#brother i want to lick his receding hairline

[harrycollins]

Lucanis' receding hairline makes him look at his mid thirties but if we ignore the timeline he can be in his forties too in this essay-

[anyoneseenadam]

The Moon Spirit - two

Dorian x reader, Fenrys x reader (throne of glass)

Description: When you’re taught to be a queen from such a young age, nothing could go wrong. But when the king starts to fear your growing power you find yourself thrust into a world of faeries, evil magic and powerful men, learning to stand on your own can be harder than it seems.

warnings: blood, graphic descriptions of violence, objectification, gross old men, Dorian is a ball of love and niceness however, angst, fluff, possibly smut in later chapters

word count: 2.9k 

a/n: oof the plans i have for this series omg!! i hope you like this pls comment and tell me what u think and also feel free to give any ideas/ theories i love getting that sm!! ❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

——————————————————————————-

Finding a place to get a drink was easier said than done.

You had ridden along the cold, barren road for hours – your only company being the birds singing above you, the horse moving below you and the small bundle of content wrapped in your arms who had fallen asleep in your arms in seconds, occasionally yawning widely. And through those hours you had met no one and seen no place to stop.

You eventually had to stop, exhaustion slowing you down. You moved off course and tied your horse to a tree next to a small stream, running a comforting hand through its mane as it drank slowly. You slowly stripped off as well, taking your time as you removed the blood-soaked layers from your skin. Once you were bare, shivering in the cool morning air, you stepped slowly into the stream – swearing enough to make a sailor blush.

However, you relented, running your hands over your skin, wiping away the guards’ blood with a heavy heart as the water turned pink. Your whole body ached, yet you were numb. Men were dead because of you, and - if he hadn’t already – Dorian would hear of your disappearance soon. And then the king would pick him a new bride, and you would be forgotten.

Just as intended.

Amaris was mewling behind you, hungry and cold, wondering why you had left. Or maybe that was just you, maybe you were projecting. You climbed out of the water, pulling your undergarments back on as you found a sunny patch to sit in, allowing the newly risen sun to cleanse away the remnants of the night, drying your skin slowly.

After half an hour of silent tears you picked yourself back up, pulling on your stiff clothes and climbing onto your horse as you set off again. You couldn’t just lie down and die, no matter how much you wanted to, you had to look after your last gift from Dorian, and you had look after yourself.

--

You ended up riding for hours more before you wandered into a small town. Dismounting, you led your horse through the town as you searched for a place to get food and maybe clean clothes, glaring down your nose at anyone who stared to long. Much like Dorian used to.

No. You tried to expel the thought of him from your head, not needing to be swept up in the thought of his forget-me-not eyes, nor did you need to remember that you may never get to look into them again.

What you needed was the tavern you could see at the end of the street.

You pushed through the street, ignoring the townspeople as you moved to the stables beside the tavern, giving your horse rest, food, and water. You hid Amaris in your coat as you moved into the tavern – back straight and head high as you walked.

The bar quietened down when you moved in, a small sprout woman pausing handing out drinks as she stared at you over a high skew nose. The bar smelt of sour whisky and piss, the surfaces barely visible beneath the dirt that covered every surface – the only source of light coming from tall candles that had been stuffed into wine bottles. The curtains over the windows were drawn tight, not allowing any other light in and the people in the bar all looked remarkably similar, tired. The woman behind the bar was petite, with a face alike a weasel and when she spoke you discovered her voice was just as shrill as you expected.

“And who do you think you are?” she moved in front of the bar, walking towards you as you levelled your gaze.

“I’m no one.” You replied, the answer vague enough that she hopefully wouldn’t try again.

“Then what do you want?” she was exasperated as she spoke, and you allowed yourself a moment of reprise as you glanced down at your clothes.

“A drink would be nice,” your voice was curt, tired. The small lady rolled her eyes, moving away as you approached the bar, allowing her to pour you a glass of cheap, hard liquor.

She slid it towards you, and you knocked it back quickly. “Do you also have fresh clothes and maybe some food for me and my cat?”

As she left with an eye roll, a man approached you, his hairline receding and breath fowl as he slung an arm around your shoulder, leaning far too close for your comfort as you trained your eyes forward.

“I can offer you a job,” he nodded his head and you looked over to see his eyes trained on the prostitutes in the corner, “I’ll even offer a free trial. To get you started.”

You felt panic rise like bile in your throat, your entire body tensing as you shoved this man’s arm of your shoulder. You calmed your face – unwilling to let any emotion show as you faced him.

“You couldn’t afford me,” you snarled, pushing down the heat growing in you as the curious eyes of the towns’ folk were once again turned on you.

“You bitch!” the man began shouting but was cut off by the shrill woman’s return. She unceremoniously dumped a pile of clothes in your lap, along with a small loaf and some fish, her gaze expectant.

You loosened the bracelet around your wrist, dropping it into her hand as she stared at the large jewels adorning it.

“That should cover it.” you muttered as you stood, keeping your gaze angry and forward as you shouldered past the burly man. You bundled the clothing and food in one hand, the other still holding Amaris tight to your chest as you left the dirty tavern.

You found your horse again, offloading the goods you had received into the worn satchels on its side – leading it out of the barn slowly, desperate to get out of this town.

--

Dorian was a mess.

He couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat, could barely speak anymore. It was enough to lose you, but to then realise that his own father had driven you away. His own father had made you feel so unsafe in your own home that you couldn’t even run to him, his father had made you feel so completely isolated that your only choice was to flee.

Chaol was trying to coax him back into civilised life, his brother mourning the loss of his friend, yet itching to find you. And level-headed as always, Chaol knew that wouldn’t happen with Dorian spending his days drinking or in bed – often both.

But Dorian didn’t know how to cope, he didn’t know how to plaster on a smile and pretend everything was okay. That was your specialty.

Almost a month had passed, and you certainly were nowhere to be seen. You weren’t coming home anytime soon and he was going to have to learn how to live without you eventually.

Every morning he woke up, a part of him hoped it was a bad dream, that you would be asleep in his arms, or giggling and pressing dizzying kisses into his jaw. He hoped one day he would just wake up and you would wrap your arms tight around his shoulders, tell him it was just a nightmare and stroke his hair until he fell back asleep.

But he knew that couldn’t happen, that life wasn’t kind enough to return his bride to him and so instead he chose to numb his thoughts. He ignored the flirty eyes of other woman, unable to look at them in their expensive dresses and jewels without his mind returning to you.

Everyday that passed without you hurt that much more, so when he sat on his throne as Chaol approached him with a beautiful but deadly woman, he decided since he couldn’t have his perfect woman, he must find her opposite. He couldn’t be who he was before – so he must become someone new.

--

You weren’t faring much better. The day you had left the bar, you had ridden all the way to the coast of Terrasan and had climbed onto the first boat to Doranelle. By the time you arrived in the city you had just about sold anything of value on your person and all you had left to sell was the poor horse you had taken away.

By the time it was just you and Amaris, you had acquired a small flat in the city – the walls were bare and there was only simple furniture in it, the mattress on the floor next to large windows, and worn cushions on a makeshift sofa next to a wooden table.

Every night Amaris crawled into bed next to you, licking away salty tears from your face as you pulled the thin, scratchy sheet closer over you – hoping to replicate even a shred of Dorian’s warmth, or the feeling of his arms wrapped secure around your waist. Most nights you didn’t sleep, the bags growing under your eyes as your heart slowly numbed. Amaris would bury himself in the warmth of your chest as your eyes blurred, watching the city move outside of your flat – the noise subdued and calming.

On the third day in the new city you set out to find work, desperate to find something that could numb the thoughts in your mind and make the days easier. Plus you were sick of grabbing the easiest food you could find. You found yourself walking to a library, deciding it would be the perfect mixture of solitude and work for you. And it helped that you had spent most your life reading, many nights curled under Dorians arms as you read your separate books – occasionally reciting a line to the other.

The old man at the front of the library was kind, his face wrinkled from easy smiles, and you could understand why his long, long life seemed so pleasing. The bookshelves were tall, dizzyingly tall, and filled with countless books that you wished you could search through for hours. There were also tall, stained windows lining the walls, letting in the beautiful morning light and showing how the dust danced around the room.

“So what brings you here?” he asked, moving around the desk he sat at and motioning for you to take a seat on the small, cushioned seats next to him.

You sat down gently, back straight but keeping your eyes trained on your neatly folded hands. “I need work, sir. I have very good qualifications and have been educated by the best.”

He laughed slightly at that, “That much is clear, my child. But I asked what brings you here? What is your story?”

You looked up to meet his eyes, unable to stop the pain that they revealed, and he took your hands gently in his warm ones, “The world has treated you poorly I see.���

You felt tears build in your eyes – this kindness so alien to your battered heart you couldn’t help yourself as you let out a soft sob. The man smiled kindly at you, squeezing your hands gently as he urged you to talk to him.

“I was f-forced to leave the man I loved,” you choked out, “his father tried to… hurt me.” Your explanation was an over-simplification, but you feared what may occur if you revealed the truth.

“Was he your mate?” the man asked kindly, and you shook your head.

“I am not Fae,” you explained, and he frowned, passing you his handkerchief as he stood.

“Are you sure about that?” he asked, retrieving a small, hand-held mirror, and handing it to you. You took it with a confused expression before looking in, gasping under your breath as you saw your ears had taken on a delicate point.

“I, I don’t- that’s not possible.” You shook your head, eyes wide as they met his.

“Where do you come from child?” he voice was gentle as he took in your shock.

“Adarlan.” You whispered and he smiled sympathetically.

“Then I believe a glamour has been removed recently.” You could feel yourself shaking, the weight of the knowledge hitting you. “Let me take a name dear, you can start work tomorrow, we’ve been needing some extra hands around here.”

“(y/n) (y/l/n)” your voice was small as you stood, shaking his hand lightly. “Thank you so much.”

“It’s no problem and remember when you work you can have a read through any book you like. Aisle sixteen contains many on the ancient spirits.” He looked down to your necklace pointedly and you bit your tongue so hard you tasted blood, desperate to not reveal any more than you already had.

“Thank you…” you trailed off and he smiled,

“Albert,” he finished for you. “And make sure to take care on your way home, this city is filled with powerful people, you would be smart to not mix with them.”

You nodded, pocketing the information in your mind, ready to add it to your list of rules.

--

Fenrys was tired. He had just gotten home from a month-long mission and all he wanted was to sleep, however he wasn’t quite ready to face Maeve yet and instead he decided to take a trip to his favourite library before she realised he was back.

He was walking in when he saw you, your eyes red but hopeful and he almost fell over at the sight of you. You were wearing common clothes but held yourself like royalty, head high and gaze ready to tear down a man who so much as looked at you wrong.

What he did next he wasn’t exactly proud of, but he needed an excuse, so he was willing to play his hand a bit. “Excuse me miss, do you happen to know where I could find the tilted goose?” your eyes widened when you saw him, fuelling his ego slightly.

He knew where the tilted goose was of course, it was one of his favourite bars, but you didn’t have to know that.

“Oh yeah, it’s just down this way. I’m walking that way I’ll show you,” your voice was like music to his ears, and he smiled, revelling in how you avoided his gaze, clearly intimidated by his stature.

“Thank you so much…?” he asked, and you smiled, softly, subdued.

“(y/n),” you stared walking in the correct direction, and he grinned.

“Beautiful name for a beautiful lady. Fenrys.” He placed a hand to his chest as you laughed lightly.

“Quite a flirt aren’t you?” you asked, eyes sparkling.

“Can’t help myself, I’m not sure I’ve ever met such a beautiful woman.” He looked down to you as he fell into step beside you, noticing that you were taking a much longer way than needed. “You new here?”

“How’d you tell?” your tone was self-deprecating, and he laughed.

“This way takes about five minutes longer.” He stated and you whirled around, pointing a finger accusingly.

“You know how to get there.” He felt his face heat up as he raised his hands sheepishly.

“Maybe…” he grinned, and you scoffed, rolling your eyes as you began to storm off.

“See you around princess!” he called after you, almost missing the way your shoulders stiffened momentarily before you called over your shoulder.

“You’d be so lucky!” you replied, pace quickening as he watched you climb a set of stars that led to some run-down apartments.

He laughed, the smiled on his face coming naturally and surprising him. Oh his life was about to get much better.

--

You shouldn’t have enjoyed the pretty man’s company. And you hated yourself for it.

But he was so kind and for five minutes he made you feel normal again, loved again. See you around princess! The words wouldn’t stop replaying in you head. You weren’t allowed to be a normal girl; you were a princess, and you were on the run, and you definitely had no time for handsome men who flirted with you.

You couldn’t betray Dorian like that, he was probably waiting for you to come home. And you planned to. You would build your strength and you would learn to fight, and you would tear the king to shreds.

But for now, you had to settle for getting through each day, and that meant you had no time for handsome distractions. As you steeled your nerves you felt the loneliness settle on your shoulders, wrapping around you like a shadow, and you fought to reach deep inside yourself, finding the sliver of magic that was curled up – dormant – inside of you.

You found it and fought to awaken it, only receiving a shard of the true power. You stood in front of the dirty mirror in your bathroom, taking in your newly pointed ears and watching as your necklace glowed gently, your eyes turning silver as you released a small amount magic, watching as the bright light shattered the mirror in front of you.

Your eyes widened at the loud noise and with a flinch the magic was gone, the only proof it was even there was the shattered mirror in front of you.

You stared back at the cracked reflection and squared your shoulders. You were going to train, you were going to fight, and you were going to win. Even if it broke you.

[whatisgoingonpaul]

Lost boys backstorys

I made a post while ago on my ideas of the boys past but now I want to update it. I just want you to know I’m still a firm Prequel lover/follower however we don’t get much info on the boys Pre 1906, so that’s what this is for! However personally I would have had more Max so this is going to be both pre 1906 but also include relationship with Max a bit.

I am also including my personal ideas on Last names and age. However I am under the idea that they wouldn’t know/take their last name seriously if the did know it cause- ya know. Orphans. This is going to be lengthy and I’m going to pin it, not just because I want it seen but also to remind myself in fic writing (when I don’t follow these ideas in a fic it’s gonna be Marked as Au- as I’ll probably be messing around with a different past.)

I’ll be doing appearance but only physical as there’s some stylistic changes. For clothing? Honestly so thinking workers clothes/cowboy esc

Also! Their stories are all going to kinda intertwine so I’d there’s not enough info under one theirs a solid chance there’ll be more for them under someone else’s!

David Hardy-

Age(as of 1906): 19

Born: 1887

Appearance: Average height, his hair a dirty blond- near reddish and is around shoulder length. Bearded. (Think doc but with slightly updated clothing)

Backstory:

David Is the only of the boys to grow up with at least one of his parents, living with his mother until her death when he was around 7. They lived in a decent, though cramped little space in San Francisco, by the docks. His father worked on and off- a not so stable style ending in him getting involved in not doing saviory things - getting arrested. His mother worked as a washerwoman. David worked the streets awhile, as a young child now left alone, he learned to pickpocket and live off what he could manage. It was around this time he had found Marko- doing the same thing he was - though arguably less effectively do to his more sporadic nature. At around age 10 the two became extremely close and rather inseparable, Marko even looking up to him despite being the older of the pair. However david wasn’t one to living completely criminal like... he did NOT want to be his father, which lead him to not drinking , EVER. (Even as a vampire he still doesn’t do alcohol.) he poked towards more honest work, also forcing Marko into doing the same , which he wasn’t exactly thrilled about- but did anyway. Tried. David did a lot of work on the docks, odd jobs and stuff like that- but it never paid even half as good as nabbing a wallet or cheating at cards. He wouldn’t be his father- he’d be better- better then all the nobody’s. More level headed then Marko though  ambitious, big headed and still wildly child like- eventually Paul , Dwayne and Jasper joining the pair. Well now, David had himself a full on gang. Never robbery, not that far. The group pickpocketed , cheated at any sort of game or match, that sort of thing... they were still young after all. Smart enough not to go wild like some famous bandit (Though David will admit to his slight admiration of Billy the kid.). He’s a quick learner, and when he learns something- he learns it well- becomes a damn near expert. When he is good at something he is good at it. He is the leader out of the groups mutual respect towards him , quick thinker. Notable flaws: Huge ego, hopeless romantic.

Marko Connelly-

Age(as of 1906): 20

Born: 1886

Appearance: on the shorter side, golden - darker brown hair in this fluff of ringlets it’s long about just past his shoulder blades and typically tied back. Usually dirty somehow (Think Poli but with longer hair and updated clothing)

Backstory:

Born to a rich family , one of those who moved from east to west and actually did make it big. He was a pretty little thing, more a doll to his mother then particularly a child- only taken from Nanny to be dotted over or photos taken. However around the age of 3 or 4 things had tipped, scandal! Missing. That is what the newspapers said anyway he was found missing- was it that he was given away? Or stolen? He was never particularly a child to be quite or sit still or anything such as that... so who is to say? Marko doesn’t remember a lick of that either way as he was far far to young for it but he does remember being alone. This is how he had grown his attachment to birds, they always stuck around. He grew comfortable with being alone, having himself to depend on, getting good at grabbing what he needs- A mansion is stark contrast to dirty winding alleyways. He was always cursed with his looks- even filth covered at 6 he could make sad eyes and tend to swindle whatever he wanted... but he wasn’t completely quick. He’d get in trouble, his face memorable he could rarely pass the same trick again. At 11 David came across him, the two started working and living together (that is where they could find a place to sleep.) he sort of gained this complex. He felt he owed David , in some strange sense he became attached at the hip- a helper, a second- almost servant like the guy had saved his life and he is now the others. It didn’t help that at a young age, Marko had developed what was come to be understood as a deep crush- at times as teens this was reciprocated. As loyal and loving as he was to the other male he wasn’t nearly as cautious, as rule following... he had come to despise authority, to despise the fancy, the rich all of the crowd. He was never sure why. Even regular work got on his hate list... but he gave in and would try to do a normal amount pf work.. it never really worked as there was something, how he would sass, how he looked or smelled or spoke (neither him nor David really spoke ‘proper’ English - meaning no slang or accent). Around when Paul came things started to shift in the group, more mouths- more work and more thinking. Oh yea David and his thinking. Marko is a bit hostile right off the bat when it comes to people he doesn’t know, eventually he cracks and will be more loyal to you then to anyone you’d ever know. He opened up to Paul, a lot sooner then he would have thought the guy was funny and sweet - lil stupid too. David had this grand idea of a little gang, naturally Marko was all for it because illegal activity is fun- it was like a game to him. A liked stealing from pockets and playing distraction for David, as time grew he began to hate how young and gentle his face appeared to be. He LOATHED absolutely appalled the pity glances he would get, the hand outs the whole “oh you poor fragile little dear 🥺” he hated being babied and still does. He hated the stares he got on the opposite direction ... at first, it was funny, it was nice to be wanted in that sense rather then some baby. However... it grew creepy, it wasn’t women or a fella his age...it was more the gaze of older men. Marko detested it so much- he KNEW he’s seen what some of the guys... even younger then him ended up doing- he could see the occasional look in david’s eye. No he would never really consider....no. Paul was more his shoulder to cry on, someone to go to , to ramble to to speak with and just be with. The two were touchy, always leaning against eachother or grabbing their arms, laughing or sleeping or- eventually it became more then casual, it was serious. The two started ‘dating’ at some point- none of them were ever serious on titles but it was good to put a word to it.

Paul campbell-

Age (as of 1906) : 18

Born: 1888

Appearance: tall and lengthy, he has a mole on his left cheek, he has stubble/shadow opposed to a beard. He’s also usually dirty, dirty blond , long hair think Buffalo bill with volume and his hairline not receding

Backstory:

Grew up in a orphanage, hundreds of kids all stuffed together into a few rooms, often sharing beds and everything else. He was never a still child, he would always figit and move and shift - whenever he’s supposed to be quite or still like lessons or Mass he just couldn’t. This - got him most of the attention from the mistresses and overseers- much more quick to slap then to explain... he was docile , quick to flinch and try and stop. Never worked well. Once you get to 7-8ish you work if not adopted by a decent age. Sweeping, factory work he tried it all. He was particularly desensitized to violence at a extremely young age while working in a textile factory- he’s seen a kids arm come clean off. Terror turns to fascination eventually. At some point he’d stopped returning at night finding David and Marko at 15, he started hanging with them- it was safer in numbers that sort of thing- Paul could read a bit , David could write a bit- the three worked it out together. always so distracted- the others learned right off the bat he wasn’t built for pick pocketing no matter how hard he begged about it. Instead he’d do real jobs- sweeping , fighting, placing crooked bets that sort of thing. He always complains. A massive softie since he was young, Paul can’t quite handle being on his own- he’s used to having at least one other person around him at all times causing him to get quite hooked onto the other boys. He hovers around the same places. He is also a fan of dancing- Paul- is music obsessed the moment he heard the first noise of any sort of music he was hooked. He is one about fun- being restrained from it for so long as a child- always to sit out and watch or to think about whatever he did.. oh. Dancing, drinking, drugs, clubs, all of it is his kind of deal- he would drag the others with him when they had a bit of extra cash to deal with. Dwayne and his brother, when they joined on he was instantly accepting, unlike Marko he didn’t have the deep seeded trust issues, he was immediately touchy and happy to share a joke or a comment no matter the glares. He is the one to get Dwayne to lighten up a little bit, to smile he loves to see that smile :). He got around to dating Marko, when they finally put a label on it he was really giddy about it, making jokes and comments- he adores the little names like ‘sweetheart’ or ‘bo’ - he eventually gets around to just plain ‘sugar’ . Marko is the one who really entertains Paul’s love for dancing, the two of them trying to get the others to do something lighten up- eventually their pawing would bare fruit. Paul makes the best out of the worst situation, even if they end up sleeping on the beach more often then not- he somehow makes it seam alright. Except that one time he had gotten sand in Dwayne’s eye and all hell broke lose. He is the current youngest member of the group after Jaspers passing.

Dwayne Maher

Age (as of 1906) : 22

Born: 1884

Appearance: Tall, muscular , tanned(I will establish this now but Dwayne is Native American.) long Black hair with burnet highlights, reaches half down his back.

Backstory:

Born out more Midwest unlike the others he was not born in San Francisco, eldest son of a decent sized family of four kids. Do to conflict he and his younger brother skipped town, skipped state and fled to California.. better options you know?. He’s strong built, hard working and good with his hands though, rather playful most of the time. He looks after his younger brother closely, when there is work they work the same place, when there is not they both still do the same. Quickly took to David and the gang , having a tight knit bond with each of them. He was sort of the muscle - if there was trouble, he knew how to fight and it would likely work better then the knives the boys carried around or the gun David could barely shoot. It was Paul who got him to open up more, about himself and just to speak in general, he’s much more under his breath and jokingly commenting then he is saying something out loud- however if he dislikes something or thinks it stupid you WILL know it. Like David he carries the occasional thought of caution, however he’s not nearly as quick to worry. Maher is not his actual last name , nor does he ever mention it- he simply uses this one when it’s needed as some sort of identification or document. He’s surprisingly good at money, he ends up counting with David and is better at budgeting no matter how he may want or need something. He doesn’t speak on his past as he tries to make it seam he has little of one, he likes to make things mysterious he finds it amusing.

Jasper Maher-

Age (as of 1906) : 16

Born: 1890

Died: 1906

Appearance: shoulder length black hair, typically tied back and braided , tanned, string bean.

