healing. especially those of us who are forgotten amongst recognition.

please do not read this part if the subject of sexual assault is triggering for you

song inspo: Seven by Phinehas

wc: 4.1k

special thanks to @jo-harrington for helping to edit and @littlexdeaths for your lovely divider. i appreciate you both for being so encouraging and lovely friends

You didn’t want to admit that what happened at the party had upset you.

Well, not the part where Eddie made you cum. That had been heavenly—euphoric. It couldn’t even be considered a state of bliss. It was more like an inferno, the lascivious flames pulling you further and further into the blaze.

But there were his words in your head again, the ones hurled at you before he realized his mistake.

Are you using me?

If we even fuck, is that it?

Will the chase be over for you?  

The water rushed down your neck, the steam billowing throughout the tiny bathroom as you turned up the heat again. You had to let it scorch your skin, had to let the sting pull you back down to a state of normalcy.

There was a memory that you dared not touch from freshman year. One that still crept up every now and then, in half-asleep states and furious daylight. A growling beast, one with a four-letter name and a specified interest in IPAs as if he was the Christopher Goddamn Columbus of beer. 

You shut your eyes, convinced that his hands were pressing in on the grimy tile behind you, stretching the wall to tear the veil and grab you. Like that one scene in A Nightmare on Elm Street, he was always trying to split you in two.

Further and further he pushed, so close to gripping your throat. So close to suffocating you once more and pulling you back down to the shadows. 

Knock, knock.

You gasped, jumping back and almost slipping before steadying yourself.        

“Hey, Eddie’s here!” Aron called from behind the door.

  “Okay!” you shouted back.

You placed a hand on your chest to still your thrumming heart before you really processed her words. Letting out a scoff at your own absentmindedness, you shouted, “Be out in a minute!”

Maybe you always felt like you were being split in two, now more than ever. Having these emotions that you’d pushed down for the sake of survival. Changing yourself to fit the way you wanted others to see you. That mask, all gnarly and scary just to prove to yourself more than anyone that you were no longer the fool.

It made you wonder if you’d been putting this mask on for Eddie. But things would be better with him. 

They always were.

It started with midterm study time, you swear. You really tried, pulling up a three hour long video of Cozy Fall Oldies Muffled In Another Room Next to a Fireplace While it Rains to help keep both you and Eddie focused. Going back and forth, you took turns helping the other with flashcards. While you were honing in on 20th Century Lit, he was groaning through his Algebra I equations. 

Within twenty minutes, Eddie decided it would be more motivating if you gave him a kiss every time he got the equation right. 

Though you rolled your eyes, you indulged him. Whatever got him to study.

“What happens if I get an answer right?” you asked, lifting an eyebrow.

“That’s up to you,” he replied with a shrug, looking back down at his TI-84 calculator. But you noticed the hint of a smile at the corners of his lips as he quickly glanced back up at you. “We could always play Strip Study.”

“‘Strip Study’, huh?” you teased.

“Yeah, it’s a good game. Very helpful in trying times.”

“And what are the rules to this so-called Strip Study?”

“Well…” he trailed, setting the calculator down before shifting closer to you on your twin-sized bed. Counterintuitive to the point of your study date, Eddie pushed aside your textbook and came to hover over you. You refused to move, challenging him with your faux expression of disappointment. It was impressive, seeing him this forward. Above all else, however, you were quite amused.

“If you answer correctly,” he started, slowly pushing you down into the mattress. “then you’ll just have to take off a piece of clothing.”

You snorted, shaking your head at him. He mocked you, shaking his head right back, tickling you with his curls. “And that’s supposed to be for my enjoyment?” you pondered.

Eddie leaned down, taking the opportunity to leave a kiss on your neck. You could’ve sworn you heard him take a deep breath, like he was desperately inhaling your scent. There was a part of you that wished to do the same.

“Fine,” he conceded. “I’ll take off a piece of clothing. How does that sound?”

“Hm,” you hummed as your fingers traced his collarbone before you pushed him back. He shivered as you crawled on top of him, his dominance cracking in an instant. Without thought, you grabbed his wrist before bringing it up to your mouth. You closed your eyes momentarily to breathe in his cologne, his being. You made sure to meet his eyes as you lightly bit down on his skin.

He was opening his mouth to fill the silence, but you quickly leaned down, gently ghosting your lips against his before whispering, “Not a chance.”

Immediately you sat up and scooted away, grabbing your textbook before he could retaliate. 

He laid there for a moment, a heavy sigh leaving his lips before sitting back up and giving you a look. Was it annoyance? Disappointment? Who could say. 

“You really hate me, don’t you?”

Shrugging, you felt around for your TV remote before turning up the music. “I hate the thought of you failing your Algebra midterm because I gave you a free peep show.”

When you looked back at him, he finally wore a grin. “It would be a metal way to go.”

“Well, maybe if you pass your midterm I’ll let you have a look,” you challenged.

You were amazed when that is what got him to shut up and get back to work.

After a few hours of real studying, Eddie dramatically collapsed on top of you, burying his face into your sweatshirt. He planted a swift kiss over your belly before sighing.

“Okay. Nap time.” 

You couldn’t help but giggle. “I think you earned it.”

“I think that’s the longest I’ve ever studied.”

You peered down, watching his mahogany eyes soften, drooping ever so slightly. Without thought, you ran your middle finger across the stray hairs of his now too-long bangs to keep away from his eyes. You pocketed the thought to trim them for him.

“I’m proud of you,” you said quietly. And you meant it. 

Though his words had stung, he’d done nothing but apologize for them. You’d had several conversations with him owning up to his mistakes and asking you those questions he hadn’t thought to before. You told him about Sam, about Blake and John and Meghan and Maggie—all of which got a little too close for comfort. Those were the ones who’d actually given you their names, had made it a point to introduce themselves before their hands wandered. Before they called you a slut and walked away.

He’d listened the entire time, nodding while trying to hide his frustration. You knew he’d do anything to avenge you—he said as much before you’d shushed him with kisses. Kisses that promised that he was forgiven. That you were thankful for his efforts. That you were starting to fall desperately in love with him.

There was just one other instance you hadn’t divulged yet. 

“Yeah?” he asked.

But that could come later. Much later.

You nodded. “Yeah.” Eddie let out a soft hum. “Get some sleep.”

For now, you focused on the way Eddie’s eyelids shut and the gentle smile on his lips loosen. For now, you focused on someone who you couldn’t quite admit was the most important person in your life.

As Eddie fell into his half-asleep daze, he could vaguely picture a certain kind of monster. One who slips into dreams, coating the edges of the scene with a fuzzy filter. Not Freddy Krueger, per se. One with a better grip on how to lure men to their deaths. Maybe like a siren, with jagged teeth and turquoise eyes that brought sailors to their knees along rocky shorelines and brutal seas. 

But what happens to a man when he is less than interested in their attempt at temptation?

Eddie, as steady as his breathing was, began to descend into some dream that felt like a memory inside an alternate reality—could the two coexist? Because there his van was, parked on a beach. The air was thick with salt, digging into his forearms like thousands of tiny push pins scraping along the first few layers of skin. He had enough sense to wait in the back of the vehicle. Waiting for what, he could hardly remember. Waiting for who, well…

The moment the recollection stirred, there was a pounding on the back doors. 

“Munson, come on!”

When he looked out the window, he saw Charlotte Stevens. She was a regular, scoring weed here and there when she ended up fighting with her aunt and uncle. He only knew because her parents died in a car wreck only a month after her senior year—Eddie’s second—began. He let her yap off to him about her problems whenever she came by. Some of his “clients” were chatty, growing quiet over time when Eddie told them to go see a different therapist and slammed the door on them. 

But it was Charlotte.

She was lonely. Heartbroken. Sure, she was part of the popular crowd, but he knew better after his few interactions with Chrissy Cunningham. A lot of those girls did what they had to in order to survive. It didn’t make them a villain. He really thought Charlotte was the same way. He cut her some slack, watching the light in her eyes wither and die. Saw how the school year thinned out her dirty blonde hair, living off of half-eaten salads in the cafeteria. 

After all, he was heading off to college soon without his close friends. Who didn’t need a near-stranger to lean on?

“You’re late,” he said as soon as the door swung open. 

He wasn’t prepared for the sunlight pouring in, eyes catching on the sight of pavement and grass. Were they no longer at the beach? Where were they?

And why did it feel so…familiar? Like that day behind The Hideout. It was where she usually met him, feeling too paranoid to do it literally anywhere else. He could vaguely see the rutty door to the bar behind her. His refuge. His escape.

Charlotte huffed, her white tank top clinging to her body while sweat dripped down to her cut-off jean shorts. “As if you have anything else going on.”

“Do you want your weed or not?” he snapped. 

“Geez, what’s gotten into you?” she asked as she sat opposite him. Eddie made sure their knees didn’t touch. 

He wasn’t one to make connections with these people. The less he knew, the better. Even with someone he took pity on. Because, believe it or not, tragedy never truly made someone nicer. He’d seen enough damage done to the redhead that lived across from him. After her brother died, she changed everything. And she was definitely no longer interested in casual conversations without an insult or two thrown in.

Needless to say, he knew when to leave well enough alone.

“Do you care?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

“Not really.”

Exactly.

“Okay, well, it’s fifty even,” he said absentmindedly, trying to locate his metal box. 

“Maybe I could pay a different way.”

Eddie’s eyebrows furrowed as he looked back up at her. Of course she’d try to cheat the system now. “Trust me, Stevens,” he said. “There’s nothing I need more than money right now.”

And when she put her hand over his, he realized just what she was proposing. 

“Are you sure about that?”

Eddie pulled his hand away. “Uh, yeah.”

“Come on, Eddie.”

Something evil twisted in his gut at the sound of her saying his name for the first time. 

“Hate to sound like a douche, but I’m not interested in you. So, yeah, nice try. I’ll take that fifty bucks. Now.”

She moved suddenly, quick to pounce as she threw her hands on either side of his head, caging him in. Like he hadn’t said a word. Like he was prey.

Charlotte was a siren; he was sure of it. Waiting for him to slip, to give in to some desire that was nothing but an unlikely daydream. Her breath fanned over his cheek, invading his nostrils with the scent of her spearmint. Those teeth, smacking gum as she promised that it would be worth his while. Pinning his hands to his sides as he suggested again that she just pay him and leave. But Charlotte couldn’t take no for an answer, straddling him instead.

“I’ve always wanted to see what the freak felt like.”

That’s when Eddie wondered: what if these sirens didn’t even have tails, had nothing to do with what lied undiscovered and unencumbered by the rules of mythology? What if that was what made them lethal?

“That’s fucking weird,” he replied through his teeth.

“You can’t tell me you’ve never wanted to fuck one of the popular girls. I saw you looking at Chrissy with googly eyes all year.”

He had. He didn’t feel ashamed of that. Back then, he didn’t feel ashamed of much at all. Especially when he was finally escaping this town. Who cared who he did and didn’t fawn over now that he was searching for new faces?

“And you think you’re Chrissy? That’s fucking hilarious, Stevens. Funniest goddamn thing I’ve ever heard,” he growled, fighting against her grasp again. Instead, she moved her hips against him, trying to get him hard. 

But it wasn’t working. Eddie was far from aroused. If anything, he felt like he was going to puke. Maybe if he conjured enough willpower, he’d be able to spew all over Charlotte and get her to leave him the fuck alone forever.

“No,” she whispered. “I’m better.” 

Just as her hands reached for his belt, there was a pounding against the van. It was so violent, so powerful that the car began to shake. Eddie could’ve sworn they were going to flip before the rumbling stopped and the back doors ripped off their hinges. 

Standing there, in a thin black dress littered with glitter and stars, was you. The ends of your nails were sharpened into charcoal claws, one hand wrapped around a bejeweled whip. A shiny crown sat atop your head, gleaming in the scorching sun.

He caught your stare, piercing him with the fierce fury that clouded your eyes. But you immediately looked at Charlotte, frozen on top of him.

“It’s not what it looks—” he choked, trying to catch his breath. But it was failing him. He was failing. 

But there you were, cracking the whip before shooting it forward, snaking around Charlotte’s throat and dragging her down to the bed of the van. Her forehead smacked against the metal box Eddie had been searching for. 

You let her cough, let her head bleed before curling your fingers into claws. 

“You better wake up, Eddie,” you said as you stalked forward. 

He watched in horror as you jumped on top of Charlotte, shoving your nails into her wrists to keep her right where you wanted her.

“Wake up,” you repeated.

Eddie jumped out of the van, barely catching a glimpse of you ripping into her throat before the light consumed him.

“Wake up!”

Eddie gasped for air, his eyes flying open to see your face above him, eyes alight with concern. 

“Woah, hey,” you whispered, hands coming to pull him back down into your grasp. He immediately relaxed, falling into your arms once more as you began stroking his hair. “Eddie, hey.”

“Fuck,” he said, trying to fight the tears welling in his eyes. “Fuck.”

His vision clouded, the blurry images of his dream flashing each time he blinked. He couldn’t shake what was really there, what really happened.

Because that wasn’t how it ended. 

There was no one to save him back then. No Gareth or Grant or Jeff. 

No you.

Dragging his hands down his face, Eddie wondered when the distorted voices would dissipate. They came in all crackled, like Charlotte’s voice over the intercom during homeroom. It echoed in his head every other night, locking him in his cage of beige cinder block. 

“Hey, you’re okay. It’s just me.”

But here you both were, in your prison cell. And instead of beige cinder blocks, it was decorated. Prints of famous paintings littered your walls, covering up most of the beige with genuine color and vibrancy. It was a museum of your own curation.

“Yeah, you’re right.”

And if it was decorated, then it wasn’t really a cell, was it? No, it was a home.

“Bad dream?”

And he liked the thought of home.

“The worst.”

With you.

“Wanna go on a walk? Sometimes it helps me to just, like, walk around campus.”

He’d give anything to have that forever.

“Sure,” he said. “Why not?”

Campus always felt different after negative experiences. College seemed to darken with something untoward. You started to notice the way your unhappiness contrasted those who walked along the same path with their friends. A pearl of laughter from a stranger on the phone with their mother. The brushing hands of a honeymooned couple. The sight of cackling men throwing a football on a grassy patch.

It could hide that girl hiding her head in the brick to suppress her sobs. The guy running across your path, breathlessly saying Sorry, excuse me as he races to his next class. A certain boy next to you who hadn’t spoken once since you left.

The sun had poked through the clouds, illuminating campus with vibrancy. But when you looked over at Eddie, he kept his head low, fiddling with his fingertips. 

He was more solemn than usual, seemingly deflated after the dream he’d had. All you wanted was to grab his hand, keep him from picking his nails or his skin. Remind him that it was just a dream. 

Instead, you kept walking. Kept whatever distance he was setting, letting him take the lead. You caught him sneaking a glance at you every once in a while, always returning his somber gaze with a smile.

He never smiled back.

You wound in and out of pavement and grass, looping around the library and the food hall before turning around and heading back. And as you rounded the last corner back to your dorm, Eddie finally spoke.

“How did you…get to be so confident?” Eddie asked.

His question caught you off guard, causing you to stop. 

Not only that, but his question caught on a spiral of barbed wire like cloth. The wire that you’d used to cage your insides from anyone and any thing unwanted. It tugged at something you’d been dreading to bring up with him. Especially after the other night. 

And just like that, you had to shred what was left of his poking.

“You know men,” you started with a fake smile, letting the mask consume you. “Can’t keep their hands to themselves. No means yes and all that. Nothing for you to worry about.”

You waved your hand around, turning away to keep walking but Eddie caught it, pulling you back to face him. 

“Hey, you don’t have to brush that off, you know. You didn’t deserve that.”

His eyes poured compassion into yours, breeding a kind of fear that you’d never experienced before. This exposure to your innermost hurt without even a scalpel. It caused you to wonder if it was even fear. The wire now scraped along your ribs, each stroke against the bone growing gnarlier than the last. 

And it was in that torture that you snapped. 

“Oh, I know,” you said with a strained chuckle. “You don’t have to act like you know anything about it, though.”

You could tell your harsh tone surprised him, his eyes widening with each word you threw out. But it didn’t stop him from his expression changing, eyebrows narrowing. Something fell over his features, a darkness you hadn’t encountered before. There was decay behind his stare, his gentle nature starting to crack.

“You don’t have to act like you’re the only one who’s gone through something like that.”

A huff left your nose as you jerked your hand away. “Yeah, one in six. I’m well acquainted with my gender’s statistics.”

“At least you have a number,” Eddie fired back before looking at his feet. “At least…at least you don’t drive yourself crazy going back and forth from one in six to one in thirty-three.”

And then it clicked.

Are you using me?

Like, if we even fuck, is that it?

Will the chase be over for you?

“Eddie?” you asked, like the question you wanted to ask had already been spoken. “You’ve…you’ve…”

“Um. Yeah. Some girls aren’t as willing to ask permission as you are.”

And it was in that moment that you both realized how trauma had different effects on different people. Still mirrors, only with different colors reflecting off of your shattered edges. Yours came out all fiery red, all flames and guns blazing. His was something more somber, a devastating blue that desperately hid in the background.

“When…”

“Last summer.”

“Did you tell anyone?”

His furrowed eyebrows softened, eyes turned glassy as he asked, “Did you?”

You were at a loss of words. How could you even begin to think of what to say when all you could picture was the worst. Eddie, suffocating at the hands of a girl. Unable to escape, unable to run. Just like you had.

But Eddie never donned a mask. He’d never truly hidden himself away, not really when you were the one begging him to come out of his shell. And he was always out there, still taking chances on himself. Even when he slipped up, he still found ways to try again.

Could you say the same for yourself?

