#but after going for a brisk walk it raised SIGNIFICANTLY

[serapheseraphim]

I vividly remember being in school once, in science class, doing a lesson on the function of the heart, and for whatever reason I ended up having to measure someone else’s BPM by pressing my fingers to the pulse point in their neck and manually counting every heart beat for about a minute to calculate their BPM because they didn’t have a sports watch or anything. I can’t remember where I was going with this but. Yeah. You get it.

[honeytae]

Happiest of tipsy birthdays to you.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY LUNA!!!!! ahh where do i even start, i’m so grateful for you and our friendship :( you create such a safe space and radiate such love and light, you deserve everything that you put out into the world and i hope you have the best day today and every day! i love you so much, please accept my gift of a jimin drabble (that i really should just title ‘For Luna’ honestly) and millions of virtual hugs and smooches today. happy birthday @stayjimin!!!!!!!!!

genre: fluff word count: 1.7k

“Oh my god Jimin, we’re so screwed.” 

Falling into the man with a cackle, you laughed even harder when he too fell over in his unsteady state, tugging you down with him onto the set of stairs as your combined giggles echoed off the walls. 

Your head spun in the best way possible as you laid down on Jimin’s chest, far too gone to care about the dirt on the floor of the dorms stairway, both drunkenly collapsed from your birthday night out. 

You couldn’t remember how many shots you’d taken. It was, as they say, all a blur. All you could see was Jimin on that dance floor, switching between sensual moves to downright idiocracy as he shimmied his shoulders all the wall from the bar back to your booth, offering you drink after drink with that charming smile of his.

Damn him.

With your blood alcohol level, walking seemed to be impossible. Doing stairs, even more so. You were definitely well past tipsy. 

“We really are.” He sighed happily, crescent eyes making you even dizzier in your state as you stared at the man’s beautiful features. 

He always got especially giggly when he was drunk, which was probably what you adored the most about him. Consistently happy when he was sober, yes. But get a shot of tequila in his system and he was giddy. 

His body was soft yet firm beneath you as his arms latched around your frame, the rising and falling of his chest creating a calm within you that only he could.

“Chim,” you called, “we have to get up these stairs.” You remembered suddenly, setting your chin on his pec to look up at him as he seemed to ponder the thought.

“We could call Bang-”

With a snort, you cut him off, making the man pout as he squeezed at your side.

“What?”

“We’re not calling your manager to get our drunk asses up the stairs.” You said, bewildered at the thought as Jimin only shrugged with a grin.

You were drunk, but you weren’t that drunk.

“C’mon, I’m getting tired.” You tried to lift yourself off his body, only to falter slightly on your way up as you tried to complete the action too fast.

Jimin easily caught you in his arms even in his altered state, chuckling slightly as you gripped his bicep for support, subtly feeling up the muscle he’d built there with no shame present in your buzzed mentality. 

“Hm, these are nice.” You commented as you squeezed the hard tissue again, Jimin throwing his head back in laughter at your unabashed praise. 

“Thank you, dove.” He replied, the pink on his cheeks from the alcohol increasing at your words. Before you could make any other moves on his body, he began slowly guiding you to sit up with him before rising to his feet again with a grunt. 

Offering his hand down to you, you missed it twice, the vodka messing with your head more than you’d like to admit as you finally gripped onto his fingers. With his opposite hand resting on the railing beside him for support, (he’d learned his lesson last time that it was hard to get up from the ground with seven shots down the hatch), he pulled you up from the ground with little to no help from your weakened body, pulling you into his side with an accomplished sigh.

Softly smiling over at you, he squeezed your hand in his, lifting them together and wordlessly throwing your arm around his shoulder.  

Even though he had consumed just as much alcohol as you did, he found it much easier to level out his swaying than you, speech significantly clearer despite the lack of difference between the amounts of alcohol you’d drank. 

You’d always been a lightweight. 

After pointing this fact out, Jimin giggled fondly once again, making you grin over at him as you studied his face through your bleariness.

“You’re worse than Hobi-hyung.” He pointed out with a teasing nudge of his elbow, his words causing you to gasp in genuine offense as the man beside you laughed once more. 

“Okay, my little leightweight. Let’s go.” 

Although the next few sets were challenging, somehow you finally managed to reach the boys’ floor, both of you giggling and stumbling all the way to their front door with cheeks aflame from both your alcohol intake and intense struggle up the stairs. 

Propping you up between the door frame and his shoulder, Jimin raised his other arm to pound on the door, repeating the set several times before whining when his knocks went unanswered for the umpteenth time.

“Fuck, can they not hear us?”

“I think the whole city can hear us.” You commented absentmindedly, eyes widening in pleasant surprise as Jimin leaned into you again with drunken giggles escaping his mouth. With a sigh, he reached into his jean pocket for his phone to dial what he thought to be Namjoon’s number.

With the number immediately going to voicemail, Jimin’s shoulders deflated a bit, tapping his fingers against the screen to send a message to the groupchat.

“Is it possible that they have the world’s biggest earplugs?” He huffed, banging his fist against the door again before his eyes widended when he heard the sound of shuffling from the other side. 

Knocking his fist harder against the wood, Jimin determinedly kept up his actions, you leaning your head on his shoulder while chuckling at the man’s antics. You’d surely hear about this from Yoongi in the morning. 

“Jimin?” 

The deep voice from behind the door was immediately recognizable of Taehyung’s familiar drawl, a slight rasp in his uncertainty of who the hell was banging down the door so late - well, early - in the morning. 

“Taetae! Hey!” Jimin shouted into the peephole, said man whipping the door open almost immediately to shush him, swollen eyes giving away that he’d most likely been in a deep sleep when you two had begun your ruckus outside the door. 

“Shh, Jimin. People are trying to sleep.” He whispered, both you and Jimin nodding wide-eyed as you stifled grins at the parent-like scolding. 

Taehyung looked over you both for a moment, sighing at the dirt from the stairs imprinted on Jimin’s black jeans. He could only imagine how you two had gotten home.

“You guys are idiots,” he shook his head, “And you should’ve called me. Come on.” He ordered, one hand cemented to the top of Jimin’s spine and the other one laid on the back of your shoulder to guide you both into the apartment.

“Is everyone sleeping?” Jimin whispered, Taehyung humming in confirmation as he led you both down the silent hallway, every single bedroom door shut snugly as the members slept behind them. 

Your hand was still miraculously caught up in your boyfriends even as Tae pushed you both to the door of Jimin’s bedroom, fingers locked around each other to ground yourselves even when the world around you was spinning so intensely. 

Jimin’s steps were slower than normal, as were yours due to the amount of alcohol flowing through your bloodstream, and his movements were stalled as he approached his door. Wrapping his fingers around the doorknob took concentration and extra effort, but he managed to twist the door open, almost falling flat on his face when the door gave way beneath his hold. 

“Christ, Jimin.” Taehyung swore under his breath, grabbing the man underneath his bicep to pick him up to stand on his own two feet again. Jimin only breathed a chuckle in response as you bit down on your lip, Taehyung’s obvious frustration with your drunken foolishness making the situation much funnier than it’d already be. 

“C’mon, guys. Keep it movin’.” Tae ushered you both in front of him, giggling all the way as you let yourselves be blindly guided by his hands. 

“Tae, I’m really trusting you right now. I don’t know where the bed-” you paused suddenly as you bumped into an object with your thigh, reaching your hands out to find the plush mattress beneath your touch, “hey, that was fast.”

Taehyung couldn’t help but let out a snort at your words, shaking his head as he directed you two to the bed, pulling his eyebrows together with a whine when Jimin began audibly unzipping his jeans.

“Yah, don’t strip with me in here!”

Grunting in response, Jimin tossed his pants on the ground, meeting your eyes with a laugh as you crawled onto the bed. 

“I’m not sleeping in jeans, you freak.” He mumbled, sass rolling off his tongue even in his now increasingly sleepy state, Taehyung scoffing in response yet nevertheless grabbing a blanket from the end of the bed to cover you both in.

With a directing nod of his friend’s head, Jimin collapsed onto the bed with a chuckle, you following the man as he tugged on your hand to pull your body on top of him. You both sighed in content as Taehyung threw the blanket over your bodies, the air conditioning in the room causing a brisk chill to raise bumps on your arms.

“Do you guys need water, pain meds?” Taehyung asked, pausing at the bottom of the mattress to answer any requests from the two groggy bodies in front of him. 

“No, we’re great.” Jimin sang, laugh erupting out of his nose as he glanced up to view his friends thoroughly annoyed expression. 

“Sorry we woke you up, Taehyungie.” He said, the pout evident in his voice as you hummed against his shirt. 

“Yeah, sorry Tae.”

“Mm. Are you guys going to be okay in here if I leave you?” He asked, leaning his palms on the end of the bed as you both nodded your heads. 

“We’re good. So good.” Jimin slurred, making you giggle as you leaned up to plant a kiss to his hot cheek. His eyes sparkled at your affection, squeezing you to his body with a grin. 

Jokingly rolling his eyes, Taehyung stood up straight, striding over to your bedside light to flick it off with his finger. 

“Alright, goodnight guys. Happy birthday, dear.” He added, you only humming in response before snuggling in to Jimin further. The sound of the door shutting was obviously softened for the other sleeping members’ benefits, Taehyung’s padding footsteps barely heard as he made his way down the hall to escape back into his own bedroom. 

“Did you have a nice birthday?” Jimin whispered after a beat of silence, glazed over eyes meeting yours in the dark as you carefully lifted your head, the pounding already minorly setting in. 

“I did. I had a very tipsy night.” You admitted, closing your eyes when his fingers stroked a few strands of hair back behind your ear with a fond chuckle.

“Good. You deserve it.”

Leaning up, he placed his pointer finger beneath your chin, pressing his lips to your cheek, over to the tip of your nose, your other cheek, and finally landing with a sweet peck to your lips. 

“Happiest of tipsy birthdays to you.”

[asweetprologue]

i’m such a sucker for 1 it’s just such a good trope

a CLASSIC i’m also a huge fan of this one, thank you for the prompt! I tried to keep it rated T, since I don’t know if you’re looking for anything more than that, so I hope you enjoy it! <3

1. There’s people chasing us and I pulled you into the alley with me and wow you’re close

Jaskier is always a little glad when the people in the town they’re staying in are after him and not Geralt.

It usually ends up with them in the same basic place - out in the cold, possibly sans some belongings, breathless from running - but there’s something relieving about being kicked out because Jaskier has a reputation rather than because people think Geralt is a monster. It’s more of a kick to his pride, of course, but he’d take that over the hurt look that steals into Geralt’s eyes when people hiss mutant any day.

This time it’s a little more serious than normal, though still better than the grab-your-torch-and-pitchfork treatment that they sometimes receive. Jaskier walks into the tavern, takes one look around, and immediately meets the eyes of a man he recognizes from several Redenian intelligence dossiers. Sharp chin, dark eyes, slicked back hair, distinct scar across the bridge of his nose. A Nilfgaardian spy by the name of Vulmed Dorn. It takes less than half a second to note that the man has also recognized him, and for Jaskier to decide that maybe this town isn’t, actually, going to be the most friendly to them. By the way Dorn immediately rises to his feet and shouts out something about Jaskier being a sorcerer - really, it’s much too easy to get these people riled up - it’s clear that he’s been here long enough for the townsfolk to trust him. At least well enough to want to turn on Jaskier.

He turns on his heel in the doorway, grabbing Geralt’s wrist, and starts running.

They’d stabled Roach, and he curses their foresight as he rushes through the streets. They can’t leave until they get her, and they’re laden down with their bags and supplies they’d wanted to carry up to their room. Jaskier laments the lost night spent in a real bed as he turns down the main street, heading in the direction of the stables.

Geralt is jogging smoothly alongside him, looking exasperated. “Jaskier, tell me you didn’t sleep with someone’s wife in a town we haven’t even been to,” he sighs, not even winded from the brisk pace. “They’re following us.”

Jaskier huffs, picking up speed. “This isn’t some cuckolded husband,” he snaps. He can’t see Geralt’s face, too preoccupied by watching his footing in the dim evening light, but he can hear the barely suppressed not this time in Geralt’s snort. “He’s Nilfgaardian intelligence.”

Whatever Geralt had been expecting, that’s clearly not it. “He didn’t even see me,” he says, sounding confused. Jaskier can hear the sound of their pursuers now, coming from the direction of the inn. The mob will turn onto the same street they’re running down any second now. They need to get off of the main road.

“No, but he saw me,” Jaskier pants. He grabs Geralt by the wrist again, knowing that the witcher allowed himself to be moved. He hurries them down a side street, just as the torchlight pours onto the road they’d just been following. The street they’re on is too exposed still, and Jaskier turns down another, and then another again, this one barely a sliver of space between two houses. It’s steeped in shadow, the walls of the buildings blocking the last bits of daylight that slip over the horizon in the west. He shoves Geralt in first and squeezes in after him, tucking them both into the darkest area.

Geralt grunts as Jaskier trips into the alley, warm hands coming up to steady him as they both pause, listening. The sounds of the search party in the main street are barely legible to Jaskier, but Geralt could probably hear them crystal clear. “How would he know you?” Geralt asks, voice dipped low. Jaskier blinks at him, and then raises a hand between them - a feat in the narrow space - to point to his own chest.

“I’m Redanian intelligence,” he says.

“Oh,” Geralt replies, his head tilting slightly to the side. Jaskier can hardly make out any of his features in the dark, just the glint of his golden eyes and the line of his nose where a swatch of moonlight falls into their hiding place. “I didn’t know that.”

“Well,” Jaskier stifles a laugh, “I’m retired.”

Geralt has no response to that, just shaking his head on an amused exhale. They stand in silence for a few long moments, Geralt listening to whatever commotion is going on in the main square. It’s quiet around them, the air warm and thick with lingering summer heat, and Jaskier realizes abruptly that they’re standing awfully close. The alleyway truly is cramped, and Geralt is standing with both shoulders pressed up against the wall, Jaskier slotted at his side. Their shoulders brush on every inhale, left to left. Jaskier can feel his heart thundering in his chest, and he hopes that Geralt will write it off as adrenalin.

He wants to put some distance between them, to prevent the feeling that’s rising in him from bubbling to the surface, but he can’t. To either side of them the shadows fade into crisp moonlight; if he steps away he’ll be significantly more exposed. He doesn’t know what the crowd will do if they get their hands on him, but he guesses it will involve some kind of deal with Nilfgaard. Not something he’s interested in. So he swallows around the knot of anxiety rising in his throat, and forces himself to press his hands back against the cool brick wall behind him. He watches the end of the alleyway, trying to focus on the task at hand.

“I think they’re heading back to the inn,” Geralt rumbles. “We can--”

Jaskier turns back to look at him at the same moment that Geralt lowers his gaze, and their eyes catch. They’re so close, too close, noses nearly brushing, and Jaskier’s breath hitches in his throat. Whatever Geralt had been about to say dies. They’re so close together, and Jaskier feels like he’s going to burn up with it.

They stand frozen like that for what feels like hours, mob forgotten, Jaskier digging his fingers into the brickwork to keep himself from reaching out. Geralt’s right hand comes up towards his waist, but doesn’t make contact. It feels like the air between them is suddenly humming with tension, adrenalin bleeding into something else entirely. Jaskier’s never felt like the thing between them was so close to breaking.

When Geralt speaks, his breath ghosts against Jaskier’s lips, and he can’t help the full body shudder that wracks through him. “We should probably go get Roach,” Geralt says softly.

Jaskier nods, swallowing heavily, and forces himself not to look for Geralt’s lips in the darkness. “Sorry I didn’t tell you I was a spy,” he breathes, an apology for the entire situation.

“That’s okay,” Geralt replies easily, and Jaskier doesn’t know which of them moves but suddenly lips are on his and they’re kissing. Geralt pushes him back against the wall and Jaskier’s hands fly up to clutch at the straps of his armor, and he gasps when Geralt’s tongue sweeps along his lip. It’s instantly filthy, and it’s delicious. Jaskier raises one hand to fist in Geralt’s hair, and the groan he gets in answer, pressed directly into his mouth, is enough to make him weak at the knees. He never wants to stop, want to let Geralt keep kissing him forever, if only--

Geralt breaks the kiss, pressing their foreheads together. He does sound out of breath now, panting against Jaskier’s face, and he feels unreasonably proud of that. “They’re going to come back around,” Geralt says, and Jaskier knows he’s right. They have a narrow window. He curses every god he can remember the name of.

“Alright,” he sighs, pulling away with more reluctance that he would have thought himself capable of overcoming. He feels suddenly nervous, even with his lips still tingling from where Geralt had bitten him lightly. Maybe this was just a one time thing, and when they get out of here Geralt won’t want to push it any further. A tense situation and close quarters could rile anyone up. Resigned, he turns towards the mouth of the alley. “Let’s go then.”

A hand on his wrist stops him, and he looks back towards Geralt only to be greeted by a brief, chaste press of lips to his own. Geralt’s bright eyes are intense as he holds Jaskier in place, imploring. “Later,” is all he says, and Jaskier feels hope swell in his chest, all consuming.

“Later,” he agrees, feeling a grin stretching his cheeks even as he steps back out of the alley and into danger once again. “I’ll hold you to that, witcher.”

[gukeobi]

home is where the heart is

pairing: werewolf!jeongguk x reader

genre: fluff, slight angst (jeongguk really wants pups 😔)

words: 1.5k 

an: i finally finished the last of my finals!! im so glad to be back to writing again and hope this tiny nb drabble makes up for my absence lol 

----------

The sun was warm on your skin as it blazed from above, the absence of the shaded treeline you had grown used to in the time that has passed proved itself a bigger nuisance that you had initially anticipated. It left your already thin shirt sticking uncomfortably against the growing dampness coating your flesh, the obnoxious heat of the body currently crowded around you not doing much to help combat the discomfort. 

“Guk,” you whispered, threading your fingers through the sweaty tresses of his midnight hair. The man in question hummed lowly against your throat in response to your sudden acknowledgement, continuing his combination of biting and kissing at the exposed skin as the taste of salt clouded his senses. “we have to get back to work.” 

Despite your words you tilted your head to give the lycan more room to venture, the occasional feeling of his extended incisors peeking past the softness of his lips and scraping the sensitive expanse of your throat making you shiver in delight. You knew the both of you were only wasting time by getting inadvertently sidetracked -- the unfinished structure behind you proving that statement true -- though once he started, it was difficult to break free from his intoxicating and comforting hold. 

Tightening your fingers in Jeongguk’s hair, you pulled him away from your bruised flesh, albeit reluctantly on both of your parts, ignoring the whines of dissatisfaction and protest coming from his mouth as you pulled him up to view. You could finally see the dazed look shrouding the glowing red hue of his lidded eyes and the thin sheen of sweat coating his flushed face, a soft pout tugging at the seams of his lips that tugged at your heart almost painfully. 

“Mmm,” Jeongguk responded quietly, closing his eyes once again as he captured your mouth with his. It was a distraction tactic, you knew it was, but that didn’t stop you from giving into his advances for your own selfish desire. “Just a bit longer, y/n.” 

“You said that five minutes ago,” you chuckled against him, a soft smile working its way onto your face as you attempted to reason with the lycan.  “If we keep taking breaks, we’ll never finish on time.” 

Jeongguk’s face dropped as he took in your words, his hands moving to rest on your hips as he leaned into the warmth of your palm cupping his cheek gently. He knew you were right, the two of you have been working on this project for far too long because of his tendency to get distracted by the feeling of your skin beneath his claws and the taste of your skin on his tongue, his mind filled with nothing but thoughts of you and the pleasant lingering feeling it left behind. 

“I know.” the lycan responded, closing his eyes briefly at the feeling of your thumb stroking the slightly sunken skin of the scar that was there. It made his stomach feel fluttery, an overwhelming feeling of love and adoration filling his chest as he gazed at you smiling back at him. “You know i can’t help it.”

With a sigh you moved to run your hand down Jeongguk’s back soothingly, the exposed flesh soft beneath your touch as your fingers dipped with his flexed shoulder blades before traveling to the curve of his lower back. His head dropped into the crook of your neck in response, sighs of pleasure leaving his lips before it shifted to the gentle caress of lips on the raised scar marring your skin. 

 Mating season was fastly approaching, the months shifting from the sweltering warmth of summer to the frigid embrace of winter quicker than you had time to prepare for. In the years before, you and Jeongguk would spend the entire duration in the pack house without much consequence or disturbance, but this year, after many long conversations both in the depths of night and under the early morning sky, plans have changed. 

The home both of you were currently building was placed near the shoreline of the lake Jeongguk used to take you to every morning at the beginnings of your relationship, relatively secluded for the sake of your privacy but not too far from the pack house or your cabin. It was going to be for the both of you, for your future family. 

Although you weren’t surprised by his desire to conceive pups, something he had no issue with expressing to you in the heat of the moment, what startled you the most was the gentle hand he’d rest on your stomach each night and the longing looks to other pack’s young on the rare occasion you would visit for territorial and alliance discussions. 

It terrified you more than you like to admit. 

The feeling of Jeongguk’s hand creeping beneath your shirt brought you out of your thoughts, a wide palm resting just below your navel and rubbing the soft skin there gently. It was somehow comforting and wrong at the same time, the implications of such a miniscule action making you shift in uneasiness. 

“Come on, Guk,” you whispered with a small smile, wrapping your hand around his wrist to tug it back from where it managed to snake itself under your clothes. “back to work, my love.” 

With a soft groan Jeongguk complied, pulling back enough to let you hop down from where you were previously seated on what will eventually be the porch of your future home. The warmth of his palms was welcomed as he held your hands in his own much larger ones, a wide smile tugging at his cheeks as he tugged you forward to walk with him. 

“What would I do without you, my little wolf?” Jeongguk beamed, a playful tone coating his words. He was still walking backwards and pulling you forward by the grip on your hands, the softness of the overgrown fauna brushing at your bare ankles and making you giggle at the ticklish sensation. 

His hair was slightly overgrown and falling into his eyes, muscles shining with sweat underneath the afternoon sun and rippling with each movement as he gazed at you with so much love you weren’t even sure this was real, if he was real. 

You never knew it was possible to love someone as much as you did Jeongguk. 

----- 

With the sun finally setting back into the horizon it was significantly more cool than it was earlier, a gentle breeze traveling past you and making the flora you were currently lying in sway and tickle against your exposed skin. The sky above you was currently painted a quiet shade of pink and blue, the pastels bleeding into each other until they blended at the seams. 

You could hear the scurry of tiny animals behind you as they sought cover in the forest, the crunch of fallen leaves and quickly approaching heavy breathing the only real disturbance in the quickly fading night. What welcomed you was a cold, wet touch on your cheek, a large mass of black entering your vision as the wolf rubbed his face against yours in greeting. 

Jeongguk had left into the forest a few hours prior to cool off and blow off some steam, his movements lethargic and slow all day while he worked as his body was not designed to handle such high temperatures. You imagined he felt much better under the brisk night cover, the wind rustling his inky coat and his body less weighed down than it was before. 

“Hey,” you spoke quietly, lifting a hand to comb through the fur of what would be his cheek, slightly cold to the touch. The wolf pushed his head further into your touch in response, a low rumble sounding deep in his chest as he moved to rest his forehead against yours briefly. 

You watched with lidded eyes as the lycan shifted to lay partially on top of you, the weight heavy and nearly winding you in the process before it settled into a comfortable blanket of warmth. Jeongguk’s large head was resting on your stomach, snout pressed in the space between your breasts as he stared at you with lidded red eyes. 

“Feel better?” The wolf huffed in response to your question, closing his eyes and relaxing as the soft fur of his tail brushed against your hoodie covered arm. Your hand was dwarfed impressively in comparison to his frame, fingers getting lost in the inky darkness of the fur on his back as you pet him gently. 

Jeongguk let out one last long sigh before nestling further into you, content enough as the cool night sky brushed through his coat. There was a nagging thought in the back of his mind as he nuzzled your stomach, a whine getting caught in his throat as he attempted to suppress the feeling of disappointment he could sense was beginning to brew in his chest. 

If he concentrates hard enough, he almost believes he can hear the gentle heartbeat of his pups growing inside of you. 

[world-of-aus]

Family Matters - (Part 1)

Pairing: MobBoss Bucky! x Reader

Word Count:3,220

Warnings: feels, angst. Anything italicized is a past memory explanation!