Backstory:

The younger brother of Dwayne who is much much more open on how he grew up, casually mentioning things he learned from his parents of his brother (he doesn’t remember his parents that much.) young hot shot sort of kid who’d much rather have action then he would some serious job, loud, energy filled and one for violence- however he’s surprisingly sweet. He often got himself and his brother into trouble. He was a quick and fast young child who grew surprisingly closest with Marko, the two having a habit for breaking every possible rule they could manage together. Their close friendship lead to Marko naming one of his birds after Jasper long after his passing.

Max-

Unknown age but he is seen as extremely old and powerful

Relationship with the boys:

After finding them he has decided to take them under his metaphorical and physical wing, acting as a sort of guardian. Food, clothing, shelter, he was everything the boys didn’t have and was surprisingly inviting in the beginning. ‘I do this for you, you on occasion do this for me’ sort of deal. He wasn’t a leader so much as he was a usual figure, the boys knew and understood him to be above them... so they followed you know? The whole new vampirism thing and the clueless kids- he had to explain and show nearly everything... especially to David, he wasn’t so much harsh to him as he was strict- more of a lead by example sort. Honestly he was father like in a strange sense- that someone is almost like a parent but very much your boss. See... with Max’s strength, there’s this almost automatic level of control- you can’t say no to him. You literally can’t not do what he asks (some supernatural level messing-). There’s something dark about him, in him that the boys still don’t understand in the 80s- but it scares them. It’s strange, it feels unlike him... he seams just like a Dorky , sweet man until...

Some random thoughts that don’t really fit anything

The boys are explicitly religious, past what you’d hear in passing or remember from growing up. Saying “oh god” and respecting religious officials are about what you’ll get

Whoopsies! This was a extremely long post lmao. Sorry for the long read but I could go on and on about them this was just a small blurb to all of it. If you ever wanna hear more do tell me. Also tell me if I should add tw for anything as I know I got a little dark at some points.

[blackmissfrizzle]

Meet The Furys

Characters: Erik Stevens x black!reader, Nicky Fury x daughter!reader

Summary: Its time for your dad to meet your boyfriend.

Warnings: None

A/N: Based off this imagine. After almost a year its finally here! I hope you all enjoy it.

“Okay, remember to play nice. My dad can be intense.” You warned Erik before ringing the doorbell.

“As long as he ain’t on some fuck shit.” Erik was already not too fond of the work your father did.

“Erik!”

“Aight, I’ll be nice.” He changed the tune of his story when he saw the crazy look in your eyes.

The front door opened and revealed Tony Stark. “What are you doing here?” You asked shoving the cake in his hands.

“Nice to see you too, kid.” He kissed the top of your head. Despite your love-hate relationship, Tony was like a big brother to you. Actually, all the avengers were like older siblings to you.

“Stevens.”

“Stark.”

Erik and Tony greeted each other. Neither one liked the other. You believed it was because there was no room big enough to hold both of their egos.

“Please you two, no arguing today. I got enough to worry about.” You continued to venture into the house.

“Erik, my man!” Sam came up and clapped Erik’s hand and gave him a one arm hug. “What you been up to?”

Tony leaned into you and asked, “Why doesn’t he greet me like that?”

You rolled your eyes and turned over your hand. “You know why.”

“Shit, nothing. I’m just out here trying to survive.” Erik ended the clap with a snap. He hit Sam in the middle in the chest. “I see you hitting them weights. You out here trying to get swole?”

“Nah, man I’m trying to get like you.”

“Trust me you don’t wanna be like him.” You interrupted the nigga-fest before it went too far.

“She’s always hating.” Erik whispered to Sam. “I’ll get at you later.”

Erik followed you throughout the house. The two of you constantly stopping to greet everyone. Eventually, you made it outside to see your dad at the pit.

“Hey Daddy!” As you reached up to kiss his cheek, you had to restrain yourself from hitting Erik when you heard him mumble, “I’m the only one she calls daddy.”

Nick put the spatula down and hugged his baby girl. “How is it possible you get more beautiful every time I see you?”

“I get it from my daddy.” You boosted his ego. “Anyway, there’s someone I want you to meet.” You tugged on Erik’s hand to bring him next to you. “Daddy this is Erik, Erik this is Nick Fury.”

Erik stuck out his hand to shake your dad’s. “Nice to meet you, sir.”

Nick looked at the young man’s hand for some time. Before everything went down in Wakanda, Nick heard of Erik or better yet Killmonger. He wanted to bring him into SHIELD, but decided he was too volatile and stubborn for the organization. Now that same man is dating his baby girl. Fate had a cruel sense of humor.

“Hmmph.” Nick looked Erik up and down before shaking his hand. “You treating my daughter right?”

“Yes, sir. I’m the one you should be checking on.”  Erik rubbed up and down on the bicep you hit him on earlier. “She’s always hitting me.”

“Don’t act like you don’t deserve it. You always testing me.” You bucked at him.

Erik was about to mush your head, but he remembered his surroundings and that he was supposed to be making a good impression. “See, you got a little thug over there.”

“She ain’t the thug I see.” You knew your dad would be snarky when he met Erik, but you didn’t think he would be going this hard this early.

You saw Sam behind Erik, cracking some joke with Bucky. Quickly, you motioned for him to come get Erik. “E, you wanna go grab a drink and dig into that cake before anyone else can?”

Erik looked to you if it was okay for him to leave. Even though he was already itching to leave he didn’t want to piss you off.

“Yeah, go.” You waved him off. “Me and Daddy need to have a talk.”

With your go ahead, Erik took off. He didn’t know how much longer he could hold his tongue.

Once Erik was out of earshot, you poked your dad in the shoulder and got on his ass. “What was that?”

“What was what?” Nick played dumb as he flipped the burgers.

You flicked your dad’s ear and quickly got out of arm’s reach. “That elitist nigga bullshit you just pulled by calling Erik a thug.”

Nick gave you the full Fury glare that was usually reserved for Tony. He pointed the spatula at you. “You got that one free lick. You don’t get anymore.” Closing the pit, your dad came next to you. “And the last thing I wanna be is one of those siddity niggas. I just…I just expected you with someone different that’s all.

“Elitist bullshit.” You mocked him by singing.

He held his hands up in surrender. “Okay, I was a little elitist. I’ll be better, I promise.”

If you consider better as not talking to one another then better happened. The barbecue was tense due to the obvious animosity between your dad and boyfriend. No matter how hard you, Sam, Bruce, and Steve tried to ease the tension, somehow your dad and Erik found a way to throw off-hand comments. And Tony was no help because he liked to add fuel to the fire.

The straw that broke the camel’s back was when Sam complimented Erik’s hair and your dad mumbled, “I don’t know why you young niggas think that’s a good look.”

Erik’s smile before he said anything told you everything you needed to know, and you knew there was no way to stop it. “I’m sorry that your receding hairline made you cut your hair. But hey, you rock that Samuel L. Jackson look.”

“What’s wrong with Sam L? That man got style.” Nick looked at Erik incredulously. He choose the wrong one today. “And while we on the subject of hair. Son, if you can’t grow a full beard then at least have the sense to cut that shit off.”

You almost spat your drink out. Erik’s been using some oils to grow his beard completely and it was working so well, you thought it was full. Leave it to your dad to find the last patch.

“At least I’m not dressed like Shaft. Nigga it’s 85 degrees right now, why you got on that hot ass leather duster for? Ole Little Bill lookin ass with an eyepatch.” Erik refused to be outdone by this old head.

They continued to trade jabs. It was like watching a tennis match when neither player could score. Each jab was hitting its mark. If this wasn’t your dad and Erik, then you would be cracking up like everyone else.

You needed to stop their bickering before it got too far. Out of the two, your dad would be the easiest to stop. “Daddy!” You called out to him, trying to redirect his attention.

“What?!” Both Erik and your dad turned to you. When you saw your dad’s face processing that Erik answered as well, you knew right then and there you would have to kill Erik. You’ll just tell T’Challa and Shuri that he died in a horrible car crash. It would be believable, because that nigga doesn’t know what a speed limit is.

Sam slid out of his chair in silent laughter, Tony spat out his drink and was howling in laughter, Steve’s face flushed red in embarrassment for you, Bucky looked like he wanted to congratulate Erik, Wanda and Nat offered you sympathetic smiles, and Peter was confused to why everyone was in a state of shock.

That shit-eating grin was wiped off Erik’s face when he looked at you. Was it possible to plan your own funeral, he thought.

“Y/N, why did he answer you?” Nick asked his lovely daughter. He knew his daughter was grown and she was most likely doing grown people activities, but that didn’t mean he needed to be blatantly reminded of it.

“Cause I’m her daddy, nigga!” Erik was done playing nice. Nick Fury needed to know he was serious about you and he wasn’t going anywhere.

Tony wiped tears from his eyes. “This keeps getting better and better.” Nat kicked the leg from under his chair causing him to fall.

‘Thank you’ you mouthed to her. Tony obnoxious ass was next on your hit list after Erik.

Standing up, Nick pointed between him and Erik. “Me and you about to have a little talk.”

You tried to follow them inside the house, but your dad stopped you. He said they needed to have a talk man to man.

The longer they were away, the more you worried. For sure, you thought you would hear yelling. Neither one of them were afraid to get loud. Maybe one of em killed the other, you thought. Nah couldn’t be, neither one would go quietly.

Suddenly, your dad’s laughter was wafting through the air and that didn’t happen too often. Rounding the corner was a happy Erik and your dad, laughing with each other like they just weren’t at each other’s necks.

“What is this?” You asked surprised that they weren’t arguing.

Erik came to your side and kissed your temple. “Me and your pops came to an understanding.”

“And that is?”

“None of your business.” Your dad told you, leaving you speechless. Wow, did your dad and Erik have secrets now?

You asked Erik the same question and got the same answer. Erik was your best bet to tell you their secret, so you pinched him to get him to spill the beans.

In less than five seconds you felt a flick to your ear. “Keep your hands off that boy. I forgot how mean your little ass can be.”

You grabbed your ear and looked at your dad in awe. “What the hell is this?! Y’all friends all of a sudden?” You had to be in the twilight zone, because now your dad was defending Erik.

Both men turned to you and simultaneously repeated, “None of your business.” You decided to give up for the moment. You would have to divide and conquer to get any info.

The rest of dinner went really well considering where it started. Instead of roasting each other, Erik and your dad ganged up on Tony and it was your turn to laugh at his pain and suffering.

At the end of the night, it was only you, your dad, and Erik left. On your way out, Erik promised your dad he would come to his poker night and that they could hustle Tony out of some money. These niggas were really best friends now.

Finally, in the car you could try to pry some information out of Erik. Your dad would never tell you what they talked about. He was the king of secrets.

“What?” Erik’s lip slightly curled up when he felt you staring at him.

“What did you and my dad talk about earlier?” You pinched his arm. “And don’t tell me it’s none of my business.”

Erik slid his eyes at you when he came to the stop sign. “Imma handle that ass when we get home.”

“Promises, promises.”

Erik shook his head at you. He contemplated telling you the truth and decided to give you an abridged version, because he knew your ass wouldn’t stop bugging him until you got something. “All you need to know is that we both have your best interest and love you. Anything else you wanna know, you gotta ask your pops.” Taking the hand that was intertwined with his, Erik kissed the back of your wrist.

That answer would have to do for now. Just like Erik said you could get the rest from your dad with a lot of  begging and honestly, Erik might tell you more, because either way you looked at it you were daddy’s little girl and neither one of them would want to disappoint you.

Tagging:@lostennyc @chaneajoyyy​ @vikkidc​ @ginghampearlsnsweettea @honeyflii​ @youwishiwasyobabymama​ @just-juicee​ @quietpoeticheart​ @soufcakmistress​ @twistedcharismaaa​ @marvelmaree​ @thickemadame​ @titty-teetee​

[julek]

day 16 ❄ ice sculpture

winter prompt challenge

Geralt’s not really sure what he’s looking at. 

The sculpture that he supposes is meant to represent a swan gracefully bowing its head is... weird. The swan’s neck is too short, its wings too narrow and its feet are enormous. He’s never seen anything like it, in terms of utter and immediate horror, yet there it proudly sits, among the too-small plates that contain the remnants of the earlier hors d'oeuvres the waiters had been serving around. 

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” A voice behind him makes Geralt flinch, the half-empty champagne glass in his hands threatening to spill on the carpeted floor. He turns around, expecting to see yet another obnoxious, self-entitled, daddy’s boy lawyer —much like the ones he’s had to deal with all night long— but is instead met with a much different view. 

Geralt’s always prided himself on his composed, impassive demeanor, but he has to bite back a gasp as he takes the man in front of him in. He’s not wearing a suit, for one — his high waisted dress pants immediately draw Geralt in, the black fabric snug and seemingly tailored to fit him perfectly, going down to his calves, where his ankles are exposed just above his shiny black shoes. The man’s shirt is black, too, but the fabric’s so thin Geralt could see his nipples through it, if he wanted to. His brown hair is falling on his face, the curls brushed back but escaping the tie where they were neatly gathered in a bun. He looks elegant, and so out of place at the same time, surrounded by vainglorious assholes in three-piece suits.

“Um,” he says dumbly, taking a sip of his champagne just to occupy his mouth before he says something stupid. He gestures to the sculpture. “It’s... something.”

The man flashes him a smile, then grabs a toothpick with some shrimp on it. “It’s hideous, that’s what it is. I can’t believe they would put it here, on display for everyone to see, when it’s clearly an icy crime against humanity.” He swallows. “What brings you here? I see you’re not interested in hearing all about Frank’s new yacht,” he says with a smirk, pointing his toothpick to the group of burly men gathered around a man with a receding hairline. 

“I, uh, I’m here with a friend,” he says, nodding to where Yennefer stands, tall and beautiful, making small talk with some coworkers. “It’s her first year at the firm and she wanted to make a good impression.”

“I’m guessing that’s where you come in,” the man says. Geralt nods, distracted by the way the man keeps licking shrimp off his lips, and it shouldn’t be endearing— no, it should be gross. It isn’t. “Well, lucky for me, then. I won’t have to suffer tonight alone,” he reaches for a glass of champagne from an abandoned tray, “or sober.”

“And what brings you here?” Geralt says, his voice surprisingly steady.

The man licks his lips. Again. “Oh, I’m the firm’s accountant.” His voice gets serious and monotone and he says, “Julian, at your service,” then, his voice normal, “but you can call me Jaskier.”

Geralt frowns. “You don’t look like an accountant.”

“Thank you,” Jaskier whispers, and his smile is so bright it’s infectious. “I wish my mom could hear you. No, yeah, I’m an accountant, did the ten thousand years it takes to graduate— I’ve got a license, even. It pays the bills.”

“I imagine it does,” Geralt says.

“Yeah, well— means to an end, really,” he takes a sip of his champagne. “I’m a musician, actually.”

“Oh,” Geralt says, “that makes more sense, actually. I take it accounting’s not your true passion?”

Jaskier snorts. “Surprisingly enough, typing numbers into a computer and maintaining dull phone calls forty hours a week is not my calling! Nor is spending my Friday night at a work event, but, well, here we are.”

“Hmm.”

“So,” Jaskier says, his voice a low rumble, and the lights catch on his eyes, so, so blue Geralt feels the need to gasp for air. “Seems like your friend’s abandoned you.”

He looks in Yennefer’s direction, and true enough, she seems engrossed in conversation with a group of young lawyers, such as herself. Suddenly, Geralt’s glad she managed to drag him along instead of asking his brothers. He looks back at Jaskier, whose head is cocked to the side, like he’s trying to figure him out, but Geralt doesn’t miss the hungry look in his eyes as he lets his eyes roam over Geralt’s body. 

“Seems like it,” he agrees, and Jaskier rests his elbows on the table, leaning into his space.

“Do you think she’d miss you too much?” he purrs, his eyes dark. “I know my way around here, and I’m pretty sure there’s a very spacious closet down the hallway.”

Geralt glances at Yennefer, then back at Jaskier, and oh — the lace that was so delicately tied at the front of his shirt is suddenly undone, flushed skin glittering under the warm lights of the ballroom. 

“No,” he whispers, reaching for Jaskier’s hand. “She won’t miss me at all.”

[ithappensoffstage]

Finish Him

(also on ao3)

It makes sense, Nate thinks, that it would come to this. All those unresolved feelings about Ray. All that pining over and timeline-bending concerning Zari. Every late night with Behrad since Heyworld spent on the couch, thigh-to-thigh, pretending not to notice the pressure.

They’re in Behrad’s room on the Waverider. There’s a box of donuts on the table, Mortal Kombat paused on the TV, and some weed piled next to the papers they haven’t rolled yet. It’s a little too hot. They could request Gideon alter the temperature, but they don’t think to ask. Nate thinks maybe they don’t want to.

Nate takes another hit, letting his eyes wander to the side. Behrad’s only wearing boxers and a tank top because of the heat. There’s pink icing on the corner of his lips. Nate’s mouth waters and he looks away, trying to fight through the haze in his head.

Between the drugs and the scent of Behrad’s cologne--given to him by this timeline’s Zari, but Nate doesn’t want to think of her right now--Nate is starting to forget how words work. He has to say something soon, though, ‘cause Behrad is looking at him a little strangely, eyes asking him if he’s alright, if the strain was a little too strong this time.

“Behrad,” Nate stammers, two fingers gripping the joint as he exhales, “This weed is legendary.”

It’s a stupid joke, but it lands, and Nate watches Behrad laugh. His mouth opens wide as he leans back, hand clutching his belly, long hair flying around his face. He’s always carefree, but when he’s laughing it’s something else entirely. Like nothing and everything matters all at once. Like he’s the king of their little world, but he’d never want the responsibility.

Behrad takes the joint from Nate. Their fingers touch, and it’s the same jolt of electricity that ran through his veins when they hotwired the ship.

“Oh,” Nate whispers.

And then he kisses Behrad.

He licks the icing off first, then runs his tongue along the inside of Behrad’s mouth, his muddled thoughts trying to determine what that laugh might taste like. It’s all sugar and smoke and Nate’s totally blissed out until Behrad clears his throat.

Nate opens his eyes. Behrad’s are already wide, pupils blown, eyebrows retreating into his hairline. Nate feels like he’s crashing down a staircase one step at a time as various aches register in his system sluggishly; his neck’s twisted painfully, there’s some ash falling onto his bare hand, and, worst of all, someone’s just crushed his heart.

Pulling away and jumping up in a single not-so-fluid movement, Nate throws his hands behind his head and says, “Shit.” When Behrad doesn’t reply, Nate repeats the curse until it drowns out the deafening silence that’s descended in the room.

Behrad sits, stunned, on the couch. He’s closed his mouth, but his eyes are wider than ever before. After an excruciating minute, he leans forward to stub the joint in an ashtray, then keeps his elbows on his knees and his head down.

“It’s just, I mean, me and you, it’s--” he starts, then cuts himself off with a groan.

Nate wants to speak, and instead chokes on his regret. It’s heavy in his chest, in the pit of his stomach. “I should go.”

Behrad doesn’t argue while Nate gathers up his things. He finds a wayward jacket here, a shoe there. Scratching his forehead, he searches in vain for the left shoe, the blush on his cheeks miles past unbearable at this point.

With his back turned, he doesn’t realize Behrad has moved until knuckles gently graze his shoulder. That small bit of contact is scorching. He flinches away, spinning around, and takes in Behrad Tarazi’s gentle smile.

Once the initial shock recedes, Nate remembers to use his eyesight. His shoe is in Behrad’s hand. Behrad has already stripped off his shirt. Nate follows the dark trail of hair to where it runs into the red band of his boxers.

“You and me,” Behrad finishes, his gaze fixed and confident, “it’s perfect. And I’m tired of pretending it isn’t.” He bites his bottom lip, the grin growing. “I’m just surprised you made the first move.”

Painfully aware of how ridiculous he looks, Nate gapes and makes a sound embarrassingly close to a croak. Everything he’s just gathered tumbles out of his arms.

“Nate,” Behrad murmurs.

“Y-yeah?”

“Please kiss me again.”

Nate swats his shoe out of Behrad’s hand, then surges forward, hands tangling in that gorgeous head of hair, lips doing the rest of the work. He propels them both backwards with the force of it, but Behrad doesn’t seem to mind, moaning against him and snatching the waistband of Nate’s sweatpants.

“Is this okay?” Behrad asks, breaking for air and stopping until Nate answers.

Nate, preoccupied with a delicious spot on Behrad’s neck, noses his way to Behrad’s ear to reply, “Yes, yes. A thousand times yes.”

Behrad snorts. Nate feels the reverberation beneath his teeth. A moment later he’s gasping into Behrad’s collarbone as Behrad slips his hands under Nate’s sweats and briefs. Drugs have always made Nate hypersensitive, and he’s spinning out of control like a crash landing with Behrad’s strokes. With some gentle urging, he gets them to the bed and fully unclothed, the cold seconds in between adding a little desperation to the mix.

On the bed, Nate trails his palms down Behrad’s chest and lower. He matches Behrad’s earlier pace and enthusiasm, smirking at Behrad’s panted swears, then swallowing them away altogether.

Behrad rolls so he can pin Nate, pressing wet kisses to Nate’s chest and abs and thighs. Nate’s back arches off the sheets and his hands curl into the fabric before Behrad climbs back up and Nate digs his nails into Behrad’s ass. They rut against one another, too close for anything but a sloppy staccato rhythm.

Nate finishes first. Behrad kisses him through it, one hand between their legs and the other cupping Nate’s jaw. His toes curl and he gives himself a second to float in the pleasure before he rolls them again so he’s on top. Behrad’s abdomen heaves. His hair’s plastered to his forehead with sweat, his lips red and swollen, and Nate’s never felt higher.

He slides slightly off the bed so he can go down on Behrad. Behrad cries out when he comes, biting down on his fist, but Nate goes back to give him better skin to bite into. He leaves teeth marks in Nate’s shoulder.

They settle in a tangle of sticky limbs and saccharine smiles and stolen kisses. Behrad tastes like salt and chocolate. Nate resolves to spend the rest of the day like this; maybe even the rest of the week if he plays his cards right.

“Wow.” Behrad sighs happily. He laces his fingers through Nate’s, then settles them on his chest. “Remind me why we weren’t doing that before?”

Nate smoothes his free hand over Behdrad’s knee. “Beats me, dude.”

He’s struck by how little changes about their relationship even in the post-sex haze. How naturally Behrad’s hands feel within his own, as if they’ve been there the whole time and he’s just now noticing. His chest might explode from trying to contain so much joy.

Being a Legend didn’t make a love life very easy, though.

Behind the door, Nate hears Zari arguing with Gideon to let her inside. There's something about her brother wasting his day playing video games, something about no need for privacy between them. Behrad groans and buries his face in the pillow.

Over the comm, Gideon’s crisp voice rings out. “Ms. Tarazi requests entry.”

“Well, tell her to go away!” Behrad yells, voice muffled.

“She’s rather insistent. You are both late to the briefing, after all.”

It’s Nate’s turn to groan. Kissing Behrad’s temple, he mutters, “We’d better go.” He only manages to tear himself away using every ounce of his willpower, and, even then, the sight of Behrad sprawled out on that patterned blanket makes him weak in the knees.

“You’re evil,” Nate tells him, eyes narrowed.

Behrad chuckles, spreads his legs, and stretches, blinking innocently. “I don’t know what you mean,” he hums, scratching at a patch of bare skin on his hip.

“Eeeeeevil,” Nate repeats. He jumps into his sweatpants, then throws some clothes at Behrad.

“Dude, you suck,” Behrad complains.

Nate replies immediately, “And I swallow,” which sends them both into hysterics.

