#but i at least can see in the canon how a fic author could arrive at that interpretation

[shiverandqueeef]

i think my latest fanfiction sojourn might be what finally pushes me over the edge into actually writing again. mostly because i haven't been so at odds with the popular fanon interpretations of a main pairing in uhhh actually possibly ever. it would mean having to subject myself to another rewatch of a movie for which I have the world's most tepid feelings but. Honestly I haven't felt this motivated to write in years. and it's not that the fics I've been reading are "bad" some of them are certified bangers I've just had the most unfortunate onset of 'nobody understands this character but me' syndrome come over me and like! i can either fume silently, complain about it annoyingly, or write what i want to see in the world. so! gonna ride this wave of irritation all the way to the bank baybee!!!!

[maybanksmusings]

THE WALLS ; JJ MAYBANK

SYNOPSIS ; when an unknown face appears in the outer banks searching for a father she's never met, she's unaware of how her life is about to be completely turned upside down.

WARNINGS ; jjmaybank x routledge!reader, strong language, depictions of violence, afab!reader, sexual content, mentions of abuse, drug and alcohol consumption, strangers to lovers, fast burn to slow burn, canon adjacent, not proofread.

AUTHORS NOTE ; buckle up pookies, as this is merely part one of a multi-part fic that spans as far as the end of season three ( on the fence about season four but we will see ). as noted above, this fic will be canon adjacent, mainly focusing on the storyline as portrayed in the outer banks chapters of the 'netflix stories' mobile app. without any more of my yapping, i hope you all enjoy!

you can't help but squint once you step off the bus, your dollar store sunglasses doing very little to shield your eyes from the burning, outer banks sun. you bring your hand up in an attempt to further protect your eyes, needing to make your way to the seahorse hotel and fast.

a flash of long, blonde hair invades your vision, something you don't think twice about until the body attached to said hair knocks right into you, saturating your white tank top with her oversized cherry-coloured drink.

there's a beat of silence between both of you, behind darkened lenses your eyes bore into the girl before you. if looks could kill.

"shit! i am so sorry!" the blonde apologises, face turning as red as the newfound stain on your shirt. her hand darts out in an attempt to miraculously wipe the stain away "oh god, this is so embarrassing."

a part of you feels empathetic, it was an easy mistake to make in hindsight. another part of you wanted to push past the girl and continue getting on with your day.

"my name is sarah," she continues rambling, her hand still frequently scrubbing at the stain, making it worse "i didn't get your name, well no shit" the last part is barely a mumble, but you still catch it.

an unintentional laugh escapes you, finding amusement in her panicked awkwardness "if i tell you will you stop feeling me up?"

it was a joke, at least mostly, yet sarah froze in horror as the realisation set in. she was feeling up a stranger at the bus stop.

before she can begin rambling again, you speak up "my name is y/n." purposefully, you drop the surname. sure, sarah seemed sweet, but that didn't warrant spilling your life story at her feet.

sarah nodded in acknowledgement, taking a step out of your personal space and taking a proper look at you "touron?"

your face screws up, it feels like she just called you a name you couldn't repeat "excuse me?"

"you're a tourist, right?" sarah clarified, gesturing towards the scruffy backpack hanging from your shoulder.

"not quite," you trail off, unsure of how to broach your new arrival without dropping yourself in hot water "just, in town for a while."

"unlucky you.."

"unlucky how?"

sarah links her arm through yours, all but dragging you down the street alongside her "i'll fill you in on the way."

your protests and kidnapping allegations fell on deaf ears, only being told to stop being dramatic as she dragged you along. eventually, the dragging falls back into you willingly walking with her through pristine neighbourhoods that housed buildings like nothing you had ever seen.

you listened as sarah explained the outlandish rules that accompanied living on the island. the outer banks were essentially split in half, the kooks and the pouges, the haves and the have-nots, the sarahs and the y/ns.

when her pace eventually stalls, you have to tense your jaw to stop your mouth from falling open. you had seen some serious houses on the way here, but compared to sarahs they looked like dives.

"welcome to tanneyhill" sarah beams, but you can feel the uncertainty bubbling inside her as if she was embarrassed "come on, i'll show you my room."

you follow her through the glass doors and into the manor, eyes intently scanning the walls as you climb the staircase "you make a habit of bringing random strangers into your house?"

"do you make a habit of going home with random strangers?"

"depends if they're my type."

your quick rebuttal elicits a laugh from sarah as she pushes the door open, waving you into her room and heading straight for the closet "and what is your type?"

"you sweet on me, stranger?" you tease, your playful tone making it clear you were simply messing with her.

"with my whole heart, newbie" she laughs, the contents of her closet being dropped to the floor as she rifled through it "but our secret love affair must remain hidden as i am a taken lady"

with a dramatic gasp, you slap your hand to your chest and fall back on the bed "you wound me."