Author’s Note: So excited for this series, and i hope you’ll enjoy the first chapter, this is going to be a very wild ride, and i hope you’ll enjoy what i have planned. Part 7 of Behind the Screen will be up tomorrow, i’ll be alternating between my two series as far as updating and uploading them goes, I’m also thinking of doing a day in between for requests like drabbles, imagines, or one shots. The tag-list is open for this series and BTS, if you all would like to be added. As always thank you for reading!

SERIES MASTERLIST

Your eyes are drawn to the outside world of the cab you sit in, dark grey clouds are lingering in the washed-out pale white of the sky. The streets are empty, quiet, except for the one or two cars that pass you by. You had sworn you would never return, promised yourself that you would never look back the night your father kicked you from you warm Brooklyn home. You remembered standing on the puddled stairs looking up at your father with wide eyes, your bags tossed out next to you. You wanted to cry, to scream out to your mother, but your father blocked her cowering form from you.

“Dad please don’t do this, why are you doing this?” you pleaded through your tears.

Your dad wouldn’t answer as he continued to throw more bags that your mother had packed for you at your feet.

“Mom please,” you cried, “please tell dad something, please don’t let him do this,”  

The only part of your mother that you could see were her feet, and you swore your heart broke in two the moment you saw them turn away from you.

“dad why are you doing this?” you tried again. This time you reached out for him, only to have him pull himself from you as if you had burned him.

“Leave,” he hissed, “you leave this city and don’t you ever come back you hear, don’t you ever come back,”

Through tear filled eyes, you watched your father turn his back on you, the oak door of your home slamming behind him as he left you out in the cold.

That night as you walked through the cold brisk weather, you had vowed to heed your father’s words. Yet here you sat in the backseat of a New York cab, driving down the now unfamiliar roads to your old Brooklyn home.  

It had been the early hours of the morning when your phone had trilled noisily on your night stand. You had groaned opting to bury your head a little deeper into the warm sheets of your bed, hoping that whoever was calling would hang up after the first few rings had gone unanswered. Luck had not been on your side as your phone continued to trill vibrating noisily the longer it sat untouched.  

You had thrown the covers from your head angrily, vulgarities slipping from your tired lips as you grabbed your phone off the night stand. You didn’t bother looking at the caller ID intent on giving the person calling you at three in the morning a piece of your mind.

Your words failed you as you heard the voice on the other end of the line, catching you off guard.

“Good morning, I’m sorry for disrupting you so early, this is detective Stark, am I speaking with y/f/n y/l/n?”

“Y-yes, may I ask what the reason for the call is?” You questioned worriedly.

“I am calling in regards to your parents Miss y/l/n, there’s been an accident,” a heavy sigh, your heart dropped into your stomach, “I’m sorry but there were no survivors,”

Your breath caught in your throat, tears swarmed your eyes, your fingers turning stark white from the grip on your device.

“Miss, are you there,” his words echoed and vibrated around in your disoriented mind.

Your parents, accident, no survivors.

A choked sob fell from your lips, no this couldn’t be, it just couldn’t be real, this had to be another cruel joke life was playing.

You could hear the detectives worried murmur of your name repeatedly but you couldn’t bring yourself to get the words out that you were okay, though you were far from it.

You weren’t sure how long you sat there in your now cold bed, the phone clutched numbly to your ear, detective Stark on the other side of the line trying to guide you through your breathing, it took minutes but felt like hours before you felt like your breathing had evened out significantly for you to even get a word in.

Detective Stark was speaking up again, his voice sounding far off and hazy, “Ms. y/l/n, I know this must be devastating news, but I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind meeting with me, I have a few questions for you in regards to your parents.”

In your disheveled mind you hadn’t quiet processed his request, nor the tone to his voice, all you could do in your numb state is agree to meet him early morning later this week.

“We’ll be pulling up soon miss,” the cab driver announced pulling you from your thoughts. You found your body sitting a little straighter as you drove past the various houses that you remember once seeing, it was almost a distant memory looking at them now.  

The cab driver drove a little further before pulling onto a street your home just houses down, your  breath caught in your throat as your family home came into view, a patrol car sitting out front.

“You can just pull up here,” you murmured, eyes focused on the patrol car.

The cab pulled into the familiar driveway coming to a stop at the peak, once in park you handed the man the money unbuckling yourself from the car before sliding out. A million feelings hit you at once as your feet touched the cemented pathway you once walked, you held the tears at bay as you looked at the brick home, memories of your time here swarming you.

The cab driver left the bags by your feet, the motion alone almost throwing you over the edge, it seemed almost too familiar, but you had to remind yourself, you weren’t that freshly young adult that had been thrown out onto the streets. Thanking your driver quietly with a shaky voice you composed yourself, your eyes locked on the estate in front of you. Two car doors slamming jarred you, though your watery gaze was un-wavered, a second later you heard the soft clicks of another pair of feet approaching you. From the corner of your eye, you could see who you could only guess was Detective Stark, his stance was much like yours though instead of the house, his eyes were on your shrunken form.

Whether it be that he knew you needed a few minutes to compose yourself, or he wasn’t sure how to approach you it remained like that for a few minutes, your eyes on the home, his eyes on you. Eventually his stare became too much and you turned your head ever so slightly, “Good morning Ms. Y/l/n, I’m sorry to have to meet on these terms, but the questions I have for you could help me determine what or rather who was the cause of your parent's accident.”

It seems your time to mourn would have to be held back a little longer, “I'll answer any questions you might have detective,”

“do the names Pierce, Rumlow, or Barnes sound familiar to you?”  

You looked up at him brow raised, “no, should they?” you questioned.

A loud sigh left the detectives lips his whole form changing before you, “look Ms. Y/l/n, the quicker you comply, the quicker I can get the right men in jail, but if you withhold any information, I can’t help you,”

Your body faltered slightly, his words and tone throwing you off, “I’m sorry Mr. Stark but I really have no idea what you’re talking about, I wasn’t even informed what the actual accident was that killed my parents but now you’re saying either of those three men could have had something to do with it?”

He slid closer, his frame hovering over yours, a fire in his eyes, “Look I'll only say this once more, cut the shit, if you know something, and I'm sure you do, you better start talking now, because then I can actually guarantee your safety.”

Your body staggered back, this couldn’t possibly be the detective you had spoken with the night of the accident could it, “sir I honestly have no idea what you’re talking about, I-”

“You have no idea what I'm talking about?” he grunted, “you had no idea daddy worked for the mafia, laundering money, did you really not question the men in clad suits that walked throughout your home, not question the packages that showed up on your door, were you and your mother really that good at lying for your father?” he hissed.

It’s like you had taken a hit to the chest, the air completely knocked from you, your mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water.

“wh-what?” you stuttered out.

Detective stark barked out a laugh, “man you all really are something, come on you don’t have to lie anymore, daddy isn’t here to keep you quiet like he kept your mom quiet.”

Had he not been a man of the law, your hand would have met his face this rainy morning, but instead it was clenched at your side, your once mournful eyes turning into slits, “listen here Detective Stark, I'm not sure what makes you think you have the right, to talk about either of my parents like that, especially my mother,” you hissed, “I have lost both my parents in one single night, I haven't seen either of them since my father kicked me out of my home at age 18, so how dare you talk to me in such a manner,” you growled.

Stark’s face fell, “m’am I’m so so-”

“and another thing, detective,” you muttered sarcastically, “if my father “worked” for the mafia like you’re accusing, I was unaware of it, the time that I lived in Brooklyn I never saw much of my father, he spent most of his days locked in that office of his, I was never to bother him, or question what it was he was doing in there,” you paused, taking in a shaky breath, “my mother would only tell me my father was a very busy man, and that if I wanted to continue to live the lifestyle I had, that I would leave my father alone and let him work, unless I wanted to be out on the streets.”

“Ms. -”

You held up your hand, “please detective,” you whispered, “I think you’ve said and done enough, if you’d please, I would like you to leave, I'm only here for a few day’s and do not wish to stay any longer than what I had planned, I'm only here to sort out my parents things and then I will be leaving,”

Detective stark let out a sigh, a silent “shit” falling from his lips, a hand running through his hair. “I truly am sorry, when I found out your parents had a daughter you, and you weren’t involved in the car accident, I needed to know what you knew, look I'm certain one of those three men I spoke of earlier had a hand in this, and I needed to know if you knew something, I'm so sorry I went about it the way I did, it was wrong and very unprofessional of me,”

You wiped under your eyes, “I appreciate the apology Mr. Stark and I wish I could tell you more, but I truly had no idea, there were never any signs my father was doing any of those things you accused him of, and if he did and you have the proof, it was during a time I was no longer living in this home,” your fingers twitched at your side anxiously.

“I cannot express my apologies enough, as I said it was very unprofessional of me to have gone about it the way I did,” he sighed, “I think you have enough on your plate right now, if you’d like to receive my report for your parents accident you can call the department and I’ll have the records ready for you to be picked up, and another thing if you ever need anything Ms. Y/f/n y/l/n, please don’t hesitate to reach out to me,” he advised passing you a card.

You took it without so much as another word, you had truly had enough of this day and it hadn’t even passed in its entirety, who knew what other trouble you would be coming across. You saw detective stark off, only grabbing your bags and heading for the home when his patrol car was completely out of sight.

Walking up the steps you momentarily froze on the same spot you had last been here, a shiver rolled through your body as the memory reared its ugly head.

You shut your eyes, bags gripped tightly in your hands as you took a deep breath, it seemed this house only knew how to bring you un-welcomed pain.

Taking the last of the steps you reached for the spare key in your bag your grandmother had given you before she passed. You could only hope your father hadn’t changed the locks with how long it had been from then to now. Thrusting the key into the lock you breathed a sigh of relief when the key turned, the doorknob turning with it.  

You let the door swing open squeakily on it hinges, a musky, earthy smell tickled your nose as you stood at the entryway. You stood on shaky legs as you took in your once warm home, now all you could feel was the coldness within it.

Laying your bags off to the side, you shut the door behind you sliding the locks into place with a soft ‘click’. Hesitantly you walked farther into the home, bypassing the stairway and going down the darkened corridor, the one you weren’t allowed to step foot into.

With shaky breaths you continued down until you stopped just inches shy of those large forbidden oak doors.

Growing up in this home you had never questioned what your father did behind those doors, you just knew it was work as your mother so frequently had to remind you, and it was bringing in the money to upkeep your parents very wealthy lifestyle. You weren’t allowed to question the one or two suit clad men that walked through your home, weren’t allowed to ask what was in the large boxes they occasionally carried in, and you definitely weren’t allowed to play or go down this very corridor you stood in when more suit clad men whom were very important were in that office with your father. “They’re your father’s business partner’s” your mother would say.

As a child you never thought to question it, your mother wouldn’t allow it, your father would buy your mother’s silence, and in turn she would buy yours. When your incessant whining drove your father up the walls his voice would boom through the hall telling your mother to get you out of the house and fast.

Your mother would waste no time in gathering your things and rushing you out the door with the promises of a new toy, your favorite food from the diner down the street, or some ice-cream.

Though as you grew through your adolescent years, it had grown easier on your mother to keep you quiet, a simple glare and a point the top of the stairs would have you on your way to the confines and safety of your room.

The more you sat and thought on the words Detective Stark had spoken to you this morning, the more they rang true to you. The men in clad suits, the large boxes, the various meetings he had, it was just all adding up now and the thought chilled you. The cherry on top had to have been the night he kicked you out, you hadn’t meant to, you knew being in this corridor when your father was working was off limits, and more so when he had a “client”.

You hadn’t thought anything of it the moment you chose to take those steps down the dimly lit corridor, you were upset, out raged that your father had demanded you stay locked away in your room. You thought you were simply being rebellious if just once, against your father's wishes. Truth was you had grown bored of being locked away in your room, various guests having coming in and out of your house as the day had passed, and you had been asked very unpleasantly by your father to stay out of sight.

You were just about to pass your fathers doors when you heard the shouting, “she’s just a girl how can you ask that of me, you don’t have the rights to give me those orders I work for your father not you” your father had growled.

“you knew what would happen if any of my money went missing, and yet look what happened,” a pause, you were frozen waiting with baited breath, “my money went missing” the other voice growled.

“I'm aware you work for my father, but you played dirty with what was mine, now you can either get me my money, or I'll come to collect when the time asks for it,” it hissed again.

You were shaken up, scared, not bearing to hear anymore as you backed away as quickly and quietly as you could, you weren't sure what had gone down, nor did you know who the girl they had been speaking of had been, but you are certain of one thing it had been the night that had changed everything.

You had raced up the stairs tucking tail, locking yourself away in your room. You were worried, had your father done something bad at work, had he stolen money from work, is that how he always had extra money? Oh how naïve you had been. That night you had sat perched on your bed, covers wrapped tightly around your shaking shoulders, eyes intently watching your door as your thoughts ran wildly.

In a second it had all been swept from under your feet as your door was kicked in, your father standing at the doorway, eyes dangerously wild. He pointed at you like a deranged man, “get up!” he had growled. You remained frozen on the bed, eyes blown wide, he knew I was in the corridor you thought in fear. Your father growled at your unmoving form as he stormed over to you ripping you from the warmth and safety of your bed.  

“up!” he growled pushing you out of your room.  

You leaned against the railing of the stairs as you watched your father tear apart your room, you wanted to scream for you mother but you couldn’t find your voice. You watched in horror as your father continued to wreak havoc in your bedroom, eventually your mother’s petite form appeared your father screeching for her to help him. It all went so quickly from there, your father dragging your wailing form down the stairs, throwing you from the house, his warning. 

To this day you still hadn’t understood any of it, you didn’t want to believe that your father had banished you from the house for you being in the corridor that night, but there was no other explanation, you had been in a place you shouldn’t have been, much like you were now.  

You should have heeded your father’s warning.

Chapter 2

Family Matter’s Tag-list: @broco8​ @spideyxxboi​ @scuzmunkie​

[new-sandrafilter]

Timothée Chalamet and Eileen Atkins Interview - British Vogue May 2020

“Maybe your knuckles weren’t bleeding, but there was ice,” Timothée Chalamet tells Dame Eileen Atkins. He is recounting, with no small amount of awe, how he first came to hear of the legendary 85-year-old actor with whom he is about to appear at The Old Vic. It transpires that Oscar Isaac, Chalamet’s co-star in the upcoming blockbuster Dune, was at the receiving end of Atkins’ fist in Ridley Scott’s Robin Hood (all in the name of acting, of course). Chalamet was duly impressed.

“I gave him the worst time of his life,” says Atkins, bristling at the memory, before merrily launching into several candid, very dame-like stories from her time on set – “That was a nightmare movie. A nightmare.”

It is a Saturday afternoon in late February, and the two actors – one a titan of British theatre with an eight-decade career; the other, Hollywood’s most in-demand young leading man, with an insatiable Instagram following – have just finished being photographed together for Vogue. Chalamet, 24, in louche, low-slung denim and a white T-shirt, has folded his Bambi limbs into a chair next to Atkins, whose hawkish frame, in a navy jumper and jeans, belies her 85 years.

“Do you like being called Tim or Timothée or what?” Atkins asks in her warm but brisk RP, all trace of her Tottenham upbringing erased.

“Whatever works,” he replies in a bright American accent, that shock of chestnut hair falling into his eyes. “Anything.”

“So you won’t object to ‘darling’? I call everyone darling. I’m told I mustn’t say it these days.” He assures her he is fine with it: “It’s a rite of passage, being called darling by Dame Eileen Atkins.”

“You always, always, have to put the dame in, otherwise you can’t address me,” she jokes.

It’s good the two are getting all this sorted now. A couple of days after our interview they will begin rehearsals for a seven-week run of Amy Herzog’s play 4000 Miles, in which they star as a grandmother and grandson, each quietly dealing with their own grief. Chalamet takes on the role of Leo Joseph-Connell, a somewhat lost 21-year-old who experiences a tragedy while on a 4,000-mile-long cycle ride with his best friend. Atkins plays Vera Joseph, his widowed 91-year-old grandmother, upon whose Manhattan doorstep Leo unexpectedly arrives in the middle of the night, unsure of where else to go. What follows is a wonderful, and wonderfully witty, study in human relationships, a portrait of two generations with decades between them trying to make sense of the world.

Its stars, who’ve met twice previously, in New York last year, are still very much getting to know each other – and are confident in the appeal. “There are things like this play – hoping I don’t butcher it – where you can just sit back and go, ‘Oh, this is a delicious meal,’” says Chalamet. Atkins agrees. “I have a phrase in mind that I shouldn’t really say because it’s going to sound terrible in print.” Which is? “I find it a dear little play, a really dear little play. I think it should be very moving. But who knows? We might f**k it up.”

It’s unlikely. Atkins has been a regular on The Old Vic’s stage since the 1960s, going toe-to-toe with greats from Laurence Olivier to Alec Guinness, and fellow dames (and close friends) Maggie Smith and Judi Dench. Chalamet, meanwhile, is a relative novice, with only two professional plays under his belt. But since his turn as Elio in 2017’s Call Me by Your Name (for which he was Oscar-nominated), his celluloid rise has been meteoric. Roles in Lady Bird, Little Women, The King and Wes Anderson’s upcoming The French Dispatch have not only earned him the slightly fraught badge of “heart-throb”, but proved him to be among the most captivating actors of his generation.

He says he couldn’t resist the opportunity to come to the capital. “There was something exciting about doing a play that feels very New York in London,” Chalamet explains of taking on the part. He’s a diehard theatre fan, too, revealing he saw the six-and-a-half-hour epic The Inheritance – twice. “There are films like The Dark Knight or Punch-Drunk Love or Parasite that can give you a special feeling. But nothing will be like seeing Death of a Salesman on Broadway with Philip Seymour Hoffman or A Raisin in the Sun with Denzel Washington.”

Herzog’s writing particularly spoke to him. “Leo’s in a stasis that was very appealing to me,” he continues. “We find our crisis in moments of stasis, but there’s an irony to it when you’re young, because the law of the land would have you think that to be young is to be having fun, to be coming into your own. But as everyone at this age who’s going through it knows, it’s often a shitshow.”

It’s safe to say that, in casting terms, director Matthew Warchus, also artistic director of The Old Vic, has hit the jackpot. He first took the play to Atkins three years ago, but it was only towards the end of 2019 that Chalamet came on board. When it was announced, in December, that Hollywood’s heir apparent to Leonardo DiCaprio would be making his London stage debut, the news was met with a level of hysteria not usually associated with the 202-year-old theatre’s crowd.

“Oh, my friends have told me who the audience is,” Atkins chimes in when I ask who they think will be coming to see the show. “It’s 40 per cent girls who want to go to bed with Timothée, it’s 40 per cent men who want to go to bed with Timothée, and it’s 20 per cent my old faithfuls.” Is Chalamet prepared for the onslaught? “I think it will be 100 per cent Eileen’s faithfuls,” he demurs.

On the surface, they can seem quite the odd couple. Chalamet, raised in Manhattan by an American dancer-turned-realtor mother and French father, an in-house editor at the United Nations, may be living a breathless, nomadic movie-star life but there’s an iron core of Gen Z earnestness there. He arrives on set with minimal fuss, even deciding to wear the clothes he came in for one shot, before knocking out some push-ups, politely ordering an omelette and generally being divinely well-mannered.

He turns on the star power for the camera, though, and I can confirm it’s as dazzling up close as it is on the red carpet, where he has, famously, casually redrawn the rules for male dressing. From that Louis Vuitton sparkly bib at the 2018 Golden Globes, to a dove-grey satin Haider Ackermann tux at Venice last year, he’s a true fashion darling. Then, of course, there’s his dating life – from Lourdes Ciccone Leon to Lily-Rose Depp – that remains an endless source of fascination to millions worldwide. (All this, it must be said, is of significantly less interest to Dame Eileen.)

Atkins started dance lessons aged three, shortly before the start of the Second World War. By 12, she was performing professionally in pantomime, not far from where she grew up in north London, the youngest daughter in a working-class family. A fast-established theatre star, wider fame didn’t find her until late in life. Despite memorable turns in Upstairs, Downstairs and Gosford Park, it was the 2000 television hits Cranford and Doc Martin, when she was in her early seventies, that finally made her a household name. Today, she lives alone in west London, since her second husband, the TV and film producer Bill Shepherd, died in 2016. She has often spoken of being happily childless, and has zero time for razzmatazz.

And yet, despite their differences, the pair appear perfectly matched. They already have their grandmother-grandson dynamic down pat. Atkins does a fine line in mischievous eyebrow-raising, and at one point recites a limerick that is, honestly, so rude it almost makes her co-star blush. Chalamet, meanwhile, is politeness personified, still trying to work out his thoughts on various subjects, less inclined to give so much of himself away. There is a physical likeness, too, in their delicate features and fine bone structure. They share a naturally melancholic look, one that melts away when they laugh.

Their upcoming play, which premiered to rapturous reviews Off-Broadway in 2011, “about a block” from Chalamet’s high school, LaGuardia, could have been written for them. “Other than not being American, I’m very like the old woman,” says Atkins of the Pulitzer-shortlisted play. “I can’t be bothered to learn the internet.” If there’s one thing she won’t tolerate in rehearsals, it’s people on their phones. That’s the only thing that will “piss me off ”, she says, brusquely.

Ah, phones. Are they really the symbol of generational disconnect? “It’s easy to point to these things,” Chalamet says, tapping his phone on the table, “as the cause or the symptom, but I think my generation is a guinea pig generation of sorts. We’re figuring out the pros and cons and limits of technology.”

Equally, Atkins is keen to distance herself from some of the criticism levelled at her age group. “There’s a saying isn’t there: if you’re not very left wing when you’re young, you’re heartless. And if you’re not very right wing when you’re old, you’re foolish. I’m not political, but I’m not with this government I can assure you – and I’m not with Brexit. I wanted to wear a sweater saying ‘I did not vote Brexit’, because it was all old people who did. Not me, not me,” she snaps. “I went on the march.”

Both are in agreement that intergenerational friendships are too rare these days. “So. Important,” Chalamet says, hitting the table between each word. “There is so much to learn from people who have walked the path of life. That’s why I’m so looking forward to these next couple of months.”

Atkins is thoughtful on the matter. “I don’t miss the fact I don’t have children, but I do envy my friends who have grandchildren,” she says. “About five or six years ago I met a couple of young people – they are just about 30 this year – and, do you know, we go out together. And people immediately say to me, ‘Are these your grandchildren?’ And I say, ‘No.’ And they say, ‘Your godchildren?’ And I say, ‘No, they’re just friends.’ Everybody thinks there is something weird about all three of us. They just don’t get it. But the boy makes me laugh more than anybody and the girl is enchanting. I have more fun with them than I do with almost anybody else.”

I remind Atkins about her description of today’s youth as being overly serious. “I do call them the New Puritans, yes,” she says, before motioning to her young co-star. “He probably drinks like a fish.”

Chalamet, currently single, is remaining tight-lipped about plans for his new London life, and how many late-night manoeuvres in Soho or Peckham it may involve. “I’ve got friends here, which is nice. But I’m here for this – to be terrified at The Old Vic.”

Before we leave, there is a final thing to clear up – Atkins’ aforementioned limerick. “Do you know about the Colin Farrell situation?” Eileen asks Timothée. No, comes his reply. “Better get it over with now because someone will tell you,” she says, proceeding to explain how, when she was “69, about to be 70” and filming Ask the Dust with a 27-year-old Farrell, “he made a pass at me. He came to my hotel room. He was enchanting. I let him chat for two hours, thoroughly enjoying it, but no not that. He was very cross I didn’t.”

But then, she explains guiltily, she later told the story during “some stupid TV show” (Loose Women), where despite her best efforts at keeping Farrell’s identity secret, the internet did its thing and news got out. An apology to Farrell was required. “So I left a limerick on Colin’s phone…” she says. She clears her throat: “There once was a **** of a dame…” she begins, in her imitable theatrical timbre, before reeling off one of the filthiest rhymes I’ve ever heard.

There is a moment of stunned laughter. “Wow, that’s sincerely amazing,” comes Chalamet’s response, as Atkins finishes the verse. He gives her a solemn oath: “I promise I won’t hit on you.”