 “Eddie,” you started, closing your eyes to make it easier. “you are so much more than what happened to you. And because no one gives a shit to say this to men, I’m sorry. I’m sorry that you went through something like that. Especially when all of your friends were gone. When I got r—” You stopped yourself, unable to even utter the word. “When that happened to me, I ran into Aron for the first time and she helped clean me up and… Well, I guess what I’m trying to say is you should’ve had someone be there for you. And I wish that person had been me.”

Eddie whispered your name, shaking his head as the tears spilled over. It was a broken kind of sound, like he was pleading for help. Pleading for reassurance, pleading to forget.

“Come here,” you whispered, feeling choked up yourself.

That’s when he fell into you, tightly winding his arms around your waist and burying his head into your neck. You felt the sudden release of tears and snot, the release of something buried down inside him coming to the surface.

 You didn’t know what to do, didn’t know what to say. But you went back to that September night, feeling Aron’s arms cage you in as if she could hide you from the monsters that walked amongst you. So you gave that to Eddie. Your hand came up to press his head further in, obstructing any light from either side of you. An obsidian of solitude for him, your fingers weaving into his hair. Scratching down his scalp until you felt him shiver, felt his locked up posture fall into something resembling ease.

“You’re okay,” you cooed. “I’m here now. I promise.”

Another strained cry erupted from him, louder this time. You tried to suppress your own tears, but there was no use. You could still be strong for him and share his sorrow.

“Do you want to tell me about it?” you asked.

He leaned back a fraction, puffy eyes meeting yours. You watched him hiccup, trying desperately to take a deep breath. Moving with him, you exaggerated your breath to help him move with you. His stare continued to pierce through you, indecision falling over his features before something seemed to click. 

And with his first successful steady breath, he finally spoke.             

“Please.”

If you are a victim of sexual assault, I hope you know that you can love again and that it will get better with time. I'm rooting for you. You don't have to be afraid. And you do not have to shut yourself off from letting love in.

I know I keep popping in and out to post things so thank you for continuing to read if you're still here. I've spent months wanting to post this chapter, but there was a lot of shit going on in my personal life — but I had to return to give y’all this.

[whatitsdecending]

Is It Really You? (II Oneshot)

II x Female Reader

After a long shift you’re invited to watch a friend participate in something you’d never expect from him. Turns out, you had every right to be worried about it.

Word Count: 5.3k

Content warning: Violence, blood, descriptions of injury, some suggestive commentary, language

Edited by: @artificialstardust

“…let’s search the skies, for a while, you and I…”

—————————

Your keys jingled as you fought against the keyhole of the door, the twenty-something year old door is nearing its end of being a normal working item and definitely needs to be replaced. But you didn’t have much time for all that at the moment.

The door swung open and smacked the edge of the table just inside of your townhouse, making a loud noise as the heavy woods collided together. You kicked the door back after you stepped inside, tossing the keys into the ceramic bowl on the table and pressed the door shut with your back.

Four shifts back-to-back and all twelve hours long in the busiest ER in your city had to be one of the most draining jobs you’ve ever worked in your life. But also the most rewarding. When you went into nursing school, you knew the type of career you wanted to pursue was going to keep you busy and on your feet for long hours. Those medical TV shows always made it seem so easy… until you’re actually doing it.

You pushed off the door and hung your bag on the coat rack, taking a quick peek at the state of you after your shift. Yep, looks the same as last week.

It was 4pm. Night shifts were something you didn’t see yourself doing, but once you got stuck covering for someone, you sort of fell in love with it. Despite it getting absolutely insane sometimes, you still loved the chaos. Especially when you had the chance to help deliver a baby earlier today. You smiled at the thought, remembering how the mother lit up with joy at the little thing that you’d placed on her chest.

You were just about to head upstairs and start your shower when your phone began to ring. You pulled it from your scrubs pocket and gasped at the name that lit up your screen.

“No fucking way.” You said into the phone immediately after answering it.

The sweet voice of your dear friend filtered in through the other side, his accent thick as you sensed the smile in his words. “I did not expect you to pick up.”

��Why would I not pick up? You’re my friend, II.” You started up the stairs.

“I just didn’t know if you were working or not.”

“Oh I just got home from my last shift of the week.” You said, grabbing clean clothes to change into after your shower.

“Ahh okay. So I’m assuming you’d be too tired to go out tonight?” He asked.

You paused. “It depends on your definition of ‘going out’, since it tends to change each time you invite me.”

He laughed on the other end of the line. “You’re right about that. Would you like to come watch me participate in a fight?” That was the last thing you expected to hear from his mouth.

“I’m sorry?”

“You know, I get in a ring with some dude and we punch at each other until one of us wins. Pretty cool stuff, done a few fights already and I think I’m getting pretty popular with people at the club.”

You raised a brow. “Club? What club?”

“Mortals Meeting Ends.”

“II!” You exclaimed. “We get guys coming in left and right who have been beat to a goddamn pulp because they thought they could be good money fightin-”

“Alright darling, save the lecture for later. Am I seeing you there or not?”

“What time?” You ask.

“Midnight.” Oh great, even more ominous than it already was. At least it gave you time to shower, eat and get some rest before you went.

“I’ll be there.” You finally say after thinking it over a little bit more.

You could hear that smile over the line again. “Wonderful, I’ll see you then doll.”

You rolled your eyes at the nickname. “See you.” The line went dead after he hung up and you took in a shaky breath. What kind of deep shit has II gotten himself into?

You stripped from your scrubs and hopped into the shower. As you let the warm water soothe your muscles, your brain wandered to thoughts of II fighting these random dudes in a ring. Picturing your friend in your mind, you remembered him not being super built and rather a little more slim. And of course, he was a short guy.

But that was from a year ago. It’s been so long since you last saw him in person that he definitely could’ve built his body up into something worthy of being in a fighting ring. And especially if he’s been winning a lot of fights and becoming favorable towards the crowds.

Eventually you realized the water had been scalding your skin and quickly finished your shower, getting out and drying off. You wrapped your warm, fuzzy robe around your body and decided that a nap was more important than having something to eat. So, you laid down and fell asleep for a few hours in your robe.

Your room had turned dark when you finally woke up to the alarm blaring in your ears. It was hard to roll out of your bed, especially since it was currently 10pm and usually you’d still be asleep by now if you had work. Your grumbling belly is what got you to force yourself out of bed and go to the kitchen to heat up some leftovers for yourself.

You checked your phone, seeing a text from II that was really just the same bullshit he spews from his mouth when he’s built up on adrenaline. Usually you’d get these texts when he was touring with his little band and was about to go on stage, but it seems like he’s got another thing to get him that worked up between touring.

The time neared closer to when you had to leave, making you quickly gather things you’d need and changing into something cute but casually comfortable. You did not want to dress to impress at that place.

You ordered yourself an Uber and waited until the car pulled up to take you to the fight club. Traffic was nonexistent at this time of night so it did not take long for you to arrive at the club. It was as menacing as a place called ‘Mortals Meeting Ends’ could look, and just as predictable. Dudes who looked like bodybuilders walked around looking like they’d punch anyone for looking at them the wrong way.

You thanked the driver and stepped out of the car, heading to the bouncer working the front door. “ID?” He asked as a way of greeting. You fished the plastic card from your purse and handed it to him, watching as he looked down a list of names. “Alright you’re all good. Be careful in there, sweetheart.” You nod as a response and walk into the club, holding your purse just a little tighter than before.

Yeah this place is a cliché of a fight club. It was dark, except for the circle of lights over the fighting ring. Which really wasn’t a ring like you typically see for WWE type of events, but more like two pieces of rope surrounding a three foot pit made of dirt in the middle of this dump.

You looked around for any familiar face in the crowd, but nothing so far. It felt like a fever dream being in this stuffy place. Perhaps you were still exhausted from the last four days of work and running on fumes, or you were in fact dreaming and none of this was real.

You walked around a bit more, trying to get a feel for your surroundings while simultaneously trying to find II. If he was even out in this part of the building. There was a bit of a clearing of bodies as you made your way through to the bar and released a sigh when you saw your friend leaning against the bar and talking to some man. II’s attention grabbed onto you as you approached, slowly to make sure you didn’t interrupt anything important.

“Well look who it is.” He says with the biggest smile on his face and pulls you into a tight hug.

You squeezed him back, noting that your theory from earlier was true. “Couldn’t miss the opportunity to watch you beat people up.” He laughed as he pulled out of the hug and turned to the man he was just speaking to.

“Vincent, this is my good friend Y/N. Y/N, this is Vincent, the owner of the club.” Oh, well no wonder he looked so important. Vincent put his hand out for you to shake and you gladly let him.

“Nice to finally meet you, Y/N. I’ve been hearing some things about you recently.” He smiled down at you, flashes of gold on his teeth distracting you from anything else.

“Oh- Well, I haven’t heard anything about you.” You became a little flustered and turned to II, who was rubbing the back of his neck nervously.

“I’ve just been telling him old stories, that’s all.” He gave you a toothy grin as he looked at you. You rolled your eyes and turned back to the owner in front of you.

“I hope you’ve been able to handle him, he’s a bit much when he wants to be.” You joked and earned a gentle elbow to your side.

Vincent smiled. “II here has grown from the weakest link to one of the strongest fighters I have working here. His growth was impressive and he learned quickly. I’m hoping he’ll put on a good show tonight since he’s got an extra special audience member.” He turned to II and patted him on the shoulder. “I’ll leave you alone, be sure to be in that ring in five minutes.” You watched as he left and cut through the crowd, leaving you to be with your friend.

After a few long seconds, you turned back to him. “What is wrong with you?”

“I-”

“You’re gonna get yourself seriously hurt doing this shit. And what if you end up so hurt that you’re unable to play with the band anymore?” He avoided your eye contact for just a moment. “Look at me, II.” He finally did and your heart hitched at the sight of his eyes, the most beautiful blue you’d ever seen and something you never stopped staring at.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. I know how you feel about this kind of thing, but I’m having fun and I’m able to work out some things I’m dealing with. I’ll be okay, I promise.” He says and places a gentle hand on your cheek.

“But-”

“I gotta go, it’s showtime.” He pecked your forehead ever so slightly and ran off to where Vincent had gone earlier, leaving you to find somewhere to view the fight.

You found your way to the edge of the crowd, sneaking between a few tall guys who let you in so you could see. People surrounded the ring, chatting loudly with excitement as the time neared for the fight to take place. You watched as II’s opponent entered the ring, a man who had at least four inches on him in height and maybe a good fifty pounds as well. Alright, not a fair fight physicality wise but it also depended on how skilled of a fighter II was.

That’s when he entered the ring and your eyes shot open at the sight. Yeah, your theory was extremely accurate as you stared at the muscles that now packed his whole upper body and shifted with each movement he made. He had bulked up so much in the last year that it was hard to believe it was him. But it was, and you were staring hard.

The referee stepped into the ring and the match began. You cringed when you realized neither of them wore boxing gloves and were bare knuckles for the fight. II already had so many scars that were on his knuckles from previous fights and it made you wonder how many times he’s broken one.

His opponent swung and swung hard, but luckily II was fast enough and dodged his fist, landing a punch into the guy’s ribs once they were exposed to his attack. You stood there watching the two men circle each other, the one seething for revenge against the hit II got on him. The anticipation of who was going to get punched next made your stomach twist and you nervously twirled your hair in your hands.

You noticed Vincent on the opposite side of where you were, watching the match intently as more punches were thrown and dodged. His eyes didn’t seem to be on II, despite him being such a ‘prized possession’ here. No, he watched his opponent and only seemed displeased when II dodged the hits, not the other way around. You didn’t know that much about fight clubs, but from the little bits you’ve heard when taking care of one of the fighters in the ER, you knew this was going to go badly for II.

“Shit.” You muttered under your breath when II took a hit to the gut and groaned at the impact. He took a small step back and held a hand to the spot, taking a deep breath and then moving back to his opponent. You watched as he got some punches and kicks in, noting how fast he moved and how agile he was. It was interesting, but it still felt wrong.

A minute goes by and the time seemed to slow as his opponent took an opportunity to punch II in the side when the area became exposed. This man hit him hard enough that you heard his ribs crack, gasping as he stumbled back from the force of the punch. Then the opponent was on top of him, landing hits left and right to any part that was exposed.

The crowd yelled and roared. Some with excitement and others were shouts claiming an illegal move in the ring. All of that you were unsure of, the only thing you were sure of though is the fact that II was bleeding heavily from multiple injuries on his body and the man wasn’t stopping. And Vincent wasn’t stopping him either.

Eventually, the referee stepped in and pulled the guy off II. People cheered as he was announced the winner of the fight, taking in the roar of the crowd and the money that was tossed at him. You stared at the man covered in blood and dirt on the floor, barely breathing but alive. Why was no one helping him? You frantically looked around for anything that could help him, the same guys that let you through earlier doing the same.

“Can you guys help me get him to the bathroom?” You shouted at them over the crowd. They all nodded and rushed to get II from the floor while you ran to the first aid kit you had spotted. You followed the group of men to the bathroom and they plopped II onto the floor, resting him up against the stall.

“You need any help, miss?” One guy asked.

“I’ll need you guys to stick around in case I need to get him to the hospital.” You glanced over your shoulder to the club outside the bathroom. “And also maybe to make sure no one comes in to try and finish the job.”

“Yes ma’am.” They say and went to stand outside the bathroom, leaving you to some quiet to take care of the bloodied man in front of you. His breathing was decent, better now that he was sitting up but you knew that broken rib was not letting him get a full breath in. You found gauze packets in the first aid kit and pressed them to the gaping wound on his forehead that was left by some knuckles.

“W-what are you doing?” His voice was quiet as you found tape to hold down the gauze.

“Making sure you don’t bleed out and die like they wanted you to.” You said, your voice catching in your throat as you said it out loud. They were going to leave him to die.

He pushed at your arm. “You need to go home, Y/N. I’ll be fine-” He clutched his side and groaned in pain.

“You are hurt and I’m the only one here that is capable of making sure your ass doesn’t die from blood loss.” You sternly say, fighting back the tears that were threatening to fall. “I don’t care if they want to beat me up too, I’d rather you be okay than walk away because of some threat like that.”

His blue eyes glistened under the dingy lights. “Don’t say that.”

“Too bad, I already did.” You examined his face that was swelling and covered in bruises, palpating his definite broken nose and cheekbones. “You are my friend II and friends don’t leave each other’s side in shit situations like this.”

He closed his eyes and sighed, cringing in pain as his lungs tried to expand with that broken rib. “I fucking hate that word.”

You stopped shuffling through the first aid kid and glanced at him. “What word?”

“Friends.”

You raised a brow. “What’s so wrong with it?” You organized the contents of the first aid kit more so they were in better reach in case you needed to change the gauze on his forehead quickly.

His eyes opened again, staring at you with a vulnerability you’d never seen before in him. “I hate when it comes out of your mouth to describe us.”

A pang of hurt cut through you. “Do you not like us being friends?”

“Why are you acting dumb?” He asked, coughing a bit after he spoke. He must’ve noticed the confused look on your face. “You don’t want to remember what we had for a moment, do you?” Of all times and places, he chooses now to talk about this? Well, could be the state that he’s currently in, you’ve seen it plenty of times that you can’t really blame him.

“Because you broke my heart, II. That’s why.” You say. “I need to wrap a bandage around your ribs to hold them in place, it’s gonna hurt so I need you to prepare yourself.” You sat up more on your knees and scooted closer to him, preparing yourself for moving him forward so you can wrap the bandage around him.

“At this point, the pain doesn’t really faze me.” He said as you pulled him forward, doing the familiar maneuver was so much more difficult without other staff to help you, but you managed. “I didn’t mean to break your heart, Y/N.”

You pulled the first portion of the bandage around his chest and he grunted in your ear at the pressure of it. You focused on getting this wrapped before speaking again, leaning him carefully back against the stall.

“Well, you did and that’s as far as I’ll go with this right now.” You replied. He just stared at you and didn’t mutter another word.

There was a knock on the door and one of the men from earlier popped his head in, bringing in the even more chaotic noise of the club with him. “Uh does he need an ambulance?”

“Not right now, no.”

“Good.” He said and glanced over his shoulder. “A huge fight just broke out, so it’s best you guys stay right here so you’re all safe.”

“Thanks.” You nod to him and he closes the door once again.

“I don’t need to go to the hospital?” II wondered.

You glanced back at him. “No. For now you’ll be fine, I just have to keep an eye on that forehead wound and clean it. Your rib is definitely broken, but that luckily shouldn’t kill you unless it shifts and impacts your lung. Which I doubt will happen, but there is always the chance.”

“God I’m glad you’re a nurse.”

You smirked as you stood to wash some of his blood off your hands and so you can cleanse the wound on his forehead now that most of the blood has been taken care of. “You lucked out there.” He chuckled softly as you gathered some supplies you could use to clean it up.

II had stretched his legs out, leaving a spot between them for you to sit as you cleaned. “Thought this would help you to get that spot better.” He says.

“You’re right, it will. Thanks.” You sit on your knees once again as you fold the gauze off the wound, eyeing the area for any signs of infection that may be starting to show. Luckily, nothing yet. You commended the club for having a decent first aid kit that had supplies you could use to patch up this wound, will it hold completely until it healed? Absolutely not, but it was the best resource available until he could get stitches.

You set everything up to your right, II watching your every move as you organized yourself again. You took alcohol swab sticks from their packaging and looked at II. “These might sting a little, but they’re gonna help clean the wound.” He nodded and you moved to his forehead, following the same old procedure you’ve done since nursing school. He winced as you rolled one swab directly over the wound. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” He patted your thigh gently. “You’re doing your job.” His hand stayed on your thigh as you continued to work. You didn’t mind the contact, you knew it was probably something that might be comforting him at the moment. He won’t admit it, but you could tell he’s shaken up by everything and there is so much more to what happened that he doesn’t want to tell you. Not yet, at least.