"sarah 'the heartbreaker' cameron is what they call me." as you're processing her surname, a white cropped tank is flung at you from the opposite side of the room "now, come on, boy talk"

"what if i wanna girl talk?" you question, holding the piece of fabric up to examine it "sarah 'the homophobe' cameron more like"

as she crosses the room to sit alongside you, sarah rolls her eyes "my sincerest apologies, sex talk then"

"cameron now i really think you want me." you wiggle your eyebrows at her, huffing when she hits you with a pink pillow with a sparkly 's' "hey! watch the rhinestones"

"you know, i was gonna try play matchmaker at the boneyard tonight but if you wanna be like that.."

"you just said a lot of words with very little meaning" you tut, not fully clued in on the outer banks slang.

by now you have risen to your feet, standing between the bed and the window as you changed into the clean shirt, balling up the stained one and stuffing it in your backpack.

"its a pre-storm rager on the beach, the one place kooks and pouges get along. we party as long as we can and when the storm hits, run for cover"

you're only half listening to sarah, instead your attention hones in on the head of curly brown hair down on the dock as it moves along a boat named 'my druthers'.

you barely register the figure by your side, watching just as closely as you were as the brunette is joined by three others, laughing and joking.

"that would be john b," without looking you can hear sarahs grin, mistaking your fascination for attraction.

"routledge?" your mouth opens before your brain can stop it, you knew who it was, but you needed to hear it.

"you know him?"

finally, your brain catches up and you somehow manage to pull a lie out of your ass "not personally, saw him on tv. some appeal for his dad."

sarah bellows out a soft, sad sigh, letting her thoughts be known without saying a word. there's an unspoken air of silence between you, until sarah, literally, shakes it off and stands upright again.

"wanna meet him?" the blonde offers, despite the fact its more of a demand as you're being dragged along once again.

only this time your refusal is much clearer, practically begging the girl to let you go before she managed to get you out into the yard. again sarah is misreading the situation, interpreting your panic as awkward butterflies.

your demands persist, though much quieter as you're dragged further down the dock, closer to john b and his friends.

"hello, ladies" john b's blonde friend greets with a low whistle and a cheeky grin, shamelessly checking both you and sarah out.

for a moment your anxiety vanishes, your entire nervous system sparking still but for different reasons. this might be the most beautiful boy you've ever set eyes on.

this. this was your type.

"you're new" he speaks, gesturing towards you "that's for sure, yet to be a time i've forgotten a face like that." with a wink, he takes your hand to place a kiss on the back of it.

you curse god. why couldn't you have met this guy somewhere else? why wasn't he the blonde stranger that took you home?

"you done macking on the kook?" a girls voice echos from behind him, her words and her expression dripping with disgust as she eyed you.

"i'm not a kook." you bite back, sightly too aggressive for a first impression but you couldn't help it with the look of clear disdain embedded on her face.

sarahs arm links through yours, a mumbled "easy, newbie" falling only on your ears "y/n is new in town, i brought her down here while i found out what you guys are doing on my dads boat." despite her civility there's a challenging edge in her voice.

"lest ye forget, i work here."

john b, suddenly emerging from the ships hull and hurling a snide smile in sarahs direction. you had only ever seen him on fuzzy news broadcasts, he was taller than you had anticipated, confrontational too.

though, genetics could explain that one.

"can we help you?" the girl speaks again, sending your eyes rolling as you face john b.

"can you tell your guard dog to stand down? last i checked one of us was invited here and funnily enough it wasn't her"

you hear another boy mumble an excited "cat fight!" to your new, blonde, hyperfixation as they exchange money on bets.

"seriously? i expect this shit from jj but pope? disappointing" john b tutted, sounding like a disappointed father as he got off the boat "not looking for trouble, just bringing back the diving shit, full."

menial conversation is exchanged between sarah and john b, though your attention mainly resides with the newly named jj. he was leaning back against the boat, rolling a joint without a care in the world.

you try to keep the glances to a minimum, after all you had much bigger problems to wade through right now, but you simply couldn't look away. he was the definition of magnetic.

even when he catches you looking, there isn't a morsel of awkwardness, just a knowing look of curiosity that lingered far longer than it should have.

then, he winks. he fucking winks before returning to rolling with that stupid, insanely hot grin on his face. you were far from shy, and only for the audience around you, you would've jumped on him long ago.

any reckless ideas potentially coming to fruition is spoiled when sarah, still linked with you, retreats back toward tanneyhill. with a final glance back at jj, you hold your thumb and pinky to your ear and mouth 'call me', earning yourself a wink and a crossed heart in return.

maybe this wouldn't pan out to be a total shit show after all.