4000 Miles is at The Old Vic, SE1, from 6 April

[gloriainalbis]

Strangers

Part 2 - Anti-Social Behavior (S1E1)

Nathan Young x Reader  Words: 6.2k  Warnings: Swearing, mentions of sex, drugs, gore, death  Songs:  Beat on the Brat - Ramones  Shoplifters of the World Unite - The Smiths (And also, for shits and giggles…) Somebody Got Murdered - The Clash  

“So we will share this road we walk And mind our mouths and beware our talk”

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Masterlist | Ao3

--

    The walk to the community center for your second day is brisk but significantly more enjoyable than being forced to listen to your father’s chastising. As you approach the group gathered by a new swath of graffiti on the side of the building, a window opens to your left and out climbs Nathan, who jumps to the ground and winces as the roll-up metal covering slams back down after him. “Nathan?” you ask, stopping in your tracks. “Ah!” He whips around to greet you with a guilty smile, clearly surprised. “Y/n! Good morning, I hope?” He starts walking with you to join the rest of the group. “Yeah, but what are you doin’ here?” “I have my reasons,” he explains vaguely, stretching his arms up and groaning as if he’s just gotten out of bed. He then pulls out a cigarette and sticks it between his teeth, completely failing to notice the giant red letters spelling out ‘I’M GOING TO KILL YOU’ as you walk past them. 

“This is a joke,” Curtis exclaims as you approach. “Did one of you do this?” He turns to look at you especially, and you suspect he overheard you yesterday telling Nathan and Kelly how you got your ASBO. “Hey, I’m all for street art and everything, but death threats aren’t really my scene.” “Death threat?” Nathan spins around until he sees the words. “Oh, well would you look at that!” He turns back to the group, glancing at each of you as if looking for an explanation. “Don’t look at me, ‘cuz I didn’t do it,” Kelly snaps at him. “I’ll tell you who did it, it’s that Banksy prick,” he offers. Alisha rolls her eyes, as do a few of the others. “There’s a hidden meaning. It’s like that monkey policeman with the banana and the Tesco’s bag.” “Maybe someone wants to kill us,” Simon speaks softly, looking uncomfortable at Nathan, who’s put an arm around him for some unknown reason. “Why would anyone want to kill us?” Kelly points out. You assume the threat was directed at the community center, not at you six specifically, but don’t really care to speak up. You’d probably be spending the day cleaning it off, so what does it matter who it’s meant for? “Come on, you lot, let’s get changed,” Tony directs, walking up suddenly. “Have you seen this?” Curtis points to the graffiti. Again. “Someone’s takin’ the piss.” “Yeah, it’s terrible, isn’t it? All this anti-social behavior.” Tony turns to look at you all suggestively. “Oh, is he having a dig at us?” Nathan smirks, mumbling through his cigarette. Alisha’s phone begins to ring and Tony jumps, instantly bursting with anger. “Right! That’s it, all of you, just give me your phones! No one’s making any more calls today. Now, come on!” He turns to Alisha first. “Uh-huh,” she scoffs. “Are you allowed to take out phones?” He grabs it out of her hands regardless as she giggles and snaps a picture of him. Kelly and Alisha lock eyes and snicker. Curtis gives his phone up willingly, Kelly tries to ignore him, but Tony grabs it out of her pocket, and Simon gives his up as well. He turns to Nathan. “I’m expecting a call from my mum,” he tries to reason, but Tony rips it from his hand. Nathan gapes at him, affronted. “Okay, take a message.” Then Tony turns to you. You make a point to look him in the eyes and raise your eyebrows to distract him as you press your phone into Nathan’s hand. You see him glance at you in confusion before catching on and pocketing it. “Haven’t got one,” you explain casually, holding up your empty hands. You can swear Tony growls as he reaches out to feel your pockets. “Damn, is that even legal?” you half-whisper. To your right, Nathan bites his lip to keep from smiling and giving you away. It works. Tony huffs and lumbers back to the community center. Curtis flips up his hood and follows suit. “Wanker,” Kelly sneers as she strolls past Tony. Nathan watches to make sure they leave. “That was brilliant!” He gushes as soon as Tony’s out of earshot, handing you your phone. “It was nothing,” you brush off, starting to follow behind the others. “You can use it to phone your mum if you’d like.” “Oh, no, that’s alright.” He looks away, staring at his feet as he walks. “Are you sure?” you ask. You hadn’t snuck the phone past Tony only for him, but it was, you know, a good upside. And you aren’t sure what other opportunities he would have to use it, now that Tony thought he’d taken all the phones. “Yeah, she won’t call.” You can tell that he’s trying to sound like he doesn’t care. But, you’re learning this quickly, Nathan isn’t exactly the best liar. “I won’t ask.” You wonder what the situation is, but don’t want to pry. Nathan smiles.     Back at the locker rooms, everyone begins changing into their jumpsuits. Alisha situates herself in front of the mirror and begins to fiddle. She pops up her collar, undoes the top few buttons of her jumpsuit, and combes at her hair, fluffing it up. Kelly, having already changed, is lighting what looks to be either a hand-rolled cigarette or a blunt. “Is he allowed to take our phones?” Nathan muses. “He’s probably using them to call one of those sex lines.” Alisha giggles. “Those sex lines will eat your credit,” Curtis comments. “Call them a lot, do you?” Alisha raises an eyebrow. Kelly passes her the cigarette and she watches herself take a few draws from it in the mirror. Nathan continues with his disturbing ruminations, “He’s out there feeling himself on our phones, naked, masturbating.” “Now why would he do that?” Curtis questions, quite sensibly. “Because he can,” Nathan responds. “That’s quite the image,” you groan, trying desperately not to imagine it. “Oh, I’ll give you an image.” Nathan winks, pulling off his shirt. You roll your eyes and look away, leaning against the door of your locker. Glancing to the back of the room, you wonder where Simon’s run off to. You thought you’d seen him standing by the buckets a few moments ago. “Do you want some of this?” Alisha holds out the cigarette, tucked between her blue manicured fingers, to Curtis, who refuses. “Give it here, come on,” Nathan says as he walks past her and she hands it to him. As you grab a bucket and follow him out, you notice that he has crossed the ‘pay’ from  ‘community payback’ on the back of his jumpsuit to make it say ‘community blowback’ instead. You smile and chuckle to yourself.     Curtis appears to be the only one actually trying to remove those giant red letters from the wall, scrubbing determinedly while the rest of you just sort of brush at them and hope they disappear. Alisha isn’t even working. She’s unzipped and removed the entire upper half of her jumpsuit to reveal a bikini top and is sunning herself on a nearby table. “Yeah, you just relax, innit? Take it easy,” Curtis grumbles. “Someone’s just going to write something else on there tonight,” she retorts. “They make us do these bullshit jobs, wearing these bullshit orange jumpsuits. They can suck my dick.” You have to admit, she has a point. “Nice,” he looks her up and down and smirks coquettishly. “Feel free to check out my tits, yeah,” she encourages, blowing a kiss and looking down at him smokily from behind her lowered sunglasses. You look back at your designated section of furiously bright red paint. Wishing it would just go away, you lean down to get more soap on your brush, and when you stand back up, your section of the wall is spotless. You stumble backward, bewildered. “Guys?” you gape, trying to catch their attention, pointing to the bare wall. But when everyone turns to look, it’s gone back to normal, the bold lettering mocking you. “What?” Kelly asks, scrunching up her face in what looks like confusion and concern. You rush back to the wall, running your fingers across the paint, and they come back dusted with red. It’s real. “I-” everyone looks at you like you’re crazy, and they’re probably right. “It’s nothing.” A few moments later, Kelly stops scrubbing. “You know after the storm, did any of you feel like dead weird?” She sounds serious. “Yeah. I had a strange tingling sensation in my anus,” Nathan quips. You roll your eyes and turn to her, “I think I’ve been seein’ things,” you admit.   “Yeah, I’ve been hearin’ shit,” she agrees before spinning around to address Simon, seemingly out of the blue. “What, did you feel weird?” “You don’t want to hear about my anus?” Nathan calls, clutching his hands to his butt. “Do you really need to ask the question?” you hear Curtis say from behind you. You shove Nathan and turn back around to pay attention to Simon and Kelly, ignoring his cry of indignation. “Something happened,” Simon begins quietly. “What’s that? Squeak up!” Nathan chides. “Something happened to me,” he repeats louder. “Are you a virgin? Hi-hoooooy!” Nathan jokes, and you contemplate punching him again. Kelly does it for you, turning to yell, “Shut up!” which effectively shuts him down, before returning to Simon. “What was it?” He gulps and you can see the nervousness churning behind his eyes. “It’s nothing.” Kelly scrunches her face up and scowls, running past you to shove Nathan. “What was that for?” he calls after her. She turns to you as she goes, “Didn’t you hear that? It was disgustin’.” You hadn’t, and you have no idea what she’s referring to. So you shrug at Nathan, who looks suitably chastened, and return to your scrubbing.     Later, you’re all starting to congregate around the couches in the main entrance hall. Kelly still hasn’t returned, but the letters are mostly gone and you’re all angling for a break. Alisha is taking up an entire couch section to herself, sitting sideways with her feet up, and Simon is sequestered in the alcove of a doorway. You’re sitting on a larger couch across from them, watching Nathan beat up a vending machine to try and get a free soda. He holds one up, triumphant, as you slow clap and he takes a bow. Curtis walks up with a stack of empty buckets under his arm. “When I was in sixth form, you came to my school. You gave this big talk about athletics and all your medals and that.” Alisha says to Curtis with a tone that entreats him to elaborate on his story. Nathan rolls out behind him in a wheelchair, soda in hand, “So I’m guessin’ you’re not going to the Olympics.” “Funny,” Curtis snaps sarcastically at the obvious jab. “I heard he was dealing crack,” Alisha chimes with a quirk of her eyebrow. Curtis scowls. “What? I wasn’t dealing crack.” “No, no, the papers said it was steroids,” Nathan adds, opening his soda with a hiss. “That stuff with shrivel your dick,” Alisha lies down on her seat. Curtis takes a few steps forward, looking at them insistently. “It wasn’t steroids. I’m not a cheat. That stuff in the papers was bullshit.” “Yeah? So what was it, then?” Alisha presses. Nathan raises his eyebrows. Curtis takes a few hesitant seconds to reply. “I got caught with a little bit of coke. Alright? I messed up one time.” “No one gets community service for possession,” Alisha holds her arms up, asking him to explain. He scoffs. “If it was anyone else, they’d have got a caution. I get two hundred hours community service and a two year back from athletics. They said, ‘cuz of my profile, they needed to send a message.” You feel bad for Curtis for being treated differently because of his success. It doesn't seem fair, bringing someone so far down when they’d come so far and were so close to reaching their goals. “You let yourself down,” Nathan taunts, grinning deviously. Your eyes widen, wishing he had kept his mouth shut. “You let the kids down. You let your parents down-” Curtis fumes and stews in silence before suddenly bursting, launching forward at Nathan “Shut the fuck up! All I ever did was train! You know nothing! I shouldn’t even fuckin’ be here!” If only Nathan could just shut up for one second. “You can’t hit someone in a wheelch-” Nathan’s eyes flash wide open as a piece of duct tape appears over his mouth. Alisha and Simon sit up straighter, pulled to attention. You sit there horrified, realizing that for the first time that you definitely aren’t the only one seeing this. Nathan points to Curtis in accusation. “It wasn’t me, mate.” He holds his arms up, taking a few fearful steps back. You feel sick to your stomach, too frozen in place to say anything. Nathan lets out a muffled scream and tries to pull off the duct tape, scrambling at it with his fingers. It crumbles into his hands like dust before disappearing completely. You let out a huge sigh of relief, but your heart continues to thump away in your chest. “Who was that?” Nathan yells, jumping out of the wheelchair, which rolls backward until it hits the wall. You gulp. “I- I think I did it?” “Well, what the fuck for?! And how?” He rears on you, anger and confusion written plainly on his face. “I have no idea,” you admit honestly. Alisha scoffs and giggles, somehow finding the situation funny. “Do you wanna know what I got done for?” “Not really,” Nathan remarks, turning his head to glare at you before plopping himself back down in the wheelchair. That sends a pang of guilt through your chest. You don’t really know what you did, or how you did it. Alisha motions for you to come closer and you all gather to sit in audience before her, “Me and my mate Chloe, we’re having cocktails in this bar, yeah? An’ she’s hassling me, ‘cuz she wants to go to this party. Chloe is on one because she thinks Jack is doing Lucy. A total slut fuck. So we get in my car. I drive us to the party.” “Nathan?” you whisper, poking his arm to get his attention. “We go into one of the rooms, yeah? Jack’s not doing Lucy, he’s doing Ellie. She is a proper slut.” “What?” He still looks pissed. “I’m sorry. Something really weird’s going on.” You hope he believes you, he seems pretty fun, if a bit vulgar, and you aren’t even sure of how you’d screwed it up. “Chloe freaks. I’m driving us back into town. Chloe’s all like ‘Oh, I feel sick.’ I’m like ‘Don’t puke in my car. Do not puke in my car.’” “Alright.” He gives you a small smile. “Really?” You didn’t think it would be that easy, but maybe he remembered what Kelly said earlier. “That’s when the police pull us over. I’m already banned from driving, so I am like ‘Fuuuck.’” “Yeah, no hard feelings.” He reaches down to ruffle the top of your hair, weirdly enough, but it fits pretty well with what you know of Nathan so far. “This cop, yeah? He hands me the breathalyzer and I’m like ‘Do I suck, or blow?’” Alisha runs her tongue along the bottom edge of her water bottle before licking the cap and putting her lips around it, slowly working up and down. “It’s insane, I’m totally workin’ it, yeah?” She licks up the bottle’s side before sticking the entire top in her mouth again and bobbing her head back and forth, in and out, pursing her lips as she picks up speed before slowly and carefully pulling it back out. “Now, I don’t know if this cop is gay or what, but he tells me I’m four times over the limit. It’s bullshit. I didn’t even want to go to the party.” You’re a little grossed out, but all the boys are gaping at this point. Just then, the front doors fly open with a bang and Kelly tumbles into the room, scrambling to her feet to lock it, screaming, “He’s gonna kill us!” You scramble backward before jumping up from your seat on the floor. Nathan spins around in his chair, clapping. “Nice entrance. Very dramatic.” But Kelly looks distraught and shaken, and you don’t think she’s exaggerating anything. “The probation worker’s gone mental. He just attacked me! Something really weird is happening. I’m hearin’ these voices. It’s like I can hear what people are thinking!” she explains hastily. “Have you been sniffing glue?” Alisha scolds, tilting her head to the side in mock sympathy. Kelly raises her voice, practically yelling in desperation, “The storm, the lightning! It’s done something to us!” “Okay,” Nathan speaks up. “If you can hear our thoughts, what am I thinking now?” “You think it’s bullshit?!” Kelly exclaims. “‘Course I think it’s bullshit!” he snaps back. “You don’t need to be a mind reader to know that.” “Why are you in a wheelchair?” she asks tentatively, just now noticing it. “It was the storm!” You roll your eyes as he messes with her. “The strange tingling sensation in my anus has spread to my body and now I can’t feel my legs.” She realizes he’s joking and kicks him “I’m serious!” “Ow! Jesus!” You decide to take a gamble at something. Kelly, you think, the storm did something to me too. “What, you, too?” She asks, turning to face you. “Yeah,” you nod. “It happened just a few minutes ago. I wanted Nathan to shut up and then duct tape just appeared over his mouth. And it happened with the graffiti earlier, I wanted it to disappear, and then it did, for a second.” Her eyes light up and she turns to the rest of the group. “See? I ain’t lyin’!” “Well then, what do you mean the probation worker attacked you?” Curtis takes a few steps towards her. Alisha doesn’t believe either of you, “This does sound like complete shit.” “He’s out there and he chased me!” She insists, frantically pointing to the door. “Something’s happened to me, too,” Simon speaks up. “Did you pop your cherry?” Nathan teases, still not taking any of this seriously. “Oh, we’re all very happy for you!” Simon ignores him and addresses everyone else. “Earlier on, when we were in the locker room… I was invisible. I turned invisible.” “So she’s psychic, you can make hallucinations or whatever, and you can turn invisible?” Curtis speaks, trying to make sense of everything. He chuckles. “Yeah, that seems likely.” “Did anyone witness this miraculous disappearance?” Nathan questions, leaning forward in his chair. “Yes!” you exclaim, turning to Simon. “You were standing by the buckets and then you weren’t! I wondered where you’d run off to.” Simon nods, spurred on by your admission, “You were all there.” Alisha scoffs, still not convinced, “I think we might have noticed you vanishing into thin air.” “I was standing right there and you couldn’t see me,” he insists, a sad, almost betrayed look crossing his face. “Alright.” Nathan puts on a determined look and wheels over to Simon. “Go on, then. Do it. Turn invisible.” Simon tenses and grunts, trying to force it. You glare at Nathan for putting him on the spot like this, and you feel a pang of guilt for generally encouraging his antics. “Oh, my god!” Nathan exclaims. “He’s disappeared!” You roll your eyes and groan, feeling worse by the second. Simon, however, seems to believe him, holding out a hand in front of Nathan’s eyes. “Can’t you see me?” “No,” Nathan gasps before throwing his empty soda can at Simon’s head and proclaiming, “you’re invisible!” “You prick! What’d you do that for?” you ask, miffed, but he ignores you. “You all are hilarious, really. Keep taking that medication.” He starts wheeling towards the door, but Kelly jumps in front of him and grabs his armrests. “Don’t go out there, he will kill you!” she yells. “Of course he will, ‘cuz he’s such a badass,” Nathan retorts sarcastically. “Don’t!” She screams, with angry and fearful tears in her eyes. Curtis just walks past her to the door, scoffing in disbelief, “Come on, this is the biggest load of bullshit I’ve ever heard.” “No!!” Kelly shrieks, throwing Curtis out of the way as the door swings open. You hear a bellowing roar as a metal tube flies through the open door and into Kelly’s head, spraying streams of blood up and down the wall beside her. “Kelly!” you cry in shock. Her expression slackens and her eyes go blank as she slumps against the wall and tumbles to the floor, dead. Tony bursts into the room with a sharp, red-stained tube in his hands. Another scream tears at your throat as you feel a hand on your arm, Nathan’s, pulling you away and setting you running down the hall. . . . . . “Can’t you see me?” Simon gasps, holding out a hand in front of Nathan’s eyes and appearing to believe him. “No,” Nathan gaspes before throwing his empty soda can at Simon’s head and proclaiming, “you’re invisible!” “You prick! What’d you do that for?” you ask, miffed, but he ignores you. “You all are hilarious, really. Keep taking that medication.” He starts wheeling towards the door, but Kelly jumps in front of him and grabs onto his armrests. “Don’t go out there, he will kill you!” she yells. “Of course he will, ‘cuz he’s such a badass,” Nathan retorts sarcastically. “Don’t!” She screams, with angry and fearful tears in her eyes. Curtis jolts forward, fear gripping his expression “She’s telling the truth.” Nathan looks absolutely delighted. “And you know this how? I suppose you’re psychic now, too?” Curtis’ entire demeanor has completely shifted. He’s breathing heavily now out of shock or fear, or because of something you can’t quite understand. He speaks urgently and uneasily, “All this. It’s already happened once. I opened the door, the probation worker, he killed you.” He points to Kelly. “You were right there. You were dead. Everything froze. You were all just standing there. Time went backwards.” “What are you saying?” Alisha pipes up. “What, you turned back time?” Nathan rises from his seat, eyeing Curtis curiously, “This just gets better by the second.” He strides to the door. “Everything happened again, exactly the same. I’m telling you, don’t open that door!” Curtis insists, following after him. You run. “Nathan, no!” you scream, reaching the door just as he puts a hand on it. A giant lock and chain appears around the handles. He gives you an odd glance before yanking the door open regardless, and the chains turn into dust and disappear. You couldn’t see what he was looking at, but an expression of terror sweeps across Nathan’s face and he closes and locks the door in a flurry of jittery movements. “He’s right, the probation worker’s gone mental!” he gasps. Tony slams into the other side of the door and your heart leaps out of your chest. You only catch a glimpse of his hulking, dark frame silhouetted against the frosted glass before Nathan shrieks and pulls you away to join the rest of the group, who are all standing together. “Maybe he’s on crystal meth,” Alisha tries to reason, but the waver in her voice gives away her fear. “I mean, that stuff makes you crazy. My friend Chloe did it, she nearly shagged her brother. And he’s really ugly” “Enough about Chloe!” you exclaim. “It sounds like she’s made some really poor life choices and I’d rather not follow in her footsteps!” Simon gasps, realizing something, “The graffiti. ‘I’m going to kill you,” he wrote it.” “What did I say? I said there was a hidden meaning! Or not.” Nathan retorts. Realizing his hand is still clasped around your arm, he drops it awkwardly and looks away. “Did anything happen to you?” Kelly asks, turning to face Alisha. “No, we should call the police!” she suggests adamantly. Simon shakes his head. “He took our phones, he’s got all our phones.” Nathan turns to look at you and you smile, pulling your phone out of your pocket. “Well, not all of them.” You hold it up for the rest of the group to see, turning it on to find- “Fuck! I don’t have reception in this shithole.” “Let’s get out of here, then,” Curtis offers. “Out the back way, come on!” Nathan calls, moving down the hall and motioning for everyone to follow him. But as he turns the corner, he slips, crying out and falling to the floor with a loud squelch and a squeak. Nathan is sprawled on the floor in a pool of thick, stagnant blood. Your stomach churns as you try to keep yourself from retching. “Is that blood?!” Kelly screams. Realization washes over Nathan and he scrambles to his feet, “Oh, fuck! Jesus Christ!” He gapes at the dark red smears coating his hands and gags, wiping them desperately on his jumpsuit. “Get it off me, Jesus!” It’s then that you notice the locker. Blood oozes from each vent and out onto the tile below, trickling down the front of the door like a morbid waterfall. Curtis approaches carefully before gingerly opening the door. Gary’s smashed in head lurches forward and you all jump, screaming as it lolles back and forth. His jumpsuit is stained red in various gruesome places and his body is sitting at odd, gut-wrenching angles in the tiny locker. Blood has dripped down from his ears, nose, and mouth, and predominantly from a gaping, disgusting wound on the left side of his neck. “It’s Gary,” Simon murmurs. “I did wonder what had happened to him,” Nathan mumbles, inching closer and peering at the contorted, lifeless form before you. It is undoubtedly the worst thing you have ever seen, but you can’t take your eyes off of it, the horror is all-encompassing. “He’s gonna kill us,” Alisha whispers, on the verge of tears. “Turn back time,” Nathan says to Curtis. “Stop this happening.” “I don’t know how it works!” He exclaims frantically. “Oh, that’s great, that’s really useful!” Nathan chides. Curtis ignores him, instead turning to comfort Alisha “Come on, don’t look at him.” You wish the body would disappear, and some dark sheets appear to cover everything. You know it’s temporary, but you just want to be able to look away. Curtis puts his hand on Alisha’s arm and gasps. “I’ve got to have sex with you right now! You’re so beautiful.” He grabs her shoulder and pulls her closer to him. “What’s up with him?” Nathan calls in confusion. Alisha is screaming and trying to pull her arm out of Curtis’s grip. “Let’s go, let’s do it now!” He reaches his hand into his pants and you turn away, disgusted. Your mind screams at you to do something, to pull him off of her, but you have no idea what’s happening and you freeze.   “Get off me, you freak!” Alisha finally yanks her arm out of his grasp and stumbles back. “What?” Curtis asks, completely unaware of what just occurred, of what he said and tried to do. Alisha reels back an arm, preparing to slap him. He grabs it out of the air and his skin touches hers again, suddenly groaning in a way that makes your skin crawl. “You’re so hot! I’m gonna bone you, I’m gonna shag you senseless!” “Let go!” she yells, stumbling backward out of his grip. The look on her face is confused and horrified, and a thousand other emotions you had hoped never to see on anyone you knew. “What did I do?” Curtis asks. Kelly speaks up, “Uh, you said you were gonna shag her?” “And you were gettin’ your chap out,” Nathan points. “Shut up!” Curtis gasps, messing with the waistline of his pants. “It’s when you were touching her,” Simon realizes. Alisha looks down at her shaky hands before reaching to touch the side of Simon’s neck. He jerks up, gasping. “I’m so hard for you. I want to rip your clothes off and piss on your tits,” Simon growls. Alisha rips her hand from him and jumps back. “What is happening to me?!” She cries. Nathan turns to Simon, looking amused and mildly disgusted, “You sick bastard!” Suddenly, the door behind you caves in, sending shards of glass flying in every direction. Tony falls through, bringing parts of the broken door frame with him as he tumbles to the floor. You hear Nathan yell in surprise as he backs away, getting as far from Tony as possible. You go the other direction, stupidly pinning yourself against one of the remaining glass doors. Tony snarls and reared on you, raising himself onto his knees before climbing to his feet. Your shriek is lost in everyone else’s screams, but then Kelly jumps in front of you from seemingly nowhere, brandishing a paint can in one hand. She swings it at Tony and it slams into his head with a sickening thunk. He collapses back to the floor, motionless. “What did you do?” Nathan gasped after a few shockingly silent seconds, genuinely horrified. The side of the paint can was caved in and smeared in red. There was a hole in Tony’s head that blood had begun to spill from. You whimpered and stumbled away from him, keeping as close to the wall as possible before leaving it to shuffle past the locker that held Gary. “Is he dead?” Alisha asked in a high pitched whisper. Nathan speaks up, “Well, I’m no doctor, but… You see the way the back of his head’s caved in like that?” Suddenly, Tony roars and grasps at Kelly’s leg, which is only a few feet from him. You jump back and feel an arm wrap around you and turn your head away from the quickly escalating scene of horror. Kelly reacts immediately, tearing her leg from his grip and bringing it down on his head, over and over again in a chorus of appalling splinters and squelches. “That should do it,” Nathan speaks as he lets his arms fall from your shoulders, his voice creaky with distress. “You killed our probation worker,” Alisha gasps, turning to Kelly. Kelly shakes her head slightly in shock. “This is very, very bad.” Nathan runs his hands through his hair. Alisha gags, looking away from Tony’s corpse. “Oh, I feel sick.” “He would have killed us!” Kelly reasons, insecurity and fear worming its way into the warble of her voice. “We should call the police. It was self-defense,” Curtis suggests, echoing Alisha’s words from only a few minutes ago. But while that was your original plan, it was now entirely out of the question. “Yeah,” Alisha agrees, “yeah, he’s right. We show ‘em the dead boy in the locker. They’ll do some CSI shit and figure it all out.” “They won’t believe us!” Kelly cries, and you suspect she’s right. “We just tell them the truth. We stick to our story,” Curtis persists. “What’s our story?” she asks, exasperated. “That he can turn invisible and she can conjure illusions and you can turn back time?! It doesn’t matter what we tell them, they’ll say we’re lying. They’ll say that we killed ‘em both! No one’s gonna believe you, not anymore.” She’s right. You know she’s right, deep in your being, in your bones, and you hate it. You hate how true it is, how messed up and unfair it is. “If there’s no body, there’s no crime,” Simon mutters anxiously. Everyone turns to look at him. “We should bury them under the flyover.” “Yeah? How do we do that? Someone’s gonna see us,” Alisha points out. You’re grateful for that, honestly. You’re all so distraught right now, you might have actually just walked outside with two dead bodies without thinking there would be consequences. Nathan shakes his head and you can practically see him thinking. “No, no, no. We give them a quick little,” he whistles to represent cleaning or something. “We put them in those wheelchairs, we wheel them up there, and if anyone sees us, we’re just a bunch of young offenders taking a couple of specials for a walk in the sunshine!” He tries to smile, but he looks far too tense to do so.     After cleaning up and redressing the bodies, wheeling them under the flyover, and digging the hole, Nathan and Kelly tip over the wheelchairs, now soaked in blood, and dump the bodies into the ground. Nathan looks up at you somberly, a queasy expression on his face. Everyone is silent for a few seconds, partially relieved, but also knowing that the real danger begins now, with keeping this covered up. Nathan shakes his head and puts on his usual playful airs, “I’m pretty sure this breaches the terms of my ASBO.” It isn’t even that funny, but you’re so weary, so exhausted from the past two days of crazy events and literal murder, that you start laughing. Nathan does too, first small giggles, then snickers, and then all-out laughter. The mood hasn’t lightened much by the time you quiet down, and you only feel marginally better, but it’s the best you’ve felt in the past few hours, so that’s a start. “We don’t tell anyone about this, yeah?” Kelly instructs. Everyone nods. “About the storm or what it did to us or anything.” “We’re about to bury our probation worker, we don’t need to be drawing any attention to ourselves,” Nathan agrees. “I don’t want anyone to know.” Alisha grabs a shovel and stands by the open grave. “I cannot be a freak.” “It’s too late for me on that front,” you joke, “but being convicted for murder wouldn’t help anything.” “What about you?” Kelly points to Curtis, who remains bitterly silent. Nathan shakes his head, “There’s no goin’ back now, man. You’re just as screwed as the rest of us. You are black and famous, you’re probably more screwed.” “I shouldn’t even be here,” Curtis spits. “You don’t really have a choice,” you point out. Curtis meets your gaze for a second before bending down and digging his shovel into the newly upturned soil. You follow suit. Kelly turns to Alisha, “Just then, when he was touchin’ ya… How were you doin’ that?” “I don’t know!” Alisha responds, trying to brush her off. “Didn’t you say you wanted to piss on her tits?” Nathan teases, unfortunately reminding everyone of the particulars of that scene. “Probably best to keep that kind of thing between you and your internet service provider.” Simon is clearly trying not to look mortified, and he just continued shoveling. “Are you alright?” Curtis stops for a moment to address Alisha, remembering the involuntary part he played in the discovery of her power. She doesn’t say anything. Kelly stands up suddenly to repeatedly glance between you and Nathan. “What?” you ask. Nathan glares insistently at her, realizing what’s happening even as you don’t. “It’s nothin’,” Kelly shrugged and returned to shoveling. After a few more minutes, Nathan stands up and leans on his shovel, “Hold on, all of you have some kind of ‘special power.’ “Everyone can do something except me. He can do something,” he points to Simon, “he can do something and I can’t. That’s ridiculous, look at him! How does that make any sense.” Simon stops for a moment to wipe some sweat from his brow. “Well he sure is working harder than you,” you point out. “I work harder in other areas,” Nathan explains suggestively. “Maybe you can do something, you just haven’t found out what it is yet,” Simon reasons. “Yeah, right.” Nathan smiles, emboldened by the possibilities. “What if… What if I can’t feel pain?” Kelly punches him. “Ow!” “Did you feel that?” She grins. You laugh, completely understanding the impulse. “Stop hitting me!” Nathan protests. “Both of you!”     The sky has darkened significantly by the time you finish the burial, and it isn't helped by the fact that you have to stop every few minutes when it suddenly looks like everything is done because you really want to just be finished. It’s actually a pretty good exercise in controlling your power. It’s even later by the time you finish cleaning off the wheelchairs, locker, and the surrounding area. Nathan catches up with you as you leave, asking if you want to walk home with him again. His voice sounds chipper and you half expect him to be joking, but when you look up, his eyes plead with you to say yes. So you do. And you don’t walk in silence. There is much to say about the past two days and it feels good to say it, to divulge your fear and your worries, and to hear them reciprocated. He turns down the same street he did the previous day and you walk the rest of the way alone, trying not to let your overwhelming fear of the future overtake you. You finally return home and collapse onto your bed for the second day in a row, once again hoping that the next day would be better, and doubting that it could be much worse.