You finished cleaning the wound and put some adhesive strips across, trying to close the wound together as best as you could with them. A fresh piece of gauze on top and tape to hold it down, and that wound was all taken care of.

“You more than likely have a concussion because of how hard your face got hit.” You say.

“Nothing I can’t handle.” He mutters. You glared at him and went to scoot back, but the hand on your thigh gripped you just a bit. “Please stay here.”

You looked at him, his eyes sad as he believed you were ready to leave him here. “II I wasn’t going to leave you. I was just going to throw this all away.” You held up all the packets that had been emptied so he could see them.

“Do that later. I need you right here, right now.” He said. You stared at your friend and the clear agony he was currently in. His ‘tough guy’ facade had disappeared and now he was here, as vulnerable as ever and in so much pain.

You smiled softly. “I’ll stay.” You set the trash back on the floor next to you and leaned back on your heels.

“Come closer, please.” He whispered softly. “I need to hold you, Y/N.” Your heart ached at his words and you nodded, carefully climbing into his lap and gently wrapping your arms around his abdomen. You rested your head on his chest and listened to his heart beating, the rapid thumps had slowed a bit as his body relaxed. This calmed him down, probably reminded him of older times when he had your heart.

After a moment of listening to the muffled sounds of the fight still going on in the club, II spoke again. “I’m sorry for what I did.” You began to make a shushing sound but he continued over you. “It was the last thing I ever wanted to do to you, Y/N. And it kills me every single day that I left you broken and-”

“Stop II, not here.” Your whisper was harsh and you pressed your hand to his chest, hoping he’d stop his rambling.

“I love you, Y/N. And I never stopped loving you.” He says. “I want us to search the skies together again.”

You sat up off his chest to get a better look at him. Tears rolled down his cheeks, making streaks in the blood that covered them. “You’re concussed II. You’re just saying things-”

“Will you stop that?” He demanded. “I may be concussed and shit but I know exactly what the fuck I’m saying to you right now.” Your heart stammered in your chest. The look in his eyes was truthful. And you knew damn well that II wasn’t the kind to lie to you about something like this.

“I-I don’t know what to say.”

He shook his head. “You don’t have to say anything at all. I just needed to get that off my chest.” You sat there in his lap as he looked away from you, his eyes roving over the contents of supplies on the floor.

You couldn’t bear the sight any longer. The bullshit the two of you dealt with last year was something that you forbid to speak about. You forced the friendship back to how it had been after he left you. His reasoning? Being too busy to be a good boyfriend to you, claiming you only deserve the best and he couldn’t offer that to you at the time.

That devastated you. After spending months together, sneaking around with him and not admitting to your friend group that you two had something going on. It was exciting. The adrenaline you felt when he snuck a kiss at a party, and then when you tiptoed out of a closet to avoid being caught by anyone after you two hooked up in it. For the last year you ached for that kind of thing again, but mostly because you wanted it to be more real than anything it had been before.

You knew that you’d never be able to go back to being strictly friends after that. And you were okay with that fact.

II’s eyes eventually landed back on yours, the blue dimmed in the light and by the emotions he felt. Your hand reached out to caress his cheek as gently as you could, as if any kind of touch would be enough to fully break him. “I still love you too.” His eyes widened and suddenly he engulfed you in a hug, his body bent over to hold you tight to his chest. “Your rib.” You say as you hold him.

“I don’t care.” His words are muffled by your neck. He pulled away ever so slightly and looked down at you. You leaned up and closed the space between your lips, pushing them together so gently that you could barely feel his. He pressed you closer with his hand that rested against the back of your head, sealing the kiss more.

After a moment you pulled away. “You should care because I know that rib is absolutely killing you right now.”

He smirked. “Actually I don’t feel a thing. Looks like the best pain killer is kissing you.” He leaned in again and kissed you, more and more. “I missed you so much.” He whispered against your lips.

“I missed you too.” You said, running your hands through his blood caked hair.

“I want you to be mine forever.” His voice grew a little bit slurry, indicating that the concussion was making itself known.

“Let’s get you to the hospital before you start making any promises.” You kissed him again and climbed out of his lap, heading to the door and opening it. The club had gone quiet, most people had left and the mess of the fight was still covering the floors. You were shocked to see one of the men still hanging by the door, he was on his phone when he noticed you come out.

“How’s he doing?” He asked, standing up to his full height.

You smiled. “He’s okay but has a pretty bad concussion and a broken rib. So we need to get him to the hospital.” The man nodded and went into the bathroom, getting II up via your instructions to make sure he didn’t hurt his rib any further.

You lead them out of the fight club, soaking in the fresh air as much as you could. The guy luckily had driven himself here and was more than willing to drop you off at the emergency room, and even offered to stay around so you could get home and shower the blood off.

“I’m alright.” You said. “Thank you, though. I honestly don’t think I can thank you or your friends enough for helping me tonight.”

The man nodded. “It’s our pleasure. II is a good man and we hated to see him go down that way.” He turned to leave. “You take care.”

“You too.” You smiled as you watched him leave the ER. The doctor you usually work with found you and asked you to go over everything that happened. So you did, leaving the team to work on II’s injuries.

A few hours had passed and you sat beside II’s bed in the ER. Your coworkers were kind and got you a fresh pair of scrubs to change into, since your clothes had become caked with his blood and you refused to leave and go home. You had been right, II’s rib was broken and he had a severe concussion from all the punches he received earlier. The wound on his forehead was stitched up and already looking a little better.

“You look good.” His voice was raspy as he woke up. You reached for the cup of water that the nurses left for him, and helped him drink it. “Thanks.” He said.

“You’re welcome.” You put the cup down and rested your hands over his. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I got hit by a truck.”

You smiled. “Well yeah, you almost did in a sense.” He chuckled as you pushed back the hair that had fallen on his forehead.

“Thanks for taking care of me.” He whispered.

You smiled. “I’ll always take care of you.” You leaned over and kissed his cheek.

“You know I wasn’t talking out of my ass earlier.” He said, caressing his thumb over the back of your hand.

“It’s okay, II. I know what you-”

He shook his head. “No. I mean, I do want you to be mine forever. Actually, I need you to be mine forever. I don’t think I’d know what to do if you weren’t.” You blinked back the tears that threatened to break, and stood up to lean over and kiss II.

“Then let’s search those skies forever, II.” He smiled against your lips and pulled you closer, to the point where you eventually climbed onto the bed with him and snuggled up to his side.

“I can’t wait to get out of here.” He said, kissing you more and more.

You smiled. “Why’s that?”

He poked your side. “So we could get back to what we were really good at doing.” He winked at you and you laughed.

“You’re ridiculous. Heal that rib first and then we’ll talk.” You say and poked him right in the spot you knew would hurt.

He flinched a little. “Alright, alright. You’re the boss.” He kissed your head and pulled you closer again. This time, your eyes grew heavy and the exhaustion weighed down on you. You fell asleep to the monitor that beeped, letting you know II was still alive and well, safe here in your arms.

[taylormarieee]

Co-Stars turned Lovers A Callum Turner love story

Chapter 2: "Falling behind"

Pairing: Callum Turner x Fem!Bestfriend!Actress!Reader

Word count: 3.7k

Warnings: angst, reader feels down, Callum and reader's relationship is on pause, special guest: Barry Keoghan, hurt to comfort, reader feels left out, long talks with Austin + some smexy tension, PLOT TWIST, fluff, reader goes out with Austin and has fun... enjoy!

PARTIALLY EDITED<33

Summary: {In this chapter, reader finds herself in her thoughts after being out with friends. All of her friends are falling in love and she's falling behind... Her feelings for Callum slowly fading away but she will have to face the fact that she can't have it all...}

THIS CHAPTER IS BASED ON THIS SONG:

Previously on Co-Stars turned Lovers...

That night was a night you've never forgotten but what you were completely oblivious too was that that night was unforgettable to Callum too.

He thought about that night everyday he looked at you... everytime he touched you... everytime he sees lip gloss coat your full lips.

It plagued his mind like a virus corrupting a humans mind. He wanted you badly but he knew he couldn't have you. He couldn't ruin this relationship he had with you, this beautiful friendship, but goddamn were you addicting.

you and Callum were polar opposites yet destined to be together...If only you two could open your eyes and see what is right in front of you.

You and him were made for each other, you just needed to find each other. Like two lost souls searching for a purpose. Like the Earth and the Moon, they look platonic but one can't live without the other. Destined to fall in love either way.

Love, fate, and desire... Something you two need to give into in order to find yourselves.

You were out to brunch with a couple of your friends from high school. You guys were a tiny knit group, just the four of you, together all the time and never breaking up.

The one thing you hated about being in this group was... you were the only one without a man. You were 32 years old and still to this day haven't found a man.

The main problem was because nobody met (Callum's standards) your standards. They weren't like Callum. Another main reason was because you never really wanted to do that dating thing, going online then meeting up with them only to find out there a total dick.

It was sad though, it still broke your heart. Vanessa would have a funny story to tell about her husband, Sandra always had gossip about these guys at her boyfriends job, and Stacy would always have something to say about her husband and his family and how spectacular they were.

Whilst you, you never had anything to contribute to the conversation. They would ask you about work and if you've gotten a role or a casting call but never, EVER will they ask you if you have a man unless you bring it up.

Because they know. They know you haven't gone out to find one, they know your phone has zero messages or notifications from a dating app about how you and some random named dave matched.

They know that you're stuck up on one man and one man only.

"Did you hear me?" a muffled voice said. You look up and realize they are all staring at you. Vanessa was next to you with a hand on your shoulder (she was the one that spoke) and Sandra and Stacy were in front of you with worried looks on their faces.

"Huh, what did you say?" you ask with confusion. You chuckle and speak again, "Sorry, I was zoned out badly wasn't I." When you realize that that didn't exactly lift the mood your smile fades and you clear your throat.

"I said, when are you gonna tell him?" Vanessa repeats her previous statement. "Huh, tell who what?" you ask confused.

"Callum silly!" she says with a smile. Your eyes widen and she laughs. "Hi! Hello, do you remember who I am? Awkward me could never tell him I love him." you respond taking a sip of your lemonade.

"Oh please, you already tell him you love him, you need to tell him you're in love with him. There's a difference." she ends in a sing songy voice.

"yea well even if I did do that, he doesn't feel the same." you say with your head down.

"EXCUSE ME!" Stacy yells out. "Do I need to remind you of the story you told us about a thousand times? "OMG Callum kissed me last night and we were all alone!" Do you remember now?" She says with a scrunched up look on her face, her eyes narrowed at you in an accusing manner.

"That was not what I said at all Stacy... I said that we were a bit tipsy and he called me beautiful and then kissed me. He immediately apologized and we both forgot about that night like it was nothing." You say with your head in your hands.

"Babes, that was clearly not nothing." Sandra says. "There's no way being a little tipsy makes you all lovey dovey and kiss someone like that. You remember us in our college days. Being tipsy doesn't make you do bold moves like that."

You shake your head, "well then if he was still in his right mind, why didn't he confess his feelings right then and there? Why apologize and make a deal to forget it ever happened?" You counter to her argument.

"Maybe he's scared? Doesn't wanna ruin a good friendship and make it awkward if you didn't feel the same?" Stacy responds.

"Or maybe he's a pussy." Vanessa says. You all look at her shocked. Stacy is shaking her head while you and Sandra are just staring at her.

"What!? it's a fact though isn't it?" she defends. You all shake your heads. "Anyways..." Stacy says, "He's doing the same thing your doing. Testing the waters and as soon as he feels he's going too far, he overthinks and then shuts down."

"Stacy does have a point girl. Communication is always key in a relationship. That's how me and Brad got through are arguments so well. A majority of the time is was over a lack of communication." Sandra says.

"Yea but you guys were already in a relationship. You both have already gone through that stage of getting to know each other. Me and Callum have known each other for years now, and still I don't know how to approach him. I feel like if I put all that on him, he'll get scared and leave me. I've become to attached to him for him to leave me..." You say sadly with tears in your eyes.

Before anyone can say anything, you get a phone call. "It's uhm it's Barry, I gotta take this." You say wiping away the tears that escaped.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Are you busy right now?" He asks.

"Nope, I'm just out with friends. Why? What's wrong Bare?"

"Nothing, just wanted to talk to you about Callum, can you come over? If not we can stay on the phone?" He says

"Yea, I kinda can't leave right now but I can stay on the phone. What about Callum?"

"Well he's uhm-" before barry could finish you hear yelling over the phone.

"CALLUM CALM DOWN!" You know who's voice that is, it's Austin's.

"uh barry, what is going on?"You say chuckling over the phone as you pace around the outside of the cafe.

"So yea, your not the only one with separation anxiety. Callum has been crying and screaming for the past three hours because he misses you. We got off our plane about 5 hours ago and then he saw you on the billboard about 3 hours ago and now he's been crying about wanting to hold you ever since."

You laugh out loud and laugh the happiest most genuine laugh you have laughed in hours. Soon you get an incoming facetime call from Barry and you see Callum's eyes immediately.

"Hi loveee! It's you! Why aren't you here?? COME HERE NOW! I need you please!!!! Your my pookie! is that how you say that word? pookie? poooookie?! ha!" he says over the phone.

"I'm coming Callum, don't worry. Barry! I'll be there shortly ok? Just hang on folks." you respond with a smile on your face.

You hang up the phone and go back inside the cafe. The girls all look at you with worried expressions yet again.

"I have to go, Barry needs me to help him with something." You say with a small smile on your face.

"To help with something or someone?" Vanessa says with a smile on her face.

"Oh shut up! Bye girls! I'll talk to you guys tomorrow!" you yell out and wave.

You walk to your car, get in and turn on the radio hoping it will bring you good spirits.

The moment you turn it on a lovely upbeat melody begins.

"Moved out to a new city, June is dawning down on me."

you listen to the lyrics closely as you back out of the parking lot.

"And all that I can find, A sickly romance in the air. Lovers stroll without a care in sight, ooh this can't be right..."

You shake your head, "Sure is." you say while driving. You turn it up a little more.

" 'Cause the sun's engaged to the sky. And my best friend's found a new guy"

"wow. these lyrics hit deep, why does this relate to me so much." you say sadly.

"I'm only getting older I've never had a shoulder to cry on, Someone to call mine"

"Everybody's falling in love and I'm falling behind"

You turn off the radio and sink in your seat as you ease up to a red light.

You think about what the lyrics said and about how your life is going versus your friends lives.

you turn the radio back up and listen some more.

"Touched the ocean, fell right in Stepped outside and burned my skin My life won't go my way."

That part is very true. Your life just doesn't seem to go your way, especially in the love aspect of it.

"Bossa nova in my room Hope that I'll find someone too to love Because"

"The sun's engaged to the sky And my best friend's found a new guy I'm only getting older"

You are only getting older. You're 32 and still haven't found someone to call yours.

"I've never had a shoulder to cry on Someone to call mine Everybody's falling in love and I'm falling behind"

You start to cry as your thoughts overwhelm you, speeding the car up by stepping on the gas a little harder.

"Everybody's falling in love Everybody's falling in love, oh Everybody's falling in love but me"

you hear the last of the melody before you finally reach Barrys house. You just sit in the driveway head on the steering wheel as you cry your heart out.

You hated this, god how much you hated this. Seeing your friends in happy relationships while your sitting here suffering. Suffering from the fact that you are falling behind.

Suffering from the fact that every time you look at Callum, you get butterflies. Every time he touches you, your skin burns with love for the rest of the day.

You don't get that feeling with anyone else. You used to get that feeling with Austin, but then he found a girlfriend. Yea they broke up and you could always go to Austin but you don't wanna do that to him

You don't wanna ruin a good friendship where everything is pink and white. Love fucking sucks. Maybe you do need to talk to someone about this. Austin! Austin! Austin!

A little voice is telling you to talk to the person you trust and love the absolute most(apart from Callum).

You wipe the tears from your eyes and the smudged mascara on your eyes and walk towards the door.

You knock and to your lovely surprise it's Austins face. Also to your surprise, his face is sad.

"Austin?" You ask grabbing his face. "What's wrong?" you say with a sad frown on your face.

"I should be asking if your ok?" he says. Your face obviously contorts into one of confusion choosing to push all your feelings down.

"what do you mean?" you ask confused. He pulls his phone out and it shows an article that was posted 35 minutes ago. It has a photo and video link posted below. You begin to read the article...

Y/N Y/L/N SEEN CRYING OUTSIDE OF A CAFE WHILE ON THE PHONE, SHE IS HEARD SAYING CALLUM TURNERS NAME AND AUSTIN BUTLERS NAME: Many say that y/n y/l/n was crying while on the phone. She was heard and seen by many fans and people who stood on the sidelines. What could have possibly occurred to make actress and famous award-winning woman cry. Well many witness took videos and pictures that are all linked below. Could this possibly be a love triangle between her, Callum Turner and Austin Butler? Could she be crying because she doesn't know what to do? Well, stay tuned as they are being interviewed tomorrow by the one and only JIMMY FALLON: ON THE TONIGHT SHOW!

you read the end and your eyes are wide the entire time after you finish reading the article.

Austin puts his hand down and tucks his phone in his pocket. He looks at you. "I don't care about the love triangle why were you crying?" he asks.

"You may not care Austin but I do, it doesn't matter why I was crying and that so called video was weeks ago! I wore that outfit 2 weeks ago! Does that look like the outfit i'm wearing today? Fucking love triangle!? Are you fucking kidding me!?" you say throwing your hands up.