[astronomoney]

bookends, bestfriends, deadends

Pairing + WC: Jason Grace x reader, 1.6k Warnings: slow burn, once again and as always with my love Jason this is NOT canon-compliant, Jason may be a tiny bit ooc but I tired Summary: In the months between saving Hera and setting sail for New Rome, Jason finds himself making a friend Authors note: ok, y’all, here’s the deal; I took a nap and woke up with an idea, so I started writing; then I realized I needed set up, so I wrote this. Now I have a full fic that doesn’t include my original idea, so I will have to make pt: 2, but at least it’s already almost all the way written

Camp was far too busy this year; even for the off-season, it felt like there were campers everywhere. With all the bustle, it was hard to find a moment of peace. That’s why you’d taken to the woods that day. Following the path you’d walked a million times to a little outcrop of ruins not far from the beach, deep enough to not be disturbed. You’d taken a thick blanket and draped it over a vaguely couch-shaped block of stone ages ago to use as a reading nook. It was calm and peaceful and empty, usually.

This time, when you got close enough to see your little piece of peace, there was already someone there. A blonde boy with a scar on his lip sitting on your faux couch and squinting at the book in his hand. Jason Grace. Of course, you knew who he was, everyone knew of him and Piper and Leo, all working to get ready for the next great prophecy. 

Sneaking up on a former Roman soldier didn’t seem like the best plan, so you’d spoken out. “Guess this place isn’t so secret after all,” geez, what an opener.

Jason looked up with a start and got to his feet before you could say anything else. “Hi, hey, sorry, is this your spot? I wasn’t sure who’s it was, so I stayed to read some. I can go.” 

“Oh no, please, you don’t have to,” you were quick to put up your hands and stop him from leaving. You two hadn’t necessarily talked before, but he had always seemed nice at meals and campfires, if not a little awkward. “You were here first. I can leave if you want to be alone.”

Jason paused, it seemed he was actually taking you in now, noticing the book in your hand, Don Quixote as opposed to the copy of War and Peace he held. “I don’t mind company,” he offered you a small nervous smile, it was so pure you had to just stare at it for a second before responding. 

“Neither would I,” you finally said, returning the smile. You walked over and sat down tucking your legs under you and leaving plenty of room for Jason to sit on the other side. 

He joined and read next to you for what felt like both hours and minutes. Two days later, you had beaten him there, so when he arrived, you smiled and scooted to the left, giving him room again on your right. Over the next month, you crossed paths at the ruins what must have been a dozen times. There was never much conversation; it was more of a silent agreement to enjoy each other’s company, and each day, the distance between your shoulders seemed to get ever so slightly smaller. 

After a while, you got comfortable being directly next to him. Your shoulders would brush each time Jason moved to turn the page, and you couldn't help but notice how warm and strong he was. Silent meetings became small discussions about your current read, which turned into talks about other books you’d recommend to each other, which eventually morphed into a solid friendship. You would invite him to eat with your cabin since he had no one else at his. He would update you on the progress of the ship and the quest, you even got to know the other campers involved. 

Over the next few months, your lives became completely intertwined. You spent most of your day with each other. You watched him train for the quest, pushing his limits in sparring sessions until he was too exhausted to do much of anything. You would drag him out to your spot in the woods on days when he’d gotten so focused he had to be forced to take a break. You’d even tried to help him get some memories back. He would eat with you, read with you, help you with whatever chores you had around camp, anything to spend more time with together. 

He was the first person you turned to when you had something to say. He was the only one who remembered which campfire songs were your favorites or which books you’d reread depending on your mood. You cared about him so deeply, and you weren’t even sure how you’d come to feel so much in so little time. You truly hadn’t realized how much you needed him around you until you thought about just how soon he’d be leaving.

Of course, he would go back to Camp Jupiter; you knew that. This was never meant to be permanent; you were sure he missed his old life, his old friends, his old home. But part of you, somewhere in the deepest, most selfish part of your heart, wanted him to stay. You wanted him to forget about Rome, and Jupiter, and the quest. You wanted him to stay here with the strawberry fields and the books and the beach and with you. You wanted him to forget his sense of duty to a place that never cared and stay with someone who would give their whole heart away just to see him be happy for a moment longer. It was a feeling that filled you with guilt every time it crossed your mind.

It had occupied your thoughts nearly the entire day when Jason came to your cabin that evening. He knocked on the door until one of your siblings answered, and they called you over, muttering something about stupid and lovesick and so annoying that you hadn’t totally caught. 

You stepped onto the porch and closed the cabin door, leaving Jason and you alone in the dim light of the setting son. He was handsome as ever, a fact that you had resolved not to dwell on; plenty of people found their closest friends to be stunningly beautiful, it wasn’t a big deal. 

In fact, it was totally normal for someone to notice exactly when their best friend had skipped their usual haircut and started letting the military style grow or how their eyes exploded with color when the sun hit them just right. And, of course, there was no deeper reason for why you would pick up on every scrape or bruise he’d gotten from training. You were just hyper-observant, never mind that it only applied to one person.

As you took him in, scanning for the weariness you so often saw and he so often dismissed, you noticed more than anything how nervous he was. “What’s up?”

“Hey, um, I just wanted to, well.” He took a deep breath and let his words spill out a mile a minute. He told you that the Argo II would be ready to fly any day now. He told you how they were going to find Percy and how the first place they were going to check was New Rome. He brought up his old life, a life he wanted to remember, a life he thought he would remember when he got back there. These were all things you’d know and that filled you with dread, but you let him talk without interrupting. His rambling soon turned to a topic you haven’t expected, it turned to you. He told you how important you were to him, how much you’d helped him adjust to life at camp, and how much he appreciated everything you’d done for him. 