[undertaker1827]

Heyyy can I request Ciel, Sebastian, and Undertaker with a female S/O who trains really hard and just completely destroys their body most of the time? Like maybe she does it so she can defend herself and be a little badass!!

OMG I’m so sorry this took so long, I really loved writing them!! Life is so busy!! Also this is my first Ciel fanfic so I hope he’s not too OOC. Again I’m so sorry, hope you enjoy!

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Ciel

The young earl was briskly walking through Phantomhive Manor, trying to find you. He checked all of the rooms where you usually were, but you weren’t there today. That was when he realised. You were training. Again.

It wasn’t that he minded your training, in fact he approved greatly, given how dangerous the world was. It was just how you went about doing it. It was nothing for you to reappear after hours of your favourite pastime nursing a fractured wrist or with an added limp to your usual stride. Ciel let out a sigh of frustration. Truthfully, he wasn’t frustrated at all, just concerned for your wellbeing. Not that he would admit it to anyone else.

The earl’s cane and shoes tapped rhythmically on the superbly polished floors as he made his way to the back of the mansion. Once outside, he rounded a corner to the place which had been designated as your training area. He took a moment to observe you before approaching.

Your hair was pushed back from your glistening forehead and your eyes glinted in the sunlight. Blood was running down the side of your face and a tear in your trousers allowed a purple bruise to shine through. You were fiercely staring down your opponent, a DIY training dummy. The remains of its brethren were littering the ground at your feet.

“Y/N!” He called out, just as you swung your sword to decapitate your target. The perfect kill shot completed, you spun to face him, sword held in a defensive pose. You spun and twirled it a couple of times when you saw your audience.

“Hey Ciel!” You smiled and made your way over, embracing him despite his protestations, then turned to look at the damage you had done to the ‘enemy army’. “Not bad for a day’s work, huh?” You joked, turning to face him only to be met with an even more serious expression than usual. You slowly raised an eyebrow, attempting to work out what was going through his mind.

“You have got to stop doing this to yourself.” Well that wasn’t what you were expecting. When you asked what he meant, he gave around ten minute’s worth of monologue on how although fighting skills and defence were incredibly important and useful things to have, it wasn’t worth putting your body through so much to get them. Whilst you disagreed vehemently with this point, you dialled your response down quite significantly. He was showing that he cared about you, after all; that was no cause to be angry. Especially considering how often (or less so) he outwardly showed that kind of emotion.

You loved your work though, you truly enjoyed it and thought it was worth every scar. Besides, the best fighters are the most awesome people, everyone knows that. In light of this, you knew full well that you wouldn’t be giving up on this fighting any time soon and as of yet, you still dreamed of the day you could put it to good use.

-

A few hours later, you had made your goodbyes and were on your way back to your own home. Your brisk pacesjad just left the manor and made it onto the street when you sensed something flying towards your head. Within seconds, you had twirled to avoid it and unsheathed your sword to use it as a counterbalance. As you spun to face whatever had almost hit you, you were met with the barrel of a hand gun. The guy holding it seemed quite young and fairly inexperienced when it came to what he was doing; his hand was trembling slightly and his eye was fixed on the gun, not you. You smirked.

Before he could react, you flicked your sword up underneath his gun so when he fired it out of reflex, the bullet soared over your head. You gave a punch to his jaw with the other hand, then used the sword to knock the gun from his grip entirely. You hooked a boot behind his knee to throw his leg forward, simultaneously throwing the heel of your palm into the vulnerable part of his shoulder to floor him. With a boot planted firmly against his chest and the tip of your sword resting at his throat, you took a moment to think back over what had just happened.

You still help this pose about a minute later when butler and earl rushed down the drive in hot pursuit of whoever was firing bullets. They stopped abruptly on seeing it was you who had apprehended the assailant.

“My, my, Lady Y/N. All those hours spent training do seem to have paid off, wouldn’t you agree, Young Master?” Sebastian commented, eyes flicking from you to Ciel, who was standing flabbergasted, mouth agape.

“What’s the matter?” You questioned, a glimmer in your eyes, “You just realised why you should worry less and encourage me to train more often?”

Sebastian

Sebastian had finally managed to get away from the Young Lord for long enough to address the situation at hand, that being the fact that you were training. He fancied he could smell your blood all the way from the manor. The demon was all in favour of you being able to protect yourself, especially given the inevitable danger likely to arise from the fact that you were with him. However, your method of doing it meant he felt he had to check up on you regularly.

It took him barely any time at all to get to your house, whereupon he let himself in with the key you’d entrusted to him (he wouldn’t dare break a lock on your door or window, despite his rush) and walked straight through to the outdoor area where you spent so much time. Sebastian opened the back door gently, not wanting to startle you. As it was, you were so enthralled in your expert workout regime that you didn’t notice his arrival. This being the case, he spent an appreciative few moments watching you in your element. Your face was slightly flushed from the extended period of exertion. Your workout clothes glimmered and every muscle tensed as you made your way through a DIY obstacle course of barrels, water, wooden planks and anything else you could get your hands on. It was after you finished this latest round that you felt someone watching you. You grinned when you realised who it was, rushing over to Sebastian and telling him how much you’d missed him. The demon’s arms locked around you immediately, but he soon pulled away.

His crimson eyes flashed as they ran over your body, taking in every injury, however minor, and calculating how best to help it heal, how long you would take to fully recover. Far too long for the demon’s liking. You raised a hesitant eyebrow at the staring which quickly wilted again when he met your gaze. He sighed gently, running a hand back through your hair as his eyes stayed fixed to yours.

“You should be more careful,” he murmured quietly, holding eye contact to gauge your reaction. You gave a lopsided, playful grin.

“Oh I’m sorry,” you replied with a sarcastic lilt, “I thought you were the one who said this was a good idea~” Sebastian couldn’t keep the smirk off his lips.

“I believe I did, didn’t I... Well it simply wouldn’t do for me to change my opinion now, hmm?” You pulled the best posh and proper stance you could manage.

“I’m afraid it would not,” you mimicked, to a light shaking of his head.

“On a serious note, though, humans can die from the most inconsequential of injuries. I have seen plenty fall from wounds you likely wouldn’t even notice you had obtained.” You nodded, conceding his point.

“But you know I’m going to carry on like this, right?” You confirmed, having no intention of giving up your favourite thing.

“Oh I’m well aware. I just wish you to know that I intend to be here to clean every wound and heal every injury.” You smiled. You could never help but feel privileged when you were exposed to this softer side of Sebastian, as though you were one of a very small number who he allowed to see it. You truly appreciated the trust he put in you.

“Thanks, love,” you replied, “I’m glad.” Instead of answering in words, he rested his forehead against yours, only for you to feel his gloved fingers curl around the handle of your sword, over your own hand. You the smile brightened your face by its own will, you had no choice in the matter. You took in every minor detail of the demon, the way the sun sent ethereal streaks through his pitch black hair, how his crimson eyes seemed to glow. One day, you thought, you fully intended to fight by his side, once the opportunity presented itself. Something was telling you you wouldn’t have to wait too long.

Undertaker

You knocked on the door of the familiar funeral parlour, waiting for its owner to let you in. When he did, Undertaker curled a gentle hand around the back of your head, the other arm wrapped around your comparatively small shoulders to draw to you into his chest. You closed your eyes and hugged him back, hard, having not seen him for over a week. Work had been too busy for you to get away.

“Missed you, love,” the mortician murmured into your hair, breathing your scent in deeply. You smiled happily.

“I missed you too,” you said replied, squeezing your arms again to reinforce what your words. He did the same in return. Without letting go, you both stepped back into the shop, Undertaker kicking the door shut with the heel of his boot. You moved to one of the many coffins on the shop floor, him sitting down and pulling you to rest on his lap. You huffed out a laugh, moving one hand to weave it through his hair. He pressed a gentle kiss to your lips, tilting his head to the side so that his bangs split over one eye. You stared into it intently, gaze locked and finding yourself unable to look away, as was always the case when you saw his eyes. He knew full well the effect they had on you, meaning he made sure you always did.

After a few more moments, the mortician suggested making tea for you both. You stayed in the front room, but it only took you a few moments to decide he was taking too long.

When Undertaker walked into the front of the parlour on hearing the noise of something breaking, he hadn’t exactly been expecting to see you using his candles, positioned in various heights and places, as target practice. Apparently, to refine to your skills, you had set the candles alight and were neatly separating the burning wicks from the wax in which they were secured. He didn’t mind in the slightest - the room wasn’t exactly what you would call regularly cleaned and death was lurking everywhere anyway. However, he knew from the millisecond that the foot you were going to use to propel yourself from one of the coffins started to slip that he was about to have some excellent teasing material.

As you started to fall, dagger extending from your palm in a doomed attempt to save yourself, Undertaker stepped calmly forward and wrapped a precise arm beneath your ribs, bringing your rapid descent to a halt before you could land awkwardly on the very coffin that that had caused you to trip. To make matters better (for the reaper) you had let out an incredibly uncharacteristic squeak as he rescued you. The grin had already suffused his features as he hauled you back upright and into his chest.

“My, my love,” he giggled, one eye partially visible and locked with yours, “I guess you could say you’ve fallen for me!” Unable to contain himself further, the mortician burst into raucous laughter, clutching you to him even tighter as a result. Of course, attempting to escape was futile, which you knew by now anyway, so you did your best to allow the very amused yet vaguely embarrassed effect of your failure fade whilst he was still distracted. It went off quickly, as Undertaker’s laughter was nothing if not infectious. In no time at all, you had joined in and we’re both falling about together.

With the laughing fit mostly over, you managed to flip the dagger around and the sharpened blade away from you both so that you could embrace Undertaker properly in return. This time when you looked at him, you could see both vibrant green eyes looking playfully back at you. You raised a hand to comb it back through his bangs, pushing them further to one side, intending to just stay quiet for a minute. In fact, seeing his whole face just made matters worse as the giggles that had been hastily hidden resurfaced in mere seconds. Again, you couldn’t help but do the same and before you knew it, Undertaker had jumped up.

“You should’ve-” he gasped desperately for air, “Should’ve seen your face, love!!” He was practically cackling at this point, watching you with your face in your hands and your shoulders shaking as you wheezed. You glanced up as you heard him step again, only to fall backwards with tears running down your face as he did an impression of your fall from greatness.

Hours later, and decidedly later than you had intended, you were both curled up in the back room together, still laughing about the day’s events.

[canonconspiracy]

Preview: Frozen (Zuko x Fem!Reader)

Fandom: Avatar The Last Airbender AND My Hero Academia Pairing(s): Zuko/Fem!Reader, Shoto/Fem!Reader AO3: @rmorningstar21​  Aged Up AU: [Reader and Class 1-A are all in their 20′s, same with Zuko, Sokka, etc.] Warnings: Possible Mature Content coming, violence, slowburn, angst, under heavy editing Quirk: Natural Disaster AN: This is currently an AO3 exclusive, and will be moved under my wattpad account (rmorningstar21) once I get further in the editing process.  Please read the first chapter’s information page for more information on my crossover.

As she struggled to take her first breaths in this new world, y/e/c orbs landed upon amber ones, adorning a scar on one side of the male's face.  Struggling in her first moments, she could not help thinking, Shoto? as she stared into those eyes.  Vision blurred at first, she blinked once more to allow it to form into her view.  It couldn't be.  Her hand, for a brisk, second movement struggled to touch the face of her savior, a careful thumb gently caressing the man's cheekbone as a smile made its way to her face.    

She over-estimated the male's patience as he let a huff escape his lips, practically dropping the woman who had just woken up in this new world.  "She's probably useless, Uncle," he muttered as he began walking away from her.  "Clearly not the Avatar." 

"She holds incredible power," an elder male countered quickly.  "You don't know who or what she is." 

Finally dropping the woman back upon the ice below, he crossed his arms as his lips tightened.  "I don't believe the Avatar would be this naive," he spat coldly, walking away from the woman and towards the elder male.  "Let's go." 

"Even if she is not the Avatar," Iroh chided, walking over towards the woman who had still looked dumbfounded upon the ice, "She could be a valuable ally.  We also can't just leave a woman in the middle of the ocean." 

"What we need is to find the Avatar," the younger male countered shortly.  "Not to take in some stray, Uncle." 

The elder man moved into the woman's line of vision, a smile stretched across his wrinkled face.  "Please excuse my nephew's manners," he said kindly, reaching a hand out for you to take.  "What's your name?" 

Y/N blinked for a moment before taking the man's hand, clearly noticing the red garms the male adorned.  Y/e/c orbs simply stared before she finally parted her lips, her voice hoarse from being unused in so long.  "Y/N," she said finally, her voice cracking as she spoke.  "I was once known as Natural Disaster, but I'm sure the world has changed."  Standing to her feet, her voice still cracked and hoarse, she shifted her vision from the kind elder man to the rest of the world, her y/e/c orbs widened at the scene before her.  She could feel a set of salted tears attempt to well in her y/e/c eyes that she held back as she noticed the differences of this world alone.  "The quirk war...it's over." 

A large hand moved to the woman's back as the elder male guided the woman onto a ship, clearly a war ship, though it was a great deal different than anything she had ever seen.  In a kind tone, he said, "Let's get you some jasmine tea.  That should help with your throat.  It cures all ailment- well, not entirely, but." 

"How long was I frozen for?" She murmured, half to herself as she was led into the ship before her.  Her heart pounded in her chest as she admired the wall scrolls showing the fire nation.  Slender fingers trailed the symbol as she slowly made her way in.  "What is this symbol?" 

"She doesn't even know what the Fire Nation is?" The younger male voice called out with a scoff following as the two walked into the main room of the ship.  "Talk about useless." 

"Nation-," she started, her voice still hoarse, though shock was evident in her tone.  "Are you saying that you both have a fire quirk?  That there's a nation of fire quirks, just like Endeavor...or the cremation quirk of Dabi?" 

The elder man held out a cup of tea for her to take, which she did with a silent thank you as she sat beside the male.  Sipping it carefully, she listened to the elder man speak, her heart breaking more with every word that escaped his lips.  Y/e/c orbs fixated upon another fire nation symbol she had found in the room.  

"We are fire benders, yes," the elder male stated.  "My nephew is Prince Zuko, and I am Iroh.  What you're speaking of made the history books, but…" 

"But?" She questioned, her y/e/c eyes glancing over to him with an eyebrow raised.  

Iroh cleared his throat, an uncomfortable look against his features.  "What you're talking about is not well known," he continued.  "And dates back over a thousand years." 

Y/N's face dropped at the male's words, though she sipped her tea more to hide it.  The scratchiness in her throat began subsiding from the hot, calming liquid, though her heart felt constricted.  "I see," she murmured.  "Did anyone say who won the war?" 

"It is unfortunately unknown," Iroh replied, shrugging nonchalantly.  "At least, the history books didn't write that portion in."  

Y/N found herself laughing, her hand moving to her face to cover her lips as she laughed.  As it subsided, she spoke, "My purpose in this world was to protect those people, the heroes, the civilians, my family and friends.  Everyone wished to create a better world, even the villains who simply had a different view.  What I'm seeing now, it seems, is that we destroyed ours." 

"You speak from the view of a soldier," the male she learned as Zuko said, his attention drawn back over to her.  Amber orbs suddenly looked interested in her existence, be it just a tool in his own quest.  "Maybe you can be an asset." 

"An asset," she mused, before allowing a chuckle to escape her lips.  It was that of a hollow chuckle, a woman who had lost everything in the span of a few moments.  Someone hardened by war to not allow her tears to shed in the presence of people she was unsure of their trustworthiness, she nodded in reply.  "Surely," she spoke with a shrug.  "I create the elements, ie, Natural Disaster.  The heroes would typically rely upon my abilities in the form of hurricanes, but my abilities range to wildfire, tornado, flood, and earthquake as well." 

"Uncle, are you sure this isn't the Avatar?" Zuko directed towards the elder man who sat beside her, his visible eyebrow cocked at the male.  

Iroh nodded solemnly.  "The Avatar has only been missing for one hundred years," he stated dully.  "This woman has been frozen for at least a thousand." 

"I'm willing to do anything that provides a service to you two," she finally said, her y/e/c orbs shifting between the two.  "You two freed me, and everyone I loved is long passed.  I'm indebted to the two of you." 

As amber orbs met her y/e/c gaze, she could almost see the bit of pity that flickered in them.  "Very well," Zuko replied dully.  "If anyone asks, you're simply a fire bender.  Uncle, find her a uniform." 

"Understood," she replied with a soft smile, one that held back all the pain choking at her heart.  After all, she knew she was indebted to the two males that made up the room.  As someone who would have been considered significantly different from this time period, she was not inept to the idea of being used for the wrong reasons.  Though she could not trust the males yet, she had no other options. 

[whiskey-bumblebee]

amore mio

Pairing: Mob!Kylo x Reader Word Count: 1.6k A/N: okay so turns out that the song in Gilda is ‘amado mio’, which is Spanish and makes sense because her and Johnny are in Argentina but I... am a Fool and didn’t realize it wasn’t Italian (amore mio) until after I’d made my edit so,.. don’t kill me ? so the title of the fic is amore mio and the song it’s inspired by is amado mio, capisce? bueno Tagging: @babbushka​

He hadn’t planned on being here tonight. But here he was, in a stupid fuckin’ booth eating fries that were too salty, moping.

At least the whiskey was decent. With that thought, he nodded to Silas, who was sitting across the bar, and raised his glass in thanks. Silas had gone across town to buy a bottle of Kylo’s favorite.

Well, it wasn’t as if he would say no. Kylo was already pissed enough that he had to attend a mix and mingle event to fix the impression that his idiot father had given. The least anyone could do was buy him a decent fucking drink to keep him-  “Fuck,” he swore under his breath. Blood leaked out of his finger. He hadn’t even realized he’d been chewing at his cuticles. Drawing a deep breath to fight the urge to roll his eyes, he glanced over at the stack of napkins on the table and grimaced.

He wasn’t a germophobe or nothin’, but man, those could not be clean.

Kylo did close his eyes then, dipped the corner of the filthy fuckin’ thing into his tumbler before pressing it to his finger.