Eventually Behrad gets out of bed, noting that his sister’s unrelenting assertions that ‘Gidget’ needed to let her through had killed the mood. They still take too long, finding increasingly tenuous reasons to stop and kiss or fix each other’s hair. Nate buttons Behrad’s shirt for him, and Behrad ties Nate’s sweatpants, which narrowly avoids devolving into taking those pants off again.

Finally, they throw on deodorant and cologne, wash their mouths out with lukewarm water, and press play on Mortal Kombat. Behrad calls out, “Thanks, Gideon.”

“Of course, Mr. Tarazi." Gideon unlocks the door and Zari hurries inside instantly, heels softened by the many rugs.

Taking one long look at the pair of them, she presses her lips together, fixes her hair, and crosses her arms. “I see.” She clears her throat in the middle of the sentence, which is pretty impressive by Nate’s standards.

Behrad makes a show of pausing the game. He rolls his eyes at her. “What?” he asks, still very casual. “We’re coming.”

Zari’s mouth twists. Eyes sparkling, she replies, “Oh, I’m pretty sure you already did.”

With that bombshell dropped, she runway-turns her way out of Behrad’s bedroom, already clicking away on her phone. Her heels are still echoing down the hall when Behrad shakes his head and smiles. He stands, then offers his hand to Nate, features painted in pure delight.

Nate takes it, and together they go to join the rest of the family.

[mattzerella-sticks]

Four of Swords

Destiel, 7.1k, M, Ao3 link

Super happy I can finally share what me and my amazing partner, @maleyah-givemetomorrow, cooked up for the @supernaturaltropecelebration

Hope you all enjoy! (story below, but if you go to ao3 there’ll be pretty pictures - I definintely recommend viewing them and showing love to the artist!)

The Four of Swords, in the present position, means you don't want to interact with the rest of the world. Because of stress, you need to spend some time with yourself - unhealthy always being 'on'. That the healthiest thing to do is to escape.

Dean might crave escape, but it's not something he thinks he can have. Something he deserves, even. After his and Sam's most recent hunt, this cancerous feeling has grown heavy and weighs him down. He cannot escape on his own, as best he tries.

Luckily a guardian 'former angel' angel swoops in at his lowest. Helps pick up the pieces as best he can and lovingly put them back together. But he can only do so much. The rest is up to Dean.

Can Dean take those final steps, say those final words, and finally free himself?

        His leg bounces, foot playing with the pedal while forcing the speedometer past its limits. Fingers squeeze the wheel tight enough he knows will leave permanent indents in the leather. Dean feels, more acutely than ever, how small his car’s interior is. Her cabin walls closing in around like the Death Star’s trash compacter. Aided by Sam’s ever-present stare, weighted by all the questions Dean will not let him ask. Forbade with a shake of his head and a rough flick of the ignition.

        The sun creeps past the horizon, morning rudely greeting them. Beams of light pierce the glass, its glare interfering with his driving. Dean swings a heavy paw up towards the visor and pulls down, hard. It blocks most of the sun but gives Dean a worse distraction.

        His gaze strays from the road to the tiny mirror embedded within the visor. Bounces around the borders of his face, studying the features and additions. Green eyes burdened with purplish bags. Dirt smudged around his hairline, disappearing into his short, mussed locks. Scratches peppered his cheeks like freckles, and the dried blood around his lips looks almost comical. Like he overlined them with an ugly shade of lipstick, clownlike and surreal.

        “You’re drifting.”

        Sam tugs the wheel closer, straightening their car. Dean wills back the discomfort of having Sam’s hand covering his. Of the memory, hours ago, where their layered hands held different context. Pushing. Praying. Reaching for a spark of Dean that nearly drowned and was lost forever. He shakes his head, focusing on the road again. “Thanks,” he says once his brother’s hand drifted away.

        They reach the Bunker minutes later, Dean parking between the green Hudson and silver Chrysler. Both collecting dust. Dean checks his phone – 8:34 a.m. 3 missed calls, 8 unanswered texts. He swipes for the message thread, not reading any of the grey bubbles and typing a simple message. Back. Then Dean drops it in an empty cupholder and lays his head on the wheel.

        Exhaustion drips along his bones like slime, filling the spaces between joints. His muscles broadcast their pain in full stereo, working in tandem with his brain. Each twinge a reminder of what happened. What he did and what he almost became.

        Someone howls. It is far, but familiar. It sounds like – home? Belonging? Right? More noise, this time closer. Snarling. Snarling and growling. His jaw shudders and bends, reforming. A fire crackles under his skin, urging him forward. Follow the call. Follow the scent. Smell that, hear that, it is all so… pure. Free. You are free. Trust your instincts.

        “Fuck,” he hisses. Dean presses his dirty nails into his palms, a reminder of their usual bluntness. Definitely not sharp enough to pierce the skin. He can’t hurt anyone else with them. “Fuck…”

        Sam shifts at his side, hovering. Worrying. “Dean –“

        “Not now, Sammy,” he says. Dean sucks in a large breath, fixing his armor. Raises his head off the steering wheel, staring out the window. “I’m not ready, not yet.” He wasn’t ready when they watched the barn disappear behind them, burning, smoke drifting into the starless night. When they stopped at the motel so Sam could collect their stuff while Dean idled in the parking lot. When Sam exploded halfway between Denver and Cheyenne, drool wet on his chin, and still unprepared when he apologized minutes later.

        He didn’t deserve his damned forgiveness.

        “Just…” Dean breathes, shivering, “go.”

        The car door opens and shuts with soft clicks. Dean watches his brother stumble over half-asleep legs to the exit, Sam’s gait heavy and awkward. He pauses under the archway. His head tilts slowly right, and Dean tears his eyes from the rearview mirror. Dean counts the beats of his heart, waiting. After thirty he checks the rearview and Sam is gone.

        Flinging himself out the car, Dean falls on hands and knees while his stomach revolts. He coughs, splutters, and heaves with all the force he can muster. There’s not a lot in his stomach but it surges up, splattering against the floor. Mixes with the blood and dirty already staining his fingers. His nausea passes the crest and recedes, body nearly purged. He spits into the bile, running his tongue over the waxy film coating his teeth. Gross, but not enough. The taste lingers.

        Right there. Follow the fear, the rapid breathing – babumbabumbabumbabum. There is sweetness in victory, in the thrill of chasing. No escape, only death. Screams cut short when you tear through the throat. Chestnut fur matted with blood, goes down smooth. Delicious. Filling.

        Dean winces at the mess. “Not cleaning that up,” he says, “at least not now.” With his remaining strength, Dean drags his body up. Leans on his car for a moment, then walks away with the door still open and with bags in the trunk. He cannot remember if he left the key in the ignition, nor does he care if he did.

        There are more pressing matters that need attending.

        He wanders with intention, drifting past rows of doors until he reaches the shower room. Dean turns, slowing to a shuffle and then a full stop once halfway inside. Head bowed, he focuses on the contrast between his mud-caked boots and the pristine tiles ruined by his intrusion. Squints and sees a twig lodged in the loop of his lace. Looks closer and sees a small pawprint left immortalized on the material.

        In one bite the head tears completely off, blood spurting up from the severed neck. Sprays his face while he chews. Dean smiles, teeth catching the droplets and licking them clean off. He greedily stuffs the rest of its small body into his mouth, then licks his hands. Uncurling from the forest floor, he continues on. There is a call he needs to answer.

        Dean hears the twig snap while clawing at the laces. He throws his left boot to the side, followed by his right. Peels his socks off and does the same. The second round of dizziness descends as the cool floor coaxes a more measured response from him. Sighing, Dean closes his eyes and continues stripping.

        Even blind, Dean knows what he throws away. A yellow plaid button-down ripped across the back. Brown t-shirt crusty with dried blood all over the front. Jeans camouflaged in various stains, held up by a belt that worked in saving him from succumbing. And underwear that, while clean, were rather unwanted in the moment.

        Goosepimples rise along the blades of his shoulders, rushing up his neck and over his back. Dean shakes, crosses his arms and tucks his chin against his chest. “Come on,” he says, bouncing on his feet, “In and out… you’ll feel much better.” He steps forward and then returns to where he was. “You’ll feel better and clean and – and like yourself again.”

        “This is who you were truly meant to be…” His voice purrs, sparks firing off pleasurably in his brain. A rough tongue licks up his neck, and Dean nuzzles the hand petting his cheek. “Who we were always meant to be… give into your instincts, my pet. Give into yourself…”

        “Dean what are – oh! I’m sorry!” He whips around and finds Cas standing in the doorway. Hands squeezing the towel, eyes trained upwards and not ahead like they must have been moments ago. The blush on his cheeks clueing him in. “I thought, when you said you were home, you’d be in bed…”

        Dean rakes his gaze over the other man’s body. At the scruff in serious need of shaving, unkempt along his jaw and overrunning his neck. The oversized t-shirt, tie-dyed in various shades of oranges, reds, and yellows. A graphic from a Led Zeppelin album ironed on from a collection Dean found at a garage sale, given over because the angel reminded him of Cas. His shirt’s hem overhangs and covers half of the shorts he wears, hairy calves fully on display.

        A year into humanity and Dean marvels at how he stays so heavenly.

        “No,” he says, “don’t feel much like sleeping…” Then Dean drifts his focus away from the other man and back to the shower stalls. Empty and waiting. In a few seconds he could wash the entirety of yesterday into the drains, dirtied water swirling at his feet. Scrape any trace of the wildness with soap and scalding, hot water. Keep at it, until the knot in his chest unraveled finally.

        Dean stiffens. Someone brushed his arm. Cas squeezes, whispering, “Are you going to shower?”

        He nods. Steps forward, and again. And collapses at the mouth of the shower, scrabbling for the curtain and ripping it from the rod. Dean gasps, the harsh sound echoing in the room, and curls in on himself. The cheap plastic crinkles and sticks to his skin, blanketing his thighs. One of the metal rings completely tore and now digs into his stomach. Cas calls for him, but his voice is distant.

        “We can start anew once your transformation is complete. I can hear it inside you, Dean. There’s a killer in there waiting to be unchained. Let me free you from the prison society forced you in, allow your true self to roam, empowered in its glory and righteousness. You’ll be my right hand in my new pack. All that’s left, is for you to break the final lock…”

        “Dean, Dean I need you to say something,” Cas presses a warm hand into his back, kneading the clammy skin. “Please… I know not to hope for anything good but at least tell me you’re here, with me.”

        “I’m here,” he murmurs, “I’m… I’m here.” More of a reminder than an answer. Dean blinks, leaving the acrid stench of death for faint, lemon cleanser. Shadows and dim lighting for humming fluorescents. False promises for strong foundations. “I’m here,” Dean says again, sliding his hand from the curtains to Cas’s, the other hanging at his side. Squeezes at his wrist. “Thanks.”

        “It’s no problem,” Cas huffs, sizing Dean up. He shrinks under his gaze, conscious of how he must look. “Do you want to –“

        “No.”

        Cas nods, as if expecting it. “You want to clean yourself up?” Dean shrugs. He clucks, fingers skimming his hairline on a wide rub. “Look as if you’ve glued yourself to the underside of your car and had Sam drive across any backroads he found.” The joke inspires Dean’s dimples to appear, and Cas’s overly proud smile forces a small chuckle. “Are you able to stand?”

        “I think I can manage…” Dean winces, the plastic shower curtain peeling off him. Cas keeps his face steady, not even a flicker of interest in peeking as it falls, when Dean exposes himself. A superficial wound. Fortunately Cas’s hand on his back and the other, now holding his, stay and help him up. He wobbles on shaky legs but won’t fail. “Thanks.”

        “No problem,” Cas tells him, thumb tickling his pulse point, “do you want me to give you privacy?”

        He swallows his tongue. Or rather, something living inside his throat snatches it and prevents him from speaking. Dean glances at the shower, dread crawling forth once more. The scant space between him and the handle stretches, vision tunneling. He wants nothing more, if only the thought of it didn’t paralyze him. Cas murmurs at his side. “What?” he chokes out.

        “I might have an idea,” Cas says, “that is… if you’re okay with me seeing you like… like this?”

        Dean raises a wry brow. “Does it matter?” he asks, “You already have.”

        “Just being polite…” Cas moves away from him, Dean following for a beat until he stops himself. The other man looks to the door, than at him. He scoops his forgotten towel, dumped on the floor at some point in the past few minutes, and offers it to him. “Here.”

        “Like I said, Cas –“

        “I know,” he interrupts, “but I doubt you want to walk the halls like that, where at any point Sam could stumble on you and… assume.” A hell of an assumption. Favorable too, he thinks. Dean blushes and bites his lip. He accepts the towel, lazily wrapping it around his waist. Not bothering to tuck it, holding it with his hands so they wouldn’t hang without purpose. Cas finally dips his gaze towards his crotch and relaxes. “Okay,” he says, “follow me.”

        They leave the shower room, Dean practically hitting Cas’s heels with how closely he trails the other man. Enough that he could swing his arm and accidentally brush his hip. He won’t, though the possibility is tempting.

        It’s not a far enough walk for that.

        Cas turns the corner and leads Dean to the second door on the right. “I found this awhile back, early on in our stay here and carried it to this room one day when you were out.” He opens it for him, gesturing inside with a lackluster flourish. “Glad I did, don’t know how I would have managed without my angel strength.”

        Dean steps inside, searching. There is not much waiting for him. Smaller than most rooms, he can imagine it being a closet with ease. Spots the tiny holes where screws must have been. Hidden in the outlines of where shelves once were. “Didn’t know you were handy.”

        “I learn fast.”

        “I’ll say,” Dean says, “plumbing’s a bitch to do.” He smirks at the large, stainless steel faucet. There’s another outline underneath against the wall that marks where a sink used to be. Removed so the porcelain, clawfoot tub can rest. “You take baths?”

        “When I can,” Cas tells him, “I find it very healing. Even when I could mend broken bones and turn jagged cuts into flawless, smooth skin with my grace, I found myself drifting here every now and then, sitting for a soak.”

        Dean taps at the rim of the bathtub, pouting. “And you brought me here, thinking I want to…” He doesn’t finish, instead studying the other man. Watches how the innocent question rocks the boat of his good intentions. Cas pouts, folds his arms and scuffs his toe on the floor. Dean softens, “Thank you.”

        “…You’re welcome,” he shifts, turning his back, “Now, do you want to get in? I find that when you twist the handle on the right, the water is warmer.”

        He waits. Panic rises, thinking Cas might leave. Worse that he can’t find it in him to ask that he stay. But then Cas settles, staring at the closed door. Dean smiles and starts the faucet.

        When the bathtub is halfway full Dean climbs in. His knees poke from up out of the water, too tall to stretch his legs. He slides in further, so the water laps at his chin and more leg is on display. Already it fogs over, a filmy layer swirling on the surface. Dean cups some of the water and splashes it on his face, all too aware of much red drips. “I’m as decent as I can be,” he calls, splashing.

        Cas sighs. “How does it feel?”

        “S’nice,” he shrugs, “Not that I get to do this often but…” Dean sees Cas walk over, grabbing at a nearby bucket. “What are you doing?”

        “Helping,” Cas says, dropping the bucket. He kneels, presenting a washcloth and a soap bar he must have pulled from below.

        “Aw, no Cas,” Dean starts, sliding into a low crouch. Braced on the edges of the bathtub. “You don’t have to –“

        “Please, Dean,” Cas whispers. Two fingers rest over his knuckles, feather light and barely there. “Let me do this for you… after what you must have gone through…”

        Dean will not break his staring contest with his navel, sure that if he glanced in Cas’s direction another episode like the one in the shower room will happen. “Fine,” he mutters, plopping back into the tub and spraying Cas with a few errant drops. “If you want, go right ahead.” His arms encircle his knees, stricken expression hidden. Sitting in the center of the bathtub, Dean never felt so small.

        Cas carries on wordlessly. Runs the soap under the faucet before turning it off. It’s filled to about a few inches from the rim, any sudden movement able to cause a good spill. Which is why Cas talks him through the steps. Like a skittish animal, provoked at the tiniest snap of a twig or rustling leaves.

        Defenseless. Unaware. Fattening itself for the lucky prey that happens across it. His lips peel back for his teeth to appear, spit dripping from them. His fingers lead him forward, nails glinting when the moonlight breaks through the foliage and hits them. One clumsy step and what sounds like a gunshot echoes in his ears. It stops. Then it sprints off. So does he, a fraction of a second later. The chase begun. He huffs, he smiles, he growls. Hungry.

        Dean hisses when the cloth rubs over a badly healed wound, reopening it. “Sorry,” Cas says, dabbing the spot again and pouring some water from a cupped hand over the skin. “I didn’t see – I’m so sorry.”

        “It’s okay, Cas.” He offers a wobbly smile, shrugging. “It’s okay.”

        Cas grimaces, Dean staring on the thin, chapped line. Better than blue spotlights running across his face. Soon his lips smooth into something more neutral, and Cas resets.

        He focuses on how the washcloth feels, Cas lathering soap across him. Doesn’t fight when he grabs Dean’s arm and holds it up, running the fabric over and leaving soap bubbles in its track. There’s a jagged cut slashed across his knuckles from a misplaced lunge. Cas, prepared, gently dabs at it. His hold is firm and touch careful.

        Too careful. Too caring. The special treatment makes his skin crawl. Dean winces again as Cas drags the washcloth along his shoulder blades and onto his other arm. “Sensitive?” Cas asks, because he notices. Add too observant, too. “Days like these make me miss my powers.”

        Dean snorts, “So you could fly on out of here without any problems?” That escapes easier than he would like. He curses under breath, sneaking a peek at Cas. Like Dean expected, Cas’s expression makes his heart sink into his stomach. “Shit, sorry…”

        “I don’t need wings to ‘fly on out of here’,” he says, “if I wanted, I could get on a plane tomorrow.” Cas finishes lathering his arm and soaps his chest. Rubs the washcloth over and over his tattoo. Its ink vibrating erratically because of his words, the possibility, and Cas’s closeness “The operative term being wanted. What I want right now is… well, I want you to not feel any pain.”

        But he should. It’s all he should feel. Dean deserves the pain. For yesterday, what he almost did. For now, what he callously said to Cas. For years and years of causing so much hurt and enjoying it and taking pride in it. He should drown in all this pain. Instead he has an angel bathing him in kindness.

        He tries every day to be better than his darkest moment. When he and Cas stared across at each other, fully ruptured. Dean throwing more dynamite into the divide until the ground crumbled beneath their feet and the landscape of their relationship was unrecognizable. After Purgatory he made a promise. His pain should remain with him, not forced into the hands of others.

        Some days they wriggle, others they slip. Dean tries every day. If only every day, he succeeded.

        Cas washes his face, leaning half over the tub so there’s barely a breath of space between them. A simple turn and their noses brush together. He cannot do more than breath, sharp puffs out his mouth. Sometimes muffled when Cas wipes at the dried blood marking the skin around it.

        It’s too much.

        “I almost killed Sam.” Cas pauses, frozen at the corner of Dean’s lips. Some of the soap drips into his mouth, and he can taste it. “Yesterday, on the hunt I… I almost killed him.”

        His brain steams ahead, thinking how Cas might wish for the plane ticket now that he knows. Imagines him dropping the washcloth into his hands and leaving without a word. Again, wiping his hands of Dean’s garbage and climbing out the hole before any more shovels in to bury him.

        Instead Cas runs his fingers through Dean’s hair, smiling. “Tell me what happened.”

        His walls crumble immediately. Dean savors the touch while he begins his story. Cas already knew the beginning – driving into a town beset by murders, where killers left heartless bodies for the police. Rolled in with the script memorized, asking all the right questions. Found the pack’s den and attacked. “We said we got all of them,” Dean sighs, ducking his head, “but that wasn’t the whole truth.”

        The leader escaped. They only realized it when counting the bodies, battle too confusing that losing track of one werewolf in a dozen was unavoidable. Risky in their line of work, but a quick perimeter search kicked up no trace of him. Dean and Sam closed the case, driving off to the motel and licking their wounds.

        “I was careless, or… or I don’t know, didn’t think much of it but…” Dean holds his arm up and looks at it. There’s no mark on the skin, but he traces the bite from memory. “Got me when I wasn’t looking. By the time I knew what was happening it was like I… like something had come over me. I heard howling and I tore off after it. Sam coming back to an empty motel room with a broken lock.”

        If he stays too long in his memories, he will lose himself in them again. Racing through the woods with newfound agility and grace. Jumping, launching himself over fallen trees and boulders. What it felt like ripping apart the first woodland creature he crossed paths with. The soapy taste in his mouth turns sour.

        “The leader was crazy… had this whole philosophy that I believed because he said it and all I could think was how much I trusted him. Thinking was too difficult while all fanged out and slobbering and – and so when he said to trust my ‘instincts’ I… I bared my neck. His instincts were my instincts. By that point Sammy snuck in, and – well protect is a pretty strong instinct.”

        Sam plead, rallying all his strength so Dean’s claws wouldn’t eviscerate him. Dean straddled his brother, raging. Spat on him while gnawing for his neck. The last werewolf cheering Dean on. “Free yourself of your human burdens and join me in total freedom!” he sang, “Eat of his heart and you will be mine forever!”

        “You don’t want this Dean,” Sam said, struggling. The syringe nearby looking damaged but not completely broken. “I know you. Fight him!”

        Dean growled, “Want… want free… want blood!”

        Sam sneered, tightening his grip on Dean’s wrists. He shifted and kicked Dean off. Dean flipped, landing on his back. They both scrambled upright, not wasting any time. With misguided fury Dean pounced for Sam, his brother twisting at the right second. Their fight continued in that fashion. Sam dodging Dean’s attacks, the latter growing more frustrated and sloppier.

        Exactly what Sam planned.

        Dean dove and smacked into a wall, knocking the breath from him. Stunned, Sam dove for his belt and slipped it over some exposed pipe. Not knowing any better, lost within the wolf, Dean struggled helplessly until brute strength won.

        By the time Dean ripped the pipe from the wall Sam killed his sire. Injected Dean with the cure when he scurried towards the corpse and mourned. When all traces of his bite left Dean’s system, he mourned again. Sam standing overhead, watching, unable to lay a hand on his shoulder lest Dean bite at it in his familiar defensiveness.

        “So Sam is fine?”

        He bristles at the placid tone. Unbothered. Like Dean mentioned some off-hand piece of gossip that he happened across while scrolling through his phone. “Yeah,” Dean says harshly, “but I… I almost did him in. Nearly ate his heart before skipping off with some werewolf Charles Manson to start another werewolf cult and...”

        Cas raises a brow. “And?”

        Processing the events aloud help him realize how wildly he overreacted. How Sam clearly held no anger towards him for being on the menu. How there’s no reason for the inky sadness clinging to his heart and soul that makes him feel bad.

        Except it’s there, and having no reason makes it even worse.

        “And…” he fumbles, “And I think I’m getting too old for this.” Dean huffs, sinking against the bathtub while Cas continues petting him. “I’ve been doing this for what? Nearly forty years? That was how it’s going to end… Because I let that werewolf creep bite me and nearly turn me into his slave? Kind of makes everything I said about free will look like I pulled it from my ass.”

        Cas chuckles, laying the washcloth on the porcelain rim. He pulls back, laying both arms along the edge and resting on it. Smirking, “No one will call you a hypocrite because you were under the influence of a werewolf bite.”

        “Yeah, but…” Dean sighs, “I’m supposed to be better than this.”