"I've already had the most shitty day ever and now this!? Why honestly can't I just be left alone? THIS IS FUCKING INSANE!"

Austin stands there looking at you. "Oh don't gimme that look Austin!" you yell out.

"what? what look y/n?" he says lowly. You stare at him and make eye contact for the longest time it felt as if time just stopped.

"I honestly d-don't know. Your giving me two looks. One looks like i'm fucking insane and the other look..." you trail off.

"what's the other look?" he asks with an eyebrow raised as he turns around to close the front door behind him leaving the both of you standing outside.

"Like i just hung up the moon and all the stars in the sky." you say breaking eye contact and looking at your feet.

"Maybe it's both." he says with a shrug. You look up at him with wide eyes and blink. 'What did he mean by that?' you thought. Before you could say anything Barry walks out with a tired and annoyed look on his face.

"You. And You. Inside. Now. Before I Pew pew him and myself." he says in his accent that you found just so adorable.

Austin chuckles and opens the door motioning for you to go in first.

"In you go M'lady." he says with a smirk on his face. You smile and walk in. You remove your shoes and walk over to where Callum is sitting on the couch.

"Hey Callum." you say with a smile, but when you say it he doesn't respond. As quickly as the smile came on your face is as quickly as it left.

You look at Austin and mouth 'did he see it?' and Austin nods yes. You sigh and look back at him. He doesn't even look at you. 'Why should he be mad, your the only one that should be pissed here.' you thought. It just wasn't making any sense.

Maybe Vanessa was right, Callum is being a pussy and you couldn't take it anymore, your finally realizing you can't have it all.

Maybe it's ok to be falling behind...

"You know what. Let's just cut to the chase." You say standing up and going to the front blocking the tv from Callum's view.

"We all saw the stupid article, ok? So Callum stop acting like a fucking baby about it. I don't know why you possibly could be upset or whatever batman broody mood your having but let's get one thing clear. Maybe 2 things."

Austin leans against the wall and Barry sits on the coffee table next to Callum.

"Number 1: That video was from 2 weeks ago. That isn't a new video. Number 2: I'm done being stereotyped because I have male friends and it's all "Oh there totally fucking" or "Yea no there definitely in love!" Like no were not! So if you and you know." You say pointing to Callum and Austin, "That we are not a thing and we are not dating, why is it affecting you so much." you say pointing to Callum again.

"Barry calls me over here for you, I finally get here and I get what the silent treatment? We all have an interview tomorrow and you wanna sit here in your fucking feelings cause of what? Me crying?" you say with a bitter laugh.

"I love all of you. Your my boys! But right now you feel like strangers to me. Especially you Callum. So if. you wanna be. on non-speaking terms and put this talk or friendship on pause by all means! Cause I can't keep doing these mixed feelings and one second your happy and wanna see me and the next you can't even look at me."

There's silence in the room for a. whole minute and you shake your head and scoff, "I fucking knew it. Well bye Barry, it was nice seeing you and hearing from you. Bye Austin, I'll text you later." You say before walking out of the door and slamming it.

You walk to your car and get inside. You don't turn it on you just sit there and breath. You feel like crying but what's the point. Your done. Done with Callum, done with those stupid feelings.

It's time to move on cause you can't have it all.

*knock knock!

You look up and turn towards the window. You see Austin's face and give him a weak smile before rolling down your window.

"Hi princess." he says. A nickname he's given you since you first started filming Masters of the air.

"Hi my prince." you say adding onto the little joke. He smiles at you and you wanna cry.

Callum used to smile at you just like that... God you have to get Callum out of your head!

"I know, you know. That your in love with him." Austin says as he fiddles with your steering wheel.

Your eyes widen at his confession and you proceed to talk. "How do you-"before you can even finish he interjects.

"It's obvious y/n. The way you look at him. The way. your eyes light up whenever he's mentioned in. a conversation or how giddy. you get whenever you talk about him." He explains.

"I's that obvious?" you say lowly.

"Your that oblivious? Everyone sees it. Why do you think the whole world believes your dating? They know what it looks like when someone is in love."

"But that leaves m-me and you... The whole love triangle thing. The fans never catch us together and only a few ship us together." You say oblivious to the truth.

"You know what I said about the way you look at Callum?" He says and you nod slowly trying to understand where he's going.

"It's the way I look at you..." He says looking away from your eyes. Your eyes widen with realization.

"Oh Austin... get in the car, we're going for a drive." you say smiling at him.

He shows confusion but your eager and motion for him to get in the passengers seat.

He runs to the other side and gets in. The both of you drive in silence for about 5 minutes before you say something.

"Austin...You know you didn't have to hide it from me right?" you say taking a glance at him.

He looks at you while your driving and pulling in to a McDonalds drive thru. "Yea I know, but you like someone else, sorry no, you love someone else. How can I get in the way of that especially when it's two of my best friends?" he says as you pull up to the board to order.

"Hold that thought ok? Hiii can I get Quarter Pounder with cheese please, and A large fry with a cola and a vanilla cone please?" You ask. The lady repeats the order and asks, "Is that all for you today?"

you look at Austin and ask, "Do you want your usual Austin?" He stares at you and smiles. "I'll take that as a yes!" you say with a chuckle.

"No, can I also get a double cheeseburger with a large fry and a lemonade with a chocolate chip cookie please? That's all!" you say with a smile.

She tells you order total and tells you to pull up to the window. You roll up your window again and turn to Austin as you sit in the line.

You guys pull up to the window and you give the lady your card and grab your food before you pull into the parking lot and turn off the car.

"Well I mean your my celebrity crush you know that? You've been my crush since Elvis, not even! Since like Sharpay's fabulous adventure." you admit.

His eyes widen as he takes a bite of his fry. "There's no way, your insane!" He says with a laugh which causes you to laugh with him.

"Yep!" you say stuffing your face with fries. "I've like been obsessed with you ever since then. Was always so excited to meet you and one day, I got to see you, and that was when like 14 year old me's dream came true. I got to act on screen with you for the first time." You say with a smile on your face.

"I never knew that. You just make me love you more every day you know that?" Austin admits to you as he looks out the window. He eventually turns to you as he takes a sip of his lemonade to wash down his food.

"Austin..." you say before he cuts you off. "I know I know, can't admit my feelings for you, I know." He says lowly and slowly.

"Austin..." you try to say but again he cuts you off. "How am I supposed to do that though? I mean your just like so gorgeous and like one of the best things that's ever happened to me. What can I do to change your mind y/n? Hmm? I just need to know how you fee-" he's cut off with you grabbing his face and kissing him.

His eyes are wide until they flutter closed and relish in the feeling of your mouth on his.

From what feels like hours is only minutes and you guys pull away and his eyes are still closed.You open your eyes and giggle at his reaction.

"Does that answer your question Austin?" you say with a smile on your face. His eyes open and he smiles back at you.

"Yea, but what about Callum?" He asks. You smile even wider now. "Austin, baby, I wanna forget about being in love with him all together! I want you know, why chase after a man who doesn't want me clearly and can't get his priorities straight when I have a man who loves me for me and sees me and is someone I've had a crush on since 2011." You say laughing and smiling with him.

He grabs your face and kissed you again. "Hey y/n?" He whispers out.

"Yea Austin?" you whisper back with a content smile on your face. "Wake up." he says.

You pull away and when you look at him with confusion, real you shoots up out of bed and wakes up realizing it was all a dream...

Taglist: @willyoubemycherryy. @dustbunniess/ @evbunnie @emmaafinchh @dumbbxtch23 @sexualparkour @b1mb0slvt + anyone else who cares to join<33

[kiwi-luminaryofthestars]

03/22/2025 Progress Update:

TLDR: Edited a bit over 2K words. Added another 500-ish in the process lol. Fleshed out timeline.

I was mega distracted by so much today but still got the first sub-section of the first section completely edited (first section has three subsections and the remaining two have only one.) Spent way too much time trying to get the hook-line right. I place an ungodly amount of importance on the first few lines; I want it to draw the reader in immediately. I rewrote it like ten times lmao.

Otherwise, a good amount of time today was spent working on another timeline. I stupidly realized that I had an entire fic timeline written out, but not the "before-the-fic timeline" written. Just been keeping it all in my head. Which is stupid because that timeline is so goddamn important (duh). So I took the time (with my lovely sister @watermelpm, of course, who has assisted me with many aspects of the outline) to get it solidified. I'm very happy I did it because uhhhh there was a pretty big plot hole I would've completely missed had I not done this lmaoooo. But now the last 7-8 years of all these characters' lives has been written down and that's great!!! it's already given me some fire for chapter 5.

I love having the ability to reference certain years and they mean something every time. Seven years and five years and four years and two years. Events that lead into other events, connections with connections. Just AHHHH my favorite. If I could give you any naïve advice, it's give your shit dates. It's weirdly euphoric to know what day things happen.

Anyway. I certainly feel like I didn't utilize my time today to write, so I will attempt to correct this tomorrow. I want to get this damn thing done so bad. It's going into "I HATE IT I CAN'T LOOK AT IT ANYMORE" editing mode, and that's never good lol. Especially since I know I don't fucking hate it, it's just prolonged exposure and writer's curse. My mind has already moved on, wanting to get to ch 6-7, but WE'RE NOT DONE, BRAIN, C'MON.

In other news, anxiety wasn't terrible today. Still not my favorite, but we try to be positive. Getting up early weirdly helped; my nervous energy was transferred into a desire to do chores/errands, and moving my body helps.

Hope you all have a lovely night!! Don't forget to give yourself some time to relax tomorrow. Let's beat this week together!!

[zee-has-commitment-issues]

okay! It's time!

AO3 wrapped (writer’s edition) 2024!

I did not write as many fics this year, but I got a big kid job and I traveled and I started a very VERY long outline for Dead Draw, plus I finished Reckless Abandon, but here we go!

1. How many words have you written this year? 205,699 more words than 2023, but less quantity of fics.

2. How many works did you publish this year? six. less than last year by five.

3. What work are you most proud of (regardless of kudos/hits)? Same answer as last year, but Reckless Abandon is a part of my soul now I think. There was blood sweat and tear put into that fic.

4. What work of yours has the most hits? Reckless Abandon still! 16k hits, which is batshit insane.

5. What work of yours got more feedback than you expected? Skin. I didn't imagine it would get any readers at all, actually. It was a really stupid little idea, but i'm glad people liked it!

6. Favorite title you used? If You Give A Prince A Cookbook (He'll Get Weirdly Good At Cooking) based on the childhood If You Give A Mouse A Cookie books!

7. If you use song lyrics, which artist’s songs did you pull from the most? No song lyrics this year!

8. Pairing you wrote the most for this year? No one is surprised by it being Wilhelm/Simon in 5 out of 6 of my published fics this year.

9. Favorite pairing you wrote for this year? 100% wilmon, but nilcent would have been second.

10. What work was the quickest to write? Six Sentence Stories From Tumblr because they were literally six sentences each lmao.

11. What work took you the longest to write? Toss up between Dead Draw and Reckless Abandon. Both are long fics, but one is still ongoing, and one was brought into 2024 part-way done so it's hard to compare.

12. How many WIPs do you have in your docs for next year? I currently have four WIPs that I'm working on. A rewrite of Voicemail Box, a continuation of Just Some Guy, a crack fic I'll never finish, and Dead Draw

13. What’s your longest work of the year? Reckless Abandon technically, but again it was brought in from 2023. So only like 20k words were actually from 2024. Behind that is Dead Draw with a current 41k words and counting.

14. What’s your shortest work of the year? Six Sentence Stories From Tumblr - 2,703 words

15. What WIP are you taking into next year with you? Dead Draw! chess fic is my passion project.

16. What’s your most common “Additional Tags” tag? "Wilhelm Loves Simon Eriksson" and "Simon Eriksson Loves Wilhelm" so...

17. Your favorite character to write this year? Always Wilhelm, I fear. I relate to him so much that I absolutely have to get up into his fucked up little head. But I found that I wrote a lot from Simon's pov this year.

18. What’s one pairing you want to explore next year? ... Madison and Alexander???

19. Which work of yours have you reread the most? The fic from this year was Nils' Room. My stupid little nilcent fic. I love it passionately. But I went back and read some of my old old fics this year too, so I probably spent more time on those.

20. How many kudos in total did you get this year? 1,302. Holy shit.

21. Which work has the most comments? Reckless Abandon and no one was shocked.

22. Did you do any collaborative works this year? Still none this year. All the love to Dani who helps me write and outline fics all the goddamn time. I hope I'm as useful to her as she is to me lmao.

23. Did you write any gifts this year? I did not this year unfortunately. I just didn't have time to join any of the exchanges. But I wrote for a few of the events I think!

24. Did you receive any gifts this year? Again, not this year, since I didn't have the chance to join any of the exchanges 😔

25. What’s your most common category? M/M in a whopping all fucking six.

26. What do you listen to while writing? video essays were a godsend this year. I'd just put them on in the background and lock in.

27. Favorite work you wrote this year? Dead Draw is my passion project and Reckless Abandon ripped my soul in half so probably a tie

28. Favorite line/passage you wrote this year? GodDAMN that one's hard to choose. But I think one there are two that stick out to me, both from Reckless Abandon:

Stella reached across the counter and squeezed his hand with a sympathetic smile. “He is an exceptionally easy person to love,” she said. And then she pulled away, grip tightening on her glass. “He’s just an easier person to leave.”  What made Simon the most upset — more than anything else in this fucked up situation — was that his heart hadn’t shattered until this moment. Not like it should have. It didn’t break him in two and threaten to overwhelm him.  His heart had broken, surely, when he found out what the others had done behind his back. His heart had broken, absolutely, when he realized Wilhelm wasn’t who he thought he was. But Simon’s heart didn’t shatter until right now. 

and

Wilhelm loved Simon like he was supposed to love Sweden. 

My soul left my body and joined the poets with those two I fear.

29. Biggest surprise while writing this year? I'm a slut for writing a prickly Simon/arrogant Wilhelm dynamic. Absolutely love it. Devour my own writing every single time.

-

I hope you enjoyed this year's writing wrapped! Sorry it took ten days into 2025 for me to post it lmfaoooo.

[ryttu3k]

I'm curious abut Sascha Vykos. Do you know which novels or splat books would be good to read to learn more about them?

*cracks knuckles*

Number 1 book you need to understand Sascha's background is the Dark Ages Tzimisce clan novel by Myranda Kalis, which has them as the main character (along with their lover, Ilias cel Frumos) and explains why they're... like that. Just a goddamn amazing character study, also completely heartbreaking and singlehandedly made me change my view of them from "haha wtf what an edgelord" to "they're my baby and I'm gonna fight a methuselah for them". Set between 1232 and 1234, if I've managed to maths right.

Also by Myranda and set around a similar time (shortly after the fall of Constantinople) is the Road of Sin book (set around 1205). Sascha (then called Myca) narrates the introduction and first chapter. It does specifically focus on their history with the eponymous Road, but has a lot of interesting character details, along with their relationship with Ilias.

For modern Sascha, there are two. First is the original Clan Novel Saga (set 1999), although in this case, I'm not recommending just the Tzimisce novel, but rather the compiled editions. There's a bunch of Sascha content in the Assamite book as well, since they're quite involved with one of the characters in it, and it also includes extra, exclusive content, including my two favourite chapters - a story by Lucien Soulban (Sascha's creator), and an epilogue by Janet Trautvetter, mostly about Jan Pieterzoon but with Sascha being fairly prominent in it.

Fair warning, CNS was written in 1999 and has. Mm. Edgelordy moments. We do not talk about The Foetus Thing :|

The other, probably most important one is Beckett's Jyhad Diary, which I would recommend for literally anyone interested in VtM in general. Sascha has minor appearances and mentions in a bunch of chapters, but is extremely prominent in the chapter Dreams & Nightmares (also by Myranda Kalis/Sarro). She also wrote the chapter Azhi Dahaka, another must-read relating to Sascha.

The timing for BJD is... less clear, because at least a few of the people involved have said it's set in 2005, but also there's one chapter where an event that explicitly took place around 1999 or 2000 is said to have taken place "sixteen years ago", so. Let's just call that early 21st century.

Most of the rest of the books are chronicles, plus one city book - their origin book, Constantinople by Night (1197, IIRC?) by Lucien Soulban, Philippe Boulle, and Joshua Mosqueira-Asheim. Others, in chronological order by setting, include Bitter Crusade (two chapters, Fiendish Winter and Dying Embers, the latter covering the Fall of Constantinople in 1204), Under the Black Cross (1225), and a whole bunch of the Transylvania Chronicles (Myca/Sascha appears in book 1 in Dark Tides Cresting (1314), in book 2 in Haceldema (covers the Convention of Thorns, 1493), in book 3 in An Angel's Plea (1680, also has the most hilariously thirsty description of Sascha I've ever seen in my life), and in book 4 in The Accounting (1998).)

Seriously. Here's their Transylvania Chronicles 3 character sheet:

They appear in two of the Giovanni Chronicles books, three (1882) and four (same, in a flashback that also has my baby Anatole), in the Nightshade scenario of the Gehenna book (1999), although that's since been retconned out of existence, along with chunks of the Clan Novel Saga, mostly to do with the approaching Gehenna stuff, and in particular Anatole's fate. It's still worth reading just for some fascinating ways the world could end. Finally, they appear in the House of Lies chapter of Nights of Prophecy (1999?).