“Ay,” came a voice from the booth over his shoulder.

Nonplussed, Kylo looked over. “What?” “You gonna talk to anyone?”  “Jesus Christ, they really did send me here with a handler.” “Friend.” The burly man corrected.

“Handler,” Kylo scoffed, downing the last of his glass. Setting it down on the table with a heavy hand, he looked over at the man again.

“Keep my booth empty, I like this one.”

The man nodded and Kylo walked over to the bar. He moved to sit, then clenched his jaw as he remembered to ‘mingle’. With an eyebrow raise at the bartender, he made a mental note to figure out what this was punishment for once he was back home.

“What can I get ya?” “Nothing right now, I’m the dickhead who’s sponsoring the Midnight Blend. I just wanted to ask if there’s anyone here worth talking to.”

It was brisk, but he wasn’t in the mood to chat with the bartenders. Not when his whole night was looking like niceties and handshakes. The bartender nodded.

“Red suit seems pretty interesting. If you’re not in the mood to talk, navy baroque will do it for you. Ladies?” Kylo’s shoulders lifted in a shrug, and felt a wave of regret almost as soon as he’d done it. How embarrassing was that? Being asked about ladies and fucking shrugging?

“I could go for a lay, but I don’t do long term.” 

The words crystallized into truth as they left his lips. Sex hadn’t been on his mind while he’d been here, but now that he’d thought about it, it did seem like a better nightcap than the rest of the bottle.

His face turned sour again as he thought about how the night was likely to end. Alone on his balcony, the whole fuckin’ city probably getting laid while he looked down from his penthouse, drunk off his ass and thinking too much. 

Jesus Christ, he thought. The first half of a familiar demon crept into his mind and he pushed it back. ‘What if the rest of your life-’

He cleared his throat and realized the bartender had been giving recommendations the whole time. The bartender stopped and looked at Kylo then. Kylo just nodded and walked away, too tired to think about how to reply to a conversation he’d forgotten he was in.

What felt like hours passed, but the wrought iron clock confirmed it had only been three quarters of an hour. The handler looked smug, so maybe Kylo could go home. He tried to raise an eyebrow to ask for approval, but the man wouldn’t meet his eye.

Kylo assumed that was a no.

He turned around, rolling his eyes so hard it almost gave him a headache, and cursed under his breath.

When he opened his eyes though, he froze.

Descending the stairs in red, smiling playfully down into the band pit at the base of the stairwell. No name yet, but when he saw you, everything about you was in capital letters.

Your lips matched your dress matched your shoes and Kylo’s finger was at his mouth again, worrying his cuticles.

Before he could overthink it, he made his way to the bottom of the stairs and extended his arm.

You took it gratefully, the transition from stairs to floor made significantly easier.

Kylo didn’t even know there was an upstairs to this place. For all he knew, you came directly down from heaven and the stairs would vanish as you stepped off them. His thoughts were a mile a minute, but externally he was cool as ever.

“Drink?”

You nodded and gave him a little smile. 

“What’s my budget?”

Kylo smiled then, a little smile but a grin all the same. 

“Whatever you want.” “Well, I know what I want, but I know for a fact it isn’t here.” You had the kind of voice that convinced Kylo everything you were saying was extremely important, hinting at something deeper than he could understand.

“You a regular?”

“Something like that.”  There was that little smile again as you glanced at him. It had him weak in the fucking knees. 

“Well, I can send a friend across town to get it, if you feel that strongly about it.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll have a cosmo.” “Well now I’m curious. What’s your poison?” “It’s a rare Johnnie Walker.” Slight irritation colored your tone. “Midnight Blend?”

You quirked an eyebrow. Kylo read impressed.

“I took the liberty of buying a bottle and bringing it here when I found out they didn’t have it.”

You made a face that Kylo didn’t understand, a mix of impressed and offended. He realized he’d been asking all the basics. Regular, preferred drink. He kicked himself. Might as well have started with ‘come here often?’

For a moment you turned away, and Kylo was worried this was it. He’d missed his shot. When he followed the line of your gaze, he saw the clock again. You looked back at him.

“Touch early for midnight blend, isn’t it?”

He shrugged. “I’ll probably be drinking it ‘til midnight.”

He kicked himself again at how boring he sounded, and opened his mouth to say something, but you spoke first.

“So how about that cosmo?”

He relaxed again, nodded and walked you to the bar. For a moment he forgot why he was here. Fuck all that, he wasn’t gonna spend a second on those idiots now that you were here. 

He ordered, then thought too much about the ethics of looking at women and seeing them as a means of sex instead of as people. He brushed it off as a dry spell and decided he’d prove himself wrong by getting to know you.

“Thank you for the drink,” You smiled, touched his arm. 

No no no no, he thought. You couldn’t be leaving already. He hadn’t even asked you anything.

“It’s my pleasure. Do you want to sit in a booth? It’s quieter over there.”

You nodded, surprised him.

This time hours actually had passed. Well, almost two hours. You were laughing and leaning on him. He’d dropped all the names he could, bought you all the drinks you wanted. His confidence had risen as you’d moved closer to him at the booth. Your thighs were nudging each others’ every time you breathed now.

“So, I gotta ask, what makes you think you can come in here, looking like you own the fuckin’ place?”

You laughed with soul, harder than you had all night, and Kylo knew it was genuine. Your hand was on his arm again and he thought he’d die if you ever took it off. 

“I do actually. You know, own the place.” You gestured vaguely, wrist circling a few times before coming back to rest on your other hand.

Kylo laughed then. 

“You’ve been letting me rack up a fuckin’ tab buying you booze when you own the place?”

He was teasing, you knew it. Knew it by the sparkle in his eye and the way he was smiling.

“Hey well,” You shrugged. “You felt the need to stock it up with Midnight Blend, so I’m no different, right?”

He smiled, shrugged back. “You look incredible, by the way.”

“Thank you. It’s the dress’ first night out.”

You both paused for a moment then, sensing that what you said next would determine where the night went.

In the silence, Kylo realized that you were one of the people he’d been sent to get back on good terms with. If you owned the restaurant.... shit. You were a higher-up.

“I did, uh, tell you my name, right? Kylo Ren?”

You nodded, eyes still locked on his, still touching his arm and pressing your thigh against his. Waited for him to go on, then you remembered why he was so surprised.

“Oh, I’m meant to have a grudge against you, is that it?”

“Something like that,” Kylo mumbled into his drink, mood changing rapidly.

“Well, I like to form my own opinions.”

That was the sexiest thing you’d said all night. With the way you leaned up real close to say it, Kylo could feel your breath on his cheek. When he turned his face, you were right there.

He didn’t know it, but you had been about to kiss him.

Kylo smirked. “What do you say, we clear my tab and head back to mine?” You rolled your eyes playfully and leaned back. “What do you say, you pay your tab, I tell my family you’re all good and we head back to mine?”

He pretended to think it over, then looked back at you with a smile.

“Where is yours?” You pointed directly up. “Shorter walk than yours, I’m assuming.”

He nodded. “Want to hear a bad line?” His smile was devious as you nodded back and he leaned to whisper in your ear.

“What do you say we make this the dress’ first night off?”

[bewareofchris]

Public Relations 14/??

R atm | Alec Hardy/Dr. Bill Masters | Broadchurch, Masters of Sex | Strong language, eventual sexual situations

“The fact that Alec Hardy was not currently, had not ever, and did not want to date the American sex research did not seem very important at all to the town of Broadchurch.  They did what they had always done with a little bit of juicy gossip: they made a spectacle of it.”

<< prev

Alec Hardy did not appear to own any other clothes.  He had shown up, as promised, approximately an hour after he’d left Bill’s room.  His hair was slick and damp, his beard (or what must have been meant to become a proper beard) was neater and he had the slightest odor of refreshed antiperspirant.  It was just the clothes that hadn’t changed.  

“Is your partner okay?” Bill asked.

“I don’t think you can be okay in her situation,” Alec looked down at his own skinny body, rested his hand over the buttons of his shirt and then dropped his hand again, “I changed my shirt.”

If Bill stared at the shirt, if he really looked at it, he could almost tell it was a different shirt.  It was just that it was the same blue and the differences were almost imperceptible.  “Of course,” he said when he couldn’t think of anything else to say.  “Shall we?”  

He meant for Alec to go first, and he’d intended to open the door for him but Alec must have meant the same thing because they were both standing there with their hands vaguely raised toward the exit and neither of them moving.  Becca was, thankfully, in the bar and unable to watch the pair of them look at each other like idiots.  

“I’ll go,” Alec said as if he barely understood the words as they happened, “I’ll lead.”

Bill nodded, “yes, good.”

It still took a matter of seconds before the successfully started putting the plan into motion.  Alec was confused about his own offer (or it looked like he was) just before he took a step forward.  He pulled the door open himself and held it just long enough for Bill to get his hand on it.  The confusion didn’t stop once they got outside.

Alec stood there, hands hanging at his sides like he suddenly had no idea where to put them, while he squinted down the street.  The Broadchurch Echo was as busy as it had ever been.  A great swell of people were milling around on the sidewalk in front of it.  “We, uh,” Alec said.  He was glaring at the crowd.

“Maybe we could get something to go,” Bill suggested, “I’ve heard there’s very nice views from the cliffs.”

“I’ve heard that too,” said the man who lived in Broadchurch.  Maybe Alec wasn’t the sort of person to go looking for a view or perhaps he’d never had the occasion.  Whatever the reason, he made a statement look more like a question in the very same way he made taking a step forward look like a step backward.  Alec was leading them down the street but it still felt like neither of them knew where they were going to end up.  “What, uh--” Alec looked sideways at him, “what do you like to eat?”

“Whatever you like,” Bill said.

Alec frowned at him.  It made his whole face scrunch up, as intimidating as a toddler on the verge of a fit.  

They had come to a stop on the sidewalk, standing almost in front of a shop that sold reliable sandwiches and fries.  (At least in Bill’s very limited experience.)  Bill had slid his hands into his pants pockets and it added a delightful sensation of shameless amusement at the moment.

Alec was well and truly stumped.  He was standing there squinting at Bill as if he’d never seen a human before.  His hands were pressed against his hips as his tongue licked at his lips.  “No preferences?”

“Do you eat?” Bill asked.  (He’d said the words as a joke but as soon as he’d said them a worry formed in the pit of his stomach.  The realization that his jest might be closer to the truth than he liked.)  “You must eat.”

“Of course I eat,” Alec snapped at him.  “I’m human.  Why does nobody think I eat?”

Bill let the slow drag of his stare from Alec’s thin, bony shoulders to his stork legs convey the explanation.  “Then what’s the trouble?” Bill asked.

“I want to make sure there’s something you’d like,” Alec said.

“That’s very sweet of you.”

Alec scoffed at the words.  They must have reached his limit to make attempts because he seemed exhausted.  Bill could understand the way that felt; friendships and relationships had never come to him easily.  He had either let them go by him without making an attempt or he had simply dragged the other person into his life and kept them there.  

Except Betty.  Betty had been a means to an end, and then she had been an annoyance but she had insinuated herself into his practice and then his life and she refused to be gotten rid of.  At the end of all his stupid mistakes, Betty had been the only one left that could bear to look at him. 

“Come on,” Alec said before any further, painful attempts to hold a conversation could be made.  He led them into the sandwich shop, even being so kind as to hold the door for him.  

Unfortunately, there were people in the shop.  Even more unfortunately, there were people who had heard the rumors, that had helped spread them around.  Bill looked at Alec just to watch his face as he realized what they’d walked into.  The poor bastard had to put up with these same faces tomorrow.  

“Should we go?” Bill asked.

“It’ll be the same anywhere.”

--

Bill settled onto the bench next to him with all the fluttery motion of a bird ruffling its feathers.  There was the matter of arranging his jacket, and his trousers and his shirt front before he finally stopped moving long enough to take an interest in the sack of food between them.  Bill wasn’t even looking at Hardy when he spoke:

“I’m sorry.  I should have been more considerate.”

Hardy was prepared to object from habit alone; he didn’t need anyone to be considerate of his condition.  He didn’t want to be pampered; he didn’t want reasonable adjustments to be made.  But, he was out of breathing just from walking here.  There was a quiver of weakness underneath his skin that made even the most mundane objection seem defeated.  

“I like the view,” Hardy said.

“It is very nice,” Bill agreed.  He pulled a handful of napkins out of the sack and divided them between them.  “We don’t know one another,” wasn’t at all what Hardy was expecting the man to say.  “There’s a chance that we might never meet again, or even speak again, after today.  I hardly know anything about you.  I’m sure there must be plenty of professionals that have been telling you the same thing already.”

“Please don’t,” Hardy started to say.  He might have finished saying it too if not for how severely Bill frowned at him.  If not for how the man put a hand up to hush him before he could continue.

“You have to take care of yourself,” Bill said.

Hardy rolled his eyes.  “I have been.  Look at me,” he motioned at his own body, at his pitiful wrinkled shirt.  At the pants he’d worn the day before and slept in.  At his belt pulled another notch tighter.  “Still alive.”

“Your quality of life could significantly improve.”

“Not in Broadchurch,” Hardy said.  He squinted out at the sun glinting off the water.  The wind felt like sand, and salt.  It ripped holes through you if you stayed too long, and left you feel damp and cold.  

“You’d be able to resume normal life activities, like brisk walks in the morning.”

“I prefer slow ones.”

Bill was grinding his teeth.  His jaw was tense, his hands were coiling up into fists in his lap.  He was staring at Hardy like he’d never met a man that he disliked more.  And when it seemed like he was going to abandon the conversation, he said: 

“We could have had sex,” as if that had ever been a real possibility.  “I’m here as a punishment.  I’ve been banished by my secretary.  My wife is probably burning my belongings in the fireplace.  My mistress is getting married to another man.  We could have had sex; we could both of benefited from it.”

Hardy was searching for some manner of response.

Bill pulled the sandwiches out of the bag and slapped one into Hardy’s lax, open hand.  “Look at you, all I did was mention the word and it looks like you’re going to fall off the bench.”

“You--” Hardy sputtered, “you can’t just--  You can’t just say that.  This is my heart, I could die and you’re talking about sex.”

“I did say you were my type,” Bill said.  He didn’t seem very concerned at all about how they didn’t know one another.  He wasn’t the slightest bit interested in watching Hardy glare at him.  No, Bill was unfolding the paper around his sandwich like he could just eat.  

“That’s a compliment coming from a sex researcher.  I’ve bet you’ve seen every type there is.”

Bill shrugged, “most of them, yes.”

Hardy frowned at the grass around his feet.  He frowned at his shoes.  He frowned until he worked out what he wanted to say.  By the time he looked up Bill was already chewing his second bite.  

“I haven’t had sex in years,” he said.  “I probably don’t even remember how.”

Bill snorted at that.

Hardy pulled his sandwich out of the bag and tucked the sack under his thigh.  He was barely hungry enough to tolerate eating; he unwrapped the sandwich anyway.  “My wife cheated on me.”

“Yes, I remember.”

“So I won’t say that I’m sorry your wife is burning your belongings.  You deserve to have them burnt.”  He took a bite of his sandwich.

Bill sighed next to him; he didn’t protest at all.  He just nodded his head, “I know.”

“Still,” Hardy said after a pause, “it hurts to have your heart broken.”

Bill’s smile was agony.  He turned his head to look at Hardy just for a moment, and then out again at the horizon.  “Yes, it does.”

The conversation faded then, and they sat in silence, watching the waves and the sun.

next >>

@it-is-ineffable, @marvelmisha, @e3105eb, @may-darling, @bigleosis, @jiffry6969, @stardust-andwine

[x22wg]

Shore Leave (part 10)

Fresh from the gym, Michael Burnham stepped out of the shower with a soft moan of contentment from the warmth still lingering on her skin. Catching a glimpse of her profile in the mirror gave her pause, unable to look away. It still felt unfamiliar and strange to see herself like this. Such curves and just... so much of them. Michael found herself mesmerized by how the roundness of her belly curved into plump lovehandles, studying every crease and burgeoning roll with detached curiosity.

Touching her chubby cheek, Michael could not help but smile. While it felt like she barely recognized herself... when she had come face to face with the "Red Angel" down on Essof IV, her mother had known who she was right away.

Finishing drying her hair, Michael laughed at the absurdity of it all: She had nearly died trying to lure herself back from the future, only to learn that not only was her mother alive but a time traveller. And somehow she had decided what was most shocking about the whole thing was her mother seeing through a bit of extra chub. Perhaps that asphyxiation had killed off a few brain cells and Dr. Culber just didn't want to admit it.

"At least this helped against the temperature fluctuations." Michael patted her chunky flank and remarked wryly: "I suppose Georgiou wasn't lying about 'protecting me'..."

Burnham's hand moved to the front of her potbelly, relieved to see that she was making progress reversing the effects of the Emperor's "care". Sliding her hand up an invisible ruler she confirmed that her belly probably didn't stick out further than her – admittedly significantly fuller – breasts.

Her confidence surged, convinced that her efforts were paying off: Going to the gym. Carefully monitoring her nutrition intake. Being away from Tilly...

...Michael slumped, her confidence evaporated in an instant. Heaving a sigh she slouched down onto a bench. Lovehandles quivered with the impact as her belly pooled onto sprawling thighs. It let her stew in her lonesome misery for but a short while before she was called to action by a hungry growl.

Burnham knew better than tempt fate by starving herself and quickly finished up to make her way to the mess hall. Silently she imagined a carefully selected list of nutritious dishes. More vocally she groaned at the mental blandness. No wonder Tilly thought she was too serious and dull.

Michael shook her head as she walked down the corridor: What Tilly thought of her was the last–

"Oh. Hi there." Stopping a few meters away, Tilly shifted awkwardly from one foot to the other and held up a tentative palm by way of greeting. Her elusive gaze flitted to Burnham's damp hair: "Fresh from the gym, huh? Been working out? I thought we were going togeth–  oh never mind! Gotta stick to the regimen, right? Get swole. Rawr!" For emphasis, Tilly flexed her arm and felt her own veiled bicep. "...haha..."

Awkwardly stroking her own arm, Burnham was grateful for the redhead's defensive blathering: her attempt to fill the awkward silence between them. "Yeah..." she said eventually, failing miserably to affect a carefree air: "I just popped by for a bit..."

"Uhh-huh."

She wasn't fooling anyone. She was every bit as uptight as Tilly thought she was. "Uh... I better go..."

"Yeah, I was just... uh.. heading to the lab."

"Right..." Burnham made a hasty retreat before she ended up making things even worse by blurting out what she was having for breakfast. A strictly regimented platoon of lentils, spinach, beans and– a final glimpse of Tilly's copper locks caught Michael's eye before she disappeared around a corner. Instantly the list in her mind evaporated and she stomped into the mess hall with frantic determination. She snatched up a tray and slammed it down in front of the replicator: "Cheeseburgers. Plural," she said tersely. "Add fries..." Michael paused for a moment. "...and chocolate fudge cake."

"Is this really necessary?"

Initially, Burnham had been quite willing to break from her daily routine to check in with Stamets in Engineering. After all, she was the one who would have to use the time suit they were attempting to synthesize. Not to mention, in a way, seeing the suit take shape brought her just that little bit closer to her mother. It was a small comfort in place of the emotional solace she craved in the wake of her mother's sudden, but devastatingly short, reappearance. Michael knew she had not left her willingly, but still it felt like rejection. Just like she herself had been rejecting her only other source of that comfort which she craved...

What Burnham was less enthused by was being met by Stamets, Jett Reno... and a measuring drone. "I thought this was about the suit?"

"It is," Stamets assured her, before adding rather more awkwardly – with an attempt at a reassuring smile to match: "It's just a precaution."

"You already have the schematics–"

Utterly unwilling to pull any punches as usual, Reno activated the drone's hover-mode to interrupt Burnham: "What my esteemed colleague here's trying to say is: we're dealing with a piece of kit more advanced than we – especially he – can fathom. It's not a prom dress we can take in and let out on a whim."

"It will fit," Michael said firmly. Saru had seen the Red Angel – seen her – on Keminar. Wearing the time suit. Ostensibly no heftier than her mother, on whose schematics the suit would be based.

"She has a point..." Stamets glanced over at Reno. Mischievousness tugged at the corner of his eye, eager to contradict his colleague for that jab she had just directed at him. "Any adjustments we make to the design now will be obsolete if Commander Burnham loses more weight."

Reno considered the matter for a moment before offering her begrudging acquiescence. She disabled the measuring drone as if to tell Burnham she was dismissed and said inscrutably: "...or gains it all back..."

"...and then she was like 'yeah?'" Tilly leaned forward, abandoning her malevolently nonchalant Georgiou impression to get her companions' attention by tapping Detmer's soufflé with her spoon: "That woman's a total psycho."

Seeing Owosekun and Detmer pause opposite her, Tilly realized what she had done and gently stroked the offended dessert as if to make it better: "Whoops..."

When this didn't seem to allay their concern, an apprehensive grimace spread across Tilly's face: "Shoot. She's behind me, isn't she..."

Turning warily, she breathed a sigh of relief that was quickly replaced by absolute bewilderment.

"Is this seat taken?" Michael asked evenly. The three women just looked at her like a stranger  – which, to be fair, for the last couple weeks she had been at mealtimes. Then their eyes fixated upon her food tray as she sat down: filled almost to the brim with extra dessert.

"Oh... wow..." Tilly exclaimed shakily, the look on her face saying "who are you and what have you done with Michael Burnham?"

"Anyone want some cake?" Michael affected her most winning smile. "No? That means more for me then."

"Are you... alright?"

Burnham took a big bite out of her club sandwich, munching through her words: "Yeah, why wouldn't I be? Mmh, this is really good, you should try some."

Reluctantly, Detmer took a bite of the offered half, nodding in agreement as she chewed. "I didn't know this was on the regular menu."

"It took some convincing," Burnham said as she tucked into luscious dish after luscious dish, making theatre of how heartily she was eating.

"How do you 'convince' a machine?" Owo chuckled.

Detmer visibly relaxed as she accepted the rest of the sandwich: "Tilly, didn't you say you reprogrammed a food synthesizer to only make ice cream when you were a kid?"

As if slapped out of a trance, Tilly spluttered in confusion before feeling compelled to reply: "Uh... oh... what? Oh... that. It was just a matter of calculating the necessary protein concentration and small particle dispersion of emulsifiers."

"Right... of course..." Detmer managed to pretend to understand for all of three seconds before she burst out laughing. And just like that, the awkward atmosphere vanished.

"You gonna eat that?" Burnham asked jokingly, following up on the levity by pointing to Detmer's soufflé. Her humorous request was met with a smile, so chummy it was akin to a balm for her soul. She tucked into the dessert as it was offered to her, doing her best to reflect the warm camaraderie to Tilly beside her and smiling through chocolate-stained teeth.

"Seriously, is there anything you can't do?" Owo told Tilly, shaking her head in mild disbelief.

The redhead's eyes fluttered as she turned her attention away from Burnham to reply, rather morosely: "Well, too bad you can't power a time crystal with ice crea-heywaitaminute!"

Burnham thought her uniform should have fit better by now, compared to the last time she greeted a mystery guest arriving in Discovery's transporter room. She was certain it had felt less restrictive as of late, but having to walk at a brisk pace to keep up with Captain Pike really seemed to push the seams of her trousers to their limit. She made sure to file into the room after the captain so she could surreptitiously feel up her bum to make sure there were no hull breaches.

Feels so big... and round, she analysed before she snapped back to reality and quickly stepped up beside Pike before he caught on. They had to wait a moment for Tilly to arrive: A small eternity in which she could not quite put that round rear out of her mind... especially when Tilly came up from behind to join them.

Reflexively putting on her overbearing façade, Michael still raised a curious eyebrow when she glanced over at the redhead on her right: "Is that for me?" she joked, eyeing the bowl of spumoni ice cream in Tilly's hands.

"Ohh... no, no! I wouldn't want to ruin your diet! It's for... well, you'll see."

Before Burnham could retort, the trill of the transporter heralded the arrival of a young woman with wild hair and wilder fashion sense. Woad tattoos and nose ring was perhaps not the look Michael imagined for a planetary queen.

"Your Serene Highness, may I–" Pike said with respectful urgency, but was quickly cut off by an outburst of girlish enthusiasm:

"Tilly!" the queen of Xahea exclaimed with a big grin and rushed over to embrace her friend.

Burnham and Pike exchanged patient looks as the two women greeted each other with unbridled excitement. At least "patient" was what Michael was going for. Somehow a burning feeling was welling up inside her; petulant, almost childish.