As he went on and on, you felt your heart begin to pound. The way he was talking lit a spark inside your gut, and the borderline desperation in his voice made you dare to hope. The emotion in his eyes made you think maybe, just maybe, he felt the same kind of connection that you felt with him. You could tell it was going somewhere important, somewhere that made him nervous and hopefully at the exact same time.

“I guess I just realized while we were planning in the bunker,” he began to close in on his point. “How important you are to me, and I can’t imagine what it’d be like without you. You can say no of course, it’s a lot to ask of anyone but,” he took another breath. “Do you want to come with me to New Rome?”

That wasn’t exactly what you were expecting. The funny feeling in your gut shifted and morphed, flashing through disappointment for a brief moment. As Jason waited for an answer, you had to process exactly what he’d asked. Going back to New Rome meant he was going back to his old life, a fact you were all too aware of, but now, maybe you didn’t have to lose him to it. He still wanted you by his side. He still wanted you to be a part of his life.

“Yes,” you finally replied. “Yes, of course, I’ll go,” you watch the relief wash over him, his nerves visibly dispersing as one of the widest smiles you’d ever seen etched itself across his face. 

In the next moment, he wrapped his arms around you. It was a bone-crushing hug that squeezed the air from your lungs, and you wrapped your own arms around him as tightly as you could. “You have no idea how happy that makes me,” he whispered to you as you tried to stop your heart from exploding. This wasn’t how you wanted it, but at least for now, this would be enough.

≻───── ⋆✩⋆ ─────≺

There's pt1 :) part two is almost done already because I wrote most of it before I even started all this, but what I can say, the keyboard got away from me. let me know if any of y'all want to be tagged in pt2 or in my general Jason taglist.

[ageless-aislynn]

Title: “15 Minutes” (9/?) Author:  @ageless-aislynn​ Characters/fandom: Master Chief John-117/Reader, Halo the series Summary: You're in peril but don't be afraid, help is near. Series: How to date a Spartan (without even trying) Rating:  T (PG13) Length: 2,568 (this chapter, 22,261 total so far) Spoilers: Set in the Silver Timeline of Halo the series, not the games or novels. Though we began with the events of Halo 1x06, there will be no more show spoilers. We are still firmly seated in the AU Warthog, merrily driving out to places where there’s only a passing nod to canon. 😉 Trigger warning: claustrophobia Disclaimer: Definitely not mine but I do enjoy borrowing them just for a bit! 😉 A/N:  Text is both here in this post or available at AO3, however you like to read. Halo season 2 has finally arrived! However, this fic continues to zip along in the AU Party Warthog, so, while we began with season 1 way back when (and you’ll see a few more things from s1 along the way 😉), we’ll not be venturing into s2 territory at all. Unless s2 is going to take some verrrrry interesting twists, lol! Chapter 10 is in progress by hand but I hope to have it ready soon. 🤞😣🤞 The tags have been updated for hurt/comfort starting with this chapter. If you read, I hope you enjoy! ⭐💖⭐

Taglist: @pinheadbanger​ @mysardencut​ @laurenstacy610​ @sporadicbelievernightmare​ @ultrablackwidower​ @bxmxtx​ @jellotherelol

If you would like to be tagged in my John/Reader fics, just let me know! I also write John/Kai, John/Cortana and Kai/male Reader, so I’m glad to tag you for whatever you’d like. If you would like to be removed from the taglist, also feel free to let me know, no harm, no foul. 😉 💖

Halo fic masterlist ⭐

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8

Trigger warning again: claustrophobia If you need to avoid the actual scene, skip the entire first section but there will be a lot of mentions of it again through the rest of the chapter, just so you're aware. I don't want to cause any distress to anyone so if you'd like a recap of what happens in this chapter, feel free to contact me here and I'm happy to oblige so you can stay in-the-know without reading something that could trigger a bad reaction. Stay safe, my friends! 🤗

You tried to gasp in a breath but there was a weight pinning you down. Smoke burned your lungs and your eyes. Your left arm couldn't move but you were able to bring your right hand up to wipe your face, trying to clear your vision. The only light in the rubble came from a shower of sparks a few feet away, emitting from a panel half-ripped from the wall. There was very little to orientate yourself by.

"Hello?" you tried to call but you couldn't take a deep enough breath to yell. The muffled ring in your ears told you that at least one of your eardrums had ruptured.

Evaluate, you thought in the tone you used when triaging patients, shoving down a wave of panic. You tried to squeeze out from under whatever was pressed across your back. No good, too much weight.

There wasn't a tremendous amount of pain but you worried at the numbness from your waist down, behind whatever was restraining you.

Evaluate.

You tested moving your legs, your feet, your toes. It felt strange but yes, you had movement.