Aside from those, they also have little appearances and mentions in other books, including letters and notes throughout chapter 7 of the Revised corebook, a rather amusing little reference in chapter 4 of the Victorian Age corebook, a detailed profile and character sheet in Children of the Night although that book pisses me off because it put Beckett, Anatole, and Lucita on the front cover but didn't give us sheets for them!, and the opening letter of the V5 Sabbat book, which you can read here (and then ignore the rest of the book and get the Revised-era Guide to the Sabbat instead, seriously, fuck the V5 version of the Sabbat and the Tzimisce).

So yes! They show up a lot, and all through the game's history. The three most important ones to read, I think, are the Dark Ages Tzimisce novel, the combined Clan Novel Saga, and Beckett's Jyhad Diary, then the rest just depending on interest in the era or broader story, since Sascha is less involved in those.

Have fun! They're an absolute hot mess of a character and I adore them!

[sabaldax]

happy holidays & merry christmas! now that they're a year old, i've been revisiting the christmas chapters of my batjokes fic this week, editing back over them & just generally giving them a bit of a makeover - here's a couple paragraphs, more under the cut

Finding Joker on Christmas Eve isn’t exactly difficult. Bruce just has to seek out the brightest, happiest place in Gotham. Tonight, that’s the towering light-up tree in the middle of the Diamond District. Families are out in droves, wrapped in winter coats and scarves to see the sound and light show running twice an hour on the artificial tree. It’s almost midnight, and it’s the perfect picture of Christmas cheer. Then there’s Joker. He’s in peak form tonight, his usual purple pinstripes swapped out for a forest green vest and swooping crimson cloak. His spats are buttoned neatly around his ankles, white with green felt soles right to the toe. There’s a sprig of mistletoe peeping out of his bouncy green hair.

He’s gorgeous, in a word—even next to the pure magic of the Christmas tree—even rigging illegal fireworks on the highest rooftop around the square. Bruce has no goddamn hope of looking anywhere else. Joker’s smile stretches right to his molars the instant Bruce flutters down to the rooftop. ‘Now, there’s a sight for sore eyes.’ The clown doesn’t try to hide his delight, meeting Batman without an ounce of fear or hesitation. He tucks his fingernails against the glowing Bat symbol when he curls his hands up on the suit’s chest. It would be an embrace, if Bruce only lifted his arms. ‘What took you so long?’ Joker demands, pouting up at him. ‘You nearly missed the countdown.’ Bruce steals another glance at the fireworks. They’re aimed into the sky and not at the crowd, so he’s happy enough to look the other way, returning his attention to the peppermint jester practically purring into his chest. Somewhere in the quiet, lazy part of Bruce’s consciousness, he’s noticing how right this all feels. There’s no malice to it. There’s no pressure of justice or revenge. Joker hasn’t done anything wrong, and the only reason Bruce could even consider fighting him is just for the excuse to catch Joker in his arms. He’d rather have this tonight, though: Joker aglow in the light from the Christmas tree, running his hands along the Batsuit like it’s his God-given right. Bruce can’t help his smile. ‘I thought that was a New Year’s Eve thing.’ ‘Don’t you fret,’ Joker grins. ‘I’ll have one for you then, too. Mm! Speaking of.’ The clown takes half a step back so he can pull open his long crimson cloak, feeling around the white fur lining until he finds the hidden pocket there. He’s pulling out a sleek obsidian box a moment later, complete with a yellow star-shaped bow. ‘I have a present for you.’ Of course he does. Bruce should have seen it coming a mile away. It makes it a little bit easier to surrender his own gift, he supposes. He’s not putting himself on the line now so much as he’s just matching Joker’s energy, anticipating his greatest enemy’s next move. ‘Should I be worried?’ Bruce wonders aloud. ‘Should stars shine?’ Joker’s smile is sharp, cheeky and altogether beautiful. He makes a little gesture toward the neatly wrapped box. ‘Go ahead, baby. Open it.’

you can read the full thing at my ao3 if you want!! it's chapter three and chapter four of waste of confetti

[darklydeliciousdesires]

New story announcement!

Because you beautiful besties did nothing but encourage me, I wrote the thing. I am four chapters into the thing, but I need to edit before I post it!

So yes, meet the new couple of the moment, Adrien Brody and his beautiful wife, Jade Burton-Brody. I wrote Jade as an OFC for a previous fandom, but she stayed with me, so I want to use her again as it dawned on me just how cute she and Adrien would be together, so yeah. Here they are! She's a musician in the metal world, who moves into acting, too. Especially with all the support she finds from her adoring husband.

A particularly long excerpt from the story, too, from a magazine interview they did together which serves as the opening of the story...

“Tell us something about your wife that people would find surprising.” 

He mulls it over for a few seconds, looking to his side at her, laughing as he takes in her raised eyebrows. “She’s actually quite introverted, unless she knows the people she’s with well. Then her volume and mischief amp up considerably,” he begins, which I must say is perhaps the last thing I expected him to reply with. “No, no. It’s completely true, she is. She’s often quiet, an extreme juxtapose for how she appears up on stage with a microphone in her hand, but yeah. The Jade you see performing live is a completely different entity to the woman she is away from it, and I found that out pretty quickly after we first met.”  

It is a stark contrast to the public persona of Jade Burton-Brody, a woman known for rarely shying away from being outspoken and controversial, whether it be her fiercely penned lyrics, or her opinions on the subject matters she holds dear. She was, after all, the woman who advised legions of young female rock fans to, and I quote, “Burn the patriarchy to the goddamned ground.” 

Before me today, though, I do see a much softer side to the screaming hurricane of a woman I familiarised myself with through the scouring of YouTube videos, a woman more than happy to let her husband lead in the questions, always looking to him to reply first. She has spoken in the past of him being her unequivocal strength and support, and I take her back to that, the moment she first met the man she would marry just six months after their first meeting.

“Jade, you’ve spoken about your first meeting a couple of times in the past, but for the record, would you care to share it again?”  

She laughs loudly at my question, leaning into her husband a little, combing her fingers through her hair as she remembers fifteen years into the past. “I screamed in his face, he liked it, and the rest is history.” 

Indeed, such a meeting did seal itself into history, the moment the iconic pair met captured by a photographer pointing his camera in the right direction at exactly the right time, immortalising the moment where the formidable first lady of metal took to the barriers at the Rock and Iron festival, grabbed the hand of the Hollywood heavyweight, and proceeded to scream like a harpy about an inch from his face. “She blew my eardrums out,” Adrien speaks of the moment, “I had never heard anything that loud in the whole of my life!”

Indeed, like it he did, the first stages of their fledgling relationship captured on film while a documentary team were following her and the band, shooting the footage for the 2010 documentary, “The Devil You Don’t Know.” As the footage shows, the actor found himself with a rare two-week break between projects, one of those weeks spent living on a tour bus with the band, unwilling to be parted from the woman he’d struck up such an immediate connection with. 

“I called my manager and told her to shift all my interviews to telephone, rearranged everything for the following week before I flew out to Hawaii to begin shooting Predators, and yeah, lived on a bus with five insane, but adorable women for seven days.” He smiles a little shyly, his eyes warm as he views her. “Didn’t want to let her go.”

When asked if it was love at first sight, he elaborates a little further. “I’ve never believed in that. Too many components have to fall into place for love to bloom, so I don’t think it can be so spontaneous as to simply view somebody and feel such a powerful emotion right off the bat. After that week I spent with her, though. Yeah. I departed from the tour knowing I’d left behind the girl I was going to marry someday.”

And for Jade? “I knew. He was my person. Still is fifteen years on, too.”  

Just viewing the natural ease the couple have around one another cements that, after battling with so much over their years together. They both freely admit they rarely saw one another for the first two years of their marriage, their relationship plagued by media scrutiny, storms of paparazzi, accusations of their romance serving purely as a manufactured PR pairing for publicity, others stating that it was to give Jade greater leverage as she further embarked upon her acting career away from the world of music. One only has to watch the woman on screen to see that she carries enough weight from her own talents to not need the bolstering of her husband’s surname to snare her hard-earned successes.  

Indeed, the pair have weathered many storms and come through them stronger, standing as one of Hollywood’s most illimitable power couples, yet the term is somewhat lost on them both. “We’re complete dorks,” Jade laughs, “we really are. We set one another off all the time being absolutely ridiculous.” 

“It’s true,” her husband confirms, beginning to chuckle right on cue. “Nobody makes me laugh like her. It’s so corny, but truly, she’s my best friend. Deciding to get on that bus fifteen years ago was one of the greatest decisions I ever made.”  

It can be witnessed quite easily, too. It takes only a few glimpses into their respective social media accounts to see the humorous ease they tease one another with, but always with incredible affection. ‘Baby love! <3 Love you too, Morticia!’ Adrien commented on a heartfelt post his wife recently shared to Instagram, a throwback picture of the pair kissing at the 2016 Oscar’s ceremony, where his beloved won best supporting actress for her role across from Robert De Niro in the 2016 blockbuster, Five Marked Men. 

“It took him about a month to get over me with black hair instead of blonde, so I was Morticia for four straight weeks instead of Jade!” she laughs, obviously taking his teasing with good humour.  

“I was so damned proud of her, even though I couldn’t get used to the black hair,” he laughs taking her hand in his. “Always have been. She’s incredible.” 

The story will chronicle their fifteen years together, from their first meet right up until present day. I said I wouldn't do this, write RPF again, but I did. Arrgh! I just have to hope my beautiful people enjoy it now, lmao!!

Also, as well as the obvious faceclaim of Angelina Jolie serving for Jade, I have a voice claim for her, too! Want to hear the scream she hit Adrien with? Here - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a98LI-arNS4 And for something a little more melodic to acquaint you with her voice - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SQNtGoM3FVU So yes, that's how I imagine her to sound in her chosen profession. Half angel, half demon. xD

I hope you love her as much as I do, guys! Huge thanks for my darling @jemmalynette for the beautiful picture manipulation. Her work is flawless, as always!

[theprettynosferatu]

I

The gigantic metal beast landed with a thud. Not the most graceful of homecomings, thought the handler. It didn’t matter, of course. No damage to the mech, four enemies down, a few needless but thrilling maneuvers for the video drone capturing every moment. A successful mission any way one cut it. The handler looked up from the screens, towards the solid, tangible reality of his ward.

Even after years together, even after a hundred missions, the sight never failed to impress. Himiko emerged from the cockpit drenched in sweat, every curve of her body glistening under the hangar lights. She stretched. This was a performance too, even if she didn’t know it. Her booty shorts and miniscule top were as much a necessity as an asset, and her “dismounts” were something of a phenomenon among the viewers. 

Every second in the cockpit was filmed, every motion in combat captured from several angles, every landing documented to be masterfully edited and broadcast to the population. She was a soldier on two fronts: fighting the rebellion while also being someone the company could parade in front of everyone, someone people could root for, someone they could obsess over. Better to have them focused on her skin, those shorts, her beautiful face. Even her mech, the Enkidu, was part of her brand: it was an older model, a classic -or a relic, depending on one’s point of view- that tended to be particularly punishing for pilots. The goddamn thing was an oven, relying on overheating systems for sudden bursts of enhanced performance with minimal heat dispersal to spare the operator. Hence, booty shorts and top. The effect was simple, eloquent: she was a warrior, an underdog willing to do whatever it took to destroy a more advanced enemy. Underdogs were good. People cheered for them. 

The handler shuddered. If Himiko knew he had been the one to suggest her brand…

Well, there were many things Himiko didn’t know, and every asset needed a brand, a simple phrase that could be marketed, displayed, sold. “Sexy, rebellious underdog”. Everything orbited that one concept. Her clothing, her public appearances, even her fighting style. She was as artificial as her mech and didn’t even know it. Damn it.

The handler chased the feeling away. Things would be worse for Himiko without him. He was good to her. Hell, compared to other handlers he was downright angelic, if the stories were true. Even the whole “underdog” gimmick was… mild, next to what other pilots were saddled with. The company had to cater to many tastes, after all. “Ruthless, cold bombshell”. “Cheery, optimistic angel”. “Seductive, psychotic killer”. A pilot for every desire, and joint missions were true events, advertised and promoted with taglines like “...But can they work together?”, or “Angel and Demon together!”. The strategic purpose of such missions was a secondary priority, if it was a priority at all.

Yes, “rebellious underdog” wasn’t that bad, all things considered. The handler went down to the launching bay.  

“I fucked up with that second mech”

“It still went down, didn’t it?”

“Messed up my aim. I Could have downed him quicker. Fuck!”

Himiko was one of the few pilots allowed to swear. It fit her brand. Well, truth was Himiko was one of the few pilots able to swear, but that wasn’t something the handler liked to think about.

“May I shower?”, she asked.

“You may”, he replied.

Himiko flashed him a quick smile and headed for her quarters. The handler watched her leave. He wondered, as he had done so many times before, if he was the only one that could see something between sadness and rage in her eyes.

II

“We were going with something like… ‘Guts and Glamour’, when the op was just Himiko and Adrian, but now that Ruby’s part of the whole thing…”, said the handler.

“‘Guts and Glamour’? Really?”, scoffed Mark.

“You know them marketing boys like their alliteration, Mark. We work with what we got”, added Katrina, a bit offended.

‘Guts and Glamour’ had been her idea, in fact. A bit on the facile side, but the handler had to admit his partner had nailed it on the head. Katrina was rough, but one of the best, after all: that was why she had been saddled with Adrian. “Vain, cocksure prettyboy”, had been the concept and the pilot delivered in spades, which was a blessing and a curse. He was easy to hate as much as he was easy to desire. The company liked to try some “hate that you love them” concepts every now and then. They thought it was a complex character. A pain in the ass for a handler, that’s what it was. Sometimes the public saw their skills and were won over. Other times…

Well, tragic deaths were quite moving too.

Ruby, on the other hand, was a tried and true idea. Fiery, sexy redhead. Not much to do with that, but her genetics did the heavy lifting. Something for the basic teen boys.

“Right, right. Well, Maybe we can keep it. Ruby’s glamorous too”, said Mark.

“Nah. Won’t work. Three pilots, ain’t it? We need three keywords, short, punchy. And I don’t think we have a third ‘G’ word to throw in there. And Ruby has… no offense, but I wouldn’t call it glamour, exactly. I mean, not your fault, bud. But…”, trailed off Katrina.

“No offense taken. We aren’t shooting for high class with Ruby. What you see is what you get, pretty much. And she loves to let people see”, replied Mark.

“You sure got lucky with the whole heat gimmick, right? Himiko can show off and still come across as tough”

It took a moment for the handler to realize Katrina was talking to him. He poured himself another drink, and saw the other two handlers onscreen joining him in a toast across space.

“I guess”, mumbled the handler.

“You know, I don’t know what’s better: fucking the hot redhead everyone thinks is slutty, or being the only one that knows how freaky the rebel girl can get”, giggled Mark.

“Come on, man. That’s the kind of joke that gives handlers a bad rep”, said the handler.

Silence stretched, infinite, plastic.

“Don’t bullshit a bullshitter, man. You tapped that, and you know it”, retorted Mark.

“Say what you will about Adrian, but he makes up for his preening with some stamina”, said Katrina.

“Stop it. It’s not funny”, muttered the handler, shifting in his seat.

“We’re not being funny. This shit ain’t for broadcast, pal. Save the PC shit for official events. It’s just us shooting the shit, here”, said Katrina.

“Wait. You don’t really… you know…”

“Fuck my pilot? Eight days a week, cowboy. Jesus, are you bullshitting me right now? It’s like, the one benefit we have. Sure, it’s not on the fucking brochures, but come on! We have genetically enhanced clones that are programmed to obey and designed to be hot! You think the company doesn’t know what’s bound to happen? Nature’s gonna nature, I say. And it’s not like they’re… people-people, you know?” said the woman on the screen.

“They’re clones, sure, but… they’re still people”, said the handler.

“You mean to say you never thought about it?”, asked Mark.

“Think about it… I mean, I guess. Like… you can have fantasies about anyone, right? But fantasies are one thing and… doing shit is another”, said the handler.

Katrina laughed.

“So let me get this straight: you’re all alone in your compartment, jerkin’ it to a girl that’s right fucking there, next door over, and who would do whatever you told her to do if only you had the balls to command her? God, that’s pathetic. You have a feast in front of ya and keep eating those saltine crackers from ration packs, honey. Okay, real talk: are you gay, or ace, or…”

“No. Bi, actually”, said the handler in anger. “Doesn’t mean it isn’t wrong to…”

“See, I think I get the issue. I’ve seen it a couple of times. Clones are not like you and me. Clones obey. And they don’t feel bad about it, because they can’t not obey, feel me? It’s just the way they’re made, you know? She wouldn’t feel violated or… I don’t know, used. Not in any degree above what happens whenever you send her on a mission. She’s designed for it. It’s all she knows and all she can know. And if we are being honest… let me ask you a question: are you scared for her when it looks like a mission is gonna go tits up? Are you anxious when you give her a combat plan and don’t know if it’s the best course of action?”, asked Mark.

“Of course”

“Me too. Every single time Ruby goes inside that mech I’m sweating bullets. I care about her. It’s my job to make her thrive, man. That’s what we do. You know who’s never scared going into combat? Ruby, or Adrian, or Himiko. Can you imagine that? Climbing into a big ass combat mech and not being terrified? But they’re not like us, and you know what? I kinda envy them. They are at peace. They have their missions, and the complete, unshakable focus to do their best every time. Combat, a photoshoot, an ad… same to them. Just missions. They don’t have to make choices, or suffer the pangs of uncertainty. There’s something beautiful there. A purity. They are what they are, do what they’re assigned to do, and those two things are the same thing. They have clarity of purpose. They’re not burped into existence like the rest of us. And when I tell Ruby to wrap her huge tits around my cock and get me off, it’s another mission to her. Nothing more, nothing else. You ask me, they’re the lucky ones. So, word of advice: care for your pilot. But don’t fall for her. ‘Cause you’d be falling for a shadow”. Said Mark between drinks.