        “If I’ve learned anything from my time on Earth – from you – is that sometimes we have our off days,” Cas says, “We have to forgive ourselves for them.”

        “Maybe if I tripped and scratched Baby’s paint or-or took a risk on some leftovers I don’t remember, sure,” he scoffs, “but when it comes to hunts… an off day can easily become my last day. Hunters don’t get off days. Heroes don’t… don’t…” He digs his nails into his knee, willing away the waterfall hovering around the edges of his eyes.

        “Well, as true as that is, the fact you were able to see the sun rise means yesterday definitely wasn’t your last day.” The faint traces of humor in his tone barely lifts the corners of Dean’s mouth. Cas sighs. A few droplets splashing at Dean’s exposed leg, his hand now gently splashing the water. “I stand by what I said. Yes, you could’ve been more observant during your battle. And more conscious of your injuries. Then neither you nor Sam would still carry what should have been a simple hunt on your shoulders.” Mentioning it makes his shoulders sag further. “But then again, I could be beating myself for staying here watching Netflix while you and Sam got your hands dirty –“

        “You kidding, Cas?” Dean bursts in, brows furrowed, “The Hell should you feel bad for?”

        “A third set of eyes could’ve seen the werewolf escape – or stop him before he did… make sure you were checked over for serious injuries…” His fingers circle lazily, Cas’s mouth tugged down in a way that unsettles Dean’s stomach.

        Dean sits straighter, glaring at the other man. “You needed the rest, Cas. After that ghoul tore your back up something fierce in Missoula? Even if you knew you could do something, I’d still have kept you –“ The tirade cuts short, Cas’s prideful smirk stealing the words from him. He sinks into the water, so low that water hides his burning cheeks. Adjusts by fully removing his legs from the bathtub, bracing his feet on the wall. Faucet between them.

        Cas chuckles, rustling Dean’s hair. “See. Hindsight is only good for the future, to learn from our mistakes. Time is better spent in the present. Accepting that you did the best you could and… glad there are people who care about you, who will do anything to see you feel better.”

        Dean looks up at Cas, the overhead bulb shining. Mimicking the effect of a halo. He lifts his chin enough to free his mouth. “I don’t know how you can put up with my stubborn ass.” I don’t know why I deserve you.

        “I recall you calling my ass stubborn many times.” I don’t deserve you.

        They always end up circling the drain. Never quite going in, a piece of hair clogging the passage. Right now, with Cas petting Dean’s hair and gazing into his eyes, Dean exposed under him in more ways than one, it cannot get any more tender. It’s still not enough.

        At the top of the peak, you can only go off. They never jump.

        Dean knew his reasons. When it felt like they could, there was never enough time. Something more pressing to deal with, a battle to fight. Always promising that when the moment was right, Dean would do something. But then when those moments came Dean and Cas were never there for them. Kept apart by circumstance, by death, by each other. Compelling. Dramatic. Completely frustrating.

        But then Chuck vanished, he and Amara – light and darkness, creation and destruction – becoming one. Becoming entirely new. Blinked off into somewhere that Dean doesn’t care knowing about. As long as, on their way out, they cut the strings hanging over their heads.

        It seemed like it. Life went on, as normal. Monsters needed hunting and beer needed drinking. Except there wasn’t anything more.

        Hell stayed relatively calm with Rowena reorganizing it. Jack, seated on the throne of Heaven, brought a righteous humanity in his leadership. Even Billie took a holiday.

        When the dust settled, Dean was ready for Cas to be on his way, too. One was offered.

        “Are you sure?” Jack asked, eyes still aglow. Hand raised inches from Cas’s bloodied head. “I can give it all back to you. Give you more… you’d be the most powerful angel in my new Heaven. You can help me make it even better than it was.”

        “Thank you, but… I think it’s time you left the nest, Jack,” Cas smiled, stepping back from him. “Heaven is in capable hands because they’re yours… I… we trust that you can do this without us.”

        Jack nodded, light snuffed. He dove into Cas’s arms, then, hugging him. Then Sam, and finally Dean. “I’ll visit when I can,” he promised, trying not to cry.

        Dean coughed, swiping a finger under his eye. “Soon!” he barked, “I don’t want to see you when I’m eighty!” Their laughter was bittersweet. Fully bitter when Jack disappeared with a flap.

        Sam scuffed the ground, turning. “So,” he said, “what do we do now?” He scanned the area, Dean tracking the same space alongside him. At the scorched earth, barely recognizable from when they arrived. Green drained away and left lifeless, with a few serious scorch marks in certain areas. Like the one near a cracked mausoleum, where Chuck threw Cas. Where he held him by the neck and spit serious venom. Where he drained the little angel grace he had left and made him human again.

        Cas clears his throat, drawing their attention. “After a shower and a change of clothes,” he said, “I think some sort of celebration. At home.”

        Dean’s heart skipped over itself. “Home,” he repeated, “Yeah, I like that.”

        Cas chose and chose again, and his choice never wavered. It was Earth. It was humanity. It was him, and it was home.

        “Why are you staring at me like that?” Cas asks, frowning, “what are you thinking?”

        Dean rises somewhat. “I love you.” He would rather he weren’t naked, nor shaken from a hunt. And a forgotten supply closet with a dirty bathtub in it is hardly the number one place for a confession. But waiting for perfection screwed him over so many times.

        “Oh,” Cas relaxes against the bathtub, sinking his hand back into the water, “is that all?”

        Or maybe he should have kept waiting. Dean pouts, “I love you.”

        “I know. You’re repeating yourself.”

        “No, like…” he drags a wet hand over his face, “I love you. Like, I love you love you.”

        Cas chuckles, light and carefree. Lines around his eyes crinkling in delight. “I know, Dean. I know.”

        Dean gapes, chin slapping the surface of his bath. “You have?” Spurred into action by Cas’s growing laughter, Dean sinks his legs into the tub and sits up again. “For real?” The other man nods. “How long?”

        Cas shrugs, “Awhile.”

        “Why didn’t you say anything?”

        Joy retreats from Cas’s expression, leaving him somewhat guarded. He breaks with Dean’s stare. His hand glides through water and finds Dean’s leg. Strokes it. “I thought nothing needed to be said.”

        Dean raises a brow, clicking his tongue. “So you were happy with…”

        “I was content.”

        He frowns, courage leaping up inside his chest and banishing the lingering traces of sadness and self-pity clinging inside his chest. “Well, I wasn’t,” Dean says. Waits for Cas to look at him again. “Do you know how many times we sat together and I wanted to hold your hand, but didn’t? Roll over on my bed and wake up next to you only to remember that you were down the hall? Sit in a diner and-and when the waitress came by I could say, ‘I’ll have this and my boyfriend will have that’ but was only able to order for myself? I won’t even mention the amount of times I wanted to kiss you because at this point I’ve lost count…”

        Cas squeezes Dean’s thigh, lips stretched wide in a tight grin. “You want all of that?”

        “And more. A hell of a lot more.”

        “Then… late is better than never, I suppose.”

        Dean blinks, “What?”

        He resumes stroking his leg, smiling so openly all his teeth are on display. “I’m saying,” he continues, “that if you want to do all that, I find myself being… amenable. We can even start now.”

        “Are you sure?” Dean asks, too experienced with his luck that he knows he needs more. “Is this what you want? You said you were –“

        “Content,” he says, “But not happy. Doing all of what you described – and more – will make me very happy.”

        Dean smiles, “Really?”

        “Ecstatic.” It’s so deadpan, so blasé, and completely incongruent with the mood of the room that Dean cannot stop the snort escaping from his lips. Followed by hiccupped giggles and, finally, laughter that echoes in the tiny space. Joined by Cas, their voices swell to fill the room. Until Dean snatches Cas’s collar with his wet fist and drags him in for a kiss. Closes his eyes and savors the taste of the other man, taking note of every sensation he guessed right and scribbling over what he got wrong with the parts he never could have imagined.

        In the midst of their makeout session, when Cas presses their foreheads together and laughs about not needing a shower after all. Because Dean hauled him into the bathtub with him despite protests, water leaking onto the floor. When he can, without guilt, lose himself in Cas’s eyes, Dean remembers the werewolf from yesterday. Remembers what he thought freedom meant, and how the monster hadn’t the first clue what it actually was.

        Freedom is not power. Freedom is being yourself. Freedom is the ability to show others the deepest parts of yourself and have them stay and love you for it. Freedom is acceptance.

        Freedom is the way Cas’s fingers scratch at the nape of his neck. Freedom is Cas pressing lazy kisses against his cheek. Freedom is the way their feet knock into each other on the edge of the porcelain bathtub.

        Dean, for the first time in his life, feels free.

Epilogue:

        Midnight is a terrible hour to crave bacon. Time cannot stop Dean’s watering mouth or his growling stomach. He disentangled himself from Cas and blindly pieced together an outfit that, in the hallway’s clinical lighting, included his cowboy pajama bottoms, Cas’s dried shirt, and his robe. Dean shrugs and carries on his way towards the kitchen, hoping for a quick trip.

        Seeing Sam hunched over at the table crushes that idea. He perks up at Dean’s entrance, faltering. Rises for a second before thinking better, instead fiddling with his coffee mug. “Dean.”

        “…Sam.” Unsure, Dean’s own hands run rampant. Closes the robe and hides Cas’s shirt, tying a neat, little bow and securing it tighter. Then he unravels it and lets the robe swing open like curtains. “What’re you doing up?”

        He shrugs. “Couldn’t sleep anymore. You?”

        “Hungry.” Dean winces, the image of Sam struggling underneath him flashing into view. It fades almost as instantly as it arrived, replaced with a more annoyed looking brother. Mouth pulled taut like a bowstring, aimed and ready. Dean glances at the mug for safety. “You make enough for the class?”

        “Check the pot.”

        Shuffling over he sees more than enough coffee inside for him. So, he pulls out two mugs and prepares them. Three teaspoons of sugar in one, four tablespoons in the other. A dash of milk on the left, because Cas thinks it muddies the taste of the coffee. “Thanks.”

        “Dean…”

        His tone draws a quiet sigh from Dean. Settles the hunger that dominated his stomach and replaces it with a slight nausea. “Sam,” he says, “can you not…”

        “We need to talk about it,” Sam continues, “Please, Dean, I –“

        “We will.”

        Sam pauses, stunned. Dean turns around and tamps down the laugh bubbling up. Hard given how rare Sam’s jaw drops so far. In the blink of an eye Sam shakes his surprise off. “What?”

        “We will,” Dean repeats, leaning on the counter, “I promise. I just… I’m not ready, yet.”

        It’s not the best answer. Sam doubts him, evident by the gleam in his eye. And the follow up, “Are you ever gonna be ready?”

        His eyes never strayed from Dean’s face. If he dropped his gaze a few inches Sam would see Cas’s shirt. But he didn’t. Dean can rewrap the robe and pretend it’s not on him.

        Except Dean hadn’t the urge. Instead he draws attention to it, rubbing the hem between his fingers. “Hopefully soon… Cas and I had a good talk and – and well, maybe in the morning I might be okay enough that we can sit and talk about it, or whatever…”

        Sam finally looks at his shirt. Then at Dean with a subtle awe. He braces for an onslaught of feelings, exactly what Dean tried avoiding. Why he thought using Cas as a distraction from talking about those was a moment of delirium. Dean sips at his mug, hiding ruddy cheeks behind the rim.

        Thankfully Sam says nothing. Instead mirroring his sip. “Okay.”

        “Okay?”

        “Okay.”

        Dean nods, drumming his fingers on the counter. There’s kindness in how Sam offers the escape tunnel, even though so much is brewing under the surface. A rarity that Dean never expected. He should take it.

        But there’s more. Dean figures ripping the band-aid off all at once is better than peeling it and feeling every single hair torn from his arm.

        “I think I’m gonna stop hunting,” he says. Sam spits a mouthful of coffee into his mug, choking. “For a while,” Dean quickly explains, “Like, maybe a few months?”

        Coughing, Sam wipes at his lips. “Is this because of the werewolf hunt?”

        “Yes?” Dean says, “No – I mean… Look, it’s not because I’m too scared to get back into the game because of what happened but I am kind of… skittish?” He frowns, staring at the light brown pool in his hands. “Like I’m running on empty and… and I don’t think I have enough in the tank. That’s what happened yesterday, but thank God there was a little more in yours to get me to the next rest stop! Who knows what might happen on the next one so I… I’m making the adult decision and taking myself out of the game before the big loss.” Dean gulps at his coffee, throat suddenly dry. “But not forever,” he adds, “Long enough to sort things out… do the stuff we said we were gonna do when the Chuck mess ended. Maybe go on a road trip or, ah… give Cas a proper first date –“

        “First date?” Sam croaks, a tiny snort escaping, “Think you two’ve past that by a few years. Third honeymoon, maybe.”

        Dean rolls his eyes. “Yuck it up… but I’m not the only one who can use this opportunity to focus on important things… things that you’ve been neglecting… when’s the last time you and Eileen had any quality time together?” Sam answers with a blush. “Thought so… at least I’ve had two honeymoons, or so you think.”

        “Shut up,” Sam huffs, drinking his coffee again. His gaze drifts from Dean over to the door, and the fluster drains off his face. Replaced with a more gleeful expression, lips curling. “Hey Cas,” he sings, “how’s it going?”

        Dean accepts all the awkward energy Sam shed. His grip on the coffee mug falters when he sees Cas. Dressed in a stolen pair of sweatpants and nothing else. “Sam, Dean,” he yawns, shuffling closer. Cas squints at the untouched mug on the counter, “Is this for me?”

        “Yeah,” Dean says, handing it over, “just the way you like.” Cas purrs, kissing Dean’s cheek before sipping. Sam's chuckles accompany his approval. “It wasn’t too much of a problem…”

        “So, Cas,” Sam starts, “what got you out of bed?”

        Cas scratches his head and presses against Dean. Slides an arm around Dean’s waist. “Pee,” he says, “and then I noticed Dean wasn’t there so…” If Cas didn’t drive the point home clear enough Dean would worry after his brother’s intelligence. He feels Cas’s chin rest on his shoulder. “Why did you get up?”

        Dean gestures at the stove. “Hungry.”

        “Hmm… I can eat.” Cas taps on Dean’s stomach, pushing off. He moves and joins Sam at the table. “Whatever you were going to make yourself, make double?”

        “Triple?” Sam adds, “All this talk of food is making me hungry.”

        “Yeah, yeah…” Dean flicks the stove on, dropping the pan on the active burner. His hunger returned, aided by the easy conversation flowing between the three. Cas settles across from Sam asking a question about something he read. The conversation quickly devolves into nerd speak, Dean throwing quips in every few seconds.

        He lays a strip of bacon down, and then another one. And another one. Greases a second pan and cracks an egg on the surface, tossing one half of the shell at Sam and the next half at Cas. They retaliate by pelting him when he retreats to the refrigerator for more bacon. Dean doesn’t care that they hit, nor that he steps on one and has to spend time between the eggs frying and the bacon cooking to pick pieces of eggshell off his heel. What he cares about sits giggling at the table, watching while he cleans.

        Dean is happy.

[eviesmyspiritanimal]

A Black Spot in a Sea of White

Summary: Mal, Evie, and Jay suffer a horrible loss. In memory of Cameron Boyce, forever our one and only Carlos de Vil. He will be forever missed. ❤Familial feels and seemingly unending angst with an unexpected happy ending.

  “How is he? Where is he?!” Mal demanded as her, Evie, Jay, and Dude stormed into the medical wing. The woman at the receptionist desk looked up at the trio, completely unimpressed by Mal’s boisterous entrance.

  “Who exactly are you speaking of?”

  “Just the only guy in this whole hospital that is currently seizing himself to death!” Mal screeched.

  “Are you family?” she questioned, bored with the situation.

  It was like a bomb had gone off. Mal immediately felt such anger and frustration that she almost couldn’t answer the woman. After a moment of her mouth moving in unmentionable words, she finally was able to speak.

  “Of course we are his family. Now tell me where he is!” Mal slammed her fist on the desk, her eyes glowing a dangerous shade of green. Dude barked, emphasizing her hit. The woman immediately looked considerably more afraid.

  “The Intensive Care Unit,” she stuttered, much more respectfully than before. The threesome immediately took off.

  Mal’s mind raced, a million regrets floating through her mind. She should have noticed that he seemed sluggish on the field. She should have insisted that he not go to the tournament. She should have known.

  This was Carlos. That boy was her little brother. She needed him. Evie needed him. Jay needed him. He was the light of hope and humor that shone bright in their lives. And now, all because of their inattentiveness, he could lose his life.

  The three of them burst into the room, an air of purpose surrounding them.

  The room was horrifying, sheets separating individual beds. There were frail bodies lying beneath each of those sheets, and she stared at them with wide eyes.

  There was a doctor as well as several nurses surrounding one particular bed. Mal stepped forward carefully and she felt Evie grab her hand gently. Jay rested his hand on Mal’s shoulder that was opposite to him.

  They slowly made the journey to the bed.

  A floorboard squeaked and the doctor turned to look at them. He was a gray-haired man with a mean receding hairline. His eyes were crystalline blue and his skin was pale. Combined with his snowy white coat, he seemed to be devoid of any and all color.

  Almost like death, Mal couldn’t help but think.

  His eyes softened somewhat when he saw the three VKs, and he moved over to greet them.

  “It’s good that you all are here. I am Doctor Mortem. I already know the three of you, being that the lot of you are such an infamous group.” He shook the bluenette’s hand, and then Evie had to let go of Mal’s hand for a moment so that the purple-haired girl could as well. Evie quickly latched back on as soon as Mal was finished. Jay removed his hand from Mal’s shoulder to exchange his greetings.

  The three of them stared at the man expectantly, simultaneously eager for and dreading the news that was to come.

  He eyed them all in turn very slowly with a gravity in his gaze that left Mal with a deep chill in her bones.

  “We have had to revive him five times since the incident. His body isn’t able to take much more of the stress that comes with the resuscitation, and if we were to attempt it again, it would likely trigger another seizure that would actually succeed in killing him,” the doctor paused, sighing as he rubbed his face with a hand. Mal felt the fear inside of her building rapidly.

  “I am afraid that he won’t make it much longer.”

  It felt like a knife to the stomach. Stabbing again and again and again. Mal flinched as if she had truly been physically hit.

  She was about to lose all circulation in her hand as Evie squeezed tighter than she had ever thought was humanly possible. Mal could feel Jay’s chest just behind her left shoulder blade as it trembled like a leaf. Dude was huddled next to her leg, pressed as closely as he could get.

  “C-can we see him now?” Evie weakly asked, voicing what Mal herself couldn’t say at that moment.

  “Of course,” the doctor nodded his head solemnly and maneuvered around them to leave the room. The nurses surrounding the bed dispersed as well, going to other parts of the room to attend more patients.

  She almost couldn’t even recognize him. The seizure did something to him- it made him look just as frail as the other bodies surrounding them. He was lying there, his eyes glaze over and his chest rising and falling in shaky breaths.

  They moved forward and Jay moved over to grab the girls two chairs. Evie shared a glance with Mal and she opened her arms a bit, offering the purple-haired girl a hug. Mal looked at her with longing, both wanting to be comforted by her sister’s embrace and not wanting to show weakness.

  In the end, she settled for locking arms with Evie and pressing her forehead against the bluenette’s quietly. There was the sound of chairs being dragged around and stopped carefully, and Mal suddenly felt Jay’s hand resting on her shoulder.

  She knew it was time to face the facts. The two girls hesitantly pulled away from one another and split up. Evie and Mal sat down on opposite sides of the bed and Jay stood at the end of the bed, his hands holding the bar at the foot of the bed in a death grip as his knuckles turned white.

  Dude jumped into Mal’s lap, looking at his boy quietly. After a moment, he stepped onto the bed gently and nudged his hand.

  Carlos carefully and slowly moved his head to look at the dog. A ghost of a smile appeared, and he feebly raised his hand to pet Dude’s head.

  “Hey, Lil’ C,” Mal spoke, forcing her voice to sound stronger than she felt. His eyes shifted up to look at her. “We came here to see you,” Mal explained, reaching out and taking his hand gently.

  “Evie’s on your other side and Jay’s right down there,” Mal motioned her head toward Jay at the foot of the bed. Carlos never took his eyes off of Mal. Mal couldn’t help but worry that he might not have heard her. Or worse, that he didn’t have the energy to look at the other two.

  “Mal,” he started and paused for a long moment, the green-eyed girl attentively listening. Evie took his other hand in the time that he was quieted. “Am I dying?” he whispered, looking Mal straight in the eyes.

  Her mouth immediately went dry, and her heart almost felt like it stopped beating as she avoided his gaze to consider her response to his question. He had asked her specifically. He knew that Mal wouldn’t keep the truth from him. He knew she wouldn’t lie.

  Mal hesitantly brought her eyes back to his, hoping that she wouldn’t have to utter the words.

  After a moment, his eyes fell away from her own and she knew he understood. They sat in silence for a moment and she could hear Evie’s whine rise in her throat, that definitive sign that Evie was about to cry.

  But she couldn’t hold her regrets back any longer. She had to tell him. She didn’t care if he’d die hating her, but she had to try to apologize.

  “Carlos… I’m sorry that I didn’t realize you were down today. I should’ve-”

  “Mal. Don’t be sorry. Above anything else, don’t be sorry,” he insisted, a strength in his voice that was completely opposite of his true condition. Mal looked over at Evie, but quickly looked away upon seeing her tearstained face and bloodshot eyes.

  “I love you guys. If it had to happen earlier today or now or sometime in the next few hours, I’m glad that I knew all of you,” Carlos weakly told them, turning his head to look at Evie and looking down his bed at Jay before finally returning his gaze to Mal.

  “You guys were there for me when nobody else was. You helped me,” he turned to look at Evie, “defended me,” he glanced at Jay, “and inspired me,” he looked at Mal. “You three were the best thing that ever happened to me, and I want you all to know that I am so grateful for all that you’ve done.”

  Mal glanced at Jay and saw the glassy sheen to his eyes. She knew Evie was already crying.

  They were quiet together for a few moments before Carlos coughed hard, shaking all over. He lay back down after a second, and Mal had to calm herself after the momentary panic that she endured.

  “I’m scared,” he rasped, looking at the ceiling. “Where will I go?” he asked, trembling a bit.

  “I… I don’t know,” Mal told him, her green eyes searching the side of his face as she attempted to memorize every bit of it.

  “But someplace grand, I’m sure,” Evie piped up suddenly, her voice raw with fresh emotion, and Mal was thankful for the save.

  “Probably lots of dogs,” Jay suddenly spoke, offering a smile.

  “And ice cream. Definitely ice cream,” Mal added. They all, even Carlos, shared a quiet laugh at that.

  “You know, with you guys here to help me face it… it doesn’t seem so bad anymore,” Carlos murmured, his eyelids drooping slowly.

  “I’m going to miss you, though, when I get there,” he whispered. “It won’t be the same without all of you to enjoy it with me.”

  “Yeah… We’re going to miss you, too, bro,” Jay replied, and Mal detected a tightness in his throat that normally wasn’t there as he reached down and gently touched his foot beneath the sheets.

  “We love you more than anything, Carlos,” Evie expressed heartfeltly. It was obvious she was about to lose it again.

  Dude licked Carlos’ hand that was in Mal’s.

  “We’ll see you there one day,” Mal told him, her eyes growing harder and harder to see through the increasing amount of tears.

  His eyelids finally fluttered closed, a small smile on his face as he peacefully breathed his last.