"Po, this is Commander Michael Burnham," Tilly explained once the hugging was done and ice cream had been offered. She gestured towards the thin-lipped Burnham.

"Your roomie," Po observed, her second eyelids blinking curiously as she cocked her head slightly: "You look taller in your photos."

"Yes I've put on–" Burnham smoothed her uniform over her thick waist, somewhat self-conscious. "Wait... taller?" Expecting a comment on her weight, the queen's comment threw Michael for a loop.

Virtually vibrating with barely controlled excitement, Tilly continued by introducing Pike. He proceeded to give the queen a small bow, measured to the exact amount of courtesy expected of their respective stations: "Your Highness Me Hani Ika Hali Ka Po..."

"Po's fine."

"Right. Can you eat and walk?" Pike glanced down at the bowl in Po's hands. "I understand you can help us power a time crystal."

Taking a big spoonful of spumoni, Po nodded blithely and made to follow. Still somewhat perplexed, Burnham made up the rearguard, unable to keep from glowering as she watched Po and Tilly up front, all giggles as they huddled together.

[80steenmovie]

Single: Part Two

Billy Hargrove x OC

Listen to ‘Single’

Read part one here

Part Two Summary: The heartbroken but hopeful girl and the broken but still breathing boy meet for the first time...

Word Count: 3,192

Warnings: none

A/N: Guess who’s back, back again. Single is back, tell a friend. But in all serious, I know it’s been eons since I updated this story. I can blame technology for that one. I feel good about the potential of this story and its characters and I hope at least one person enjoys reading it as much as I love writing it. Being as this is my first story I’ve posted on the interwebs, there’s bound to be a few rough spots and hiccups. I would greatly appreciate feedback of any sort, but please be gentle and kind. And last but not least I have to thank those of you who let me ramble about writer problems and feeling stuck and helping me sort through them, you’re the real mvp’s. Happy reading! 💜

The bell ringing above the entrance broke you out of your trance and the mystery boy was gone without a trace. You knew nothing about this enchanting stranger, not even his name or what a boy like him was doing in Hawkins. But you had already made it your mission to unravel the blonde haired angel.

“What has gotten into you?” Lexi broke in. “It looked like you were under some sort of hypnosis.”

Your gaze was quickly directed towards Lexi and you barely breathed out, “Who was that?”

The only response Lexi gave was a scoff and a readjustment with her back against the wall and her knees against her chest.

You softly sighed, “What?”

“He was just some random guy with a nice face. And now he’s gone, so why is it so important?” Lexi sneered.

“He wasn’t like any other guy. You yourself said that.”

“Okay, he’s uber hot, so what? Why do you care so much?” she asked rhetorically.

You dropped your head slightly and bounced your eyes around to avoid Lexi’s glare and mumbled, “I-I guess, I don’t know. Never mind.”

“I’m sorry that I’m the only one concerned about tonight and that I can’t assist you on your case of the hot mystery boy.” Lexi retorted.

“Lexi, you know I care about tonight, I just-”

She quickly scooted out of the booth and cut you off with a sharp bite, “Just forget it. I guess I’ll see you at the party tonight, or whatever.”

You knew something was deeply bothering Lexi, but could not decipher what it was. And at this point, there was no talking it out with her and making it all better. Lexi was stubborn, and it would be awhile before she admitted the true cause of her outburst. Nonetheless, you had to let her know somehow that you cared and would never purposely try to hurt your best friend.  

“How are you going to get home?” You asked.

“I don’t know, walking is an option. I’ll figure something out.” She muttered with a harsh tone.

“That’s way too far to walk, please at least let me get you home.” You said glumly.

“Oh, now you care about me. Thanks, but I’ll pass.” Lexi snapped.

Without missing a beat, she turned on her heels and walked away from you, shoving the diner door open ringing the bell that was beginning to be a familiar and melancholic sound.

What was just breakfast and coffee with your best friend turned into misunderstandings and heavy hearts with no one but yourself.

But not for very long; the booth you were sitting at was the first next to the door and he saw everything from the parking lot. Your whimsical stare, your perplexing fixation on him, and the harsh words exchanged between you and Lexi that he didn’t need to hear to know. He now saw an innocent girl with a soft frown and a severed heart, her only company being a lukewarm cup of coffee. There were plenty of sad girls he came across that he would only to intend the pleasure the sadness out of. But when he saw you that didn’t even cross his mind and he felt a mar in his egocentric identity.

He opened the door of the blue Camaro to let in the brisk, fall air, hoping it would rid this new train of thought. To his dismay, it remained in tact and sharp in the front of his brain. It deeply frustrated him as to why he couldn’t understand this distant feeling. He could briefly recall that he had felt it only once before, a long time ago. But this detached memory surged through every bone in his body and it was forming a force he couldn’t fight with even the strongest fist.

Annoyed and slightly perturbed, he groaned and stomped his boots on the gravel. He took a  final and drawn-out drag of his newly lit cigarette, hoping the nicotine would erase the thought from his head. The nicotine making no said difference and now wasting a perfectly good cigarette, he would normally be moved pick a fight with someone who breathed the wrong way.   

About to get back into his car, he unintentionally caught a quick glance of you, not having moved at all from where he last left you. He slammed the door shut and put out his barely used cigarette on the ashtray on top of the garbage bin, subsiding from his usual habit of flicking it to the side without a care.

You were still staring down into your coffee cup and absentmindedly swirling a spoon around the perimeter and for once didn’t pay attention to the ringing bell. Lexi was far too stubborn to come back and make amends this quickly, and right now there was no else important enough to walk through that door that would be worth your time and energy.

A rich and smooth voice suddenly entered your wavelength and hummed, “Is this seat taken?”

You were slightly irritated at someone cutting into your self loathe time and only bothered to slowly raise your eyes to show your annoyance, which quickly faded into wonder and your head shot up when you realized who was standing in your presence.

Your body went into shock and had to adjust to realize the only dream you were in was the one standing directly in front of you. This wasn’t a daydream movie montage, this was your reality and you had to act fast.

You looked behind your shoulder wondering if there was someone hiding around the corner and snickering on your behalf. As much as you wanted to believe he was here because he wanted to be, your subconscious was telling you this was a practical joke. You hated the way embarrassment so easily colored your fair skin, and you could feel the temperature of your cheeks start to rise. No one was waiting around the corner to jump out and play the joker, just your fears getting the better of you once again.

You turned back around, for some reason half expecting him to not be there anymore, but he hadn’t moved an inch. Those sparkling baby blues were practically begging you to stare straight into them. But you did everything in your power to avoid making eye contact, afraid of what might happen if you did.

Trying your best to not catch his eye for more than a second, you spoke under your breath and tried not to stutter, “Oh, no. Um, it’s all yours.”

You averted your attention back to your coffee as he situated himself and slid into the booth with a light grunt. He folded his hands and put them on the table, striving to strike something out of you somehow, but to no avail.

He lowered his head and moved forward so that his face was inches away from yours.The smell of smoke billowed around him but he was close enough that you could make out his inviting scent. Fresh dew the morning after a bonfire in a pine and evergreen forest that seemed to radiate naturally from his skin. It took every ounce of your being to remain stagnant and calm. You could have easily played into his ocean eyes, before shifting forward to plant your lips on his, but you knew your patience would be a virtue.

He let out a heavy and exaggerated sigh and leaned back into his seat. Even though on the inside everything in your body was crying out to you to do something, anything, you remained despondent on the outside. You were curious as to what his purpose in sitting here with you and waiting for you to speak was, but tried to not give in too easily.

Here was a godly creature that should still be wrapped in warm bed sheets and catching up on beauty sleep. Yet here he was sitting in a sticky booth at Benny’s on a Saturday morning with a nobody like yourself. If not a practical joke, then what was it? What would motivate him to do such a thing?

He unfolded his hands and put them on the table to guide himself out of the booth and that was it, you thought. You just had your seven minutes in heaven and didn’t realize it till now, instantly regretting trying to play it cool and pretending to be someone you’re not.

That was until he took the spoon out of your hand and the cup of coffee out from under you, and you were forced to move back and look up. He was striding towards the counter, his backside facing you, and your calm demeanor was starting to wear thin. The Levi’s he wore hugged his body so perfectly, it was practically a sin. You were starting to think you were jealous of a pair of jeans, you had to laugh to yourself a little at how utterly ridiculous this thought was. You thought were better than that, but then he bent over the counter to talk to the waitress and you realized that maybe you’re not as innocent and pure as you would have liked to think. At first it seemed as surface level as a pre-pubescent grade school crush, but you were quickly realizing it was much more than that. Sure, there were butterflies in your stomach, a swarm of butterflies. But there were feelings in other parts of your body that you had never experienced before. And with your seventeenth birthday fast approaching, it was evident you were edging past the bloom of youth. These were strange and unfamiliar, scary and exciting feelings, and you were in uncharted territory without a map. The same feeling you had when he first entered the diner was beginning to resurface and your breaths were steadily getting deep and slow again.

The waitress behind the counter was significantly younger than the one that had served you and Lexi. You were too far away to hear what was being said, but in a way you didn’t want to know. The waitress moving out from behind him to look over his shoulder and smile at you was the only thing that alerted you to your habitual gaze. Your cheeks turned a light shade of pink and before you could fully erase it, he slowly turned his head to look back at you and sent you a small smirk. You shyly smiled back and turned your head towards the window to hide the huge grin on your face. The butterflies in your stomach were suddenly wistful and confident and if you opened your mouth they would fly out.

Only a few short moments later, he strides back towards the booth with a fresh, steaming cup of coffee. He carefully situates himself as not to spill and slides the coffee directly in front of you.

“Sugar?” He offered.

“Hmm?” You hummed in reply. “Oh! I mean...yes please.”

The simple offering of a confection for your coffee would be a passing thought, but with him it felt different and meaningful. Wanting to accept it as an affectionate pet name rather than a simple sweetener felt as if it were an automatic response. You let the hopeless romantic in you get the better of you, and could feel your cheeks getting warm. He dropped his head slightly to try and hide a tiny smirk but didn’t try very hard to conceal it for your sake.

He was still smirking and asked, “How many?”

“Just one.” You replied, accidentally catching his eye for a brief moment.

He dug his hand into his pocket, took out a singular sugar cube and reached out to hand it to you. When his rough fingertips brushed against your palm, something surged throughout your entire body and you stopped breathing for a brief span in time. You didn’t know what was happening, and felt momentarily paralyzed.

He noticed your change in body language and asked, “Hey, you alright?”

Your morning had been less than pleasant, and while only a few minutes ago you would have taken being alone over anything, right now his voice felt like a calm breeze and the only thing to get you out of your own head. Now you had the courage to lift up your head to meet his eyes and not avert them away. When your eyes locked with his, everything surrounding you didn’t suddenly stop, but seemed...stagnant. It was a dreamlike state, almost unconscious. Half awake, half asleep. Life was moving on around you, but none of it had any meaning. He was practically a stranger, but suddenly became the most important person in the world.

“Yeah, just...thinking. I guess.” You gave a small smile and forced laugh not wanting to elaborate on your thoughts.

Concealing your true feelings was a fight you never won, everything you felt may as well have been plastered across your forehead. And you knew this boy wasn’t anything less than smart.

He gave himself a moment for his words to gather and process, “What are you thinking about?” he questioned.

You were caught off guard by his question and grasped your coffee cup staring at it, grasping at your brain for the right words.

“Uhh, how to thank a kind stranger for bringing me a hot cup of coffee and sitting with a girl who was alone.” You answered while you rose your head back up to send him a tiny and genuine smile.

Looking down at his lap, he chuckled and ran his tongue against his top set of teeth. You almost could have sworn you saw a tinge of pink splashed across his cheekbones.

It seems your roles had reversed, as you kept your head up and put your elbows on the table and rested your chin on your fisted hands.

But like the flick of a switch, he rested his right arm on top of the booth and gave you a slight look up and down, “Let’s start with something simple. What’s your name sugar?” He practically purred.

“My name is Anna.” You replied softly.

“Just Anna?” He asked.

“For now.” You said confidently. “So who am I thanking?”

He lifted his hand from under the table and held it out to take yours. You returned the gesture and as he gently shakes your hand, he confidently says, “It’s Billy. Billy Hargrove.”

There it is again, that rush. His confidence quickly fades and you’re wondering if he felt the same thing.

You both proceed as if nothing changed inside yourselves, your eyes dart back and forth from the table to his eyes and you mutter, “Uhm, it’s nice to meet you Billy.”

You take a precarious sip of coffee and hum in pleasure at the it entering your bloodstream and warming you from the inside out. It was a simple cup of coffee, that anyone could make, but coming from him it somehow meant more.

“Thank you.” You said with a beaming but subtle smile.

You were only now getting a good look at his face and noticing how calming and inviting his blue eyes were, his subtle 5 o’clock shadow, pink tinted lips, and a fresh cut on his jawline. A face that you wanted to see more often but not get too used to.

He scrunched his face with a shrug and stated, “It’s nothing.”

With another sip of coffee you pondered the fear that he would be here and gone, it all seemed too good to be true.

“It’s not nothing to me. I might still be sitting here by myself with a cold cup of coffee if it weren’t for you.” You said slowly raising your head, and hoping he was still there.

He was. He shifted uncomfortably in the booth and cleared his throat and you were unsure of what he was about to say.

“I, uh saw your friend getting pissed at you then walking out.” He admitted while clearing his throat again.

You buried your face in your hands and let your hair fall in your face worried your cheeks were bright pink.

Billy lightly touched your forearm and said in a low voice, “Hey, I didn’t mean to embarrass you. I shouldn’t have brought it up, it was a dick move.”

You took your hands from your face and looked at his hand still on your arm then at his face and his expression was alert and forlorn. You slowly blinked your eyes, bringing attention to your long, dark eyelashes and matched his expression. Before he could get too good of a look at you, he whisked his hand away and returned to his previous stature with his arm resting on the booth.

“I should get going, my parents are probably waiting for me. Thank you again for the coffee. Bye, Billy.” You muttered as you prepared to make your way out of the diner. You felt this was your only option, but part of you was hoping and praying he would try and stop you, it wouldn’t take much.

You stood up from the booth and fumbled through your purse to find cash, and he reached out and grabbed your wrist.

“I took care of it. And you didn’t get to thank me properly. Sit, please.” He said, bobbing his head towards the booth.

You sat back in the booth and sighed, “Only because you said please.” “So what will it be?”

“Well, what does a sweet girl like you do on a Saturday night?” He grinned.

“Mmm, well probably taking a hot bath while reading a book. But I don’t suppose that’s what you had in mind.” You hummed and took a last sip of coffee with raised brows.

“You’re right, I’m more of a shower guy anyways. I guess we’ll have to do something else.” He said, keeping his gaze on you.

That remark sent a chill down your spine and made all the hair on your body stand up straight. There was an entire universe being created inside of you and it took everything to maintain your composure and pretend you were the same person Billy initially sat across from.

You tried to remain upright and calmly asked, “How does a party sound? Is that something we can agree on?”

“I could never say no to a party.” He hummed a few octaves lower than normal.

You took a napkin and a pen out of your purse and wrote down an address, “Pick me up here. Say at eight?” You inquired, your voice lifting.

“That sounds perfect. I’ll see you at 8...sugar.” He replied with a wink.

He folded the napkin, put it in his back pocket and walked away with a confident stride. You inhaled deeply and your chest rose. The tingling throughout your body caused your breath to hitch slightly before releasing a slow and steady breath out of your mouth. You felt a deep change, as if something had been awoken inside of you. This change had arisen from a sound, restful state and now it was alive and hungry.

Tag list: @hipsmcgee @xicarcalii @dacremontgomerylover @thoughstofaredhead @alexaaab (comment or send me an ask if you would like to be tagged!)

[dahlrenn]

A Bit of Home for the Bash

Time was running out, and the hunt was on.

Magical candles along the bulkhead ignited as Dahl’renn entered the hold of his boat. Having fulfilled his contracts, it was relatively empty, save for a row of wooden barrels to his right. Each barrel was stamped with Pandaren crest and labelled with their contents. Sugar, salt, black pepper, dill, chili flakes, juniper berries.

“Just one thing missing,” he muttered to himself, walking to a simple wooden table in the center of the hold. Spread across the table were a variety of documents. One was an invitation to this year’s Bonfire Bash in Stranglethorn Vale, the second seemed to be some kind of short story, and the third (and largest) was a map of a familiar continent; Pandaria.

The map was covered in check marks, X’s, and dashed lines meant to convey routes of some sort. Dahl'renn studied the markings for a few minutes, taking a nearby quill and drawing another X on the parchment, his lips curling into a frown. It had been eight days since he began his hunt. Eight fruitless days of questioning the locals, following rumours, and ultimately coming up empty-handed. He glanced from the map to the short story beside it, reading a short passage. Time was running out for Dahl'renn. It was only a few short weeks until the Bash, and he would be showing up empty-handed if he wasn’t successful.

Dahl ascended topside, shielding his eyes from the bright Pandaren sun. It was definitely summertime here. The local fishing village where he was anchored was bustling with activity. Coastal fishers were peddling their catches to traders who would then journey inland to sell the newly-gotten wares.

“Dahl'renn!” called a familiar voice. “Permission to come aboard?”

Dahl whipped his head in the direction of the plank bridging his boat to the bamboo dock, a smile immediately spreading across his face.

“Bry Lang! Of course, of course. You’re always welcome here!” Dahl waved him over, noting a certain bounce in the Pandaren’s step. Bry was one of the first Dahl had approached on his hunt. Initial efforts had proved fruitless, but Dahl was certain Bry would become an asset. After all, the famous Fish-Fetcher of Sri-La Village could hardly refuse prospect of the most significant catch in recent Pandaren history.

“What brings you to all the way down here, friend? Has new information reached you regarding my mark?”

Bry nodded at Dahl'renn, offering him a toothy grin. “Yes, yes! My contacts at Angler’s Wharf mentioned that they had seen signs of the -” Bry Lang whispered into Dahl'renn’s ear, giving a wary look to a group of Pandaren looking at the two of them. “- off the western coast! They plan to make their move soon, but I believe we can get ahead of them if we leave with haste.”

Dahl'renn nodded, listening intently to Bry’s words. “Mmm. I should’ve figured Nat would want to be in on the catch. Lucky for us they’re still down in Krasarang. We have the advantage of a head start. Come Bry! We’ve not a moment to lose!”

The next few minutes went by in a blur as Dahl'renn loaded Bry’s cart with fishing poles, spears, nets, and a variety of types of bait, ranging from dried worms, fresh worms, bread, cheese, berries, mushrooms, and just about any other small morsel you could imagine. Before long the two took off towards a fishing boat Dahl had rented from a local family. After about two hours of travel up the coast, they had made it to the rented boat. It was significantly smaller than Dahl'renn’s, with a smaller sail, but it would be faster and easier to manage.

Dahl could hardly pay attention as they loaded the boat. His eyes were out to the sea, continuously look for their mark, and their competition. With all their equipment loaded, they set out towards the sea. They were in luck. The wind was on their side as they gained momentum, and Dahl and Bry were setting a brisk pace now. Waves crashed against the bow of the boat, spraying seawater into their faces. Another hour had passed before Dahl raised the sail, slowing the vessel. They had reached their destination. The two set to work tossing the bait into the sea. Once they had finished, all that was left to do was sit back and wait. Dahl took a fishing pole, tying an unusually large hook to the line, then affixing a chunk of bread to the hook. With a mighty swing, he cast the line out into the water, watching where the lure landed for any sign of movement.

A minute passed. Then another. And another. Dahl sighed in frustration at the lack of progress. He certainly wasn’t the most patient elf in Azeroth, that was for sure. Cheering in the distance snapped him away from his thoughts. “Oh no,” he whispered in dread. Nat Pagle had arrived on a slightly larger fishing boat; several Anglers were with him. “They arrived sooner than expected,” Bry chimed. They were still a bit of distance off, but plenty close to land the catch of a lifetime. Nat and his crew operated with a precision that only came with decades of fishing experience. Their bait was better, their fishing rods were stronger. It was all but the end of the line for Dahl'renn. Nat’s arrival pretty much guaranteed that Dahl would be attending the Bonfire Bash without a  dish to contribute. Dahl slumped, setting his fishing rod down on the deck. All this effort, for nothing.

Suddenly, Dahl heard a clattering beside him. The fishing rod had begun to move! Lightning-quick, he snatched the handle before it was yanked out of the boat. He was nearly carried over with force of whatever had gotten hooked. Dahl braced himself against the railing, struggling not to let go of the fishing rod. “Bry! Get over here!” The Pandaren rushed over, grasping the rod as well. With a hefty tug, the two pulled back. The dorsal fin of their prey breached the water. Dahl’s eyes went wide. It matched the descriptions he had been given. This was it! He could hear shouting from Nat Pagle’s boat. The Anglers had gathered in a crowd and were pointing and hollering in Dahl’s and Bry’s direction. Now was their chance!

“Come on, Bry! Put some elbow grease into it!” Dahl shouted, straining against the force of this creature.

“I’m giving it all I’ve got, Captain!” Bry bellowed back.

Dahl'renn grunted and groaned, reeling in with all his might. He could feel their catch coming closer and closer! With one final roar, the pair hoisted the fishing rod back as far as they could. It groaned and creaked under the tension. Then it gave. A colossal fish soared through the air, then came crashing down onto the deck of their fishing boat, flopping around violently. Dahl reached for a spear beside him, thrusting into the fish until it laid still. Exhausted, Dahl'renn leaned against the mast. The Anglers were now sailing away, Dahl could just make out Nat Pagle giving him a respectful salute.

Bry inspected their catch, attempting to lift the fish off the deck. “Dahl'renn… I think this weighs at least one-hundred-and-fifty pounds! The largest Emperor Salmon ever caught!”

Dahl'renn looked over wearily, still out of breath. “Is … that … so?” He struggled to his feet, patting Bry on the shoulder. “I couldn’t have done it without you. Come on, let’s get this thing prepared.”

The two sailed back to the fishing village where a small crowd was waiting for them. News had spread from the Anglers of their prize catch. An official weighing was held. One-hundred-and-sixty-three pounds; a new record. Dahl had his prize brought to the hold of his boat where he would get to work. But first, sleep.

Dahl'renn spent the next day preparing and filleting the salmon, first cleaning it thoroughly. He had to separate the two sides of the fish into smaller sections, or they wouldn’t be workable. He covered the meat in a mixture of salt, sugar, black pepper, chili flakes, juniper berries, and dill, then tightly wrapped each piece in parchment, tying them closed with string. He placed the fillets within a wooden chest, filled with ice. Here they would cure for a few days until the Bonfire Bash, where they would be cut into thin slices. If he followed the recipe correctly, Dahl'renn would have a heaping tray of delicious lox ready just in time for the celebration, just like his mother used to make.

[bat-losers-inc]

Kintsugi: Chapter 5

Warnings: panic attacks, drug use, and adult language.

Summary: Final Crisis/Red Robin AU. Dick admits Tim to a psychiatric facility after Bruce is lost in time. Jason finds him suffering at the hands of a Scarecrow-copycat and breaks him out. While safe in Jason’s apartment, Tim still struggles with panic attacks and drug withdrawal. At a loss for what to do, Jason calls Roy Harper.

Pairings: Jason Todd & Tim Drake, Tim Drake & Roy Harper, Roy Harper & Jason Todd.

As Roy drove them back to the safehouse, casually inquiring about some recent news stories that he’d seen coming out of Gotham, Tim stared out the back window feeling spacey and drunk. He squinted at the passing buildings and the brilliantly illuminated billboards, but couldn’t focus his eyes enough to read any of the signs and advertisements before they streaked past him into the gloomy distance.

“Could you turn up the heat?” Tim asked, acutely aware that Roy had complied with this same request only five minutes earlier. While the cool spring air had felt like a relief from the stuffy diner only a moment ago, Roy’s car seemed to trap in the cold air despite the number of bodies in the car radiating heat. Though it was a lie, Tim was almost starting to believe the story Jason had sold to the stranger in the parking lot. He really did feel sick; suffering from clammy palms and brisk shivers seemingly all at once.

Tim caught the flash of Roy’s eyes in the rearview mirror but it was hard to tell who his concerned gaze was directed at. Perhaps, both of them, thought Tim. He knew his withdrawal symptoms were getting worse and would only continue to get worse until his body recovered from its current chemical imbalance.

“Hey, Tim,” Jason slid off his leather jacket. “Take my jacket instead.”

He pressed Tim forward slightly with a hand between his shoulder blades so he could flip it over Tim’s shoulders.