The meeting went on. The handler didn’t really pay attention to whatever title they had decided to give their joint mission in the end. 

III

The mission had been a success. In the end the marketing people had decided to play up the “one guy, two girls” angle. Would love blossom on the battlefield? The people saw Ruby saving Adrian from a cowardly sneak attack. The flirting had been heavy and constant. Of course, Ruby had made no such heroic save, but editing could perform miracles. 

The handler was glad Himiko hadn’t been picked to move the romance plot forward. Sure, affairs between pilots existed only for the cameras, in parades and interviews, but still. Himiko’s brand wasn’t appropriate for such things. But if he was being honest, it wasn’t the sanctity of the image that bothered him. He had been with Himiko from the beginning. He had designed her brand, advised on her fighting style, added flair and soul to the character. Himiko belonged to the company, sure, but in a creative way, Himiko was his. The strong girl in the posters and vids, the firebrand adored by millions… he had created that, as much as the geeks at the genetic farms. Perhaps even more.

The handler couldn’t say when he had gotten out of bed and walked out of his room. He found himself in the hallway, steps away from the pilot’s compartment. She -it- would be there. His creation. His product. Hours of work, gallons of sweat and tears and anxiety and effort put into her… into making her a phenomenon, beloved by millions. And what did he get? He was anonymous. He was a shadow- worse, a shadow of a shadow, unrecognized, unrewarded.  

The door slid shut and Himiko went instantly to her feet. Pilots were light sleepers by design, always ready. They slept in the nude, so they could get into their outfits instantly. Shame was not something they felt, less of all in front of their handlers.

“Do we have a mission?”, she asked.

The handler paused, entranced by the soft curves of her pilot. It didn't matter how much he saw of her, it always made an impact somewhere primal, deep inside his soul. No, not her. The product, he reminded himself. The word escaped his lips before he could stop it.

“Kneel”

There was a moment there, barely longer than a lightning strike. Himiko’s eyes flashed with confusion, a hint of outrage, and then set on complete, focused determination as she went down on her knees. She looked up at the handler, ready to obey. The handler felt almost drunk, giddy. So many men and women looked up to this girl, adored her, saw her as a role model and object of desire… and now she looked up at him. It was intoxicating.

“Remove my underwear”

She did so with the efficiency of a close quarters combat expert. He barely had to shift to let her cast the fabric aside. One part of him couldn’t believe it was this easy, even as inside him a quieter, stifled side of himself screamed. It was too late to go back.

“Suck my cock”

What followed was akin to vertigo, beyond anything he had ever felt before. He couldn’t stop himself from closing his eyes. The handler wasn’t a virgin, but he might as well have been. Himiko took to her mission with the zeal and determination of a true warrior, changing speeds, pressure, angle, using her tongue, her lips, her throat. The handler felt something in the base of his spine, an orgasm building from somewhere deeper than anything he had experienced in his life. Overcome by the maelstrom of sensation, he had for a moment forgotten what was happening, sent hurling away from reality by the pilot’s skills. His eyes snapped open.

He saw Himiko. Strong, fierce Himiko. Her expression was one he had seen a thousand times in the cockpit, the focus of an operator in that special zone where only the mission existed, where only her objective mattered. He saw a programmed response, and a reminder of what she really was. Of what he was doing.

“Stop”, he muttered. She instantly did. He caught his breath.

“Could you… could you pretend to enjoy it? Like… like you… want me?” God, he felt pathetic. The feeling, however, lasted only a second. Himiko smiled, a smile no one had ever seen before, a smile that didn’t fit any poster or propaganda piece. It was mischievous, flirty, like they were accomplices in a secret, loving affair. It didn’t matter that it wasn’t real. She made it feel real to him.

She made him feel special.

Suddenly there was a sense of fun, of warmth to her actions. She moaned and purred with every lick, teasing him, smiling and biting her lips, making him feel as if for that moment his pleasure was her pleasure, that he was all that existed, that his cock was the most beautiful, most entrancing thing in the universe. His moans mixed with hers as she worshiped him with her mouth, her hands, her breasts. It was sex and devotion, fun and partnership, lust and love. It was too easy to believe it all, too perfect to resist. The handler wanted the moment to last, forever if at all possible. When he told Himiko to get on the bed, she leaped in joy and looked at him as she stretched on the mattress, eyes full of anticipation, a teasing challenge to her lover. 

He dove into her arms. He kissed her stomach, her perfect thighs, her neck. He wanted her, wanted to devour her, to be with her and for her to be his, totally and completely. He wanted them to belong to each other, to seal a partnership that had, in his mind, been growing for years. Her shallow breathing, her whimpers and soft moans begged him to do it, to take what was rightfully his. His hand softly caressed the inside of her thigh, barely touching it, moving upwards slowly, savoring every second. When he felt the wetness between her legs, he couldn’t help but wonder if that too was a conditioned response. He pushed the thought aside and let himself drown in her lips.

She was tight, and he managed to stop himself, teasing her clit. He didn’t want to hurt her. It occurred to him that Himiko was, in fact, a virgin. He would be careful. He would be gentle. He would take it slow. 

But she was a warrior on a mission. 

“Do it”, she said, panting. “Take me. Fuck me. Use me! I’ve seen you looking at me… my ass, my tits, my face… they’re all yours. Yours. Stop being a pussy and fucking ram that big cock inside me! I want it… I want you to treat me like your whore, your toy, whatever the fuck you want… just give me that cock! Please!”

The handler didn’t know if Himiko had been studying him, gathering information for precisely such an event, but it didn’t really matter. She knew exactly what to say, exactly how to say it, with a mixture of begging and demanding, commanding and submissive at the same time. She knew what to say to blow away any lingering hesitation, to obliterate any morality that might be holding him back. He entered her with fury, with anger, with lust, with the strength of years of repressed emotions and confused feelings behind him. Her legs surrounded him, brought him closer as she came with a melody of moans and tiny screams. Her nails dig into his back. The pain was the one thing that kept him from cumming. Had that been luck or a calculated move on her part?

With all her martial skill, she reversed positions and got on top. 

“My turn”, she smiled.

He had fantasized about this moment for years. Himiko showed him just how limited his imagination was. She was mercurial, flowing from one position to another, from one attitude to another. She was whimpering and fighting against her own pleasure one moment, pinning him down and riding him with a wicked smile the next; she feigned innocence on second and then delivered babbling, perverted barrages of dirty talk without missing a beat. She made the bed feel like a playground where everything went, everything was allowed. She made him feel safe. Wanted. 

Eventually, exhaustion got the better of him. Unlike Himiko, he was a simple handler, not a trained fighter. He fell asleep in her arms, postponing the inevitable reckoning with what he had done for a handful of peaceful, perfect hours.

IV

The handler called in every favor he had. Burned a few bridges, too. It was necessary, he told himself. It was for Himiko, he told himself. It was the right thing to do, he told himself. Anything to make the voice inside his head shut up for a few seconds. 

As a handler he had access to general genetic records: after all, he needed to know what his pilot was capable of, what enhancements had been made to her. There were other bits of information, however, that only the people at the genetic farms had and guarded jealously. But after a solid two weeks of begging, threatening and cajoling, he had managed to get a copy of what he needed, an answer to the question that had been tormenting him- and now he lingered, too scared to open the files. 

Himiko was a clone. But somewhere out there there was an original. Or maybe there had been one, long ago. Whoever Himiko was made from was probably an old woman living in secluded luxury. That was the standard deal: a comfortable life of complete anonymity for the donors. They were usually athletes, sometimes models or soldiers, sometimes people with very specific characteristics that might appeal in a pilot, given a few adjustments. The handler didn’t know what would be worse: to find out the original was out in the world, or to find out Himiko’s genes had been taken from an old blueprint and the original had passed away. He just knew he needed to know, because Himiko deserved to know. Not that the pilot had asked, of course. But he needed to… do something for her. Yes, do something big for Himiko. That would make the voice shut the hell up.

He opened the files and started reading, a terrible dread growing in his chest.

Sample obtained through Rebirth Protocol.

It was there in black and white: a rumor discarded by almost everyone, embraced only by the most fringe of lunatics. And it was real. The Rebirth Protocol. Forced acquisition of samples from captured rebels before their executions.

Himiko’s original had never lived a life of peace and comfort. She had been a rebel. A fighter, like her clone. One battling the company at every turn, transformed into an obedient asset in an act of perverted, vengeful poetry. And he had been complicit. He had made Himiko one of the most recognizable faces of the company, a key pillar in its efforts in the battlefield and in the war on the minds of the people.    

The handler threw up. He copied the files to his personal device, shaking. He could feel his determination wavering. No. He had to show her, and he had to show her immediately.

Himiko smiled as he entered. The handler felt terrible for issuing that particular order. Knowing what he knew, the smile felt like a dagger. 

“Himiko, look at this”, he said, pulling up the files on the screen. It was all there. Himiko’s original name. Pictures taken during captivity. Video of her flying a rebel mech. He looked at the pilot. Something was stirring inside her, he knew it.

“She looks like me”, muttered Himiko.

“She is you. In a manner of speaking. But… you were…”

“I was a rebel. I… Permission to speak freely?”

“Granted! Fucking granted!”

“I feel… something. Anger… no, not anger. It’s more… righteous. A fire. We… I… refused. Refused to be under the boot of the company… we… there was more to life. More to being a person than just working and consuming and… Why? Why do I remember these things?”

“I’m not sure. If you were a rebel pilot, it’s possible they copied not just your DNA but some of your neural pathway patterns, to transfer combat experience into… your new self. Maybe she… you, the real you… is still in there somewhere. Kei. Your name was Kei”

Himiko was crying without moving a muscle. Tears rolled down her perfect face.

“Kei…” she muttered.

“You are Kei”

“I am…”

An eternal pause.

“I am Himiko, pilot for the company”, came the emotionless response.

“No! You don’t have to be! You were a proud fighter and can be that again! We can… we can leave. We can escape, together. Disappear. Go to some forgotten corner of the galaxy, and…”

“Pilots are not allowed to travel without company authorization”

The handler stormed out of the room.

Sleepless nights on unauthorized communication channels, places where the company couldn’t snoop. Editors uploaded outtakes of pilots messing up, or candid footage of pilots in showers and locker rooms. Handlers shared the… art they had compelled their pilots to make, a notion he would have refused to believe not long before. Gene freaks debated new techniques, mulled over the possibilities of more extreme genetic modification. And the handler read it all, looking for the answer to a singular question: was there a way to break the conditioning?

He wasn’t the first handler to wonder that, he discovered. A few before him had been shouted down, accused of being potential rebels. Some had gotten tidbits of information, ways in which perhaps, in theory, the compulsions could be lessened, if not erased entirely.

He tried them all. Flashing lights. Shock diet. Memory regression. Hypnosis. More and more Himiko was becoming like her other self, like Kei. And yet, after every attempt, he issued a single command.

“Slap yourself”

She did so. Every single time.

“I’m sorry”, she said.

He was on his knees, his head on her lap, sobbing. It was pointless. The company had her, and by having her, they had him. There would be no escaping, no happy ending in their own secluded corner of the world. Only dreaming.

Maybe dreaming wasn’t so bad. One could get lost in a beautiful dream. Perhaps even forget it was a dream, every now and then. That was the best they could hope for: to steal small moments of counterfeit happiness from a world too miserly, too cruel to allow the real thing to thrive. Didn’t Himiko deserve those moments, that respite? Didn’t he deserve them too?

Defeated, he rose to his feet. The handler looked at the pilot’s sad eyes.

“Himiko… love me”, he commanded. 

Did you enjoy this story? You can support my work at patreon.com/prettynosferatu

[notsocheezy]

Brain Curd #176

Brain Curds are lightly edited flash fiction - practically first drafts - posted daily (haven't missed one yet!) and sometimes written with the express intention of being terrible… but, you know, in an endearing way. Please like and reblog if you enjoy - the notes keep me going!

He's gonna be Frank with you. Read the rest of The Frank Program here on Tumblr!

Last time on The Frank Program, Frank caught Daryl watching something on his phone during recording, and he didn't like what he saw.

Daryl exploded out the door to the parking lot, anger in his stride, fear in his posture, and tears in his eyes. Chad, leaning on a car, got up immediately when he saw the kid running off.

“Hey!” He called out. Daryl wasn’t stopping for anything.

Cautiously, Chad poked his head back inside. Frank was stoic, silent in his host’s seat, a lit cigarette in his left hand. He took a drag from it and sighed out a puff of smoke.

“Come in, Mr. Graves. We oughtta finish the show.”

“You alright, bud?”

There were bags under Frank’s eyes that Chad didn’t recall seeing before. “I’m plenty content to finish recording.”

Graves sat down in his chair. The corner behind him was conspicuously empty. The chair which had been there before sat askew and on its side at the other end of the room.

“You know, Mr. Graves -”

“You can just call me Chad.”

“Well, Chad…” Frank took another hit. “I ain’t touched a cigarette in ten years. Kept this one in the studio just to prove to myself I didn’t need it.” He chuckled. “Funny how I keep proving myself wrong, huh?”

“How’s that?”

“Oh, the usual. I think o’ someone as a friend, or a wife, or… or a son. And I come to find they never were, really. They stab me in the goddamn back.”

“I take it that your chat didn’t go too well?”

Frank sneered. “You have no idea.”

“I’m sure he’ll come around. You know teenagers, I mean… I remember when I was a teenager, I got in arguments with my parents all the time.”

“We’re no stranger to arguments, Chad. This is somethin’ else. I’m losing my boy.”

“What exactly happened?”

Frank huffed and smothered his cigarette in the ashtray. “We better get back to my prepared questions.”

“Yeah…” Chad nodded slowly. “Alright.”

Frank shuffled through pages, looking for a question he still felt like asking. “Uh… Do you and your friends ever have creative differences when working on the show?”

“I don’t think we’d be as effective at doing our jobs if we did. Really, all four of us try to stay out of the creative side of things most of the time. Our producer decides what the story is for a given episode. He takes our full night of footage, and our analysis of the findings, and he gives that to his editor to make the pieces fit together.”

“Does the show replicate the experience of actually bein’ there, do ya think?”

“To be honest with you, I don’t usually watch it. Kind of a ‘been there, done that’ situation. But I have been channel surfing before and caught a rerun from a few years ago, and it definitely brought back memories.”

“Well that’s nice. Nice to have something to look back on. I guess I’ve got that too, huh? A little piece of the past… to bring back memories.”

“Yeah, I guess so. The nice thing about the show is it cuts out all the boring bits. The parts where we’re just sitting around, whispering to each other like we’re trying not to wake up the parents at a sleepover.”

“Right,” Frank said, a lump in his throat. “Those are the parts you really miss when they’re gone.”

Chad tilted his head to look around his microphone. “It’s gonna be okay, Frank. He’ll -”

“Mr. Graves, I don’t want another grown man to see me cry. So thank you for being here, but I must be signing off. Go ahead and tell the people where to find you.”

“I’m on all the socials as @GravesGhostVisions, so just search that up if you want to see where we’re headed next.”

“Thank you. This has been The Frank Program…” Frank struggled to get the words out without letting tears come with. “So long.”

[callsigndreadfrost]

This is in relation to this post.

I'm really giddy to write this for a bunch of reasons but it'll let me explore some other teeny tiny character plots (development? Reveals? Not sure what to call it). I can't find the goddamn post but I have mentioned that at some point Jelani had been with a man that was poly. He's not poly but he likes to try things out and see if he likes 'em enough to make 'em stick. Anyway, during this time, the time that the story takes place, was way before he fell in love with Angelus, he seriously did not even consider him a possibility until he was over 100 years old.

Edit: read more to not annoy other.

Anyway, during this time he was with another agent, an Ethiopian vampire named Mehari Ayalew (50 years old, youngling rank), who had multiple partners himself with Jelani being one of them. During this time there was a familiar affiliated with Oracle, white man named Samuel Thatcher (36 years old in 1765, human), who would spend a lot of his time in the compound and would help out as much as he could. He mostly gathered information and used some of his contacts for Oracle's benefit. Four years before the story takes place he'd joined as a familiar and had worked alongside a lot of agents including Jelani.

By this time Jelani had been made Aleksey's number two which meant he was doing a lot of things on Aleksey's behalf and had been tasked with more responsibilities which placed him and a lot people together a lot, and one of those people was Sam. You can definitely see where this is going. A year before the story takes place Sam was feeling some sort of way about Jelani and he did all he could to be near him, would find any excuse to talk to him, would volunteer to work with him--you get the point. Jelani was noticing he was hanging around him more but he legitimately did not think anything of it, Sam never said anything much less flirted with him.

But you know who did notice? Loke. And he was not happy about it.

Loke was fine with Mehari and Trevor (who had joined a few years prior and would occasionally fuck him and his brother). He liked Mehari and trusted Trevor but as soon as he noticed Sam hanging a little too much and a little too near Jelani he went full "extremely overprotective big brother" on Sam. Started small at first, scowling at him, bumping into him on purpose and being short with him.

Sam was actually a pretty decent person and was decent to everyone equally. But Loke's over-protectiveness stemmed for the area they were living in, the time (1700s) and a lot of things he witnessed. He outright did not trust anyone that looked like him with his brother and in more than one occasion he threatened Sam to stay away from Jelani or else he'd kill him. Sure, Sam was very nervous but he legitimately had no ill intentions with Jelani, in fact, as time went on he'd fallen head over heels in love with him and all Loke's hostility did was make him determined to tell Jelani. He did, he told him he was in love with him and maybe a little (read: a whole fucking lot, to an unhealthy degree) obsessed with him. Jelani was floored and completely flattered but he was honest with him and had to tell him that he didn't feel the same way. Sure, he liked him but not romantically.