Spinal cord potentially compromised but not severed, you diagnosed as clinically as possible.

Something overhead gave an alarming groan.

Alert help. Report your position.

"Hello? I'm by the crane operator booth. Can anyone hear me?"

You couldn't get the volume you wanted and you automatically tried to inhale deeper. You couldn't and had to fight another wave of panic. The animal part of your brain wanted to claw the twisted metal of the deck, trying to squirm free, but when you twitched, something above you groaned again.

You had no way to know how perilous the collapsed structure was. A wrong move could bring it all down.

A fresh wave of smoke irritated your nose and you coughed weakly. From far away, you heard the muffled sound of a woman saying your rank and last name.

"Here," you choked out. "I'm here."

A blue light shimmered a few feet away, the lower half of a blue-tinted woman, her upper body phased through the rubble. Then she shrank until she fit the space, adjusting like a camera lens. A hologram.

She repeated your rank and last name. "We have your location," she said, your damaged hearing distorting her voice. "Sit tight, a rescue crew is on their way."

You tried to respond but the smoke triggered more coughing, so you nodded.

"I'll stay with you for as long as the holo-emiter holds," she said, gesturing towards the ruined wall panel that continued to spark.

"Thank you," you managed to say. "Casualties?"

She glanced up and away as if receiving new information. "Reports coming in of injuries but no fatalities. Your alert gave enough time for almost everyone to get clear."

"Good." You made yourself slow your breathing down, taking shallow breaths since you couldn't take deeper ones. For a moment, your head swam and it felt like the floor tipped. Your fingers scratched for a hold on the crumpled metal.

The sound of your rank and name cut through the terror. "You're all right," the woman assured you. "You're not falling. Try to stay still. Silver Team will be back on site in a few more minutes. John will be here soon."

It gave you something to focus on other than bring trapped. The way she knew that the mention of John would comfort you, that she didn't call him Master Chief like most people did, even the mannerism of how she'd looked away, like someone was speaking in her ear...

"Your name wouldn't be Ms. Classified, would it?" you asked haltingly and tried to smile.

"That's... not inaccurate," she said and maybe it was your blurry vision but you could've sworn she gave you a fond smile, like she knew you. "I'm not supposed to tell my name."

You tried to say it was all right but couldn't draw enough breath.

"Ah, screw it," she said. "What are they going to do, fire me? My name is Cortana."

You must've blacked out because the next thing you knew, she was kneeling next to you, her small holographic hand resting atop your outstretched arm as she repeated your rank and name.

If you could get a breath, you needed a good, solid breath. Your chest instinctively fought to expand but couldn't beneath the pressure bearing down on your back. Something above you slid and the pressure abruptly worsened. You clawed, you fought, you struggled to breathe. To live.

"John, get here now! The support beam is failing!"

"Not his fault," you tried to say. "Tell him. Not his--"

Metal screamed and everything went dark.

You woke, grasping at nothing. You still couldn't get a deep breath but this time you were on your back and it felt like someone had laced a corset brutally tight around you.

"Easy there. You're all right," said a deep voice.

Your vision swam and then Spartan Vannak-134 appeared out from the dim lighting. You were still clawing at the air, trying to sit up, and he caught your hand a little awkwardly in his much larger ones.

"Where?" you gasped.

"You're back on Reach, in medical."

Once he said it, details emerged like a black and white picture filling in with color: the beeps of the monitors, the distinctive antiseptic smell. Your hearing was still deadened but not as much as before, meaning they had already begun healing therapies on your eardrums.

Anything you might've wanted to say dissolved like sugar on your tongue before the words could be spoken. Your head seemed too full. I'm drugged, you thought and that was the last thing you knew for a while.

Voices drew you from the murky depths and you tried to open your eyes but couldn't.

"Hold her hand," Vannak said in a quiet rumble. "She likes that."

A new hand gently folded around yours and your fingers instinctively gripped hold.

You woke, feeling the phantom press of metal bearing down on you, forcing the air from your lungs. You tried to sit up, your limbs flailed, uncoordinated and leaden. A second hand closed around yours and a feminine voice began to softly sing, a lullaby in a language you didn't recognize.

The room was blurry but you caught a glimpse of red hair -- Spartan Riz-028. You went under once more, dreaming of music that soothed your fears.

Later, there was a new voice to lure you up from the sticky darkness.

"Poor little thing. She looks so small."

"She'll heal. Hold her hand, it helps."

At some point, you jolted awake to find your hand cradled carefully within Kai's.

"Hey," she said, sitting up straighter in the chair next to the bed. "You need anything?"

Your head felt less stuffed with cotton than before but now that cotton seemed to have been transferred to your mouth. "Water?" you croaked.

She jumped up and returned shortly, carrying a cup with a straw in it. You intended to sit up but a searing pain in your ribs immediately convinced you that was a bad idea and you let her help you by holding the straw to your lips.

"Slowly," she advised.

Once you'd taken a couple of sips, you mumbled your thanks then promptly passed out.