  And Jay, Evie, and Mal collapsed to tears, because that was their brother.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………

  Many years passed since Carlos was buried. Along the painful road of life, Jay and Evie left Mal, too, their lives but a wisp. The three remaining VKs had spent their old age together, marveling at how the world had changed and actually had kept on turning for so many years beyond Carlos’ death.

  But eventually, Mal had been left alone to live in the world by herself.

  Until one glorious awakening.

  Mal opened her eyes, but quickly shut them tightly. The sun was so blinding. She must have forgotten to shut the blinds the previous night.

  She eventually squinted, barely opening them as she adjusted to the light. It then occurred to her that she was not lying in her bed, and was instead in the grass.

  Mal’s eyes shot wide open as she gawked at the world around her. There were beautiful trees, the sun was shining brightly, and there were… dogs?

  In the distance, she spotted a whole pack of dogs, wrestling and playing with one another. They romped through the soft grass and rolled carelessly in the mud near a stream.

  After a moment, it became apparent to Mal that she wasn’t feeling any sort of pain in her hand. She had gotten a really bad pain in her hand as of late. She attributed it to many years of overworking her hands and fingers with the pencil.

  She looked at her hand and was completely baffled when she saw smooth, soft skin instead of the usual wrinkles and wornness that comes with old age.

  Mal glanced up, looking around the place once again. However, her searching gaze immediately halted upon the sight of three certain beings that were approaching her.

  It was Jay, Evie, and Carlos. All three of them were as young and healthy as they had been just before Carlos passed away. The threesome helped her up.

  Mal hesitantly reached out to Evie, cradling her cheek in her hands. Evie leaned into the touch, looking at her with adoring eyes. Letting go of Evie, Mal then turned to Jay, holding his shoulders in both of her hands. Her face lit up in the biggest grin she had in years. Mal flung her arms around Jay, Evie, and Carlos the best that she could and they all held each other in a tight hug.

  After a moment of reveling in the touch of her family, she raised her tear-filled gaze to look at Carlos. He had a wide smile on his face. Oh, how she had missed that smile.

  “You were right, Mal.”

[sachigram]

Hearts Like Ours Chapter 12

((click here to read on ao3!!!))

The thing about Izaya is, he's nothing if not adaptable. Shizuo would probably make some crass comment about parasites adapting to harsh conditions to stay alive no matter what, and Izaya really wouldn't be able to refute it. Shizuo can have his finer intellectual moments, and Izaya really would do whatever it takes to stay alive because he's too afraid of an alternative.

He sighs wearily from under the hood covering his face. He's definitely been in this situation before, and having been kidnapped again certainly gives him a headache, but otherwise he's just annoyed. It's really not the most opportune time in his life for this, but Izaya left his apartment to clear his head, and he's always done his best thinking on his toes, after all.

“One of the most unpopular men in the city, and you walk around alone after dark,” an annoyingly familiar voice says. “Unwise, Izaya-san. You've grown sloppy in your hubris.”

“Living in fear is hardly living at all, right? Not that you're particularly scary, Watanabe-san. I was speaking metaphorically,” Izaya responds breezily. The noise of someone approaching him has him bracing himself for impact, and he isn't surprised when he's punched across the face.

“We should have gagged you, too.”

Izaya could point out they could have done a lot of things differently. They could have knocked him unconscious so he didn't know exactly how far he had been taken, could have been more subtle in their approach, could have announced their plans less...theatrically. Izaya isn't used to dealing with amateurs so seriously; it's not something he lowers himself to, but Junichi forced Izaya into this, and Izaya isn't one to play his cards until he's got a winning hand. He smiles.

“Why would you gag me when you want so desperately to hear what I've got to say?” Izaya asks. “You might as well take off the bag over my head, too. I hardly care where we are.”

“Might as well let you look at my face before I kill you,” Junichi agrees. He inhales, probably smoking a cigarette, from the sounds of it, and it reminds Izaya of Shizuo, even more so when he smells the scent wafting over him. Izaya blinks when the bag is removed, his eyes sensitive. He gets a good look at Junichi for the first time in a long while.

Junichi is on the shorter side, not that Izaya considers himself tall. What Junichi lacks in height, he makes up for in muscle, and on his arms and likely his torso are typical winding tattoos usually found on Yakuza members. Junichi might have been considered attractive at one point in time, but age hasn't been kind to him, and his hairline is receding almost comically. The lines on his face are even worse than the last time Izaya saw him, but then again Junichi has been through a great ordeal thanks to Izaya himself.

“You're looking well, Izaya-san,” Junichi says with a grin. He puts his thumb under Izaya's chin, swiping at the blood dribbling from Izaya's busted lip.

“Yeah? You look like shit,” Izaya says, still smiling, and Junichi laughs.

“So will you very soon. A pretty face won't do you much good here. None of my boys swing that way. Unlike you, right? You've been fucking around with that bartender.”

“He lost that job a long time ago, actually. I got him fired from it because it was funny. The two of us aren't exactly friends.”

“Trying to protect him, huh? Good plan, but it won't work. He's hardly left your side these last few months. You're really going to tell me he's been staying at your place and hasn't had his way with you yet?” Junichi crosses his arms and looks down, one of his bushy eyebrows raised in disbelief. “You've got a reputation for being a slut.”

“Oh, have I?” Izaya asks. In all honesty, sex has always bored him. It wasn't required to get what he wanted in his line of work, but he never said anything against the rumors that circulated around him. He's spent a lot of time behind closed doors with many higher ups, and if people thought he was being fucked, why did it matter? If anything it cemented him as someone powerful, someone who was important to the Awakusu-Kai and various other factions, even lowly color gangs rising by the day. Izaya never cared what they said about him so long as they knew he wasn't easily expendable.

“Yeah. You do. Gotta say, I do see the appeal in stuffing your mouth, but unfortunately I don't want your last moments to be enjoyable.” Junichi takes another drag on his cigarette and smiles before he reaches down and rubs the cigarette out against Izaya's hand. Izaya doesn't give him the satisfaction of flinching.

“A missed opportunity for you, I'm sure. I'm good with my tongue,” Izaya says, focusing on his anger and refusing to yield to the pain. This is nothing. He's been through worse and he'll go through worse still. He thinks briefly of the monster-like version of Shizuo with dead eyes that's been haunting his dreams, and he laughs because that version of Shizuo is so ridiculously inaccurate that Izaya can't believe he was ever frightened.

The human mind is funny like that.

His laughter earns him another punch, but all in all, it was worth it.

“So,” Izaya says, licking at the blood on his lip. His right eye will likely be swollen shut later, but he'll deal with that once it happens. “You decided to snatch me up and bring me to your...hovel. What's next? Are you going to reveal your tragic backstory and try to make me feel contrite for my actions? Because honestly, you've been pathetic until now, and I'd like to add more dimension to you for my own sake. Nothing in life is worse than being bored.”

“You really don't know how to shut up, do you?” Junichi leans down, putting his hands on the chair Izaya is tied to. He looks into Izaya's eyes, and the crazed glint is obvious, but Izaya is anything but afraid of him. “You think this is boring? I've got five guys outside this door who could tear you limb from limb without lifting a finger. I've got copies of your precious files from your personal desktop. I've got your sisters' school schedules and your little boyfriend is being paid a visit from some of my boys as we speak.”

“I'd be more concerned about these boys of yours, if I were you. Not just because of who you sent them after, but because referring to them as your boys is very creepy.”

Junichi glares at him, scrutinizing Izaya's face as if he's trying to decipher whether Izaya is truly afraid or not.

“Are you really this angry at me for getting you arrested? I've done it to Shizu-chan and he just tried to kill me outright, none of these silly games. Or is this about your nephew's death? You realize I wasn't even here when it happened. How could I have been involved?” Izaya asks. If Junichi truly wants to kill him, stalling for more time will be in vain, but Izaya doesn't think that's the case. Extremists always have a manifesto of some sort, and Izaya is literally a captive audience.

“You're always involved,” Junichi hisses. He pushes away from the chair and turns his back to Izaya, lighting another cigarette.  

“People assume I'm always involved, you mean. So you didn't get to blow up a building, so what? As if I'd go along with something like that. I don't like plans with no point to them, and if you truly knew me at all, you'd know the only side I'm on is my own, therefore betraying anyone is impossible.”

“You were involved!” Junichi snaps, whirling back around to face him. “I know you were! He died after I got out of going to prison, and you thought I hadn't suffered enough. You're involved with every gang in this city, and you think I believe you didn't send them after Ryu?”

“This paternal love of yours is truly sickening. As if you cared about that boy before he died. He only got involved with your schemes to impress you, and you never noticed him until he died for it. But it's easier to blame me, right? You can't own up to your own failures, and now—“ Izaya is struck once more, this time hard enough that he sees stars. Not good. He needs to stay conscious.

“Shut the fuck up, Izaya-san. Whatever you say now doesn't matter, don't you get it yet? I'm gonna make you suffer the way I have. You're going to lose everyone you care about and I'm gonna make you watch it happen.”

So this was the plan all along, then. Well. Izaya has to say, starting with Shinra was the obvious choice, because Shinra is a weak moron. But Junichi didn't include Celty, who defies all logic, into his plan, and of course Celty was the first person Shinra called after being stabbed. An incredibly powerful fairy bodyguard would scare anyone away from finishing the job.

As for his sisters, Izaya knows they've got their own means of protection. He keeps tabs on them at all times, and he has them trailed often, sometimes just for his own enjoyment because he knows they hate it. They also can hold their own in any fight. Izaya receives phone calls often from the academy because Mairu has been caught fighting and “terrorizing” other students. It makes him incredibly proud, though he's lectured her repeatedly on not being caught.

“If they're telling on you, you're not threatening them enough.” That's what he told her. She just rolled her eyes and told him he was a shitty brother.

And Shizuo... The idea that he could be done in by anyone in relation to this is laughable. Izaya is almost positive someone could drop a bomb directly on Shizuo, and he would survive just for the hell of it, not even knowing he almost died.

“Your plans could use a little polishing,” Izaya says after he spits out a mouthful of blood. “Then again, you haven't paid me to make them for you.”

Junichi merely grins at him, shaking his head.

“Bruised and bloody is a good look for you, Izaya-san.”

“Ah. I'll consider wearing it more often.”

Izaya watches Junichi pace around the room, likely waiting on a phone confirmation that Shizuo has been dealt with. Are they trying to kidnap him? Shoot him outright? Shizuo has been shot before and it barely fazed him, but if there are a lot of men, all with guns...? Izaya's stomach drops a bit. He doesn't want anything to happen to Shizuo because of this game he's been playing with Junichi. It's time to do something.

“So, you want me to suffer. The plan was to get rid of Shinra, set fire to my things, and then kill my sisters? But Shizu-chan was a wildcard here. You didn't expect him to be around, just like you didn't expect Celty to be there with Shinra. You're sloppy. Anyone who has ever spoken to Shinra knows about Celty, and as for Shizu-chan, I don't blame you there.” Izaya shrugs as best as he can. “He's always a wildcard. He messes up plans all the time.

“But even so, you haven't counted on so many things, like who exactly you're messing with here. Don't you know how dangerous it is to underestimate your opponents? Especially one so out of your league. I worried I was doing so to you, but then I remembered how stupid you are, and being here with you now has only solidified my suspicions. You're pathetically basic, Watanabe-san. Laughably so.”

“Oh yeah?” Junichi laughs, his grin wide and leering. His crazed eyes settle on Izaya. “And what have you got in store for me, Izaya-san? From your place tied up in that chair, it seems like you've been beaten already.”

“For starters, Shinra does business with the most dangerous men in this city, and he's made himself an asset for them. Shiki-san, in particular, found it in poor taste. I went directly to him upon my return and we negotiated some terms in dealing with you.”

“Bullshit. One of my guys was in that club when you sat with Shiki-san. He dismissed you. Heh, he called you a brat. I agreed with that.”

“As if that was our first meeting. We knew you had eyes on us, and I wanted you to believe Shiki-san didn't give a damn what happened to me. And truthfully, maybe he doesn't. But he likes my information, and he likes having Shinra around to tend to the injured, so it was bullheaded of you to overlook.”

“Where is he, then? If he's so invested in this, why the fuck isn't he here to save you and stop me?”

“Something else,” Izaya continues, “your little fire in my apartment. I had my secretary back up all my files onto her personal computer once I realized you were tragically obsessed with me. I kept the old, unimportant ones for you to peruse, and I allowed the fire to be set. I was on the couch, after all. Really, did you think I would be asleep with my door unlocked? Shizu-chan always forgets to lock it, because he's not used to being stalked. It's how I always got into his place before!”

It's clear Junichi doesn't buy it.

“So you were awake and you laid there while your things burned? You expect me to believe that?”

“I don't care if you do or not. It served its purpose, which was you thinking you had the upper hand, and as an added bonus, it made Shizu-chan more protective. With him hanging around, you'd hardly have the gall to attack me physically.” Izaya grins widely, remembering how it felt to be picked up and held tenderly by Shizuo that first time. He felt invincible.

“You're out of your mind, Izaya-san. I knew that already of course, but I don't know which is worse, you actually allowing all these things to happen to yourself, or you being desperate enough to lie about it to have me believe you're some untouchable god. I think you're a liar, and I think you're crazy enough to believe your own bullshit half the time.” Junichi moves closer, his hand reaching into his pocket. “Should have done this from the beginning. I'm gonna gag you so I don't have to listen to you anymore. Whatever it is you think, Izaya-san, you're still here, helpless. You've lost.”

Izaya can't help it. He laughs. Of all the ridiculous concepts, all the things he's gotten himself into, this takes the cake. He was just so bored before, and Junichi really is fun to mess with. But like all his toys, Izaya is tired of him now.

Oh well. Not everyone can occupy him like Shizuo. It's too much to ask of anyone.

“About that,” Izaya says, his arm stretched out in front of himself in an instant, the gleam of a knife at Junichi's throat, “next time you kidnap someone, maybe disarm them properly. And don't use rope, you has-been. Don't you know they're a relic?”

Junichi's face goes through a myriad of expressions, settling on fury. Izaya keeps the knife at Junichi's throat, reaching down with his other hand and cutting the ropes that bind him to the chair and the rope around his ankles.

“I've been kidnapped before, you know? Is this your first time holding someone captive?” Izaya laughs as he stands up, his back popping from his prior position. “How cute. Unfortunately, I'm the more experienced party here, so let me take the lead, ne?”

“So you were just fucking with me?” Junichi asks. He seems lost for a moment before his narrow. “You won't kill me. You don't have the balls.”

Izaya doesn't dignify that with an answer. He throws his knife directly down into Junichi's foot, another in his hand as soon as the first one left it. Junichi doubles over in pain, blood pouring from his injury, and when he looks up again, his eyes are full of malice.

“I told you already that you were beneath me,” Izaya says, leaning down to better look Junichi in the face. “You wanted to lecture me about hubris and not getting involved in things I don't understand, but here you are, at my feet where you belong.”

“I'm going to kill you,” Junichi hisses at him, spitting at Izaya's feet. “You hear me? If it's the last thing I do, I'm going to make that pretty face of yours twist in agony. You'll beg me for forgiveness as I take everything away from you, and my face will be the last thing you see.”

“A fate worse than death, truly, having to look at you in my final moments.” Izaya shrugs. “You really are cruel. I'll keep your threat in mind.”

“FUCK you!”

Izaya winces, narrowing his eyes. “Ah. I hate being yelled at.”

From his peripheral, he sees the door in the corner opening, some of Junichi's thugs gazing inside from all the racket. One of them lifts a gun, pointing it at Izaya while the rest of them trip over themselves trying to get inside and help their boss. Izaya runs for it, finding a pillar to duck behind. Where is he? An abandoned building? He looks around, thinking of how far he was driven, what around this area could be used as a hideout. He didn't see which direction they drove off in, but from the distance he supposes he's either in the old hospital scheduled to be demolished in a few weeks, or the local school that was recently shut down because a newer, better version was built instead a few blocks over. From the look of things, it's likely the hospital, as it seems unkempt and like it hasn't been cleaned in ages, and his suspicions are confirmed when he looks up at the pillar he's hiding behind, a sign above his head saying which direction the cardiovascular ward is in and which direction leads to the lobby.

“What to do...” Izaya muses to himself. He can keep running, try to make it out, but there are likely more men stationed at every exit. Jumping from the window could work, but he'd really rather refrain from keeping this charade going any longer. Still, he's outnumbered, and Izaya is quick on his feet, but not much use in an actual fight.

As he's deliberating, he hears a wrenching noise, and then some confused screaming. He blinks, gripping his knife tightly before he's peering out from behind the pillar. It's suddenly eerily silent, and it puts him on edge.

The sight he's greeted with is as comical as it is bizarre. Celty stands with her scythe drawn, some shadows binding the arms and legs of the men who were chasing him. At her feet is Junichi, who is being stared down by Shizuo, who is holding a door above him, threatening to crash down over Junichi's head. Behind them is...Shinra?

“Where the fuck is Izaya?! Tell me before I bash your fucking brains in!” Shizuo roars.

“He's over there! Over there!” Junichi is practically sobbing, pointing in Izaya's direction. “I barely touched him!”

“You expect me to believe you? HAH?! You send some goons after me to shoot at me, and you think I'll believe a goddamn word you say?!”

“Shizu-chan!” Izaya calls, stepping out so Shizuo can see him. He gets a good look at Shizuo, who appears to be bleeding profusely from his abdomen.

“Izaya!” Shizuo tosses the door down and leaves Celty to deal with Junichi as he sprints to where Izaya is. His relieved expression shifts to anger as he looks Izaya over. “He did this to you?”

“Did...? Oh.” Izaya remembers his own injuries. “I'm fine. Did you get shot?”

“Yeah. Real pain in the ass. Some guys showed up outside your building and shot at me. I beat their faces in and got this location from one of them before he passed out. I figured you were in danger.” Shizuo reaches out, fingers the bruises on Izaya's face, his eyes hard. “You're okay?”

“I'm not the one bleeding everywhere.” Izaya looks over to Shinra and Celty. “You really brought the whole cavalry. All for me? I'm touched.”

“I'm pissed the fuck off,” Shizuo growls. “Why do you have to get into shit like this all the time?”

“Isn't it fun to never be bored, Shizu-chan?” Izaya asks playfully, and he matches Shizuo's intensity when their lips clash together, Shizuo lifting him easily and devouring his mouth in a hungry, almost sinful way.

“You crazy bastard. Fuck you, making me worry. I'd kick your ass if I thought it'd do any good,” Shizuo huffs between kisses.

“You still could. Who knows, maybe I'd be into it?” Izaya smirks against Shizuo's mouth when Shizuo growls at him in warning.

“Oh, look! I knew it, Celty! They're a real pair of lovebirds now!” Shinra announces in a chipper voice. Izaya and Shizuo separate to glare at him. Celty is politely looking away, her posture seemingly bashful.

“Why are you here, Shinra? What good are you in a situation like this?” Izaya asks. He reaches his hand out to curl into Shizuo's hair, tugging lightly, and Shizuo hums at the contact.

“Every team needs a doctor!” Shinra says, flailing his arms a bit. “Besides, Shizuo-kun asked Celty and I both for help in dealing with you!”

“It was really more of your knowledge of where Junichi-san was,” Shizuo grumbles at him, carrying Izaya over. He kicks at Junichi's tied up body, rolling him over so they can look into his wide eyes. “What do we do with him now?”

“Hand him over to Shiki-san. He can deal with the dirty work.” Izaya hops out of Shizuo's arms and leers at Junichi. “I wasn't lying when I said Shiki-san had plans for you. You've really made him angry. Our agreement was that I'd lure you out, and here you are.”

“Izaya-kun, please don't tell me you've planned all this,” Shinra says with a frown. “Of course, I'd expect nothing less from you, but I really thought you'd learned at least one lesson about meddling in affairs.”

“I didn't plan any of it,” Izaya says breezily. “I'm just an informant, Shinra. I don't know why you paint me as some sort of mastermind. Look at my face! It's bruised and bloody. What mastermind lets themselves get beaten up?”

Shizuo is glaring at him openly, his expression saying exactly what he thinks of that explanation.

“Would you believe that I only planned a little of it?” Izaya amends.

“Don't do stuff like this by yourself anymore,” Shizuo says. “You could've died.”

“Ah, Shizu-chan, are you my partner in crime now?” Izaya taunts.

“Something like that. If I have to be.”

“Ahaha, Izaya-kun! Your face is priceless!” Shinra laughs until he doubles over from Celty's fist meeting his side.

Sorry about him.

Izaya glances at the typed message before returning Shizuo's steady gaze. Somehow, he has someone who cares this much about him and his antics, so much so that Shizuo roped Celty and Shinra into saving Izaya, who really isn't used to being saved. He could have gotten out of this alone, but having others is...easier.

“I'll tone down the theatrics, alright?” Izaya says, finally looking away from Shizuo's dark eyes.

“Damn straight. This could've been over months ago if you'd just told me where the crazy fucker was,” Shizuo says.

“There's no fun in that, Shizu-chan. You've got no eye for the finer details.”

“I'll leave those to you.”

Izaya laughs, shaking his head. He doesn't hesitate in taking Shizuo's hand when it nudges against his own.

“What a team we'll make, then.”

[lanamemories]

crash lands a giant animatronic john travolta (wild hogs era complete w a receding hairline n leather jacket) onto the dash n dismounts frm his back without any explanation as to my vehicle...... helo........ nw tht i’ve made the world’s most unsettling entrance i wil? introduce myself. i’m nai n i’m 23 n live in Manchestoh (typed w a fitting n blood curdlingly british accent). my pronouns r she/her n i currently want a pet baby yoda i can feed strawberries to n tuck into a tiny baby yoda sized bed. anyway. lana’s pinterest can b found HERE n more abt her is under the cut!!

KRISTINE FROSETH / CIS-FEMALE — don’t look now, but is that lana jameson i see? the 21 year old dance student is in their sophomore year and she is a rochester alum. i hear they can be exuberant, alluring, childish and impulsive, so maybe keep that in mind. i bet she will make a name for themselves living in murphy’s beach homes. ( nai. 23. gmt. she/her. )

aesthetics: scalding your fingers in shower water until they glow like rudolph’s nose, cherry red gym socks tugged high and nothing else, stepping out into a cold breeze in just spaghetti strapped silk, a red lightening stripe painted over your eye like a new take on the scarlet letter, crowning each finger with a miniature raspberry, hugging a knee close to lick a stripe of fruit juice off the bruised cap, doodling penises in condensation instead of sitting still, a water pistol topped with rum and covered in glittery pin-up stickers, believable smiles that feel more like baring teeth, playing where’s waldo with your lipstick in the crowd of a party and finding red smudges on at least six people’s mouths, a bumper sticker on the back of a convertible cadillac that says ‘SCRAPPY DOO IS A FILTHY SLUT’, prancing around in your underwear to a vinyl record with the curtains open.