“You sure?” he asked, though his fingers were already curling into the smooth brown leather and pulling it tighter around his frame. He felt bad taking Jason’s jacket since he was already wearing a pair of Jason’s old sweats as it was, but he didn’t know if he could play down his reluctance if Jason changed his mind and asked for it back.

Jason smiled, with a hint of knowing humor. “Yeah, I think I overdressed. That’s my bad, I never know how to dress in the spring. One moment it’s cold and windy, the next it’s raining and it’s up 15 degrees.”

Roy pulled the car around to the back of the safehouse and into one of the old loading areas previously used for stocking shipping trucks. While the trucks had been cleared out when the facility went out of business, it seemed Jason still put the space to good use as a makeshift garage. As Jason slipped out of the back to pull the rolling steel door down behind them and lock it with chain and padlock, Tim caught sight of Jason’s motorcycle propped up on its kickstand across the room, part of it’s red trim visible under the sheet covering it.

Tim pointed a thumb back over his shoulder at it as Jason straightened up from the floor. “How come you didn’t take the bike to come find me?”

Jason laughed and shared a smile with Roy over the roof of the car. “Oh, man, wouldn’t that have been a sight! Me trying to make a discreet getaway with your skinny ass flopping around all unconscious over the handlebars.”

“I’m pretty sure we’ve pulled off bigger stunts than that with just a motorcycle,” said Roy. “I’m sure you could have made it work.”

“Wouldn’t have mattered. Bike’s in the shop after a nasty run-in with Clayface. I’ve got to take the whole thing apart and clean it piece by piece before I can see if it’ll even run again. Who knows, might have to buy a new engine if there’s clay in there as well.”

Roy whistled, “Damn, Basil.”

“If you’re taking it apart anyway, I could make some upgrades to the tech. If you want, that is?” offered Tim.

Jason walked over to him and didn’t stop until he was close enough for Tim to smell the faint lingering scent of coffee on his breath as he exhaled a tired smile. He reached out and tugged his jacket by the collar so it rested further onto Tim’s smaller form. “Thanks for the offer, but I’m poor.”

“No, I’m offering to work for free.”

Jason rolled his eyes before leading the way out of the loading area and up the concrete stairs to what had been converted into the first floor living area of the safehouse. “I know, but I wouldn’t be able to afford the tools you’d need to make anything with. Circuit boards, soldering iron, electricals wires that kind of shit.”

And Tim was beginning to understand what Jason was talking about as he looked around the first floor. It was comprised of three loosely formed sections. The first area was a living room consisting of a worn-looking leather couch, a threadbare rug, and a small TV propped on top of a stack of wooden crates turned sideways to double as a bookcase. Next to this was a workspace that was just a wooden table with three Mac desktop computers placed on top and an office chair in front. Finally, in the back corner of the large space was the kitchen (probably the most lavishly furnished area out of all three sections of the first floor) sporting a butcher block table, a dangling array of pots and pans, and floating cabinets stocked with chipped coffee mugs, plates and bowls, and your grandmother’s finest depression glassware in all it’s emerald greens, deep blues, and salmony pinks.

Tim, honestly, stood there in shock at such an eclectic sight of homegoods and turned away from it to look around, if only to spare his eyes. He caught sight of a bin shoved against a wall next to a bank of windows.

“Why do you keep a bin full of your broken Red Hood helmets? Do you fix those up as well?”

Jason came up next to him and offered him a glass of water in a decoratively cut salmon tumbler. “Oh, I sell them off to Red Hood fans as ‘found artifacts’ on Ebay. I usually can get a couple hundred for the heavily dented ones. Maybe a solid fifty bucks if it’s shattered and missing certain parts.”

“Oh, you still do that?” asked Roy, coming over and taking the glass of water Tim had waved off. He drank heavily from it before continuing. “I tried that for a bit but nobody really cares about destroyed baseball caps, even if I do specify that they were cut in half by alien death lasers.”

Tim glanced between them, thinking only of how horrified Bruce would be if he learned about this side hustle Jason had going. “But… aren’t you worried about people getting access through your old comm links inside the helmets?”

Jason made a face. “No. I rip out the comms myself before I sell them. I’m not stupid, Tim. I just have bills to pay. Welcome to the vigilante life without Bruce Wayne’s trust fund to fall back on.”

Without Tim even noticing, his trembling had subsided for a period. It was only now, as he felt a chill race up his arms, the hair bristelling, that he realized another spell had started up again. Tim stumbled back so he could lean back against the edge of the butcher block table on trembling arms, he sucked in a sharp breath in an effort to steady his sudden nausea.

“Hey guys, I— ” Tim looked up towards the two older boys and regretted it almost immediately as the room lurched and sparkled with pinpricks of light.

“Tim? You good?” Roy’s eyebrows were drawing together as he gave him a once-over.

That growing buzzing in his ear was rising high enough to block out whatever Roy was trying to say to him. He tried to shake his head no, but found his head just as uncooperative as his tongue. He was aware of the heavy weight of his limbs, a feeling like he was sinking into mud, and of Roy’s sudden appearance at his side as he took Tim’s dead weight over his shoulder and half dragged him up the stairs. They laid him down on a narrow bed, and Tim watched Roy and Jason as they stood over him arguing with sharp gestures and vivid expressions, a tv drama with the sound cut off.

He couldn’t speak. Couldn’t move. He felt like some large invisible hand had dropped out of the sky and pinned him to the mattress. Tim was used to fainting from blood loss: the dizzy spells, the loud thump of blood in his ears, the weakness in his limbs, he had experienced it all before. But this sensation lingered for so long that Tim feared he’d suffocate under the crushing weight bearing down on his chest.

Roy cut off his argument in mid sentence and looked sharply down at Tim. Perhaps he’d made some sound of distress without knowing it? Before he could ponder it further, Roy’s strong fingers were digging into his shoulder and pulling him up and over the side of the mattress, pushing Tim’s head down between his knees.

Tim was surprised by how quickly the worst of his symptoms abated after that. He experimentally tried to move his hand and watched as his fingers gave a hard twitch against his bent knee. Noise, too, was slowly creeping back into Tim’s ears. He definitely wasn’t back to normal, but it was significantly better.

“ — I’ve got some Benzos from a dealer I’m familiar with. Pills— he didn’t have whatever Tim was given at Breckenridge on hand. But what was I supposed to do? I had no idea how much to give him and he was unconscious at the time.”

Roy grunted, fingers sliding free of Tim’s hair.  “Could have gotten him tested when he woke up. A urine sample at least.”

“Listen,” snapped Jason, his jean-clad legs visible from Tim’s upturned position. Tim watched him shift his weight onto his other foot and then back again just as fast. “I was just happy he did wake up. Do you want me to go get the pills? I can get them they’re right—”

There was a sudden burst of movement and Jason cut off abruptly. Tim raised his head, curious. Roy had seized at one of Jason’s gesturing hands, stilling it in a tight urgent grip. “Don’t tell me where you keep them and don’t tell him.”

Roy’s eyes cut to Tim. He swallowed hard when he caught sight of the look in Roy’s eyes— a look that showed that Roy knew just what he was capable of losing to another relapse if given half the chance.

“Go get it from wherever you’re keeping it, but it stays in your hand or locked away at all times. Do you understand me? No matter what I say to you. You never hand those drugs to me and you never put them down out of sight.”

Tim wondered what it was like to be so distrustful of your own body and its cravings. To feel like human and demon cohabitating one frail form. The demon half— resistant to exorcisms— always waiting for the perfect opportunity to take control of your limbs and lead you into disgrace if you let down your guard. Tim was beginning to understand why addiction organisations had adopted the serenity prayer into the very fabric of their programs.  

Jason pried his wrist free of Roy’s hold and attempted to rub away the lingering pattern Roy’s fingers had left around his wrist like a bracelet. “I’ve got it, man. I promise I won’t let you get tempted.”

Roy shoved up to his feet. “No I will be tempted, Jason. This whole fucking situation is one big horrible temptation for me. Which is why I shouldn’t be here!”

“Then why did you come, huh?”

“I came because you asked me! Because you’re my best friend and I was worried sick about what would happen if I left you on your own with this. I mean, just look at him, Jason— ”

Tim cringed as Roy flung an hand in his direction.

“ — It’s only been a day and a half and already you’re doing so well!”

Jason wouldn’t be swayed from his original argument, even to defend his own actions.

“You came to Gotham because you wanted to help. No just for one day, not just to set up, but to really help Tim— to help the both of us when we’re days into this mess of a situation and worn down by it. You know the process better than anyone and how to help on the worst of Tim’s days because you’ve experience it too.”

“I can’t do it, Jason. I can’t be responsible for someone else’s recovery—”

“You know just as well as I do that sponsoring someone else is the best way to stay clean. And your sponsor is closer to you now more than ever. If you need more support to fall back on Croc’s—”

“Do not spit that NA bullshit at me right now! I’m not ready to sponsor anyone when I feel like I’m one misstep away from using again.”

Jason’s tone had lost its anger but not it’s earnestness. “You’ve been clean for three years, Roy. You’ll ready to take the next step.”

“You don’t get to decide that for me.” said Roy.

“I know,” said Jason. “I’m just presenting you with the opportunity to step up to it.”

Roy dropped his gaze to a stack of books piled up in the corner. He rubbed slowly at his crossed arms. “Just—” he sighed, hand rubbing at his eyes. “Just go get the pills, please.”

Jason stared at Roy’s averted back for a long moment before turning and heading back downstairs. The sounds of objects being shifted around floated up to them in the echoing space of the safehouse.

Roy said nothing.

Though he hadn’t been yelling at him, Tim felt called out by his previously harsh words all the same. He dropped his eyes to the floor, not daring to move until he heard Jason thumping up the metal staircase, feeling burdensome and unworthy of causing such a rift between a two longtime friends like Jason and Roy. He was dirt— less than dirt, even. Should he just take the pills and leave? Trudge back to his apartment, file the emancipation papers, and ride this out alone with the doors locked and the shades pulled down until he was clean? Save everyone the trouble.

Would Jason even let him? He’d said no, but maybe it Tim really pleaded with him...

He couldn’t hide the fact that the prospect of setting out on his own, in his current condition, scared him more than anything. He was vulnerable in a way he’d never been before, and doors and locks would do nothing to stop Ra’s and his men from coming to collect him if Ra’s wanted to. The only thing that Tim had previously had going for him when he was locked away in Breckenridge under a false alias, was the knowledge that Ra’s didn’t know where he was— but sick and alone at home was another matter entirely.

Jason appeared at the top of the stairs and approached Tim, a tiny plastic bag filled with little white pills in one hand, a glass of water in the other. By the time Jason crouched down in front of him, Tim’s heart was pounding an aching thump inside his chest and his stomach was coiled tight with knots.  

“Just give him one for now, just to ease his symptoms.” said Roy from the corner of the room.

“Here, Tim. Take this,” Jason said.

Tim felt ready to die from his panic. He stared between the single pill resting in Jason’s palm and the pills inside the small bag, counting how many were there. He was afraid to take the one Jason offered out to him— afraid of prolonging this process, and at the same time he wanted to tear bag out of Jason’s hand and tilt a few into his fist and swallow, to drown out the world until it faded into a tiny buzz at the back of his head. Something that he could ignore for a bit until he felt more up to it.

“I’m sorry!” Tim burst out all at once. He curled inwards, pulling his legs up onto the mattress, unsure of when exactly he’d started crying. But his breaths came heavy and ragged and the tears in his eyes washed out Jason from view.

“Hey, hey,” Jason had put down the glass and Tim found himself pulled against Jason’s chest, his face awkwardly pressed against Jason’s breast. “Shh, it’s gonna be okay, Tim. Here just take this and you’ll calm down a bit.”

Jason slipped a pill past his lips and tipped his head back to catch a sip of water. Tim swallowed reflexively, mostly afraid that he might choke on the pill if he didn’t with the way his chest was spasming through sobs. Jason pulled him close again and Tim heard but couldn’t make sense of the murmuring conversation that occurred between Roy and Jason, for it sounded horribly technical and out of place with what Tim was feeling in that moment. He was transported back to Breckenridge, remembering the constricting sensation of orderly’s hands pinning his own to his sides, a needle sticking into him, and the voices of a station nurse and his doctor exchanging notes over his head that sounded like they came straight out of a medical textbook.

What do you mean? Tim wanted to cry at them but he could already feel himself slipping down into the mattress beneath him. Jason’s hands tucked a blanket around his shoulders and then they were gone.

And then he was gone.

  Jason left the safehouse, and in that moment he felt that it was the hardest thing he’d ever had to do.

Only minutes ago, he’d looked down at Tim, tucked under a blanket with tear tracks still staining his ruddy cheeks, looking younger than Jason had ever remembered seeing him. Just a kid, a horribly fucked up kid that Jason was trying to save.  

“You need to go back to Breckenridge,” Roy urged. “Keselman’s office is the only place we have that could give us the record of Tim’s dosages.”

“Go back to an active crime scene? Are you kidding me? I might as well walk myself into a Bludhaven police station.”

“It’s suicide.” Jason stressed for added effect since it seemed like Roy wasn’t getting that.

 “Not necessary,” said Roy, “You killed him in the basement where he was working off the books. Those notes might have been overlooked as irrelevant by the detectives at the time.”

Jason’s eyes lingered on Tim.

Roy stood up from his crouched position on the edge of Tim’s bed and walked over to Jason. He gave his shoulder a squeeze. “He’ll be fine. I’ll be right here to look after him.”

“But the pills— you said you couldn’t— what if he needs more—”

“He’ll be fine with what we gave him for now. It’s enough to take the edge off and help him sleep for a bit.”

Jason nodded, if begrudgingly and went to get changed into his full gear for he was unsure what he would find waiting for him back in Bludhaven. With the pills safely locked at of reach, Roy tossed him his car keys and Jason drove towards Bludhaven with his utility belt and helmet resting next to him in the passenger seat. He parked the car a few blocks away on a side street with little traffic and slipped into the rest of his gear under the shadow of a broken streetlight.

From his previous research of the psychiatric hospital Jason understood the medical offices to be on the upper levels and on the other side of the facility from where patients were housed. Jason guessed the idea was to keep patient and visitor interactions as separated as possible unless visitations had been scheduled. Much like, Jason thought with dark irony, the way a prison facility was arranged.

But even with that thought lingering in the back of his mind, Jason was glad for the enforced separation since it meant that Jason was able to stay far away from the added security and police tape that blocked off the lower levels that Jason had explored the night before.

He entered the building through a service door whose locked he picked with ease. Then came the slipping and ducking again, this time past the doors of the medical staff— their office aglow in overhead lighting as they busily held conference with other psychiatrists or typed away at their papers. Jason found himself having to duck low under the windows placed in their doors so his shadow couldn’t be seen moving past.

When Jason found Doctor Keselman’s office, he saw that Roy’s argument had held up. While the doctor’s office wasn’t the prime scene of investigation, it had still been picked over by the detectives on the case. The sheer mess of paperwork and empty filing cabinets was enough to tell Jason that. But even still, much of the doctor’s paperwork and patient files remained.

Alvin Draper’s file, however, was not among the stack on the floor. Jason stood and surveyed the room with a critical eye, humming the jeopardy theme song to hurry along his slugging and distracted brain. It was hard to focus on anything in particular in the current darkness of the space but he dared not turn the lights on and risk attracting curious eyes to a dead man’s office.

 “If I was a mad scientist where would I hide my notes?” Jason asked himself, his hands sliding underneath the bottoms of the desk drawers, hoping to find a hidden cache. Jason picked open locked drawers and slid the couch away from the wall, but continued to find nothing but lost paperclips and dust bunnies.

He let his head fall back against the arm of the couch with a thud, staring disparagingly up at the water stains overlapping on the ceiling tiles and contemplating his remaining options. “If I have to go back down to that creepy fucking basement again there’s gonna be another murder I swear to god.”

Jason tilted his head to the right and squinted. “Oh, don’t tell me he did a Breaking Bad. What a fucking idiot.”

Jason jumped up and grabbed one of the guest chairs from around the front of the desk and dragged it up again the wall. He stepped up onto it and as quietly as he could, worked the screws out of the wall vent with the back of his knife, collecting them into the cup of his palm. He pulled the cover off of the vent, his breath held tightly in his chest, hoping beyond hope that it didn’t make any noise. Jason crouched down and laid it on top of the desk before shining a light up into the vent.

The sight that greeted him made his heart soar for deep at the back, duct-taped in place, was a clear case holding a series of papers and an audio recorder. Jason shoved his arm into the vent and ripped it from its hiding spot.

Standing over the desk with it, he cracked it open and skimmed through the papers tucked inside. Scanned copies of Alvin Draper’s medical records— pulled straight from his file and promptly returned as if nothing was amiss, handwritten pages full of calculations and notes, and finally tucked underneath it all a small field notebook. Jason unwound the cord ties and flipped through it hungerly, feeling excited— in a way that would have almost made him feel uncomfortable if he’d stopped for long enough to think about it— as his eyes skimmed down through the diary entries noting the strategic increases in the listed dosages and their side effects.

Jason stared down at the final entry, dated only a few days ago, for a long time. He tried to wrap his head around the last noted dosage that Tim had been given while mentally comparing it with the one on the first page of the journal. His mind drifted back to the scene that he’d left unresolved in his safehouse, pushing away the background noises of the stirring papers on the desk and the the tick of the wall clock at his back, in favor of recalling how quickly Tim’s panic had increased to the point of spilling over into a panic attack.

 Jason’s thoughts jumped backwards with a jolt. Stirring papers… he’d placed them on the desk but he hadn’t open the window—

Jason jerked his gaze up from the notebook and found Damian’s katana drawn and held ready to cut his face in half. Dick, in Batman’s suit, was just slipping his other foot over the window sill and straightening up to regard him. “Motherfucker.”

“Where is he, Jason?” Dick growled in his best Batman voice. Close, he thought, but not nearly as intimidating. “Where’s Tim?”

Jason tucked the notebook into an inside pocket of his jacket. He held up his hands, arms spread wide in a gesture of peace.

“Okay,” he said. “So here’s the thing—”

He flung the chair he’d been standing on at Damian’s chest and bolt for the door.

[serenlyss]

Don’t Thank Me Yet Chapter 3

Rating: M (guns, murder, ptsd, canon typical violence, mentions of torture) Pairing: ritshou Summary: “Alright then. I’m Shou,” he says, introducing himself more properly this time. “I’m an esper, like you, the first in existence to be forcibly awoken by Claw’s crazy torture machines. They kidnap kids with potential latent psychic powers and break them, over and over, until either their powers emerge or they die. It doesn’t matter either way to them.” His expression hardens as he speaks, clear distaste and outright malice evident in his tone. “I could really use your help here, you know. A partner of sorts, someone to watch my back. What do you say?“ Ritsu hesitates. He isn’t a fighter by any means, and the psychic powers now churning beneath his skin are still very new and frightening. It’s all very overwhelming, but Ritsu can’t help but feel a sort of sickening hope at Shou’s promise for revenge. It did have a sort of dark draw to it. In which Claw is a lot worse than they seem and Shigeo isn’t able to find his brother after he’s kidnapped. Crossposted to AO3: Chapter 3

Chapter 2 // Chapter 4

Here's chapter three! This one's a longer one and I spent a lot of time editing it to make sure it landed well, so I hope you all like it! Thanks to @wiz-witch for beta reading this chapter!

“The base is one of the old types. We know the floor plan well,” Ootsuki debriefs. “Higashio found it after tailing an unmarked black vehicle to the outskirts of Seasoning City. You can probably guess why it sounded so suspicious.” He turns to look over his shoulder from the passenger seat of Higashio’s car, expression grim.

Ritsu swallows thickly. The description is eerily reminiscent of the car he’d been shoved into after being beaten to near-death by the Claw esper who had kidnapped him, the kind with tinted windows and sound-proof doors. “There might be other esper kids there,” he says, expression hardening in fierce determination.

In the four months he and Shou had been working together, they’d destroyed quite a few Claw bases, but only a few had actually housed kidnapped espers, and none of them had shown signs of being significantly powerful psychics. None of them had been extended the offer to join Shou’s resistance, either, their powers too new or too weak to be of much use.

“You had exceptionally strong psychic powers as soon as you were awakened,” Shou had told him, not long after they’d first met. “It’s why I offered you the job in the first place, and it’s why Claw is so intent on finding you. Most espers are weak when they first awaken. If they were all as powerful as you were, you wouldn’t have been able to make as easy of an escape as you did.”

“Do you think there might actually be kids in this one?” Ritsu asks, glancing to his side.

Shou sits beside him, hunched over with his elbows on his knees. His brow furrows in thought, and he frowns. “If there’s a chance, we have to take it,” he says firmly. He’s dropped his usual snarky cheerfulness for an air of calm resolution, a look he always gets when he’s focused on a mission. He sits up. “We’ll go with our usual formation: Ritsu and I will head for the basement and pick up any prisoners we find while the rest of you take the top floor. Take out the Scars on sight, but play it safe; Today’s not the day to take risks.”

Ritsu can’t help but agree. It isn’t often that they get back-to-back intel, and taking out two Claw bases in two days is certain to leave them worn out and more than a little battered. He’s already beat up enough from the last mission, the glass cuts on his arms and foot still fresh, so he won’t be able to fight at full throttle if a brawl breaks out. “We should be as fast as possible,” he adds, glancing at Shou. “Better safe than sorry, right?”

On Shou’s other side, Fukuda gives a brisk nod. “Yes, there’s no use in staying longer than we need to. Usually we would take the time to find hints of the enemy’s plans, but it may be too dangerous to do that this time around,” he agrees.

Shou sighs, obviously a bit disappointed, but he doesn’t argue. “Alright, we’ll be quick, then. In and out, and we blow the place sky-high as soon as we regroup.”

Murmurs of assent fill the vehicle, and then the group falls silent as Higashio drives them all down a forest road. Ritsu looks out the window; it’s already long past sunset, the sky black and dotted with white stars overhead. He feels a familiar fluttering in his stomach, a nervousness that makes his heart rate pick up and his breathing come a little quicker. He gets it anytime they go off on a mission, subconsciously preparing himself for being back inside a replica of the lab that had tortured him only a few months ago, and even though he’s never stepped foot inside this particular building, he remembers the layout of it vividly.

He feels a hand rest lightly on his shoulder, drawing his attention away from the blurry trees outside. Shou isn’t looking at Ritsu, gaze fixed on the floor of the car as he waits for Higashio to announce their arrival, but the comfort is still there. Ritsu lets out a breath and forces himself to relax a bit, focusing on the weight on his shoulder.

It takes a few more minutes of driving before Higashio suddenly takes the car off-road, carefully weaving through a sparser part of the woods in search of a place to stash the car. Ritsu grips the handrail over his head and Shou reaches out to grab the back of the passenger’s seat. Ritsu can see the anticipation burning in his gaze as he leans forward, eyes searching for that gray concrete building through the gaps between the trees.

“We’re here,” Higashio says, putting the car into park. Ritsu immediately pushes open the car door and climbs out. A light, cool breeze stirs his hair, and he absent-mindedly adjusts the black gloves on his hands. It’s a cold night for it being summer.

Shou steps out beside him, squinting into the trees. “We’re too far away to get a good look. Let’s get a bit closer and scope the place out before we go inside,” he instructs, fiddling with the hems of the pockets of his jacket restlessly. He worries the seams between his fingers and thumb, tugging at loose threads in an attempt to relieve some of his restlessness. He strides forward without even bothering to see if the others are following, single-mindedly focused on his goal. Ritsu can practically feel the apprehension radiating from him. It’s not like Shou to get worked up over a mission; he must be feeling extra concerned over this one.

Ritsu shakes his head and falls into step a pace behind him, and the rest of the group follows close behind. He speeds up a little so he can walk beside Shou instead of behind him, peering down at his resolute expression. “Hey,” he says, “we’re gonna be fine. We’ve done this a dozen times already.”

Shou casts him a glance, eyebrows raising slightly in a faint show of surprise. Then a small grin breaks out on his face, and he turns his gaze forward again, squaring his shoulders. “Yeah, I know,” he replies, letting his hands drop from his pockets to hang open at his sides instead. His posture is more relaxed now, more like what Ritsu’s used to seeing from him.

They walk a bit longer before Shou pauses. The concrete walls of the lab can be seen now, illuminated by the bright white lights that circle the outside of it. Ritsu pauses beside him, casting him a glance while he waits for Shou to execute their plan.