You thought you'd closed your eyes for a brief moment but when they fluttered open, it wasn't Kai sitting in the chair, holding your hand.

As soon as John knew you were awake, he was on his feet, carefully brushing the fingertips of his free hand along the curve of your cheek.

You mouthed his name.

"Rest," he said. "I'm here. You're safe."

For the first time in what seemed like forever, you truly felt as if you were. Your mind let go.

"And how's our favorite mech, the Hero of the Pit?"

"That's not a very heroic name," you confessed, smiling as Maria and then Jamie entered medical.

You were sitting on the side of the bed in generic gray scrubs, waiting for Dr. Savannah to give you final instructions before your release. It had been two days since the explosion. Your hearing had, thankfully, returned to normal. The rest of you... not so much but you were on the mend.

They both gave you careful hugs.

"You look a lot less like you were squashed by a building," Jamie said sincerely and Maria punched his arm. "Hey, that was a compliment!"

"Don't make me laugh," you begged, holding your left side. They'd fused your broken ribs back together but the tissue damage would take longer to resolve. Still, aches, pains, limited motion and all, you knew you were very lucky.

"I hope they're giving you a nice vacation, at least," Maria went on.

"I should be ready for light duty in a week."

"Technically, I said we'd evaluate you for light duty in a week," Dr. Savannah corrected as she entered. "Afraid your friends will have to catch up with you later."

They said their goodbyes and, as they left, you started to stand. The doctor quickly said, "No, you don't. I don't want you walking on that leg."

"It's not broken," you argued.

"Not anymore," she countered. "Stay put. I got you a ride."

"I don't need to be wheeled back to the barracks." You tried to keep your tone confident but the truth was even that little bit of exertion had left you feeling twinges all along your left leg. Your left shoulder throbbed with each heartbeat.

"Well, good thing you're wrong on both counts," she said, winking. "And here he is now."

John came through the door, dressed in his undersuit as if either about to head to the Brokkr stations to have his Mjolnir mounted up or returning from having it removed. You didn't even realize you'd moved to rise again until Dr. Savannah put a practiced hand on your good shoulder to keep you down.

"I'll be sending PT to you twice a day, starting tomorrow," she said. "They'll help you to get your strength and mobility back. Around that, rest. Catch up on your reading, watch some thoroughly trashy movies, and keep your feet up. Not too far up, though. Nothing too strenuous. Make him do all of the work."

That got you to look at her and she waggled her eyebrows.

John cleared his throat slightly, a faint but definite flush creeping up from his collar. "Yes, ma'am."

"All right, see you back in a few days, sooner if anything else develops. You know what to watch for."

It wasn't until she stepped back and John approached that it clicked.

"You're going to carry me?"

"Yes, ma'am," he repeated in a murmur that shivered straight down your spine.

Since your left side had taken the brunt of the damage, he put your right to his chest and cautiously picked you up in a bridal carry. Despite the care, being moved set a thousand things to hurting and your breath hitched as he straightened.

"You okay?"

"Yeah," you said, your tone tighter than you would've liked. You thought, I hope nobody sees me being toted around like this, but, as soon as you left medical, you realized that no one was actually looking at you.

I think if Master Chief offered to drop me and pick up any marine, ODST or officer in this hall, they'd be hopping into his arms before I even hit the floor!

At the first turn he made, you realized the rest of it. "This isn't the way to the barracks."

"Nope," he said and you knew him well enough now to see the hint of a smile in his eyes.

You didn't have to wait for further clues, there was only one place, then, that he could be taking you. "How many strings did you have to pull for this?"

"Not as many as you might think," he demurred. "Your actions saved lives."

And they could've blamed you for failing to make sure a bomb hadn't been sent to the Pit in the first place. The curly tailed Warthog had been your responsibility, after all. You'd been curtly informed of all that when they'd debriefed you the first day you'd had your eyes open for more than 15 minutes.

You doubted they'd told that to John, though.

When you reached his room, he maneuvered so to get his thumb on the panel without jostling you too much. The lights came on as he took you through the doorway and then he paused.

"Kai," he rumbled, shaking his head. "She said studies show people heal better with color. I should've known she'd overdo it. Say the word and I'll have her in here clearing this out."

"It's your room," you said, "but personally, I love it."

The duvet on the bed and the pillows on the couch were now a rainbow of jewel tones. A tapestry with a field of sunflowers dominated the wall at the foot of the bed and you could've sworn there was a dusting of diamond glitter shimmering on every wall, sending tiny holographic rainbows through the air in all directions. But the main thing that caught your attention was overhead.

"She put up stars," you said, brightening.

"Ah, that one was actually me," he confessed. "You seemed to really like those in her room so I thought..."

You stretched up in his arms, inhaling a little sharply at the stab of pain in your left side, and pressed a kiss to his cheek. "I love them, John. Thank you."