BACKGROUND:

lana grew up in a big house in albany, NY. i picture it w dark oak floors n lots of light furniture. albums framed on walls. mayb some rolling stone covers too frm way bk when of the bands her dad’s label signed. kind of like… a rock star palace w no evidence of children at all. i think i described it best in one of lana’s self paras once when i said the garden ws “as big as it was unloved”

lana’s mum victoria (vic) ws a music journalist w a pretty fruitful career ahead of her when she met lana’s dad richard (rich). his record label ws jst starting out, founded on the coattails of his rich best friend’s (jensen peters) investment w his other best friend (who he jst calls knoxville). it rocketed to success when they signed poppy injects, a rock band w an electric stage presence, n victoria ws drawn to the glitz n glamour of a man tht ws at the helm of his aspiring industry. their love ws very impulsive, all or nothing right frm the start, n it ws almost like she ws mre in love w his accomplishments n what he represented than him. jst a leetle bit Fractured in its intentions.

anyway so jameson records repped a few big rock bands bk in the eighties, altho poppy injects r who they’re mostly known fr, namely bc of hw brightly they crashed n burned. they were a big chart success bt the lead singer hd quite an intense struggle w heroin (wsnt rly subtle abt it either while he ws in the public eye as u cn probably imagine frm such an on-the-nose band name) n he ws always in n out of the papers. it eventually brought down his career n it ws a big publicity nightmare

lana pretty much… grew up around figures like this throughout childhood. rly troubled characters who wld kind of… b extremely volatile n destructive abt their troubles. the jameson house was kind of an open one as welcoming clients went n a lot of parties took place there. a lot of the time musicians wld b snorting lines in the kitchen when she wnted to grab a bowl of cereal fr breakfast n it was just. a very strange environment fr a child to grow up in

her parents always kind of jst… didn’t like her much. her older brother caleb ws unplanned bt they sort of welcomed the surprise more bt… quickly realised they weren’t cut out fr parenthood n then when lana came as another surprise 3 yrs later they didn’t even try to hide their resentment abt the situation. her mum ws actually booked in to have an abortion bt cldnt go through with it at the last minute. once when lana asked her why shes so cold towards her she jst turned her head frm her dresser, looked at her, told her abt this n said “idk why i didn’t go”. lana didn’t kno wht to say to tht so she jst left her room n closed the door

(dissociation tw) bc of this growing up lana adopted this weird like…. she didn’t rly kno what it ws bt it ws a delusion of sorts where she thought she ws a ghost. she’d jst sort of… drift around the halls w noone acknowledging her n sometimes she ws jst convinced she wsnt actually there or they cldnt see her n she ws jst haunting the house frm a previous family

the one saving grace tho tht sort of?? gt her thru this n made her feel Seen ws caleb. lana quite genuinely hs always thought the sun shines out of her older brothers ass like she jst thinks. hes the best person in the entire world. wld b rly bewildered if anyone questioned tht. he wld always look out for her in the zoo they called a home n cut the crusts off her sandwiches (he’d cook fr them most of the time bc their parents were too busy/didn’t care to) n sometimes wld even sleep at the bottom of her bed curled up like a guard dog. it ws always lana n caleb n his best friend tommy against the world in tht house (tommy lived next door n was always over bc he had very strict parents including a military father tht he found suffocating)

SO when caleb n tommy announced tht they’d signed up to the army lana ws understandably…….. completely blindsided. she ws rly upset tht they were leaving bt she tried not to b mad at them n made them promise theyd b safe n back as soon as possible. she even asked if they cld somehow take her w them n they were jst like :/ it doesn’t work that way luv x

(death tw, ptsd tw, grief tw, trauma tw, hospitalisation tw, drugs tw) anyway caleb ended up getting discharged under grounds of severe ptsd when he witnessed tommy die in an explosion tht took place in a shock raid. caleb returned home sans tommy bt he was never the same after tht. he’s been in and out of hospital twice nw n he’s currently dipped off the radar after starting to use. lana kind of felt like two of her brothers died out there in a way n jst like tht it wasn’t them vs the world any mre, it was jst her. she doesn’t talk abt this tho. when she feels the urge to cry she usually jst smiles

ANYWAY whew tht rly…. took a dark turn there….. chuckles nervously at hw sad lana’s life is bt it’s fine it’s all fINE!!!!!!! ok. so on a mre lighthearted note the jameson family r pretty well off n bc of her relation to such a big music industry figure she’s hung out w a fair few relatively high rep ppl thru her teens. mostly kids of celebrities n stuff like tht. she amassed kind of an instagram following mainly fr her style (v penny lane-esque in some aspects aka lots of fur cuff trimmed jackets bt then also jst…. a wild combination of everything honestly. pastel faux fur coats, seventies style platforms, flame red cowboy boots, pink fishnet tights n glitter used like highlight Everywhere) n bc she’s undeniably very pretty

(trauma tw) after caleb got back he was rly withdrawn n depressed. he shut lana out n was kind of harsh to her a lot of the time, always telling her to leave him alone or pushing her away. it didnt help either tht lana had a rly traumatic experience w some of her dad’s colleagues at the label when she ws 16 n he was away n she cldnt even tell him abt it once he was bk bc of his own traumas. she kind of jst shut it all in n kept it to herself

this obviously?? made her spiral a lot. she was already a girl tht loved sex (she’d only rly done foreplay before tho) but since her trauma it got…. completely out of hand. it got to a point where she couldnt rly go 2 days without it, probably not even 1. her lowest point has probably been scrolling thru craiglist for anonymous encounters n meeting up w strangers on there fr a quick fuck jst for the thrill even tho it’s insanely dangerous n she cld wind up getting herself killed. it’s v clear at this point tht she has a sex addiction whether she’s ever admitted it or not. it kind of… almost mingled w tht same feeling she used to get when she ws younger of being a ghost?? like she jst. only rly feels Real when she’s being touched

(violence tw) a mre recent point of history is her involvement w danny nielsen (an evil npc of mine who is possibly the antichrist??? pending investigation). he attended lockwood n lived in a house w a group of other guys. it wsn’t a registered frat bt he essentially…ran it like one it ws kind of a weird set-up where he ws the King Of The Roost. essentially he found out tht lana n zeke van doren (full name it’s official business Babey) slept together n he ended up beating him to near death in front of her bc his pride ws rly bruised since they were meant to be dating (if u can call it tht bc danny’s idea of dating is very Warped). ANYWAY he ws found guilty n sent dwn bt the trial ws only recent so. it was just intense all around. crosses my fingers across my chest to ward off his Evil

PERSONALITY:

growing up lana was always a huge social butterfly. knew everyone n everyone knew her. she ws one of those girls tht ws kind of impossible to ignore or forget. very animated, always made u feel like u were the centre of the universe whenever she spoke to u, always made it feel like u were best friends even if ud only spoken to her once. she has this magnetic way abt her tht is kind of hard to find in real life. it’s something ud only rly expect out of a movie character n she like. deliberately puts tht on sort of. kind of…. is always playing A Role of the person tht she wants to b seen as. chameleons to situations. feels like she’s performed as the vivacious n fun loving Lana Jameson fr so long tht she doesn’t rly kno who she is beneath tht bt she isn’t too keen to find out

she’s always been rly spontaneous n adventurous. always doing something weird n wild every weekend. she has ten thousand stories tht always earn a laugh or a gasp over how ridiculously absurd they r

uncontrollably flirty. boundlessly confident. cld make a joke out a paper bag n her comedy is sometimes surreal / absurd. she tends to laugh when she feels like crying n has a smile brighter than a ray of texas sunshine. always dapples her fingers thru the breeze when she’s driving in a car w the window down. she almost always has some sort of sweet on her, whether it’s sour haribo cherries or strawberry lollipops. she adores david bowie n prince n madonna n anyone tht’s a vintage style icon w little care fr what ppl think. daisies n poppies r her fav flowers bc daisies r wild n overlooked n poppies r the first thing u look at in a green field. she’s had like 8472493874 ‘relationships’ n none of them hav lasted beyond a month / hav been terrible / hav seen her being treated badly / she’s cheated on them. i dnt think she’s actually been w anyone she hasn’t cheated on in some form or another

PLOTS:

exes tht lana’s fucked over hideously. she’d probably cheat a lot and it’d be a whole…mess. mayb someone tht flipped the switch and cheated on her? a cousin plot cld b fun too. a friend tht lana fel out w bc she slept w their significant other. someone tht’s getting lana into drugs?? she’s kind of impressionable/down for anything so tht’s a likely scenario she’d get into tbh. an unrequited crush!! (either way is cool). someone tht is just hanging out w her/using her bc she has a lot of instagram followers or they want to b signed to her dad’s label. someone in a band!! she’d probably make like penny lane n b their groupie/sleep w them all fgjkshgkh. umm a good influence too mayb? oh and a past summer romance/fling tht cld either have meant a lot or not have meant anything at all. bonus points if both of them hav a diff viewpoint on it. honestly?? anything is fine i cld ramble for days. mayb even one of the high profile kids she grew up hangin w idk. worlds our oyster fellas!

[noussommeslessquelettes]

@ellisyd This one was super fun! I went with something of a high school AU, and the story kinda got out of control in my head. If u want to know the ending I envisioned, I’m leaving it in the tags! (also catch me subtly sneaking ADHD Lance and Autistic Keith in here. No I will never apologise)

Send me a ship with one of these and I’ll write a mini fic

3. Things you said too quietly

Preview: Luis rolled his eyes, stepping back. “Whatever, just don’t take too long. If I have to put a single fork in place, you’re switching to dishes, princesa.”

Lance sneered at the jab, but didn’t dare retaliate, slamming the door in his brother’s face. “Alright,” he muttered, spinning on his heel, “he’s gone.”

CW: minor LGBTQphobia

Lance ripped his bedroom door open just wide enough to poke his head out, fixing his older brother with a glare. “What.”

Luis held his hands up in surrender, though the smile he failed to dampen betrayed that it was anything but sincere. “Jeez, sorry. What, are you watchin’ porn in there or—”

“I’m studying,” Lance hissed, fist tightening around the doorhandle, “so make it quick: what do you want?”

He hooked a thumb towards the stairs. “Dinner’s in five, ‘n mom wants you to set the table.”

He rolled his eyes. Seriously? “Tell her I’m too busy for dinner.” He made to close the door, but Luis intercepted it with a hand (and since Lance was sixteen now, he unfortunately couldn’t get away with shutting the door on his brother’s fingers anymore.) He aired a frustrated growl as his brother tutted, pushing the door open wider.

“Abuelita will have a stroke if you skip dinner, you know that. And it’s your turn to do set-up—it’s either that or dish duty, ‘cause I’m not picking up your slack tonight.”

“Why can’t Rachel do it?” Luis’s eyebrows receded into his hairline, and Lance huffed. “Yeah I know, I didn’t believe it when I said it either.” He glanced over his shoulder, thankfully finding nothing amiss in the bedroom behind him. He turned back to his brother. “Alright, fine. Just tell her I’m finishing the question I’m on, and I’ll be right down.”

Luis rolled his eyes, stepping back. “Whatever, just don’t take too long. If I have to put a single fork in place, you’re switching to dishes, princesa.”

Lance sneered at the jab, but didn’t dare retaliate, slamming the door in his brother’s face. He rolled the tension out of his shoulders, waiting a second, then two, hearing the footsteps recede towards the stairs on the other side of the door. “Alright,” he muttered, spinning on his heel, “he’s gone.”

From behind his unmade bed, Keith sat up into view, his brow furrowed thoughtfully. “Did he call you princess?”

Lance sighed, moving towards him as Keith pushed up to his feet. “Older brothers,” he explained. “Doing dishes is gross, but apparently I’m the weird one for thinking so. I have to watch my dad lick his knife clean, then wash it with my bare hands?” He shuddered.

“Get gloves,” Keith suggested.

He scoffed. “Yeah, ‘cause that’ll make me less of a princess.” Keith frowned, and Lance took hold of his hands in a silent apology for his terseness. He felt the frayed backs of Keith’s fingerless gloves, and it pulled a smirk out of him. “They look badass on you, though. I can’t pull off the grunge look.”

Keith scoffed. “Yeah, ‘cause you’re a mama’s boy.”

“Uh, ouch?” He laughed. “I sneak a boy in through my window every day—if that’s not the pinnacle of teenage rebellion, I don’t know what is.”

“Maybe sneaking in through a guy’s window every day?” He lifted his eyes up from their hands, revealing his smug grin.

Lance snorted, tugging him close enough to press their lips together. Keith accepted it readily, the kiss gentle and lingering, tight-lipped from the smiles they both fought down. They broke apart, but Lance brought a hand up to Keith’s cheek, keeping him close as his thumb stroked idly.

“I have to go now,” Keith breathed, “don’t I?”

His smile faded. “Afraid so.”

Keith whined, soft enough that Lance probably wouldn’t have heard it were he more than a breath away. “We only had ten minutes left,” he lamented.

Lance blinked slowly, remembering only then what they’d been doing before Luis had so rudely interrupted them. “I’ll be honest, I wasn’t really paying attention to the episode, anyway.”

Keith barked a laugh. “I figured.” He pulled away to arms length, then brought his hand up to his neck, brushing fingers against the bruise blossoming under his jawline from Lance’s earlier attention. “You probably gave me a hickie.”

Lance smirked, self-satisfied. “That was the goal.” He leaned in for it, and Keith’s hands landed on his chest, pushing him away with a laugh. “Wait wait wait,” he protested, wrapping his arms around Keith’s waist and trying to pull him back in.

“I have to go,” Keith reiterated, steps carrying him backward towards the window despite Lance’s resistance. “Serious, Lance. We’re going to get caught.”

Lance froze, then acquiesced, standing straighter and loosening his grip. “I thought I was supposed to be the responsible one.”

“Yeah, so be responsible then. You don’t want your family seeing me.”

Lance frowned, a sharp guilt jabbing into his gut. “I’m sorry.”

Keith shook his head, puffing out his chest subconsciously, the way he always did when he was trying to seem tough. “Don’t be.”

“They’re just—”

“You don’t have to explain it,” he interrupted. Lance had tried already, countless times now. But the words always caught somewhere on the way out, and he figured Keith was tired of half-excuses by this point. “I get it; I’m not the kind of guy you take home to mom.”

“But you’re cute enough that I sneak you in anyway,” he tried for a compromise.

Keith turned on his heel, hiding a shy smile that Lance caught only a glimpse of. “Whatever.”

Lance hummed, letting his hands drop as he followed Keith towards the window. “Yeah, you’ve got another catchphrase you stole from a punk rock band in the tank?”

Keith slid the window open as far as it could go, then reached up to jiggle the top of the mesh screen frame loose. “How about…” He tugged it free with a grunt, then eased the bottom half out of the frame. “‘I hate this town’?”

He chuckled, taking the frame from Keith’s hands and setting it on the floor. “Alright, I’ll accept it. But you don’t hate everything about this town—you like me, right?”

Keith’s expression softened, and he brought a hand up to cradle Lance’s jaw. Then he pulled Lance in, and caught him in a soft, slow kiss.

“Mm.” Lance pulled back. “What was that?”

Keith blinked. “What?”

“You…” He touched his fingers to his lips, then caught himself a moment later, swiping away at his mouth. “Didn’t you say something?”

Keith furrowed his brow. “I didn’t say anything.”

“You did,” he protested. “I definitely felt—”

“Lance!” He heard behind his bedroom door, footsteps thundering up the stairs. Keith’s eyes went wide, and he snatched his hand away, swinging a leg over the windowsill.

“Wait,” he whispered, panicking, almost. What did he say? Why wasn’t he telling me? But they’d run the clock; any second, someone was going to come through that door and see…

He leaned forward and pecked Keith on the lips, deciding it wasn’t worth the risk.

“Text me.”

Keith nodded, ducking under the frame. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” He swung his other leg through and dropped, the dip of the branches just outside Lance’s window indicating that he’d safely caught himself on the neighbour’s tree.

Lance fumbled to replace the bug screen, then slammed the window shut so nothing seemed out of place. He breathed a relieved sigh, his respite lasting only a moment before the bedroom door was thrown open.

“Is your head up your ass? Let’s fucking go!”

[chicklette]

Yet another shrunkyclunks drabble:

“Well, if it isn’t Grant Stevens himself.”  Bucky takes a deep pull from his beer and gives Steve a hard look.

“Buck, I’m sorry. Please let me explain.”  The man – Bucky has no idea who he really is – stands before him in worn-in jeans and light gray t-shirt that is at least one size too small, showing off the physique that drew Bucky to him in the first place.

Bucky’s on beer number two of a six pack.  He’d left work early to finally surprise his boyfriend at work.  They’d been seeing each other for a few months, and “Grant” was spending more nights in Bucky’s bed than in his own.  The night before, Bucky’d been balls-deep inside of Grant, holding both of them on edge.

“You like that, baby?” Bucky whispered, thrusting hard and deep, holding himself still while stroking Grant’s cock.  

“Yeah,” Grant gasped. “I love it.  I love you.”

Bucky froze, eyes wide, and so did Grant.  He had thick blonde lashes that framed his dark blue eyes, and Bucky could see the fear in them, and the sincerity.

“I –”

Bucky held still, breath caught in his throat.

“I do,” Grant said.  “I love you.”

Bucky’s answering smile was brilliant, and he’d kissed the breath out of Grant before giving the man a proper response.

“I love you,” Bucky said.

Several orgasms later, Bucky held Grant in his arms, and the two talked about their future in low, hushed tones.

“I never thought I could have this,” Grant said, his fingers gripping tight onto Bucky’s shoulder.  “Never thought I could have something so beautiful.”

Bucky couldn’t believe it himself some days.  Here he was, just some jerk from Brooklyn, barely holding his head above water as a bartender slash would-be scientist, and he had the world’s kindest, gentlest, hottest man in his bed, asking to stay.

Fast forward to today, when Bucky’d begged Dugan to take his shift and spent a solid hour on Google trying to figure out exactly which wall street firm Grant worked for before setting off with a handful of flowers and Grant’s favorite coffee order.  The plan was to sweep Grant clean off his feet, taking him for an afternoon in the park, before dinner at their favorite Italian restaurant, asking Grant to move in, and wrapping up with (fingers crossed) the pair of them naked and sweaty until one or both of them passed out.  

It was a solid plan.  

One that went straight to shit once Bucky got to the 48th floor at Lehman Brothers and found Grant Stevens – a middle-aged, pasty white man with dead eyes and a receding hairline.

There was no other Grant Stevens in all of the city, of that Bucky was sure.  He’d called Becs at the station to double check.  

“He’s the only one?” Bucky’d asked, disbelief clouding his voice.

“The one and only,” Becca’d responded.  While Bucky’d spent four years in the military, Becca’d gone to school for criminal justice and ended up as a beat cop back in their old neighborhood.  Both of the Barnes kids grew up with a strong belief in working hard, playing hard, and giving back.  

“Who is this guy, anyway?” Becca’d asked.  

Bucky couldn’t help the bitter tone in his voice.  

“No one,” Bucky answered. “Just the guy I was gonna spend the rest of my life with.”

He’d hung up the phone, popped over to Mr. Garcia’s for a six pack, returned home and began what, if he had anything to do with it, would become the greatest pity party of all of 2017.

“Please let me explain,” Grant says, his eyes pleading with Bucky.

“Explain what?” Bucky asks. “That your name isn’t actually Grant Stevens?  That you don’t really work for a finance and investment firm?”  And then a thought occurs to Bucky that is so terrible it can only be true.

“Oh my God, “ Bucky says. “You’re not out. Ohhh, fuck me. Fuck me!” he cries, balling his hair in both fists.

“Buck, please.”

“Oh God, that’s it,” Bucky says.  “You’re not actually out.  That’s why you’ve been lying, because no one knows you’re gay.”

“Bi,” Grant says.

“Whatever.  I can’t believe I did this.  Who even am I?”  (It’s worth noting here that Bucky was the founder and inaugural president of Brooklyn High School’s LGBTQIA+ club.  He’d been out since he’d cut his baby teeth.)  

“I’m Captain America,” Grant blurts, and Bucky stares at him, and then laughs.

“Wow, buddy, you really don’t know when to quit.”

“I – I get it.  You’re mad at me.  I deserve that.”

Bucky’s head starts spinning because, yeah, okay, the guy is built.  He’s got muscles on his muscles.  But if Bucky’d been fucking Captain America for the last six months, wouldn’t he have known that?

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Tell me another one, pal.”

At that moment, Becca bursts through his front door.

“Bucky!  Bucky!!  Oh my god, you’re not going to believe –“  She cuts herself off when she sees Grant, turning to look at her with sad, pleading eyes.

“Oh, God.  Oh my God,” she whispers.

“Becs, I love you, but this is a terrible time.”

“No, Buck, you don’t understand.  I – I ran the aliases on that name you gave me.  ‘Grant Stevens,’” she says, looking right at Grant.

“Bucky,” Grant says.  “I – I’m sorry.  I should go.”  His shoulders sag, and the part of Bucky that’s come to know this man, come to love him, that part keens a little for hurt he can see on Grant’s face and in his eyes. In the set of his shoulders.

But the rest of him….

“Yeah, that’s a good idea, pal.  Hit the bricks.”

“Bucky!” Becca hisses. “You don’t know who that is.”

“And that’s the problem!” Bucky says, throwing his hands up.  “That’s exactly the problem.  You want a beer?” he asks, picking up the bottle from the table and draining it.

“No, and you’ve had enough,” Becca says.

“I’ll just –“ Grant says, indecisive.  “I’ll go.”

“You’ll stay,” Becca says, and starts fiddling with her phone while Bucky cracks open a fresh beer. “You need to see this,” she says, thrusting her phone into Bucky’s hand.

Grant winces as the video begins to play.

“Most of you know me as Captain America.”  The man on the video is sitting opposite of Ellen in his suit, the cowl covering most of his face.  Cap reaches up and undoes the chin strap, pulling off the cowl.

“What most of you don’t know, is that I’m bisexual.  I know this is a surprise to many of you.  It’s not something that I’ve felt the need to speak about in the past.  To be honest, I don’t really understand why anyone cares.”  At that point, Ellen reaches out and lays a hand over his, squeezing.

“I wouldn’t normally speak out about my personal life,” he says.  “It’s just that – it makes it hard to have a relationship with someone when you can’t be honest about who you are.”

“Captain,” Ellen says, a mischievous smile playing across her face.  “Does that mean that there is someone special?”

The man in the chair flushes, and Bucky melts. It’s the same look that Grant gets anytime Bucky compliments him on something other than his physique.  

“That’s…private,” he says, flushing bright.

“Well I am going to take that as a yes,” Ellen says, and the crowd cheers.

“I’d be lucky to have him,” he says, looking right at the camera.  Right at Bucky.

“Oh,” Bucky breathes out.

“Yeah,” Becca says.

“I’m – should I…?” Steve says, and Becca and Bucky stare at him with eyes the same shade of worn denim.

“I’m…I’m gonna go,” Becca says, taking her phone back from Bucky.  

“Ma’am” Steve says, sketching a bow.

“Captain,” Becca replies, blushing bright.  “Buck, you better call mom.  She already knows why I’m here.”

“Beccaaaaaa,” Bucky whines.

“I can buy you a few hours,” she says, closing the door behind her.

Bucky stares at Steve, and suddenly so many things make sense.  The way he’s never able to answer his phone, and the constant work trips out of town.  The times he’s come home from one, wrung out and needy, all but begging Bucky to take control, to let him surrender his burden, to let Bucky take his weight.

“So,” Steve says.  “I – I’m so sorry, Bucky.  You’re the first person in a very long time who actually liked me.  I was - I was afraid,” he says, his shoulder slumping.  “I didn’t think you’d like – who I – who I am. I’m sorry.”

Bucky gives him another one of those hard looks.  “You’re not forgiven,” Bucky says.  “You can’t – you don’t build a relationship on lies.  You know that, right Grant? I mean, Steve?”  The look he gives Steve promised hell to pay, but it promises nonetheless.

“I know,” Steve says. “I’m sorry.  God, I’m so sorry.”

“Well as long as you’re sorry,” Bucky says, and crosses the room to crowd into Steve’s space.  “As long as you’re sorry.”  