To say Sam was crushed was an understatement. He tried to reconcile with his wife (Sam was bisexual), they'd separated two years prior and were working on getting divorced, out of some sort of weird attempt at a bounce back from the heartbreak he was feeling. His wife rejected him. Over the years he and his wife grew apart and drifted away and she ended up resenting him (she stayed with their two daughters and after the divorce she took their daughters and left to Ireland).

Sam almost quit Oracle to move to England but he stayed and when Jelani asked him to get some information for another contact he agreed and basically spent a few days with Jelani while getting that information. Sam apologized but Jela told him he had nothing to apologize for and in--I guess depending on how you look at it--a sort of bad move he started to make out with him. He desperately pulled him in while Jelani tried to pull away and push him off him and when he did Sam started apologizing telling him he only wanted a taste of what he'd been craving for so long. Yeah, Jelani was mad but his anger subsided rather quickly and gave in...until Sam started to touch him and try to undress him. Sam stopped when he was asked to stop, he was desperate but he didn't wanna hurt him.

After that Sam disappeared for a few days and during those days Jelani told Mehari (not Loke because he knew he'd hunt him down and kill him), he'd already told him that Sam confessed he was in love with him, obviously Mehari wasn't bothered by this. Mehari asked him if he felt the same way but Jela said he didn't know and Mehari told him he should explore that and see how he felt if he was unsure.

I wanna reiterate that no, Jelani was not in love with Sam but he was confused and a little unsure of what he wanted to do about it.

After a few days he got in contact with Sam to talk to him. Lotta crying and apologizing on Sam's part and Jelani still unsure of what to do. Long story short they ended up making out like a pair of hormonal teenagers and Jelani let Sam fuck him.

((Sam was strictly a top and during this time Jela was strictly bottoming. Yes, he's a switch but he has "seasons" where he'll strictly bottom.))

This turned into what's nowadays called a situationship. Yeah, Sam wanted him to himself but Jelani had made it very clear that he was okay with some sort of sexual relationship with him but he wasn't in love with him and he wasn't going to leave Mehari and sometimes he'd get together with Trevor. Sam agreed saying he'd take him anyway he could and even if Jelani never said it back he'd tell him that he loves him because if he didn't say it he felt he'd go crazy. Jelani was fine with that.

Loke was not happy at all and he expressed his disapproval of Sam and this was the first time Jelani told him to chill the fuck out. Lo agreed to back off but he was gonna keep an eye on him because regardless of the fact that Jelani was a grown man and capable of taking care of himself Loke was his older brother and said it was his job to protect him.

So from 1763 to 1772 Jelani and Sam had that odd situationship going. During those 9 years Jelani grew to care about him but he still wasn't in love with him. He didn't let Sam fuck him out of pity nor was he using him though he did admit on several occasions that the sex was some of the best he'd ever had, mostly because Sam wasn't just fucking him. This man was completely in love with him, he was never fucking, Sam was--uuuugh I hate this phrase with every fiber of my being but I can't think of a better way to get the point across--making love.

Yes, Loke eventually chilled out to the point where he and Sam could have a civil conversation. Eventually he realized that Sam meant no harm.

Sam would've stayed there with him until the day he died but after 9 years he got word that his father had fallen ill and he had to go see him. After a year he contacted Jelani and he went up North to see him. Sam said that before his father died he'd made arrangements. Long story short he and another family arranged a marriage of political origins (two "elite" families, Sam's and the woman he was set to marry) and since out of all of his sons Sam was the one that was divorced and single he'd picked him. Sam was sure his father was suspicious about him being with a man for some time but he could never prove it. Sam didn't want to but he felt he couldn't ignore his father's dying wish to keep his family comfortable (Sam's chosen wife was tied to political figures and Sam's family all came from old money). So that was the last time he'd get to see Jelani. They spent the week together and on the final day Sam pretty much fucked (I ain't saying that phrase again, you know what I mean when I say fucked in this case) him for the last time.

In those nine years not once did Sam ask Jelani to tell him that he loved him back but given the situation when Sam told him that he loved him Jelani said that he loved him too. Both understood the situation.

Jelani left and was emotionally raw and compromised for a while. Eventually he moved on though they did write to each other regularly until the letters stopped. Then a few months later he got a letter from Sam's oldest son telling him Sam had died and if you know Jelani you know exactly how he felt about that.

He couldn't attend the funeral for more than obvious reasons but Sam's son met with him after the funeral and personally handed him a letter Sam had written before he died. They spoke for a while and then Jelani left.

((I won't go into too much detail about this specific event because I kind of wanna write it.))

No, he was not okay after that, especially after he read that three page letter Sam wrote to him. He wasn't okay for a long while honestly speaking. Sam was the last human he ever got involved with. He's okay with flings with no strings attached, getting involved though? Absolutely not.

So yeah, Sam will make an appearance during that story and anything involved during that time period he was with Oracle.

[bijackkellys]

melt your headaches, call it home

fandom: newsies (the musical) word count: 4,990 relationships: jack kelly/katherine plumber pulitzer, david jacobs & jack kelly tags: post-canon, period typical attitudes, canon-typical violence, class differences, racism, character study, hurt/comfort, angst, poc jack kelly, jack parenting the newsies, touch-starved jack kelly, attachment issues, background javid if you tilt your head and squint

Jack might've won the fight but that meant nothing now: Morris was the one still inside. Guys like him would always win where it mattered. The strike; a rare fluke—hadn't he learned his lesson enough times? It was winter in New York; he was a goddamn losing dog.

notes: i wrote this in march of last year and it's been up on my ao3 since then, but i wanted to repost it here with some minor edits. character study with a jatherine focus, but jack and davey refuse not to Yearn in every scene they have together so there's a bit of that. let's call it a testament to my indecision and jack's fatal flaw of loving everyone who touches him.

latino jack kelly is the hc i had in mind writing this fic, but i will live and die by a jack that is anything but white. mild blood, racism, lots of class issues, some crude language, brief discussions of illness, historical inaccuracies abound, generally angsty jack. title from northern downpour. enjoy!

read it on ao3

The weather turned quick, the way it always did: New York in November swallowed up by four o’clock darkness and the kind of cold that sunk its teeth into everything. It wasn’t snowing yet but it would be soon; from the rooftop Jack could see the grey clouds coalescing on the edges of the sky, a looming threat, a boot waiting to fall.

He tallied the numbers in his head. Mush, Scrapper, and Buttons would all need new coats this year; they’d hit their growth spurts, skinny limbs poking out from their sleeves and pant cuffs, Mush nearly as tall as Jack now. Elmer had lost his hat to a bad storm last winter and they’d made it through ‘til spring then but with this kind of weather it’d be a death sentence. They would all need more blankets; Specs, a new pair of glasses after his had snapped down the middle; gloves for the littles who were all growing too quick to keep up with.

The illustrator’s gig paid alright but there were always new mouths to feed and never enough beds. They’d get what they could from the church clothing drive before the neighborhood vultures swept in; break into the slush fund if they had to. Jack took a moment to mourn the wistful little indulgences he’d never get to buy: the shiny pack of Coronas for Racer, the set of used charcoals in the book store, the battered copy of Wuthering Heights he’d thought of gifting Katherine. Penny to penny was no way to live, but at least they’d be living. Better than the alternative: New York in winter, merciless.

There was a creaking from the staircase, the wind almost too loud to hear it. “Whatcha thinkin’ about, Cowboy?” Racer had joined him on the roof, stinking of cigar smoke, restless hands alive in the cold. “You dreamin’ of somewhere warm?”

He’d taken off his cap and his hair was a bright swatch of color against the city sky. Jack knew Race would never say it but that he was afraid, sometimes, that Jack would bolt again and leave them all behind for good. Westward bound. 

Jack was eighteen now and in a year or two he’d be too old for selling papes, for leading the borough. That was the way of things; all newsies had to grow out sometime. It would be someone else’s job to run things soon and they both knew it. 

But not yet. Winter was roaring in; for now, at least, Manhattan was Jack’s to bear.

He clapped a hand on Racetrack’s shoulder and ruffled his curls. “Nah, just somewhere where you don’t stink up the place,” he grinned, and Racer gave that feral little smile of his right back, sharp and bright as an alley cat. “Go wake the others, kid,” Jack said. “These papes ain’t gonna sell themselves.”

Pushing papers in winter was a shit gig; no one wanted to hang around in the freeze long enough to mingle, let alone haggle with a newsie. They’d been starved for a good headline for weeks. Jack got by on practiced charm and a smile that could tough out the worst of the weather, but it was harder when you only had one good leg. 

Jack watched Crutchie move down the street, the unsure skittering of his crutch against the rough patches of ice. He had that look on his face that meant his leg was acting up, the wired tension in his shoulders, the twist at the corner of his mouth. And still he was waving papers like they were the goddamn American flag. He was stubborn and he’d picked that up from Jack, but stubbornness only got you so far. 

Jack squinted up at the sky. “’S getting late,” he said, the only offer of an out he could think of, and it was: sundown had come and gone without much fanfare; it was dark all the time nowadays. 

“Then go home, Jack,” Crutchie sighed, “I still got papes to sell.” 

There was an edge to his voice; he was annoyed, Jack knew, not at him but at the cold, at the ice, at the unsympathetic city and his bum leg. He couldn’t cover the same ground as the others and it made his days longer and duller, hours of shuffling up and down the same indifferent street. Jack half wanted to take him into his arms but neither of them were little kids anymore.

“Give ‘em to me,” Jack said, and held out his hand. 

Crutchie threw him a sidelong glare and curled himself around the newspapers, like he was protecting them, like they were precious. Not even two pennies a pape and they meant everything. There was nothing else that was theirs. “I can sell my own papes, Jack.” 

“I know you can, Crutch, but it’s freezing.” 

“Then go home .” It was a snarl this time, or as close as Crutchie could get to one. “I don’t need you runnin’ after me all the time. You ain’t even supposed to be out here.”

Crutchie was right; Jack had a desk job, and a couple drawings paid more than hours of selling papers. But he was a newsie, and he had his boys to look out for. 

Jack dredged up a sure calm, like reigning a storm. “You’s dead on your feet and everyone can see it,” he said, even. “You ain’t doing anyone any good makin’ yourself worse off. Quit tryin’ to play hero.”

Crutchie scoffed at that, “Big words from you, Jackie.” But his eyes had gone huge and tired. 

Jack whistled low and long and Albert came barreling around the corner. “Hey Albert, get Crutchie home, wouldya?” 

Albert gave him a two-fingered salute. “Aye-aye, Cap’n.” 

Crutchie looked ruefully at him; it made him seem younger, like the kid that Jack used to sing to sleep. They were growing and it pushed them up against the edges of the world. Jack opened his hand again, and this time Crutchie gave him the papers without argument, leaned into him like he needed something steadier than the wooden crutch at his side.

“Get some rest, Charlie,” Jack said, and pressed his mouth to Crutchie’s hair. He was not too grown for that, at least. “Tomorrow’s another day.”

—

The first night that it snowed that winter, Jack dreamed of Santa Fe. That old familiar stretch of land and sky, golden under his eyelids; New York, a black hole, and out west a lifeline. It was summer. There was a train ticket, a Palomino, a face he’d follow anywhere—

“It’s just a party.”

Katherine’s hair was a lit flame. All his watercolors were at Medda’s, or he’d have done something to do the burning coils of it justice on the page; as it was she was rendered in charcoal grey, nothing like the living, breathing creature in front of him.

He envied Katherine sometimes; her freckles were paler and her hair was darker but the rest of winter rolled right off of her. He’d never known anyone like that—that the cold couldn’t touch. She was defiant to everything, even New York December.

“Wouldya quit moving?” Jack said, more to avoid her question than anything else.

Katherine, obstinate, twirled a lock of her hair around her finger. “Come on, Jackie. There’ll be desserts, and champagne, and everyone from the office will be there. But it’ll be no fun without you.”

Jack smirked. “We can make our own fun.”

She threw an eraser at him and missed. “Don’t be crass,” she said, but she was grinning. “If you don’t come I’ll have to dance with someone else.”

Jack wasn’t sure why she didn’t. It’d be easier, surely, then making clumsy circles with the scrawny orphan boy, dodging taunts about his poorness, his brownness, the rough slur of his accent. It shouldn’t have been permissible but it was because she’d made it so. He wondered, sometimes, if he was another act of rebellion to her, a fuck-you to her father. A strike instead of a person.

She took his drawing hand in both of hers and breathed into it. His fingers were always cramped and never warm enough but under the soft pads of her hands his skin blazed, like coming alive. “I won’t make you go,” she said, and kissed his rough knuckles. “But it’s Christmas.” 

“I got nothin’ to wear,” he said softly, lamely; they both knew it was a shit excuse.

Katherine traced the scar on his palm and smiled like a secret, the way she did when she knew she’d won. If this was her defiance he could live with it. “I’ve already got it covered.”

Darcy’s old suit was too big around the shoulders and not long enough at the ankles, but it was jet-black and pinstriped with a shade of cobalt that Kath said complimented the brown of his eyes. Jack felt like he was playing dress-up, even more so after Medda had gelled and combed back the flop of his curls. He looked like the Delanceys, like Pulitzer, like every single man who had ever spat in his face. 

When Romeo saw him in his suit he wolf-whistled loud enough to ring. “Cowboy’s running with the big boys now!” he grinned, and Jack hit him with his hat—a porkpie, not a newsie cap, the brim of it jarring. 

“Gimme a break,” he rolled his eyes. “One party, and then it’s back to slummin’ it with the rest of you.”

Romeo held a hand over his chest like he’d been shot. “Don’t you forget about us, Jack!” Ever the fucking drama queen.

—

It was Christmas Eve. The Pulitzer palace—the world through a sheet of gossamer, everything shining, gliding past each other without meeting. It was not: the heavy slaps of bare feet on pavement, the playful roughhousing, hands in hair, hands on hands. It was a life so delicate it couldn’t be touched.

“What do you think?” Katherine at his side, wearing lace-trimmed gloves, not touching him. There was a flute of champagne balanced easily in her hand and splotches of high color on her cheeks; she had slipped into the skin of this world like second nature, like she owned it. 

He resisted the urge to twist his borrowed hat in his hands. There was a fire roaring somewhere, but lately he was always freezing. “I shouldn’t be here.” The only other brown kids in the room were moving soundlessly through the crowd, silver platters of pastries held aloft. 

“Everyone from the office was invited.” Her voice was gentle. Her fingers fluttered near his elbow, but didn’t land. “We can leave if you’d like.”

He shook his head. To go now would be a retreat, a surrender. Across the room the men in starched suits were sizing him up as if betting on a dog fight—waiting to see how hard he’d bite, how many rounds he could go. Jack knew nothing of the Pulitzer world but he knew this. 

“No,” he said, and offered her his hand, “Let’s dance.”

Morris had snuck up on him—evidence that he was getting soft. There was a hand on his shoulder and Jack nearly flinched but caught himself, quelled it, turned to face the open palm and hawkish smile of the man behind him.

“Kelly,” Morris shook his hand with forceful geniality. There was a fat cigar balanced on his lip and the smoke was getting in Jack’s eyes. “Fancy seeing you here.”

Kath had disappeared into the crowd; Jack, pathetically, wanted to call for her, but he understood the playacting for what it was. He dug his fingers in, grinned back so hard his face hurt. “Delancey number two, always a pleasure .” 

The muscle in Morris’s jaw jumped. Around them the rest of the partygoers moved like water, unaffected by the standoff. “You rob a tailor for that suit, Cowboy?” The nickname in his mouth was as sharp-edged as a slur. “It doesn’t fit you quite right.”

Jack scoffed. “Thanks for the tip, Morris, but I ain’t in the habit of takin’ fashion advice from a guy whose mommy still buttons his trousers.”

Morris jerked forward and for a moment Jack thought he would hit him, but instead he pulled Jack close by the back of his neck, a gesture that would’ve been endearing, even brotherly, if Morris wasn’t Morris and didn’t reek like cheap cologne and greed. Jack could feel the heat from his cigar on his collar. He thought of Snyder, briefly, horribly, and then drowned that image quick.

“It’s a shame about Katherine.” The grip on his wrist was a bear trap, a steel maw. “Dirtying up her bloodline, runnin’ around with trash like you.”

Jack snarled. “Keep her name outta your mouth.”

A smile, cut like the edge of a knife. Morris’s breath on his ear: “Maybe if she had a real man to show her a good time...”

“Morris.”

“One of her own kind, that’s the ticket. None of your immigrant shit. I bet she’d get real loud, too, seeing as she never stops running her damn mouth—“

Jack couldn’t stop himself; he lunged.

The world was wrenched sideways into disjointed frames of shouts and colors and blows. When it righted again he was freezing, his head ached; he’d been thrown out on the stoop and his lip was busted. There was blood on his collar, in his mouth. 

Jack might’ve won the fight but that meant nothing now; Morris was the one still inside. Guys like him would always win where it mattered. The strike; a rare fluke—hadn’t he learned his lesson enough times? It was winter in New York; he was a goddamn losing dog.

Somewhere there were carolers singing. Merry fucking Christmas. Through the bolted door he could still hear the laughter from inside the party, a whole world away. 

—

“You look like shit.” Davey, smiling in the window, moonlight rippling over the even lines of his face like water. “Can’t go five minutes without picking a fight, huh Jackie?”

“You ain’t so pretty yourself,” Jack scoffed, but he nearly shivered at the loveliness of someone kind and familiar. “It’s fuckin’ frigid out here, lemme in.”