A short time later, you found yourself lying on the bed in the darkened room, looking up at those stars. John had profusely apologized for not being able to stay after getting you settled in. He'd turned down the bed so you wouldn't have to, had put your padd close at hand on the nightstand to the right along with a bottle of water and a couple of emergency ration packs in case you got hungry before someone bought you a meal. He'd even procured you a set of unthinkably soft civvies to change into, exactly your size and in your favorite color.

You couldn't imagine that a Spartan had ever taken care of a sick or wounded person before, other than in a battlefield triage situation, so he'd probably found a checklist from somewhere to guide him. His earnestness to make sure he'd done everything right sent warmth flooding through you.

Before he left, he'd paused to kiss the top of your head.

"You know," you said, lifting your chin, "my lips aren't broken."

He hesitated. "The last time I did that, an entire base fell on you."

"Only the warehouse part," you said dismissively, "and there was absolutely no correlation, I promise."

He tried to smile at that but his eyes still showed concern.

"I promise," you repeated more seriously and he exhaled as if about to make a tremendous leap. His kiss was so soft and gentle, it was barely more than a whisper against your mouth.

Once he had left, you'd considered taking Dr. Savannah's advice and watching a holo, reading something on your padd, or doing any number of things to pass the time but ultimately, you'd wanted to appreciate his handiwork.

After all, it wasn't just anybody who could say a Spartan had literally hung the stars for them.

[wangxianficfinder]

In the mood for...

~*~

1. Hi! I'm asking for three things at the next ITMF:

A) curses/hexes fics, with WWX as the one getting cursed

B) WWX getting adopted by TGCF or SVSS crew

C) LWJ taking care of injured WWX and/or LSZ (it could be from a night hunt gone wrong, or from the curses/hexes request I asked above!)

1A)

How to Seduce the Yiling Patriarch by Theladyofravenclaw (T, 8k, wangxian, post-canon, temporary amnesia, case fic, fluff & humor, crack treated seriously, angst, jealous WWX, YLLZ WWX, gusu lan junior dynamics, mild gore)

So Why Not Crack Your Skull When the Mind Swells by greenteafiend (E, 13k, WangXian, Hurt/Comfort, Curses, Case Fic, Mutual Pining, Getting Together, Confessions, Drunkenness)

leading tone by silencemostofall (G, 32k, WangXian, Modern AU, Soulmates, with a lil twist, Eventual Happy Ending, lesbian wq rights, Music, Orchestra, platonic and romantic pining)

❤️ to arrive late is better than not to arrive at all by Moominmammashandbag (M, 35k, wangxian, angst w/ happy ending, soulmates, chronic illness, hanahaki disease as a curse, feelings realization, angst, fluff, smut)

See Me, Feel Me (Listening to You) by Ghost_Honey (T, 29k, WangXian, Junior Quartet, POV WWX, WWX Needs a Hug, Emotional Healing, Angst, Curses, WWX is an Unreliable Narrator, Yunmeng Bros Reconciliation, The Angst is Mainly Emotional, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Platonic Cuddling)

1B)

the Crossover comp for SVSSS & TGFC has some But in specific there's; 回家/Huí jiā by Exaigon (T, 37k, WIP, LBH/SY | SQQ, WangXian, Parent SY | SQQ, Parent LBH, Good Parent WWX, author's headcanon on qi, Cinnamon Roll WN)

I was Raised on Little Light by azog127 (T, 4k, WIP, LBH/SY | SQQ, WangXian, Fix-It of Sorts, Child WWX, SY | SQQ is So Done, SY | SQQ is Bad at Feelings, JC Needs a Hug, LWJ Needs Friends, Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, at least for now, Family Fluff, Crack Treated Seriously, Light Angst)

Narrative of Strength by MeltedIceAngel (T, 52k, WIP, WangXian, HuaLian, Canon Divergence, Adopt WWX, Found Family, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Protective XL, Protective HC, Adoption, Kidnapping, Attempted Kidnapping, Serious Injuries, Angst with a Happy Ending, TGCF)

the hearth series by eccentrick (G/T, 65k, WangXian, HuaLian, Found Family, fluff with plot, Fluff and Angst, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Disabled Character, Ableism, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, WWX Isn't Adopted by the Jiāngs, slow burn found family, Adopt WWX, Married HuaLian, Post-Canon TGCF, Kid Fic, TGCF Spoilers)

Hua Xianle by Tiffany_Guinne (Not rated, 120k, hualian, wangxian, TGCF, canon divergence, not Jiang friendly, madam lan lives, WWX adopted by hualian, WWX with different name, overprotective hualian, hurt WWX, WIP)

1C)

❤️Where the nightingales are singing, and a white moon beams. by Moominmammashandbag  (M, 33k, WangXian, XuanLi, Pseudo-History, No power AU, Empires, Discussion Of Murder, aftermath of war, prisoner exchange, Grief/Mourning, LWJ POV, Angst, Emperor JZX, Imperial Advisor LWJ, widower LWJ, JYL is the Empress the world deserves, Happy Ending, POW WWX, Reunions, Fluff, Smut, Dysfunctional Family, Poetry, BAMF LWJ, emotional support goat, poetry as a weapon)

~*~

2. 💗💗💗 to you all! 😘 I have an ITMF req: any CQL (or adjacent) fic where Jiang Cheng comes across WangXian with their hands bound together after they get spit out of the cold pond cave and immediately assumes that they are engaged or that LWJ is trying to elope (steal) his WWX, and causes a major ruckus. (JC friendly only for me, I'm looking for hijinks not hate!) Thanks!!!!