Steve retreats until he’s backed against the wall, but Bucky is relentless.

“What can I do?” Steve asks. “How can I make it up to you?”

Bucky tilts his head, considering, before he leans up the couple of inches and presses his mouth against Steve’s.

He still tastes the same. And that – that is when it all clicks for Bucky.  

Grant, Steve, it doesn’t matter.  This is still the same man who eats his pancakes with way too much syrup, who sings terrible commercial jingles in the shower and who yields to Bucky in every way, giving Bucky everything he’s ever asked for, without hesitation.

That he’s also saved the world a number of times seems incidental.

Licking into Steve’s mouth, Bucky’s mind races with the hundred things he’d like to do the man before him.  The hundred ways he’d like to take this man apart.  It’s heady, having that kind of power, but it’s humbling, knowing that Steve gives it to him.

“For starters,” Bucky whispers into his mouth.  “You’re gonna get on your knees and you’re gonna show me that you’re sorry.”

Steve makes a soft sound in the back of his throat and Bucky feels his hips arch forward, seeking friction.

“And then?” Steve asks, his voice already high and breathy.

“That depends,” Bucky answers, drawing back to look at Steve.  “Can you introduce me to Bruce Banner?”

.

Two hours later, Bucky rolls off of Steve, panting hard.

“You know you’re the actual worst,” Steve says, bringing his arms around Bucky’s waist, kissing into the sweat on Bucky’s brow.

“You’re the one who loves me,” Bucky says, not thinking through his smart response.  It earns him a hot, hard kiss from Steve.

“I do,” he says.  “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

[lesbian-rob1n]

I’m bad at love (lookin’ at my history)

A/N: posting from my phone again. My apologies to your dashboard. Title is from Bad At Love by ma gal Halsey. enjoy!

Rating: mature

Billy starts to push himself, once he realises that he’s in love with Steve. It’s more like punishing himself —an entirely different game to the one he plays with everyone else, that game is about power. He runs laps on the basketball court until his legs feel like jello and his lungs are screaming for him to stop. He gets into even more stupid fights than usual, because the feeling of someone’s fist slamming into his face feels justified, like he deserves it for being fucking queer enough to be in love with another guy, and for being too much of a pussy to do anything about it.

He tries even harder to avoid Steve, because he fucking hates the way his heart aches every time he sees him. (It’s worse, now that Steve is very obviously not sleeping and probably not eating either and seems to be existing on a diet comprised solely of coffee, Billy has to remind himself that nothing good will come of his involvement, because he can’t fix any of this. The only thing his presence will do in Steve’s life is make it worse.)

Sex with Stacy helps, it keeps his mind off of everything, keeps him as sane as he can be when he’s looking for fights and hates himself so much it feels like it’s burning him alive. He wouldn’t call what they have a relationship, but she does, hanging off of him every spare moment of the day, calling him ‘baby’ (he definitely doesn’t imagine what that pet name would sound like coming from Steve, and the idea of it definitely doesn’t fill him with longing. Except it totally does and he’s so screwed).

This is for Steve’s own good.

Billy knows he’s terrible at loving anything, and Steve deserves so much more than that.

All of the distractions and the self punishment work, for a while at least.

Until one day they don’t.

———————————————————

He’s drunk on a school night from the clear burn of vodka, blowing smoke rings in the dark as he lies flat on his back in the park two blocks from his house. His cheek throbs dully under the bruises that were a gift from his fathers fists. The irony in the fact that he thinks of them as a gift these days, as a thankful distraction from the incessant want he feels when he looks at Steve, isn’t lost on him at all., he thinks as the cold dew from the grass beneath him soaks slowly into his jacket.

The bottle of vodka is still gripped loosely in his hand, shrouded in inconspicuous brown paper, and he debates propping himself up on his elbows to take another drink. But that would involve taking the cigarette out of his mouth and his fingers are numb to the bone. He’s still debating it with himself when he hears footsteps coming closer and he frowns to himself.

Who the fuck would be out at this time of night in a fucking children’s playground in the middle of Hawkins suburbia?

He snorts at himself when he remembers that he’s out here in the middle of the night in a fucking children’s playground in the middle of Hawkins suburbia. Pot, kettle.

He lifts his head, preparing to tell who ever it is to fuck off and that he’s fine, thank you very much. But the words quickly die on his lips when he sees who it is.

It’s Steve. His shoulders hunched and hands stuffed in the pockets of his coat, looking like a deer in headlights as he takes in Billy’s splayed out form on the grass. Billy sees the moment his gaze catches on the bruise on his cheek, and the look on the other teens face makes something pang inside of him. He lifts the bottle to his lips, taking a swig to settle his nerves and hopefully hide the shock on his face. Steve just stares at him, eyes wide. He lowers the bottle again, relishing the burn in his throat and tries to look as bored as he can.

“Problem, Harrington?” It comes out just as snarky as he’d hoped. Unreadable emotions flicker across Steve’s face, and Billy lets his head fall back down into the grass, his neck muscles tense and aching. He half expects Steve to respond, almost wants him to, that sick voice in his head telling him to strike and make Steve hate him, because Steve probably should hate him.

It would be easier, he thinks, to not be in love with Steve if Steve hated him.

Instead Steve just walks away into the night without a word and Billy listens to his footsteps recede until it’s like he was never there at all and scowls up at the stars like they’re the ones at fault here.

What the fuck?

———————————————————

The next morning he has another hangover, and as much as he’d love to stay at home and sleep, Neil and Susan are home, and he’s expected to take Max to school, like the responsible big brother he’s meant to be. Plus he knows that staying home will make them ask questions, and they’re questions he doesn’t want to answer.

So he gets up and skips breakfast, his stomach lurching dangerously at the very thought of food and waits in the car for Max to get her book bag, his aviators shielding his eyes from the worst of the harsh light of day. He even turns the music down, prompting Max to stare at him like he’s some strange new creature she’s never seen before and isn’t entirely sure is poisonous or not.

They don’t speak during the drive, Max just stares out the window and Billy just stares at the road and tries not to feel too nauseous. He’s not sure what is making him more nauseated, the hangover, or the fact that he’s going to have to see Steve at school. Probably a little of both.

He stops the car near the Middle School and lets Max out, she’s still looking at him weirdly, like he’s a mystery she’s trying to solve. But then she’s surrounded by her loser friends and he’s free to go on his way.

He’s barely locked the Camaro before Stacy throws herself at him. Her perfume is sweet and sickly and Billy definitely feels like he’s going to throw up. He firmly extricates himself from her grip, mumbling some bullshit excuse about having to meet Tommy before class and tries not to breathe until he’s five feet or more away from her, fighting the urge to dry heave.

He spends first period history dozing in his seat at the back of the classroom. How he doesn’t get called on he doesn’t know but he’s not about to look a gift horse in the mouth today.

Next period is econ. And econ means Steve. Billy almost considers not going. But he’s skipped a lot of econ classes lately and there’s a test coming up and he needs to keep his B average if he doesn’t want to get beaten to a pulp so he sucks it up and slinks in, trying to be casual when deep down he wants Steve to notice him, wants Steve to call him out on his bullshit.

He takes a seat a few rows further back than usual, away from his usual spot behind Steve. He’s wearing that ugly fucking polo again, and looks as shit as Billy feels. Which is really saying something because Billy feels like he might be dying.

Somehow he makes it through the day, even stomaching lunch in the cafeteria without wanting to hurt someone. But it’s a near thing when Stacy seems hell bent on being attached at the hip. He regrets deciding to get a girlfriend now, he’d forgotten how clingy they could be. And Stacy is so vapid she makes Carol seem like Einstein. And she’s not even that good of a distraction, when some part of his brain is always intensely focused on Steve despite his best efforts.

It’s a real problem.

———————————————————

He manages to avoid any actual interaction with Steve, right up until the very end of the day.

He’s halfway to his car when he sees him, leaning casually against the camaro’s drivers side door with those fucking Ray Bans on and looking like he has all the time in the damn world. Which Billy does not. He has to get Max home. He doesn’t have time for this shit, he tells himself as he approaches. Yeah, that’s why he’s mad. He’s not mad because despite all his efforts he’s still so hung up on him, that his heart feels like it’s going to beat out of his chest or stop beating all together every time he sees him. Definitely not.

“Don’t you have your own car to lean on?” He spits, throwing all of his frustration and anger behind the words. “Because I’ve gotta go.”

Steve’s eyebrows shoot up towards his hairline, but he shrugs, casually crossing his arms over his chest and Billy wants to punch him. Or kiss him. Maybe both. “I just thought we should talk.”

“Yeah?” He snorts running a hand through his hair. “Talk about what princess? The fact that you’re being a giant pain in my ass? The fact that I need to pick up Max if I don’t want shit from my dad?”

Steve stiffens at that and thankfully, blessedly, moves away from the car door so that Billy can actually unlock it but not far enough for him to open it and get in.

“Okay, fine. Liz is having some party tomorrow night. A bonfire in the woods.” Billy allows himself a glance at Steve, trying to glean some kind of hidden meaning from his statement and why he wants to talk about Liz and her fucking bonfire that Stacy has coerced him into attending. He tries not to notice how close they’re standing now, right in each other’s personal space, or how Steve’s tongue darts out to lick at his bottom lip.

“No shit.” He grumbles, looking at the brunette expectantly, waiting for him to cut to the chase.

“Be there.” Is all Steve says as he pushes away from the car and pivots to walk towards his own, leaving Billy gaping at his retreating back.

Again, what the fuck?

[mayonara]

Prompt: dick and jason captured by a villain who wabts to know batmans secret identity. Dick volubteers himself for interrogation but does it in a way so the bad guys dibt get suspicious. Like, "hah, him? No way woukd batman tell HIM his secret ID." And jason afrerwards being pissed bc Dick you idiot how could you do that toyourself you self sacrificing idiot

Thank you anon for this lovely prompt! I had a great time writing it and I hope you liked what I wrote ~ 

It was just their damn luck. Sheer stupid luck that endedup getting them caught in a trap. Or should he say, it was Dick’s fault. Yeah,let’s just blame it on Dick. They were investigating an abandoned warehousetogether where Dick ‘accidentally’tripped a wire, caused them to get doused with sleeping gas.

And now, Jason found himself tied up in a locked roomalong with an unconscious Dick beside him. His hands were knotted tightlybehind his back and legs were bound together. Dick was in the same condition ashim, but he seemed a little bit more roughed up than usual. Had a small bruiseon the side of his face, smeared with a bit of dirt. Did he fall on somethinghard or did he potentially wake up only to get knocked out by whoever hadcaptured them?

Whatever it was, Nightwing seemed okay for the most part.Was slumped against him, head resting on his shoulder as it rolled back andforth. Jason was thankful that they hadn’t bothered unmasking them…yet. Tried to sit up straight so hecould make it comfortable for his—his well, his whatever it was. Brother? Fake brother? Or his crush that he often lusted after, butnever took it anywhere? Instead, just flirted like an idiot.

He sighed softly and wanted to nurse the slight poundingin the corner of his head. Blamed it on the toxic gas for making his mindbleary, but at least his head survived the fall. Bless his mask. Whoever madefun of it can go to hell because this thing was a life saver.

Jason looked around the room for any sign of openings.Found that there was a door that was most likely locked and hopefully, it couldbe easily picked. Otherwise he could just blast it—oh no. He can’t. His gunswere taken. Jason peered down at his holsters and found that they were indeedempty. He luckily still had a few gadgets on him, could feel them within hisarmor. The idiots hadn’t checked them completely.

There were soft rumblings from beside him and he feltDick shuffle, head tripping over Jason’s shoulder and jerking him awake.

“Morning sleeping beauty,” Jason mumbled,teased him as Dick lifted his head with his mouth ajar and a brow raised.

“Wha—?”

“Yeah. Nice to see you’re up.“ 

“What’s going on?” Dick questioned, stillgroggy and trying to wake up. He gave a quick glance around the room andsuddenly sat up straight, seeming to realize the situation he was in. He tuggedat the bonds, testing to see if they could be undone easily, but they weresecured as a cuff. “Shit,” he cursed and that wasn’t a first. Dickhad a bit of a profanity issue even though most didn’t think so.

“Good to know you’re aware we’ve been captured andtied up.”

“So has whoever caught up revealed himselfyet?” Dick asked and winced, hissing loudly.

“No and are you okay?” Jason murmured,concerned about Dick’s well-being.

Dick sighed and nodded his head. “Yeah. Just, Ithink I hit my head.“ 

"Hm.” Jason tried to search for it in the dimlylit room, couldn’t see much of anything though. “Can’t tell.”

“Here,” Dick said, twisted and turned as bestas he could so Jason could take a good look at the side of his head, which, hestill couldn’t see anything.

“I don’t see—” He was suddenly interrupted bythe door swinging open, banging against the wall with a loud thud.

There, stood a man, one that they knew. The criminalwho’d captured them was the drug lord they were after. He was a middle agedman, large and burly. Was balding partially and had a receding hairline. Thelines of his face were sharp and he had a defined jaw. Eyes were dark andheavy, intimidating to the general population. He was wearing a smirk on hisface and strolled in like he owned it, flaunting his success at capturing them.

He pulled up a chair from the side that Jason seriouslydidn’t see beforehand, swung it around so the back was facing them and sat downwith legs squeezing the front. Placed his arms atop the back rest, lax andpompous. 

“Look what we got here,” the man sneered.“Red Hood and Nightwing. Twopeas in a pod." 

"Yep,”Dick said with a pop of his lips, confirming for the man. “That’s us.”Nightwing blurted and Jason wanted to kick him in the leg but couldn’t.

“Ah. Smart one aren’t we? But who’s the one that’stied up and about to be at my mercy?" 

"Not us.”

Jason rolled his eyes so hard they almost got stuck atthe back of his head. He tilted to the side, banged Dick on the head with hishelmet, heard him grimace and groan at him.

Snickering, the criminal made a remark. "Looks likeyou two are in a bit of a shuffle.”

“Nah. You’re just thinking it,” Dick said butthere was a hardness to his voice, warning Jason to stop getting in the way.Even though he was the one that was trying to be an annoyance. Didn’tunderstand they were in a bit of a bind here and probably should be cautious.

“Right,” the man said, whistling a tune as hepulled out a knife, twirled it around to show off how sharp the edge of theblade was. “So, which one of you would like to go first? Telling me allyour secrets, especially Batman’s identity.” He licked his lipssatisfyingly. Neither Jason nor Dick answered to that question, let it hang inthe air for a few minutes until the drug lord got impatient. “No one eh?Well, if no one volunteers then I’ll just pick one.” He said and pointedthe knife directly at Jason.

That’s when Dick decided to jump right in and do the moststupid thing he’d ever done. Okay, oneof the stupidest things because the fool always had to be the one to puthimself in danger. He was just a freaking danger magnet.

“Hah.Him?” Dick scoffed, putting on his bad boy attitude. “You’ll getnothing from him.”

“Shut up.”Jason hissed and tried to make a jab at him but his elbows wouldn’t reach.

“He’ll tell you nothing. I mean, come on. He’s theRed Hood for fuck’s sake. Do you even think he knows Batman’s identity?”

God this idiot was trying to offer himself as thesacrificial lamb. Just put himself on a plate and serve it right up. Oh hell nowas Jason letting him take the fall.

“I’d be more opened to telling,” Jason said andDick about just shoved him off to the side. 

“Stay down,” he snarled, getting pissed off andoh, was he angry. “Just let medo this.”

Fuck no was Jason going to listen to him. Parted his lipsto argue back, but it was too late. The man got up from his seat, chair fallingto the ground and strode right over to them. Fingers wrapped around Dick’s arm,squeezing so tight it could bruise and jerked him upwards, reeling him in. Hecut off the ropes that bound his legs and kept the knife to his lowerback. 

“Try to run and I will kill you,” he threatenedand shoved at Dick, caused him to fumble forward as he made him exit theroom. 

“Nightwing!” Jason shouted, struggled to undothe ropes keeping him grounded. The man snickered, glanced back at him with afucking grin. Jason snarled back, gritting his teeth and just wanted to wipethat smirk off his face. 

“You’re going to enjoy hearing his screams as Itorture him,” he taunted and kicked the door shut. Heard the lock clickand footsteps slowly getting farther and farther away.

Jason shouted, angry and slammed his feet against theground. “Fucking Dick,” he murmured under his breath, cursing hisidiot of a crush or whatever the hell he was to him, for doing what he did.

He need to calm down, needed to find a way to escape sohe could rescue him. Wasn’t going to just let Dick be tortured for information.Not like that because he knew how it felt, had gone through it before. It was thereason why he died in the first place and there was no way Dick was goingthrough that.

Jason drew in a few deep breaths, in and out to calm hisrapidly beating heart. Pulling it back to a norm before he thought up a fewdifferent scenarios in his head. Luckily, the man wasn’t smart enough to do athorough check and he was lucky to still have the knife buried in the sleeve ofhis jacket. 

Carefully, he twisted and curled his wrists as best as hecould, getting his fingers to bend enough so the tips could grab onto thehandle of his tiny knife. He pulled it out and quickly cut through the ropes.After successfully freeing his arms, he stretched and shook them, tried to workout the kinks and stress of his muscles. Next, he undid the binds on his legsand jumped up to his feet.

The fucker was about to get a beating for messing withthem and if he so much as sees a cut on Dick, then he’s done for.

For being a criminal who thought he was so smart, hewasn’t really. Had the simplest lock on the door that Jason picked within a fewseconds. He didn’t even have a bolt or even any freaking bodyguards to watchover him. Seriously, was the guy a novice and just got lucky because Dick andJason decided to be idiots tonight?

That just made them sound like they were also beginnersso Jason scratched the thought and decided to just leave it at the man for notbeing well prepared enough. Underestimated them—yeah, that sounded nice. 

Jason carefully filtered down the hall, searching throughoutthe warehouse for signs of Dick. Pressed an ear through each door to listen forsomething, didn’t want to just open it in case he’d get caught. It was oddthough, felt like there was no one within the whole vicinity. The man couldn’tjust be a one-man show…or he could. Or his crew was just small. 

Speaking of crew, he found them crouching outside thebuilding. Could see them from the second story as he peeked outside the window.Well, there they were. There were about five men who were just standing guardoutside, not at all suspicious.

Jason was starting to think he was new to the businessand he supposed that would be a bonus for him. Easy to out play and take out.

He continued with his search and roamed the place somemore and finally, he heard Dick’s screams, loud and screeching and he rushed tothe room. Found it wide open with Dick’s hands tied up to a rope hanging fromthe ceiling, pulling him up just a few inches from the ground. His uniform wasin tears, ripped up and torn, parts of it hanging off around his waist. 

Jason could see tiny cuts and bruises coloring his torso,what bit of skin he could see and god,he could see red right now. Could feel anger boiling within him, ready torelease on this poor soul that was about to meet his end. Fingers curled intotight fists, balling and he jumped right in, caught the man off guard as hekicked him off to the side and stabbed him in the back. 

“Hood!” Dick called and Jason couldn’t hearhim. All he could hear was static, screeching and buzzing in his ear. Was sopissed at this fucker for hurting Dick and knocked him to the ground as hetried to get up. He climbed on top of him, pinned him to the cold concrete andthrew punch after punch at his face until he was no longer recognizable. Untilhis hands were covered in blood. 

“Hood. Fuck!Just—listen to me Little Wing!"  

And that’s when he stopped. His body frozen when heregistered that nickname that Dick had given him. Green-blue eyes stared at themess he’d made, the face he’d just pummeled. Couldn’t even tell whose blood waswhose as he could feel his knuckles sting with pain. The man was still alive,very much twitching and slowly, he climbed off of him. Kicked him once morebefore he went right over to Dick. 

The Golden boy sighed softly, relieved that Jason hadcalmed down, as much as he could calm the fuck down. He helped Dick out of hisbind, wrapped a secured arm around his waist to support his fall as he undidthe rope. The moment he dropped to the ground, Dick disentangled himself fromJason and moved to check on the motionless body. Found that he was stillbreathing and just unconscious. He got right to work and bound him up withzip-ties and made a call to the local police.

Jason was just standing there, lost in thought as he juststared at Dick, watched as he worked. And then he was being tugged away, pulledalong by Dick like a sack of potatoes as the vigilante dragged him out of thewarehouse, away from the crime scene.

They ended up hiding between two buildings, out of viewfrom everyone. In a corner of town where there was less people, almost like aghost town. Not that anyone would really be out this late at night. 

Dick had Jason pinned to the wall, unclasp the hooks tothis helmet and pulled it off. He tossed it to the ground and roughly grabbedhis hands, attempting to dab away the blood that was slowly drying with hisripped up uniform.

"Dick—” Jason called.

“What?” He said, snapped back at him and no, he did not get to do this to him.Because he was the one that endangered himself and was being stupid and—and—

“God damn it Dick,” Jason hissed and grabbedhis wrist, stopping whatever he was trying to do. “You—” he growled,getting pissed off. Was ready to let out his anger that he’d been holding infor the past few hours. “You’re so stupid." 

"What?” Dick asked, appalled by the insult. 

“That’s right. You’re an idiot. You’re aself-sacrificing idiot who just—god damn it. Why did you have to do that toyourself? Why do you always have to be the hero?” Jason shouted, voicefilled with rage. His fingers were trembling as he pressed down around Dick’swrist with enough strength to leave marks.

It must have hurt and he knew it hurt and yet, Dick saidnothing. Just looked at him with his chapped lips pressed into a thin line. Heturned off the whites of his lenses and Jason could see his bright eyes, blownwide and confused. 

Jason took that as a sign to continue seeing he wasn’tabout to retort. “You always do this. Always have to be the one tosacrifice yourself to help others. You have no sense of danger for yourself andthen you end up getting hurt!” He knew he was shouting, raising his voicebut he couldn’t help it. He was irritated and anxious, hated it every time Dickpulled a stunt like this. 

“Your identity is important and so is Bruce’s even though I hate him.” Jasonsighed and loosened the hold on his wrist to reel him in. Dick fell intoJason’s chest and the taller man wrapped an arm securely around his waist.Buried his fingers in his hair and pressed his lips tenderly to the cute littleswirl he’d like to stare at sometimes. “I worry, damn it. You made me worried. You’re a risk. I’m not. I’m deadto the world so it wouldn’t even matter if they unmasked me.”

“Jason—" 

"No. Let me fucking finish. I’m not done beratingyou yet.” And Dick just chuckled at that and Jason had to crack a look athim. The man was smiling wide, wearing an amused grin on his face like whatJason had said wasn’t important. That it was nothing and it was just a joke.

“Why are you laughing?" 

”Well. Iget what you’re saying but I couldn’t let you get captured and tortured. Again.“ He added that last wordsoftly, sounded sad and guilty. "Not again because I wouldn’t be able tobear it.” Jason knew exactly what he was referring to and felt Dick’s handcurl against his chest. “I wasn’t there last time, but this time, I was.So I had to do something. Anything toprevent you from being in that position again.” Vibrant blue eyes gazed at him,full of concern and honesty. So vulnerable that Jason couldn’t help but kisshim. Captured his lips with his own, heard Dick gasp from surprise. It wasshort and chaste and just—everything Jason wanted.

“You’re so fucking dumb. I swear. I can handle myself,” Jason said, was bluffingthrough his embarrassment, trying to hide it. 

Dick just laughed and leaned up on his tip toes (whichwas adorable as fuck, enjoyed the fact that he was taller than the Golden Boy),kissed the tip of his jawline, leaving tiny little soft kisses. “I supposeI am. But I’m not changing that. If I can save someone than I will." 