Wordlessly, Shou lifts a hand and gestures for Higashio, Ootsuki, and Fukuda to separate from them and make their way to the other side of the building. “Larger groups are easier to spot. Go around to the back way, Ritsu and I will go from the side,” he says, keeping his voice low and quiet in case anyone’s hiding nearby.

Higashio gives a brief nod and leads the way into the trees, Ootsuki and Fukuda close behind. Ritsu figures he won’t see them again until they leave the building.

Shou crouches down in the tall grass surrounding the outer edge of the lab’s property, and Ritsu follows his lead. “The fastest and easiest way in is to use invisibility,” he decides, turning to look at Ritsu.

“I’ve only been able to do that in practice,” Ritsu points out, biting his lower lip hesitantly. “I’m sure it would work fine for you, but-”

“If you can do it in practice, you can do it here,” Shou says firmly, with clear confidence in Ritsu’s ability.

Ritsu sighs. “You said today wasn’t the day to take risks.”

Shou grins at this, a familiar sight at this point. His stiffness from earlier has all but disappeared, his apparent nervousness replaced with an easy assuredness. “Yeah, but this will make things ten times easier, I counted,” he says matter-of-factly. “Besides, we’re already beat up enough as is. The less people we have to fight to get inside, the better.”

Well, he does have a point, Ritsu thinks to himself begrudgingly, and pushes himself to his feet. “Alright, then. We should hurry, before Higashio and the others start fighting,” he says, letting his aura leak out and swirl around him.

“Wait,” Shou says sharply, tugging Ritsu back down by the sleeve of his black shirt. He reaches down and unclasps something from around his leg before offering it to him. It takes Ritsu a moment to realize that it’s a gun: a pistol, silver and carefully cleaned, free of rust and grime. Well-used. “Take this,” he murmurs, gripping the pistol by its barrel as he points the grip at him.

Ritsu’s throat goes dry and his body goes stock-still. His hands feel clammy all of a sudden. “That’s a weapon. For killing people,” he says, voice wavering.

“It’s a weapon for protecting yourself,” Shou retorts, not lowering his hand. He holds Ritsu’s gaze steadily, fierce blue eyes boring into him in the darkness. “I know you don’t like the idea of using one, but I just…” he trails off, gaze flicking downward somberly. He looks uncharacteristically worried, when he would normally approach these missions with an upbeat optimism and cockiness. “Just keep it on you, okay? If everything goes well, you won’t even have to touch it.”

Ritsu hesitates, eyes locked on the gun’s reflective surface. It feels wrong, so wrong, but he reaches out and accepts it anyway. He’s only shot a gun a few times, all under Shou’s teaching, but he’s never brought one into a fight before. It feels cold and ominously heavy in his hands. Shou passes him the holster as well, which Ritsu reluctantly accepts and secures around his upper thigh. He slides the pistol into it, the weight noticeable on his hip, and carefully secures the strap over the top of it to keep it from falling out accidentally. “Alright, just in case,” he says softly. When he straightens up this time, Shou follows close behind.

“Thanks,” he murmurs simply, staring resolutely down at the Claw base instead of meeting Ritsu’s gaze. “You can just consider it a last resort. We’ve never done back to back missions like this before, so I guess I’m just… I have a feeling.”

Ritsu doesn’t want to think about what a feeling like that might mean, so he doesn’t ask any further questions.

Shou takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, and Ritsu sees his bright red-orange aura begin to encircle him. “Showtime,” he whispers, and in a flash both he and his aura disappear. In his place, a tiny wisp of his aura blinks into existence, something for Ritsu to focus on so they don’t get separated.

Ritsu has to squint to make out the little place-marker. It’s so small that it would be unnoticeable to anyone who isn’t specifically searching for it, a little orange flicker that hovers in the space where Shou’s heart would be. “Give me a minute,” he says to it, furrowing his brow and closing his eyes as he attempts to replicate the disappearing act. It’s difficult to continuously bend the light around him while also keeping his aura tightly contained, and if he isn’t careful he’ll tip off all the espers in the area that he’s arrived, so he makes sure to take his time and do thing right. He focuses on the mental image of what he’ll need to do, reaching out with imaginary hands to bend something he can’t actually touch with fingers that feel nothing and cannot be felt by anything else.

When Ritsu opens his eyes again, he can see the distortion around him, falling over him like a second skin a few inches shy of touching him. It shimmers in different colors as light rays attempt to touch him and reflect off the sort of barrier he’s constantly maintaining now. He takes a breath and focuses on keeping his aura close and contained; it won’t do to get inside just to have his own lack of control be the thing that gets them caught before they’re ready.

“Okay, let’s go,” Ritsu murmurs to the little flame at his side. He feels a hand lightly slip into his own, Shou’s hand, and the flicker goes out immediately.

“Stay close.” Shou’s voice sounds from beside him, giving off an air of disembodiment despite the fact that Ritsu knows he’s still very much present. He feels him tug on his hand, descending the hillside toward the building with feather-light footsteps. Their joined hands feel like they’re submerged, and their auras swirl around them, shifting, touching, but never mixing, like oil and water. Ritsu keeps a firm grip as they pick their way down the hill.

A handful of weak espers guard the front door of the building, and Shou keeps a wide berth to avoid alerting them. Instead, he heads for the side of the building, to a single door illuminated by a lone white searchlight. A guard stands outside it, leaning against the wall with a bored expression on his face. Ritsu can tell immediately that he has no powers to his name. Probably security, he thinks.

Shou taps a finger against the inside of his wrist twice, a signal for him to hang back and wait, and then the hand leaves his.

He feels strangely abandoned, his heart dropping in response to Shou’s sudden disappearance. It’s uncomfortable not being able to see or sense him, but Shou isn’t gone for long. His eyes trace the ground where Shou’s footsteps bend the grass until he stands just behind the security guard.

The man crumples to the ground a moment after, knocked down by a swift blow to the head. Once he’s down, Shou drops his invisibility and reaches into the man’s pocket, rifling around until he finds what he’s looking for: a key card that will let them enter the building. He waves a hand for Ritsu to follow him, holding the card up against the electronic lock.

Ritsu drops his own light-bending barrier, letting out a breath. He reaches up and wipes away a few beads of sweat from his forehead that had formed during their descent down the hill, then falls in behind Shou as he cracks open the door and steps inside.

The gray concrete walls that fence them in are immediately familiar to Ritsu, and he swallows back the brief panic that comes over him as the door falls shut behind them. The hall is empty aside from the two of them, branching off in three directions.

“We’re headed for the basement,” Shou murmurs to him, turning left and striding down the hall. Ritsu keeps close to him, eyes searching for any signs of life. He glances nervously over his shoulder, but there’s no one in sight, the halls empty and quiet. He rubs his arms as if to suppress the goosebumps that raise beneath his long-sleeved shirt, and hopes they won’t have to stay for long.

Ritsu knows that Shou’s been in enough of these bases that he’s memorized the layout, each one a perfect copy of the last. His directions are quick and confident, leading them on the quickest path to where potential allies might be hiding. Getting any kidnapped kids out is always their top priority, and Ritsu knows the basement cells well. He’d spent a majority of his two days locked in them, sleeping on the cold floor and trying to make himself scarce. The image of the long, dark hall, lined with barred doors, is forever seared into his brain.

Shou leads him to the basement door, which swings open easily to reveal a stone staircase leading down into the dimly-lit depths. A puff of cold, stale air spills out from it, sending a shiver up Ritsu’s spine as it tickles his legs. “You ready?” Shou asks, casting a sideways glance at Ritsu. There’s an unspoken question hidden in his light blue eyes that comes across in his hesitation and the way he defaults to Ritsu to lead the way down.

Ritsu takes a calming breath and nods firmly. “Let’s go,” he says, putting as much confidence as he can muster into his words, and takes the first step into the stairwell.

With no windows to the outside or even a vent to let in fresh air, the basement truly does feel like a prison. The air is thick and suffocating, bringing with it a sense of dread that clings to Ritsu’s skin and makes his hands feel clammy even beneath his dark gloves. He clenches and unclenches his fists restlessly, focusing on keeping his footsteps light and quiet like Shou always does. It smells like dirt and dust and, faintly, blood, the slightly metallic edge of it making Ritsu’s stomach turn. He stubbornly ignores the occasional brown stain on the concrete beneath his feet.

Shou sticks close to Ritsu’s side, casting occasional glances his way, and Ritsu pretends not to notice. He always seems to pick up the habit when they’re within the Claw bases, and Ritsu can’t help but feel defensive about it. After all, Shou had also spent a considerable amount of time in the confines of the Claw bases, had the same bad memories Ritsu did. In a way, Shou is even worse off, knowing that it had been his own father that had supplemented his nightmares, and yet he continues to put Ritsu’s feelings in front of his own, in little ways. Ritsu tries not to let it get to him, bites his tongue to keep from calling Shou out on it.

“I’ll check the cells up front, you take the back,” Ritsu suggests, casting Shou a sideways glance. “It’ll be faster if we split up.”

Shou hesitates, obviously not fond of the idea of splitting their already-small party, but he nods anyway. “Yeah, alright. The quicker we get through this, the quicker we can get out again,” he murmurs, making his way toward the back of the hall. His steps echo softly in the empty space.

Ritsu can tell there’s no one down here. If there is, they’re being incredibly quiet and have no aura to speak of, and his thoughts are only confirmed as he walks by empty cell after empty cell. He’s somehow relieved and disappointed at the same time. On one hand, it means that Claw hasn’t kidnapped anyone recently, at least not in this area. On the other hand, it means that anyone who might have ended up here is already gone. Ritsu swallows down a lump in his throat at the realization and crosses his arms, trying to ignore the way his stomach churns. He lets out a sigh, turning his back to the basement door as he heads in Shou’s direction. “Nothing,” he calls, his voice carrying in the quiet.

“Nothing here, either,” Shou confirms, moving to meet Ritsu in the middle of the hall. “Let’s go wait for the others at the top of the hill. Once we’re all out we can blow this place up and get the hell-”

Shou’s instructions are cut off by the boom of the basement door swinging roughly open. Ritsu whirls on his heels, shocked, and barely manages to raise a barrier around himself and Shou before a torrent of fire collides with it. The blue and purple surface of it nearly cracks under the force of the attack, and Shou curses under his breath, arms raised to instinctively shield his face.

“What the fuck? How did they find us?” he yells over the noise of the flames outside the barrier.

Ritsu can already feel sweat beading on his forehead as the temperature inside the blue-and-purple dome rises steadily. “How am I supposed to know?” he snaps back, hands raised in front of him as he fights to keep the barrier up. “Do something!”

Shou spits another string of curses under his breath, squinting through the flames. He thrusts out a hand after a moment, and Ritsu hears a dull thud followed by an angry shout. The flames dissipate around him, and when Ritsu drops his barrier he sees the form of a man pressed up against the back door. Shou has a tight grip on him, his bright orange aura keeping the man firmly in place. Ritsu immediately notices the angry red line that crosses his eye: a Scar.

“It’s just pyrokinesis! Don’t panic,” Shou says confidently, but Ritsu has his doubts after feeling the strength of the attack aimed at them.

Shou’s hold doesn’t last for long. The Scar breaks through with force and rushes forward at a speed neither of them are expecting. In a second he’s inches away from Ritsu, one menacing hand raised to strike and coated in white-hot fire. Ritsu barely manages to stumble back enough that he isn’t impaled by the attack, but he feels a burst of burning pain in his upper arm that tears straight through his long-sleeved shirt and sears his skin.

“Ritsu!” he hears Shou cry, ducking a second strike that threatens to singe the hair off the top of his head. He can’t see where Shou is, too busy trying to keep himself in one piece. He raises a barrier as the Scar throws a punch in his direction, but his fist goes clean through it, shattering it like glass. Ritsu feels the burning fist sink into the side of his face, sending him sprawling to the floor. His mind goes fuzzy for a moment, pain ripping through his arm and cheek. Get up, he tells himself vehemently, pushing himself to his hands and knees. By the time he’s regained his footing, Shou’s had time to intervene.

He has the Scar on the defensive, somehow, managing to keep up with the larger man’s bursts of fire and impressive strength despite his smaller size and weaker stature. He sees Shou reach out a hand and throw the adult esper across the room, into an open jail cell, and then Shou is running to him, eyes wide. He grabs Ritsu by his uninjured arm and pulls. “Let’s get out of here, there’s no reason to waste our time,” he says urgently.

“Y-Yeah,” Ritsu agrees, still somewhat dazed. As Shou tugs him down the hall, though, the Scar breaks free of the rubble he’d fallen into and exits the cell. At his side, Shou freezes, still clutching his arm.

Ritsu makes a split-second decision as he sees the Scar prepare another attack, and crowds Shou into a nearby empty cell. Behind his back, a pillar of fire fills the hall. Ritsu throws up a barrier for good measure, but the fire stays on its path, the flames never passing the now heat-warped barred wall. “That was too close,” he breathes, hand shaking.

“We need to get out of here,” Shou pants, looking equally as worn out as Ritsu feels. There’s a dark bruise forming around his left eye already, and he’s gripping his right arm tightly. “We can’t afford to wait around until the other Scars come join the fun, we’re beat up enough as is.” He eyes the fresh burns on Ritsu’s skin. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” Ritsu replies immediately, stubbornly ignoring the way his burns sting in protest to his words, “except I probably just cornered us.”

Shou flashes him a devious grin, the kind that lets Ritsu know he has a plan, and he promptly goes invisible. “Shou!” Ritsu hisses, feeling a panic well up in him against his will. He can hear the Scar approaching, his footsteps loud in the empty hall, but Shou is already gone.

The Scar appears in the doorway like an ominous shadow, hulking over Ritsu’s slight form. He blocks the exit with his broad body, but doesn’t attack. “It was a mistake for you to try and infiltrate this place,” he growls, deep voice gravelly and cruel. It sends a shiver down Ritsu’s spine as he presses himself against the back wall, trying to put as much space between them as possible. “I’ll give you one chance, boy. Come quietly and I won’t burn you to ashes.”

Despite the fear coursing through him, Ritsu manages a defiant grin. “How kind of you to offer, but I’m afraid I’m going to have to pass. I’m really not keen on being kidnapped a second time,” he snarks, because if he’s going to go down, he’s going to go down with his pride intact.

The Scar has the nerve to look disappointed, which only adds fuel to Ritsu’s burning annoyance at this situation. “What a shame,” he laments, “you could have been quite powerful.” Then he raises a hand as he has so many times already.

Ritsu squeezes his eyes shut and braces himself. Any day now, Shou! he prays vehemently, but there’s no sign of his partner yet. He summons another barrier despite the fact that he knows it’s too weak to do anything but save him a few seconds of time, but the fire doesn’t come. Instead, the Scar lets out a surprised, somewhat pained shout.

Ritsu peeks open one eye, and sees that Shou has thrown himself on the Scar’s back, one arm wrapped tightly around his neck in a chokehold. As the Scar reaches up to grab him, Shou leaps back, flashing Ritsu a look that says, “Do it now!”

On instinct, Ritsu thrusts out a hand and throws the man backward with a surge of telekinetic force. The Scar crashes into the back wall and disappears behind it, throwing up a thick cloud of dust and debris.

Ritsu goes to stand by Shou outside the cell, grimacing. “What took you so long?” he accuses. “I could’ve died, you know!”

Shou just laughs, unhindered by Ritsu’s accusatory words. “Aw, come on, Ritsu, you know me better than that,” he replies, elbowing Ritsu gently in the arm. “I’ll never let that happen.” He casts a glance at the dusty air where the adult esper disappeared moments before. “As much fun as it is saving your life, though, we’d better get out of here. I bet reinforcements are already on their way.”

Ritsu nods his agreement, and the two of them hurry for the basement door. Ritsu reaches it first, raising a hand to turn the handle and let themselves out. His fingers barely brush the dingy metal before he feels the Scar’s huge hand grab him by the throat. He lets out a strangled gasp as he’s lifted off his feet effortlessly and thrown like a baseball across the room, thoughts turning to static as he fights to reorient himself. His back collides with hard concrete, the breath knocked out of his lungs as the wall behind him cracks. He falls onto his hands and knees, fighting to breathe, and faintly realizes that if he wasn’t psychic, he’d be dead on the spot.

The thing is, though, he doesn’t feel psychic anymore. He pushes himself up onto his knees, reaches out to attack, but nothing happens. He can’t feel his aura thrumming under his skin, can’t feel the way it presses at the back of his mind like a constant reminder of how powerful he is. His breathing stutters, cold dread settling over him like fog. The hand held in front of him shakes. “My powers… I can’t use them!” he stammers, disbelief and fear clouding his judgement.

Shou’s fallen back to put some space between them and the esper, who stands with a self-satisfied smirk on his face. Shou casts him a shocked glance. “What do you mean you can’t use them?” he demands. He turns around in time to put a barrier around them both, a giant fireball colliding with it and sizzling against Shou’s bright aura.

“As soon as he touched me, my aura disappeared,” he explains as quickly as he can, because they’re in the middle of a life-or-death battle and dammit, this isn’t the time to panic! He stumbles to his feet, but he can feel his legs quivering. Even without the fear settling into his bones, he’s exhausted from having to defend himself and emotionally drained from being confined within the thick concrete walls that remind him way too much of things he doesn’t want to think about right now. He clutches his head, willing his heart to stop thudding so hard.

“Ritsu, keep it together!” Shou cries, chancing a wide-eyed glance over his shoulder, and in his distraction the Scar rushes forward again and shatters Shou’s barrier with a clenched fist. Shou yelps, a sound that quickly turns into a choked gasp as the adult esper lifts him off the ground by his throat in one smooth motion and pins him up against the wall.

“You’re the boss’s brat,” the esper realizes, tightening his grip. Shou’s aura retreats back into his body and then blinks out entirely, like it’s been sucked up by a vacuum. Ritsu can see that much, but when he calls on his own power, buried somewhere inside of him, nothing responds. “You’ve been a real pain in the ass to us lately. Well, your father will know what to do with you. Go to sleep now,” the Scar continues, an annoyed scowl on his face.

Shou glares back at the man defiantly, but Ritsu can see the fear that forms behind his anger at the mention of being sent back to his father. He opens his mouth, but no sound comes out. His face is turning red. He grabs the arm holding him in place tightly, his knuckles white as he attempts to pry the man’s grip off of him, but without his aura to supplement his strength there’s only so much he can do. His gaze flicks to Ritsu, searching, pleading.

I have to do something, his frantic thoughts scream at him, even as his hands shake uncontrollably and he hears the blood rushing in his ears. If I don’t move, it’s over. They’ll take him, they’ll kill me. What can I do without my powers?

With a shaky gasp he recalls the weight on his hip, the metal pressed against his thigh through the fabric of his pants, and he knows what he has to do. He reaches down with fumbling fingers and undoes the strap holding the weapon in place, his fingers curling around the handle of it. He pulls it out and flicks the safety off, pointing it at the esper before he loses his nerve. Shou’s eyes go wide in noiseless shock, but the Scar is too focused on him to notice until he hears the click of a bullet being loaded into the barrel. By then it’s too late to react; Ritsu grits his teeth and pulls the trigger.

The noise of the gunshot is deafening and echoes grimmly in the empty hall, the recoil sending jolts up Ritsu’s arm. He doesn’t wait to see if the shot even connects, quickly firing off a second, third, then fourth round. The Scar’s grip falters and both he and Shou fall to the ground.

Shou catches himself on his hands and knees and sucks in a deep, desperate, gasping breath. Then he immediately starts to cough, the force of it shaking his whole body as he fights to get oxygen back into his lungs.

Pain shoots up Ritsu’s burned arm and he chokes on a pained cry. His hand spasms and he loses his grip on the gun, which clatters to the floor and lays still. He drops to his knees beside it, his shaking legs no longer able to support his weight. It’s over, Shou’s free, they’re both alive.

He feels sick.

Across the hall from him, Shou finally manages to get his feet under him. He stumbles to Ritsu’s side, clearly still shaken, and says, urgent and worried, “We have to go.” He grasps Ritsu’s arm with quivering hands, face pale, and his wide-eyed gaze flicks back and forth between the basement door and the esper laying in the rubble as he scoops up the gun and shoves it back into the holster at Ritsu’s thigh.

Ritsu stares at his hand as Shou hauls him to his feet. His aura unfurls around him, as though flowing out of a faucet that’s been turned off for a while. When Shou tugs his arm toward the basement door, he pulls back. “Wait,” he says, then raises his injured arm, the one Shou isn’t clinging too, and blows a hole in the far wall. He doesn’t bother with subtlety, because they’re way past staying hidden. Beyond the hole, he can see trees.

Shou doesn’t hesitate, and neither does Ritsu. They both make a break for the hole, clambering over the concrete rubble, and neither of them look back at the unmoving shape on the prison floor.

They don’t stop running until they’re deep in the forest, so deep that they can’t even make out the glaring searchlights of the Claw base anymore. Ritsu gives way first, stumbling on the uneven ground and falling onto his hands and knees. Pain flares in his burned arm as he does, and he feels the dirt and rocks dig into his scarred palms through the fabric of his gloves. His breathing comes in labored gasps, and he feels tears run down his face and wet the ground beneath him, brought to the surface by his pain and desperation and the overwhelming anxiety welling up in him.

Shou stumbles to a halt and quickly turns back for him, dropping to his knees and gripping Ritsu’s shoulders with both hands. “Ritsu?” he asks, voice shaky and hoarse.

“I killed him,” Ritsu whispers, voice coming in short, breathy sobs. “I didn’t even hesitate.” He lifts his head and looks at Shou’s face, sees the blossoming bruises that appear at his throat in his periphery.

Shou swallows visibly, his breathing hitching as his expression breaks from his previous desperate fear to an intense surprise and deep worry, as though he’s only just realized what’s happened, what Ritsu’s had to do. He pulls Ritsu in by his shoulders and squeezes him tightly. “You saved me,” he manages in reply, voice cracking.

Ritsu clings to him, digs his fingers into the back of Shou’s shirt and buries his face in his shoulder. He’s exhausted and overwhelmed, and he can’t bring himself to stop the sudden overflow of emotion despite the fact that they aren’t safe yet. Shou holds on just as hard, one hand pulling him in by the back of his shoulder while the other lays flat against the small of his back.

Only when Ritsu finally starts to calm down does Shou move, gently pushing Ritsu away. “Hey, we have to get moving, alright? We just need to find the car, and then we can rest,” he urges, standing up and tugging Ritsu along with him.

Ritsu nods, not trusting himself to say anything, and lets Shou help him to his feet. Shou lays an arm around his shoulders, half-guiding him as they both begin to walk again. His thoughts race, and he folds his arms around himself in an attempt at self-comfort as he focuses on not tripping over tree roots and tall grass. Shou’s hand is tight on his shoulder, gripping him as though something might pull them apart at any moment. He hardly notices when they finally stumble upon the car minutes later.

Higashio rolls down the driver’s seat window as they approach, looking simultaneously startled and relieved. “There you are! We’ve been waiting for ages, what happened? Did you-” he cuts himself off when he sees just how badly beaten and tired they are.

Shou squeezes Ritsu’s shoulder. “Change of plans, we don’t have time to blow this one up. Let’s get back to the hideout as fast as we can, Claw’s gonna be looking out for us.”

Ritsu half listens as Shou crowds him into the back of the car, immediately pressing himself into the back corner as though to make himself as small as possible. He scrubs at his eyes and cheeks with the palm of one hand, wiping away the leftovers of his tears. He doesn’t cry or shake anymore, just leans against the car door until his arm throbs and doesn’t say a word. Shou doesn’t speak either, sitting close enough to Ritsu that their legs press together, and Fukuda climbs in beside them and closes the door behind him. Higashio wastes no time in starting up the car and beginning the long drive back, just as eager to leave as the rest of them are. In the passenger seat, Ootsuki casts occasional glances back at them. Ritsu can’t see his eyes, his black bangs falling over them, but the frown on his face gives away his clear concern. He doesn’t say anything, though, nor does anyone else. Shou rests his elbows on his thighs and lets his face fall into his hands, taking deep breaths that still sound hoarse and labored.

Ritsu tears his gaze away from the purpling bruises on the side of Shou’s neck and presses himself into the corner, staring out the window and feeling a familiar daze fall over him. He knows that he’s probably dissociating, his mind going quiet as his eyes stare through the trees without really taking anything in, but he’s too tired to care. He knows that he should be feeling scared, or ashamed, or regretful, or angry, or something, but instead he just feels numb. He faintly wonders if this is how his brother feels when he’s trying not to let his emotions control him. Eventually he even forgets to think, vision blurring out as he fixes his eyes on a point in the distance and doesn’t move again until the car pulls into the house’s driveway.