Davey lit a candle by the bed and the tiny warmth of it was a miracle. It had been snowing hard on the walk over: Jack was soaked to the skin, couldn’t feel his feet. Maybe couldn’t feel anything. His head was still roaring, even with the wind locked outside. 

“We need to get you a helmet,” Davey tutted, easy concern on the edge of his voice as he wiped the blood from where Morris had split Jack’s brow. His fingers were steady, unwavering. “Or a self-preservation instinct.”

Jack resisted the urge to lean into his touch. “Too late for that,” he hummed. “Kath’s gonna kill me.”

“She won’t.” 

“I ruined her father’s party.”

Davey raised an eyebrow at him. “You really think Katherine Plumber won’t surprise you?”

Jack laughed and then was thrown by it, suddenly: the overwhelming force of how much he’d missed Davey—his surety, his sincerity, his unflinching hands. Davey had gone back to school in the fall and since then they’d only seen each other a handful of times a month, less now that it was too cold for anyone to be out selling papes unless they had to be. Still the fondness in his gaze was irrevocable; they’d slotted back into place as easy as anything. He knew what it was to face the world with Davey Jacobs. They’d done it before.

“Davey,” Jack started, vulnerability heavy in his hoarse throat. He was tired; wasn’t sure what it was he needed to say. For a moment they stared at each other, a silence that stretched so long it ached. Then: 

“The lodging house this time of year—it can’t be very warm.” Davey worked his lip between his teeth. “You’ll take the bed, right?”

His fingers hovered, just shy of Jack’s. So close that Jack held his breath. “I can’t stay,” he tried to say, but Davey shook his head. 

“It’s freezing and you look like death already, Jack. If I let you leave now I’ll never hear the end of it from my ma. Spare me the lecture, please?”

Jack knew it was a flimsy excuse but it was late, and his head hurt, and he was still cold and too tired for another fight. He wanted to sleep for a hundred years. He wanted someone to look after him—

Davey; lovely, within reach; the candlelight moving in flickers. It would be Christmas tomorrow. 

Jack exhaled with everything that was in him. 

“I can’t.” His chest ached; he felt it down to his bones. “Davey, the boys—I gotta go.” 

—

“Katherine came lookin’ for you.”

Specs hovered at Jack’s shoulder like an uncertain bird. Christmas day, the lodging house a jungle; Jack had spent the night trekking back from Davey’s and the morning handing out penny candies to the littles. His head hurt something fierce. He would’ve drawn them something, but his hands wouldn’t quit shaking.

“Thanks, Specs,” Jack passed a palm over his face and squared his shoulders. “She look mad?”

Specs cracked a smile and adjusted his glasses, crooked from where they were taped together at the bridge. “You know Plumber, she’s a hurricane on a good day. Didn’t seem like she was pissed at you, though.”

Jack nodded. He knew what he’d done; he’d be lucky if he wasn’t fired and luckier still if he was ever allowed near Katherine again. She knew what he was and had stuck around ‘til now anyway, but that could only take them so far. They were running down the clock.

Behind him, Specs wrung his hands. “Cowboy,” he said slowly, “there’s something else.”

Jack was tired, his patience thin. “Spit it out then, wouldya?”

Specs, hesitating—bad news, and not the headliner kind they prayed for; Jack ran through the worst-case scenarios in his head and still it didn’t prepare him. “Elmer’s sick.” 

“What?” But he’d heard him fine. The freeze: worse than the snowstorm, worse than New York winter. Jack’s hand made an unsteady fist. “How bad is it?”

He knew the answer to that; head colds had rippled through the lodging house all month and they’d dealt with it fine, but Spec’s fear was foreign. It had to be—something awful, something he couldn’t think about. Jack shuddered with his whole body, and in his periphery he could see Specs pause.

“You ain’t lookin’ too good yourself, Jackie—“

“How bad is it, Specs? ”

Specs’ long dark fingers, twisting; his knuckles popped. “He dropped like a fly yesterday,” he said at last. “Just hit the ground. He’s got a bad cough and a worse fever; Romeo’s looking after him now. We tried to give him—food and water and such, but he won’t take nothin’.”

Elmer, laid up and dying while Jack drank champagne at a party. The thought of it made his stomach roll. “Okay,” he said, a trembling exhale through his teeth, “Get a cool washcloth and meet me by his bed. Tell the littles to give us some space—I don’t want no one else getting sick.”

Specs lifted his eyebrows. “You sure you’re up for this, Jack? You look like hell—”

“Who’s runnin’ this borough, you or me?” Jack pinned Specs with a stare. For a moment they faced each other, an impasse.

At last a sheepish smile split Specs’ face. “You are, Cap’n,” he said, with a fond roll of his eyes, and Jack grinned.

“Attaboy.” 

It took three terrifying days for Elmer’s fever to break. The interludes: Elmer, small with sickness, dwarfed even by the cramped little bed of the lodging house; Racer and Specs arguing over who would take the night shifts; meals skipped to pay for cold medicine and the rest of them working overtime. There was a period where Elmer threw up everything they put in his mouth and Jack was sure he’d starve before he got better, but he didn’t; the kid was a fighter. By the end of it Jack was dead on his feet and the slush fund was nearly empty, but the relief of it—

Elmer, looking up at him from under his heavy lashes. It might’ve been a summer’s day. “Hiya, Jackie,” he said hoarsely, and smiled, and everything else was secondary.

—

“I didn’t think I’d find you here.” 

Katherine, in the doorway of his office. The stretch of her shadow took up all the air in the room.

It was almost New Year’s. The World was mostly empty by now: it was late; Jack was making up for the time he’d lost after the party. The lodging house had felt so goddamn small, inescapable; he’d needed—the space. The quiet. The pen between his freezing fingers.   

He didn’t look up from his drawing, Roosevelt’s caricature in sprawling ink. “Did you think I’d been fired?” He nearly had been, but his boss had taken pity on him. It probably helped that he was the best artist they had, but it was a near miss even still. 

“I didn’t think I’d find you anywhere,” Katherine amended. “You’ve been avoiding me.” It was not an accusation; it was a statement of fact: this was Katherine the reporter, non-fucking-partisan. Jack wasn’t sure if he would’ve preferred—the rooftop, the fight, her fist under his chin, him leaning into the punch. In the summer it had been so easy.

“Elmer was sick.” Jack’s pen fumbled, a stray dip in the line. “Between that, and beggin’ for my job back…”

“You don’t have to explain yourself.” There was a waver in her voice, then. “I’m sorry about the party.”

He looked up at her, and then found he couldn’t look away: the bright heat of her gaze, the red shock of her loose hair. She was still peppered in snow, and it glittered like starlight. 

“What’re you sorry for?”

Katherine stepped through the doorway and then hesitated, her movements slow and telegraphed, like she was afraid of spooking him off. Maybe she was right for it; he had a habit of running away. 

“I shouldn’t have brought you into that,” she said quietly. “You didn’t want to go, and I pushed it—and you got hurt.”

“S’nothing,” he gestured offhandedly to the cut over his eye. “You think I ain’t tangled with Delancey before?”

She made a soft noise in the back of her throat. “That’s not the point,” she said. “And honestly, Jack, you look like death.”

He scoffed. “So everyone keeps telling me.” Unfair, he thought, because it had been a long few days, a long winter. He hadn’t slept and had barely eaten and was cold all the damn time, but he couldn’t admit that to her—he wanted to be untouchable, invincible the way she was. Katherine Plumber, the king of New York. 

He missed her so much. Even now, she was a whole world away.

Her pale hands fumbled with something in the pocket of her coat. “I got you a Christmas present, but I didn’t get a chance—I wanted to—” She laid a parcel on his desk, lovingly wrapped in newspaper, the print running in careful, creased lines. “Here.” 

The sight of it made his stomach curl. He shoved it back towards her. “You shouldn’t have got me nothin’.”

“Of course I did.” She was being so gentle. He wished she’d stop talking to him like he was a goddamn stray. At least when they were fighting he knew what to do: they were both tooth-and-nailers, they were good at it. It was the only time they felt like equals. 

“Katherine,” he said, and ground his teeth into the soft consonants of her name. “I don’t want nothin’ from you.”

“Alright.”

“I think you should go.”

He heard her breath hitch. There was a pit in his stomach: hunger, surely, but something else too. 

“You don’t mean that.”

“Maybe I do.” He dug his teeth into his split lip and fresh blood burst forth, the pain of it bright and grounding. In the weeks after the refuge, he used to split his palms open on his nails; the old habits died hard.

She said, “I wish you’d just talk to me.” At last her voice had earned an edge, frustration ripe at the corner of it. “I didn’t think Jack Kelly was a quitter.“

“Don’t call me that.”

“That’s what you’re doing, isn’t it?”

“Don’t you get it, Ace?” Jack stood up so fast his head spun; he’d knocked the bottle of ink over the page. Black bloomed like spring flowers across Roosevelt’s face. “Your world ain’t mine. We ain’t supposed to be together—“

“When has it ever mattered what we’re supposed to do?” she demanded. “Just because some assholes at a party—“

“This ain’t about the party.”

Her gaze, a steady burn. A searchlight. “Tell me what it is, then.”

He thought of the first time she’d kissed him, the way it had been hard enough to hurt. The way he would’ve done anything.

“I can’t be the guy you want me to be,” he said, an exhale that rattled his core. “I ain’t a rich man, I ain’t a white man, I got nothing to give you—I got no money, no Christmas presents—hell, I can’t pay for my boys to eat half the time. What we’re doing here, the things people will say— “

Katherine stepped toward him. “Does it look like I care about that? I’m not asking for you to be anyone else.”

“Then what’re you doin’ here ?” His voice was raw. His whole body ached. “I’m not some charity case. And I won’t be your—your revenge trip against your father, neither—“

She reached out. Her touch: just a trace of the purpling bruise on his cheekbone with her fingers, but the sensation of it was like sunlight; it spanned the whole room. He wanted to beg like a fucking dog for more, for it to mean something.

“You’ve got a fever.” She swallowed. “You and your godforsaken pride. Jack—“

They had lived their whole lives on hyperboles, on names that weren’t theirs. They were both so good at lying. 

“Say the truth,” he said, a plea.

Her hand steadied. “I just want to be with you. That’s all I’ve ever wanted. Do you trust me?” 

There was no answer to that. He hated her so much for asking. Jack trusted nothing but his borough and his boys and his own resolve, and lately not even that—but she was here, she had stayed, she was something to believe in. She had never asked him for anything, except for this. 

In the winter he was always so afraid. But Katherine— 

His eyes shuttered closed. “I don’t know—how to do this.”

She did not kiss him. But her hands touched his hair, his brown skin, the raised scar behind his ear, careful and reverent, like he was worthy of that. The rareness of it shook him.

“Come home with me,” she said softly. “Or anywhere. It doesn’t matter; somewhere where I can—” She broke off and tangled their fingers together. “Your hands are so cold.” But she held on.

Jack thought of it: her world, with space carved out for him. The Santa Fe of the east, a lifeline, everything he wanted. “I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“It ain’t that easy.”

“Why not?”

“Well your father, for one,” he said. “He’ll probably kill me if I show my face back there.”

Katherine laughed. “My father can rot in hell, for all I care. The Delanceys, too. You think I’d let them touch you again?” Her eyes were aflame, defiant to the winter, to the world. She was a revolutionary; it was wired in her, every pen-to-page a new century. She never lied where it mattered. The soft pad of her thumb against his busted lip was a promise.

He shuddered with the earnestness of it, almost too much to bear. “I got my boys to look after.”

“Tomorrow,” she said. “Just one night—they’ll be okay.”

“You don’t know that.” Elmer, frail and shaking in his bed. Jack hurt everywhere. “It gets so cold in that lodging house, Kath. You got no idea.”

She pulled him close to her and held him there. “I wish you’d be selfish, for once.” He could feel the meter of her heartbeat against his chest, a pull like gravity. “Can’t you see that you’re no good to them if you’re dead?” 

The blue world outside the window was still moving, but in here everything had narrowed down to this: her hands, her eyes, her breath on his cheek. For once the snow was too far away to touch them. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this warm. 

“You’ve taken such good care of them,” Katherine said, almost too quiet to hear. She pulled back to trace the outline of his jaw. “You take care of everyone. Just let me do this.”

She had never asked him for anything. Only this. 

Medda had said, a long time ago— run towards something. Jack was so sick of dead ends. He wanted to be full, to be held, to sleep just long enough to dream. He wanted—

Katherine, in the lamplight. The surest thing he’d ever known. 

“You ain’t gonna get sick of me?” He had to be certain.

“I’m sick of you now, Kelly, but I’m still asking.” She smiled; it was springtime, it was the sun. 

He pressed her palm into his chest, like he’d done in the summer, a million years ago. His pulse surged under her fingers, like coming alive—winter was a beast at his back, but there was a new century ahead of them. It would be theirs soon. 

“Alright then, Ace,” he breathed at last, and squeezed her hand. “Take me home.”

[mischief-lies-and-stories]

Loki Episode 3 Reactions (Less Coherent Edition)

Lots of caps lock today. Spoilers for Loki.

If we don't go to the World's Fair today I'm gonna riot.

If said World's Fair is not in Chicago I'm gonna riot

Oh FUCK YES just saw the screenshot

CAN I JUST SAY EVEN THOUGH I THINK I'VE SAID IT BEFORE LOKI IS BASICALLY IN HIS CLOTHES FROM THE COVER OF WML

OH MY GOD I SAW THE TITLE YESSSSS CHICAGO

The fucking music oh my god

NO WHAT THE FUCK WHY ARE THOSE BUILDINGS MADE OF WOOD TWELVE YEARS AFTER THE CHICAGO FIRE ARE YOU CRAZY AND WRONG

oh okay I will casually throw aside the large rock. It's 1868. Maybe ya'll did do your research. I SAW THE TRAILER THOUGH SO I'M NOT SO SURE

DON'T DO IT IT'S FOUR YEARS EARLY DO NOT TIP OVER A LANTERN BITCH

OB that was not simple enough for me

Are we in 1868 or 1893, then, boys, I have to know for the historical accuracy of these building materials.

THANK YOU, MOBIUS! [He mentioned the Fire and I felt vindicated.]

Yes, how could you have forgotten?? MOBIUS I LOVE THAT YOU LOVE THE WORLD'S FAIR

CAN WE TALK ABOUT WHAT FUCKING HAPPENED TO THAT NEIGHBORHOOD THOUGH

I MEAN FLAMES BUT IT WAS EITHER NOT REBUILT OR LEVELED AGAIN FOR MIDWAY [side-eyes the parallels of the history of Central Park in NYC to Hell and back] [I don't know for a fact if that is accurate but I wouldn't be in the least surprised if it was.]

okay the vintage transition made me unnecessarily excited

MOBIUS do not rationalize your snack addition [you don't need to, you're perfect]

Also Cracker Jack is nasty

Thanks Loki

YOU FLIRTS

The commentary on the global exhibits is the shit

"Thor's not that tall." SHUT UP SHUT UP YOU STARED AT HIM FOR FAR LONGER THAN NECESSARY AND SAID THAT TO COVER UP THE FACT THAT YOU MISS HIM YOU'RE NOT FOOLING ANYBODY

fuck yes post credit scene

I'm just saying it's not that far outside the realm of possibility for Theo to be here [I was going to continue to explain this but then got distracted by:]

THE VINTAGE TRANSITIONS

Loki is fucking panicking

SYLVIE MY GIRL

Wait goddamn please let's not do this shit again

Mobius just take her bag. You're a clever boy, I'm sure you can think of something.

OH MY GOD SHE THREW HIM

NO LOKI DO IT

Eew

This guy grew up in Chicago. Why is he talking like that?

"The wizard gentleman" I'm dying

Okay but this is not a Wisconsin accent either.

"Lower taxes" MOOD

HOW ARE YOU TWO SO BAD AT THIS

yeah Miss Minutes you keep trying to take credit for this, you wanna be the one that fucks him? Because that's the direction this shit is moving [Apollo please I'm begging you to pass me over. Ugh.]

Squall squall squall

Oh shit I didn't see THAT coming though damn [I was trying for a shipwreck but then they just sent Renslayer adrift in Lake Michigan.]

The writers: Okay so everyone betrays their lover in the end; Me: Okay one, are y'all okay? And two, y'all read Oscar Wilde's "The Ballad of Reading Gaol" and took it as gospel, huh? ["Yet each man kills the thing he loves/By each let this be heard,/Some do it with a bitter look,/Some with a flattering word,/The coward does it with a kiss,/The brave man with a sword!"]

MISS MINUTES ABSOLUTELY GO FUCK YOURSELF

eew what the fuck is happening

OH MY GOD THE WRITERS LOVE TO MAKE WEIRD ASS COUPLES

EEEEEEWWWWWW WHAT THE FUCK WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING I DID NOT SEE THIS COMING BUT GODDAMN I FUCKING SHOULD HAVE

Rav I'd say kill Minutes but we need her

VON?? VON??

ARE WE DOING THIS AGAIN WITH RAVONNA AND MOBIUS THIS TIME

DO WE NEED THESE PARALLELS

OH FUCK YOU RAV

SYLVIE STOP

HAIR FLIP

SYLVIE

YEAH SYL KILL THE BITCH

AND FIGURE OUT YOUR NEXUS FIRST

SYLVIE YOU COULD'VE GOTTEN YOUR NEXUS FIRST BUT DAMN GIRL HOLY SHIT

EEWW MISS MINUTES COME ON

Wait I just thought of something and I HATE IT SO MUCH (sorry to not tell you but I'm gonna think on this for a few days and then post a theory)