Jason groaned and squeezed his eyes shut, pinched thebridge of his nose in frustration. He was never going to learn. The golden boywas who he was and no matter what Jason said, no matter how he spun his wordsor how much he tried to convince him otherwise, he wasn’t going to listen. Hewas always going to be the self-sacrificing fool and Jason just had to learnhow to deal with it.

He couldn’t believe he was about to say what he neverthought he would say. "This is why I fucking love you.” And Dick justsmirked, like he knew it already. And that, well,that was okay then. At least they could start somewhere.

And anywhere was fine with Jason.

If you’d like to send me a prompt, feel free too and I’ll try to get to it as soon as I can :)

[secretary--hamilton]

My Hamilton canon/memories

(I’m Alexander, saying it so the post makes more sense)

TW: storms/water, a couple mentions of getting drunk (nothing bad, all very pure), war, getting shot, guns, adoption/orphan, someone stabbing themselves, suicide, death

BODY MEMS

- I had slight freckles

- I had a little bit of a stutter

- brown hair

- bright blue/green eyes

- big forehead, receding hairline

- my lips got chapped a lot fuc k cold wea t h e r (plus I licked them a lot too but shh I’m blaming cold weather)

- I was around 5'6 to 5'7 and was about 125 pounds? But I had a lil bit of stomach and thigh chub. I was so tiny compared to everybody else (George is a. Giant)

- for the time I had my hair up in a ponytail, I used like a string thing? I remember the strings dangling down, throwback to 1700s when circle elastic hairties weren’t a thing so I used ribbons/string

PERSONAL/THINGS I DID MEMS

- I was afraid of storms/raging water because it reminded me of the hurricane/the storms I witnessed while on the ship to the colonies

- when I went off to war, I used Eliza's blue ribbon to tie up my hair

- I was always writing and I always had a notebook with me

- the booklet I had that had all my lists and writing on it was pieces of parchment with 3 holes in the side, with strings through the holes

- i loved (more like.. needed to) keep lists on things and be organized, I had a list of all the people I had to write letters to, etc. I had lists about everything. People’s birthdates, their names, so I would never forget them

- if I ever lost a certain piece of paper with like all the lists and information on it I would freak out

- I had extreme anxiety, my mind was constantly racing and it felt like I could focus on 20 different things at once, which kind of helped me write so much and finish so many essays.

-my canon was definitely NOT modern- we didn't have electricity or pens or technology- just pure 1700s things

EARLY LIFE MEMS

- i have a memory of walking along the beach in the carribean on an extremely rainy day, I was looking at towards a ship on the water when the water started rushing towards me and I heard thunder and that's when I realized it wasn't just a normal storm

- I vividly remember walking up the board to the ship i immigrated on, and what it smelled like (really just sea water and old wood) , carrying my small belongings which were just a few books, and a pen and paper

- I got set up in this little cot in the ship that had a hard mattress on the floor, a small chair in the corner, and a lantern

OOF okay so,, this memory is of when I was still in the Caribbean, shortly after my mom died. Me and my brother were put in custody of my older cousin(?), and he killed himself by stabbing himself with a kitchen knife. I was the first one to notice him, the layout of the house was that the bedrooms were upstairs and the kitchen and living room were downstairs. On the right side of the house upstairs, was my cousins (peter) bedroom, and me and my brother (James) were sharing this open room on the left side of the upstairs with mattresses on the floor for us, a window on the wall/roof (it was like a slanted roof, like an attic) So from left to right, our open room (like no door, just a space), a tiny hallway that lead to the stairs, and then peters room. ANYWay but I remember I just finished reading and I was going to talk to peter about something, so I opened his door and I just see blood **everywhere** So I run downstairs and outside into the streets asking for help. I was only 13 when this happened

- I was born in 1757, and the hurricane happened in 1774

WASHINGTON MEMS

- I loved George Washington so much, he was such a good friend/boss- I’m forever grateful to him for giving me the chance to rise up

-I also liked organizing things a lot, I once organized gwash's entire office and he walked in and was like "what the fuck"

- George was brushing my hair and putting it up in a ponytail for me- this was in the tent during the war, before we went off to battle. He did it another time in his office before a cabinet meeting

- me and wash always helped calm eachother down- if either of us were having anxiety, just the others presence would help

- I loved George in a way that's hard to describe- he was like a father to me, he was there for me and protected me and helped me feel less lost

- the only people I would really listen to were George and Eliza- if those two looked at me and said "Alex, it's not worth it" I would stop in an instant, because I trusted them

- I have a memory of the war, and it was raining and slippery and I was climbing up rocky hills following george lead the command, and I was behind him and we were all heading to our next spot

GENERAL REV SQUAD MEMS

- I once got so drunk with the rev boys that I kissed them all on the cheeks while drunkenly singing

- I was the shortest of the group, Mulligan was the tallest, Lafayette was the second tallest, and laurens was a little closer to my height but still taller

- whenever we went out to drink, I always got the drunkest since I was the shortest- and plus I couldn't handle my alcohol at all. They always took care of me when I was super drunk, I would lean on their shoulders, they would tuck me in with blankets, etc.

MULLIGAN MEMS

- Mulligan was super good with his alcohol, it's probably because he was so big and tough, he only got a little bit loopy but was still fine

- my Mulligan had vitiligo

- one time Mulligan had to carry me home because I was so drunk

LAURENS MEMS

- my Laurens was definitely asexual

- the two people I had weird crushes on were Laurens, and Jefferson- they weren't full on 100% crushes (probably due to the fact that I was confused about them) but they were more "holy fuck these guys are hot and great", I don't know if anybody could notice, even though I acted a bit more lovey towards laurens

- he was always so giggly and happy god I love him his smile could light up the room ngl, and his laugh was so,, good

- his freckles got /a lot/ more prominent if he was out in the sun all day, freckle boy

- he loved space so much, he was always out watching the stars and learning about them- he had this book about astronomy that was p cool

LAFAYETTE MEMS

- when laf immigrated to the colonies, he snuck on the ship as a pregnant woman so he wouldn't get stopped by anyone

- when he came to the colonies he spoke like only a few words of English, when he met me I helped him translate! I was fluent in French so it helped

- he had a birthmark/mole on his cheek near his eye- it was just a small dot

BURR MEMS

- my burr got shot in the leg during the war, and he had a bit of a limp the rest of his life. I remember when he got shot, I was near by so I had to help carry him to a medical tent and then go back to fighting

KING GEORGE MEMS

-i called king George king douche, and he called me a lapdog since I followed Gwash around a lot

- I once called KG just "George" and he was all sassy like "that's KING George to you"

- one time KG talked to the rev boys and I like got all angry and protective, he talked to Lafayette and I was behind Laf trying to but into the conversation to call George out- it was during the war so we were on a field in our war outfits

- his eyes were bluey-purple

JEFFERSON MEMS

- I hated Jefferson but I also had a weird hate crush on him,, I didn't tell anyone tho, let's just say I wanted to beat up the man but also fuc the man. The crush died down after a while though

- my Jefferson would always say lewd jokes to me and humiliate me just to see a reaction, because I was a flustered boy,, one time I got so flustered that I just, LEFT the room, and Jefferson was like “WHY DONT YOU SLAM MY BEDROOM DOOR LIKE THAT” upon me storming out

- during one of the cabinet battles jefferson was sassy clapping at me, he,, sassy clapped a lot

- when jeff was like “daddys calling” I got so angry but also flustered so I stormed out, funnily enough I stormed out to follow george. I fuckin loved George and followed him everywhere

- I once got a 🅱️oner because of some lewd joke Jefferson said oof

- after the second cabinet meeting, we got into a fight. Jefferson wanted us to defend France so I snapped back and interrupted him with “You cant sacrifice our country because you're scared Lafayette’s going to die like your wife.” and Jefferson got livid and yelled back “I am NOT going to be intimidated by you and your washed up bullshit” or something along those lines

RENOYLDS AFFAIR MEMS

- oof I remember yelling in marias face when James sent the letter

- after Eliza found out about the affair, she forced me to stay in my office for 6 months. I only left for food and a short aimless walk I think. My office was in a different building

- the renoylds affair definitely happened. God it was such a bad/weird time, i was so exaushted and sleep deprived and getting constant headaches but I needed to stay awake and work, I heard a knock at my office door so I opened it and it was Maria, it was raining outside so her hair was all wet so I let her in, after her sharing her story I gave her some money and walked her back to her place, but she insisted on staying. I believed her, but once James sent the letter I accused her of being a con artist, and I still don't know the truth of what's what.

- I have a reallyyyy clear memory of me rambling on about how I need to get work done and how my wife needs me and all this stuff and then Maria whispered in my ear "shhhh, you don't need to worry about all that, no one will know" before we got. Down And Dirty TM. And usually I would deny stuff like that but I was so tired

- I have aNOTHer rly clear memory of me kneeling down to Maria and straight up screaming at her "HOW COULD I DO THIS, I AM HELPLESS" or something like that

FAMILY MEMS

- my friends took care of my kids for me while I was busy working, mostly Laurens because I was the closest to him! Philip loved Laurens so much it was adorable

- Burr was really good at math and often taught Philip math

- I always got in arguments with a lot of people, but I'm glad I had people like Eliza to calm me down, I remember she said "Alexander, it's not worth it" and I chilled out instantly

- I married Eliza right after the war ended

- All of our children were adopted except for Angie, Alex Jr., and Eliza

- I think my Philip had a slight tooth gap and rly curly hair, and either a slight lisp or a slight stutter

- I would brush philip's hair and put it up, or braid it. He would sit in between my legs when I was sitting on a chair and brush through his wet hair- Philip was my ultimate pride and joy

- dinner time was my favourite time of day, it was always so warm and happy- Eliza would make us dinner and I would come down from working and eat with Eliza and our children

- I have a memory of me, Eliza, and young/toddler Philip having a picnic in a field with daisies all around us, and we were making daisy chains and eating food and it was rly rly nice and sunny and warm yet slightly breezy and it smelled like jasmine

- I remember the first time Eliza found out about my fear of storms, we were having dinner and i heard thunder and I just like. Froze. And she tried talking to me and I was just like "I need to go" but she calmed me down, asked me to sit down at the table, and got me to explain to her eventually, this was before Philip, so it was just us.

- but once we got Philip, and he was maybe 3 or 4, it was another stormy day and I froze again and Philip said "what's wrong papa?" And I bent down to his level and reassured him that I was okay, after that he sat on my lap and distracted me from the storm outside, I was really focused on this one curl in his hair that was out of place lol

- before Philip, Eliza kept having miscarriages, so we decided to adopt Philip. Our first successful pregnancy was Angie, I was SO protective over Eliza when she was pregnant, if she got up in the middle of the night I would ask her if she needed anything, and when she was walking I would walk behind her with my hands on her hips incase she fell bc she was waddling

- Angie had slight autism all her life, and when Philip died she just lost it and went insane. She was delusional and never grew up a day past 17. she would constantly ask if Philip was coming home and was living in a world as if Philip was still alive, she constantly lived in a world between 7 years old and 17 years old, even when she physically grew older. I would walk with her and play with her, and when i was with her i started to go into her world of Philip still being here. We took care of her. One day, someone suggested we put her in a hospital, and i slammed my fork into my food and quietly but surely said “i will NOT lock my daughter away.”, and the room fell silent. Later on, Eliza and I were walking near the ocean, and she brought up the topic again. I said “They locked away my mother. She nearly starved to death and i will not let my daughter go through that” and Eliza reassured me- “Hon.. your mother was jailed for adultery, not mental wellness. Im not in any way saying we should put our daughter somewhere, all i am suggesting is that she be checked out by a doctor.”

- I remember a few of Angie’s breakdowns. She would pull her hair out and slam her head against walls

-Once Eliza got too old to take care of her (late 70/80′s′s), She put her in a hospital where she stayed for her entire life. she was cared for extremely well there.

DEATH/LATER LIFE MEMS

- I have this like,,, really weird memory of Eliza saying “when you have a problem you come home, you don’t go off and make matters worse on your own” to me a couple different times, one was when Lauren’s shot Charles Lee and I got sent home, another one was when I got into a fight with burr after he ran for senate. The reason why it’s a weird memory is because those are in the heights lyrics???

- I remember the day before I got shot, I stayed up all night writing my goodbye letter to Eliza, there was crumpled papers all over my desk since I kept rewriting them until I was satisfied

- the morning of the duel, it was extremely quiet, like I was literally in a ghost town. Same at the dueling grounds, nobody wanted to talk. I remember I was freaking out trying to focus on one thing but my brain kept going to everything I've ever done in my life, kind of like a life flashed before my eyes kind of moment. I thought of Eliza, and how upset she would be. I thought of Philip, and what was going through his head when he died and how I wish I could apologize to him. Burr's gaze felt like literal knives, so I couldn't bare to look at him. Once I shot up, my mind suddenly calmed and I had this strange factor of "this is my legacy". On the way back across the Hudson I just wanted to keep talking but my doctor said to relax. My Burr tried to run over to talk to me after he shot me, but he wasn't allowed to. He also tried to come to my funeral but wasn't allowed either, he might have watched from afar. but he visited my grave a few times

[simwoman2002]

A Black Spot in a Sea of White

  “How is he? Where is he?!” Mal demanded as her, Evie, Jay, and Dude stormed into the medical wing. The woman at the receptionist desk looked up at the trio, completely unimpressed by Mal’s boisterous entrance.

  “Who exactly are you speaking of?”

  “Just the only guy in this whole hospital that is currently seizing himself to death!” Mal screeched.

  “Are you family?” she questioned, bored with the situation.

  It was like a bomb had gone off. Mal immediately felt such anger and frustration that she almost couldn’t answer the woman. After a moment of her mouth moving in unmentionable words, she finally was able to speak.

  “Of course we are his family. Now tell me where he is!” Mal slammed her fist on the desk, her eyes glowing a dangerous shade of green. Dude barked, emphasizing her hit. The woman immediately looked considerably more afraid.

  “The Intensive Care Unit,” she stuttered, much more respectfully than before. The threesome immediately took off.

  Mal’s mind raced, a million regrets floating through her mind. She should have noticed that he seemed sluggish on the field. She should have insisted that he not go to the tournament. She should have known.

  This was Carlos. That boy was her little brother. She needed him. Evie needed him. Jay needed him. He was the light of hope and humor that shone bright in their lives. And now, all because of their inattentiveness, he could lose his life.

  The three of them burst into the room, an air of purpose surrounding them.

  The room was horrifying, sheets separating individual beds. There were frail bodies lying beneath each of those sheets, and she stared at them with wide eyes.

  There was a doctor as well as several nurses surrounding one particular bed. Mal stepped forward carefully and she felt Evie grab her hand gently. Jay rested his hand on Mal’s shoulder that was opposite to him.

  They slowly made the journey to the bed.

  A floorboard squeaked and the doctor turned to look at them. He was a gray-haired man with a mean receding hairline. His eyes were crystalline blue and his skin was pale. Combined with his snowy white coat, he seemed to be devoid of any and all color.

  Almost like death, Mal couldn’t help but think.

  His eyes softened somewhat when he saw the three VKs, and he moved over to greet them.

  “It’s good that you all are here. I am Doctor Mortem. I already know the three of you, being that the lot of you are such an infamous group.” He shook the bluenette’s hand, and then Evie had to let go of Mal’s hand for a moment so that the purple-haired girl could as well. Evie quickly latched back on as soon as Mal was finished. Jay removed his hand from Mal’s shoulder to exchange his greetings.

  The three of them stared at the man expectantly, simultaneously eager for and dreading the news that was to come.

  He eyed them all in turn very slowly with a gravity in his gaze that left Mal with a deep chill in her bones.

  “We have had to revive him five times since the incident. His body isn’t able to take much more of the stress that comes with the resuscitation, and if we were to attempt it again, it would likely trigger another seizure that would actually succeed in killing him,” the doctor paused, sighing as he rubbed his face with a hand. Mal felt the fear inside of her building rapidly.

  “I am afraid that he won’t make it much longer.”

  It felt like a knife to the stomach. Stabbing again and again and again. Mal flinched as if she had truly been physically hit.

  She was about to lose all circulation in her hand as Evie squeezed tighter than she had ever thought was humanly possible. Mal could feel Jay’s chest just behind her left shoulder blade as it trembled like a leaf. Dude was huddled next to her leg, pressed as closely as he could get.

  “C-can we see him now?” Evie weakly asked, voicing what Mal herself couldn’t say at that moment.

  “Of course,” the doctor nodded his head solemnly and maneuvered around them to leave the room. The nurses surrounding the bed dispersed as well, going to other parts of the room to attend more patients.

  She almost couldn’t even recognize him. The seizure did something to him- it made him look just as frail as the other bodies surrounding them. He was lying there, his eyes glaze over and his chest rising and falling in shaky breaths.

  They moved forward and Jay moved over to grab the girls two chairs. Evie shared a glance with Mal and she opened her arms a bit, offering the purple-haired girl a hug. Mal looked at her with longing, both wanting to be comforted by her sister’s embrace and not wanting to show weakness.

  In the end, she settled for locking arms with Evie and pressing her forehead against the bluenette’s quietly. There was the sound of chairs being dragged around and stopped carefully, and Mal suddenly felt Jay’s hand resting on her shoulder.

  She knew it was time to face the facts. The two girls hesitantly pulled away from one another and split up. Evie and Mal sat down on opposite sides of the bed and Jay stood at the end of the bed, his hands holding the bar at the foot of the bed in a death grip as his knuckles turned white.

  Dude jumped into Mal’s lap, looking at his boy quietly. After a moment, he stepped onto the bed gently and nudged his hand.

  Carlos carefully and slowly moved his head to look at the dog. A ghost of a smile appeared, and he feebly raised his hand to pet Dude’s head.

  “Hey, Lil’ C,” Mal spoke, forcing her voice to sound stronger than she felt. His eyes shifted up to look at her. “We came here to see you,” Mal explained, reaching out and taking his hand gently.

  “Evie’s on your other side and Jay’s right down there,” Mal motioned her head toward Jay at the foot of the bed. Carlos never took his eyes off of Mal. Mal couldn’t help but worry that he might not have heard her. Or worse, that he didn’t have the energy to look at the other two.

  “Mal,” he started and paused for a long moment, the green-eyed girl attentively listening. Evie took his other hand in the time that he was quieted. “Am I dying?” he whispered, looking Mal straight in the eyes.

  Her mouth immediately went dry, and her heart almost felt like it stopped beating as she avoided his gaze to consider her response to his question. He had asked her specifically. He knew that Mal wouldn’t keep the truth from him. He knew she wouldn’t lie.

  Mal hesitantly brought her eyes back to his, hoping that she wouldn’t have to utter the words.

  After a moment, his eyes fell away from her own and she knew he understood. They sat in silence for a moment and she could hear Evie’s whine rise in her throat, that definitive sign that Evie was about to cry.

  But she couldn’t hold her regrets back any longer. She had to tell him. She didn’t care if he’d die hating her, but she had to try to apologize.

  “Carlos… I’m sorry that I didn’t realize you were down today. I should’ve-”

  “Mal. Don’t be sorry. Above anything else, don’t be sorry,” he insisted, a strength in his voice that was completely opposite of his true condition. Mal looked over at Evie, but quickly looked away upon seeing her tearstained face and bloodshot eyes.

  “I love you guys. If it had to happen earlier today or now or sometime in the next few hours, I’m glad that I knew all of you,” Carlos weakly told them, turning his head to look at Evie and looking down his bed at Jay before finally returning his gaze to Mal.

  “You guys were there for me when nobody else was. You helped me,” he turned to look at Evie, “defended me,” he glanced at Jay, “and inspired me,” he looked at Mal. “You three were the best thing that ever happened to me, and I want you all to know that I am so grateful for all that you’ve done.”

  Mal glanced at Jay and saw the glassy sheen to his eyes. She knew Evie was already crying.

  They were quiet together for a few moments before Carlos coughed hard, shaking all over. He lay back down after a second, and Mal had to calm herself after the momentary panic that she endured.

  “I’m scared,” he rasped, looking at the ceiling. “Where will I go?” he asked, trembling a bit.

  “I… I don’t know,” Mal told him, her green eyes searching the side of his face as she attempted to memorize every bit of it.

  “But someplace grand, I’m sure,” Evie piped up suddenly, her voice raw with fresh emotion, and Mal was thankful for the save.

  “Probably lots of dogs,” Jay suddenly spoke, offering a smile.

  “And ice cream. Definitely ice cream,” Mal added. They all, even Carlos, shared a quiet laugh at that.

  “You know, with you guys here to help me face it… it doesn’t seem so bad anymore,” Carlos murmured, his eyelids drooping slowly.

  “I’m going to miss you, though, when I get there,” he whispered. “It won’t be the same without all of you to enjoy it with me.”

  “Yeah… We’re going to miss you, too, bro,” Jay replied, and Mal detected a tightness in his throat that normally wasn’t there as he reached down and gently touched his foot beneath the sheets.

  “We love you more than anything, Carlos,” Evie expressed heartfeltly. It was obvious she was about to lose it again.

  Dude licked Carlos’ hand that was in Mal’s.

  “We’ll see you there one day,” Mal told him, her eyes growing harder and harder to see through the increasing amount of tears.

  His eyelids finally fluttered closed, a small smile on his face as he peacefully breathed his last.

  And Jay, Evie, and Mal collapsed to tears, because that was their brother.

   ………………………………………………………………………………………………………

      Many years passed since Carlos was buried. Along the painful road of life, Jay and Evie left Mal, too, their lives but a wisp. The three remaining VKs had spent their old age together, marveling at how the world had changed and actually had kept on turning for so many years beyond Carlos’ death.

  But eventually, Mal had been left alone to live in the world by herself.

  Until one glorious awakening.

  Mal opened her eyes, but quickly shut them tightly. The sun was so blinding. She must have forgotten to shut the blinds the previous night.

  She eventually squinted, barely opening them as she adjusted to the light. It then occurred to her that she was not lying in her bed, and was instead in the grass.

  Mal’s eyes shot wide open as she gawked at the world around her. There were beautiful trees, the sun was shining brightly, and there were… dogs?

  In the distance, she spotted a whole pack of dogs, wrestling and playing with one another. They romped through the soft grass and rolled carelessly in the mud near a stream.

  After a moment, it became apparent to Mal that she wasn’t feeling any sort of pain in her hand. She had gotten a really bad pain in her hand as of late. She attributed it to many years of overworking her hands and fingers with the pencil.

  She looked at her hand and was completely baffled when she saw smooth, soft skin instead of the usual wrinkles and wornness that comes with old age.

  Mal glanced up, looking around the place once again. However, her searching gaze immediately halted upon the sight of three certain beings that were approaching her.

  It was Jay, Evie, and Carlos. All three of them were as young and healthy as they had been just before Carlos passed away. The threesome helped her up.

  Mal hesitantly reached out to Evie, cradling her cheek in her hands. Evie leaned into the touch, looking at her with adoring eyes. Letting go of Evie, Mal then turned to Jay, holding his shoulders in both of her hands. Her face lit up in the biggest grin she had in years. Mal flung her arms around Jay, Evie, and Carlos the best that she could and they all held each other in a tight hug.

  After a moment of reveling in the touch of her family, she raised her tear-filled gaze to look at Carlos. He had a wide smile on his face. Oh, how she had missed that smile.

  “You were right, Mal.”

                    A/N: I felt it only necessary to write this since we have all lost our Carlos- our Cameron Boyce. He will very much be missed.