~*~

3. I adore teacher wwx fics, for the next itmf may I ask for recs where wwx gets to show off his incredible teaching skills? Can be canon or au, everything works!

🧡 paint smears on sunny days by SnowshadowAO3 (E, 53k, WangXian, Comfort, Fluff and Smut, Everyone Is Alive, Modern AU, Dadji, Mutual Pining, Happy Ending, Brief Alcohol Mention, Masturbation, Blow Jobs, Hand Jobs, Accidentally co-parenting with your son's art teacher, Fatherhood)

oh man, I distinctly remember asking for a previous IITMF post to be tagged with 'teacher wwx' or something like that and the mods cause it had a ton of suggestions and the mods did it, but the search function on this hellsite is the worst and i can't find it. ughhh (Found it! It's #8 of this post~ it was under the tag teacher wangxian lol - Mod C)

Something Yet to Learn by Glitterbombshell (T, 16k, WangXian, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff) Part 1 in the Joy In the Midst of These Things series

Documented Fact by Scrippio (T, 7k, WangXian, Modern AU, Modern with Magic, College/University, Professors, Minor Injuries, Misunderstandings, Fluff, Zizhen POV, Humor)

in case of fire, break glass by Jenrose (T, 65k, WangXian, Time Travel, Established Relationship, Hurt/comfort, Everyone loves/nobody dies) time travel fic where they teach like, everyone. Both casually and as established lecturers. Bonus, 4 year old a-ying lecturing lan qiren is very funny!

Here Again (Spirits Rise, Unbroken) by TheDefenestrator (T, 74k, WIP, WangXian, Time Travel Fix-It, Slow Burn, Happy Ending) Absolutely fantastic fic but still only two chapters and hasn't been updated in forever T.T

~*~

4. Hi Mods! I hope you are well. For the next Itmf I want to ask for fics where the older generation turns into children or babies or anything in that direction and the juniors having to take care of them. Extra points if it’s time travel and not just deaging. Thank you as always.

Hi! I‘m so sorry but I forgot to add something to my ask for the next itmf. I previously asked for fics where the older Generation is de-aged and the juniors taking care of them. But I forgot to ask for Fics where especially Wei Ying is de-aged and everyone else taking care of him. I saw a similar fic where Lan Zhan was a child and WWX taking care of him, but not the other way around. So… sorry for the trouble! @desperation-is-my-middle-name​

grow by cafecliche (T, 14k, WangXian, Age Regression/De-Aging, Character Study, Post-Canon) is always incredible and this one was really great and very heavy on the  everyone loves wei ying feels (Both are de aging though, not time travel)

found your writing on my wall by howodd5ever (T, 25k, WangXian, JC & LWJ, JC & WWX, Accidental Baby Acquisition, De-aged WWX, in which jc and lwj have to learn to deal with each other, Post-Canon, Getting Together, Referenced Child Neglect, discussion of parental loss, child food insecurity, Case Fic, kind of, Nightmares) Meant to include this as a second fic for 4)

Silver & Gold  by beeswaxing  (E, 162k, wangxian, post-canon, de-aging, fluff &   angst, happy ending, fix-it of sorts, family bonding, established   relationship, non-sexual intimacy, BAMF WWX, pining, protective WWX)  

~*~

5. I got addicted to work ID: 25765369 (Second Bite of the Cherry) on ao3. However it's a WIP and unfinished. So does anyone know any fic that is similar to this? Or maybe a Wei Ying that is simply Madam Lan?

~*~

6. hi! first of all thank you so much for the work you do! i’m fairly new to the fandom and you’ve been a truly amazing resource for my newfound fan fictions needs ♥️

i was wondering if for an upcoming itmf if you had any recs/favorites for fics where wwx & lxc are like really good friends/bros? i’ve looked through most of the “wwx & lxc” tag on ao3, but was wondering if you had any recs that maybe weren’t tagged with that but still had a solid relationship between them? not just supportive brother to lwg (which i totally adore), but specifically good friends with wwx

~*~

7. Hello, mods! What's one or two fic that no one talks about but deserves more, like your underated favorite fic that you can reread all week?

💖 symmetry by bleuett (M, 44k, WangXian,  Space, Science Fiction, Happy Ending, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Holding Hands, Blow Jobs, Hand Feeding, Cultivation in Space, Yearning, Reunions, Hurt/Comfort, Family Feels, Canon-Typical Violence, Minor Injuries, Grief/Mourning, Unconventional Time Travel, Burial Mounds)

mountains, we met  by fruitys (E, 79k, WangXian, Historical, The Handmaiden (2016) Fusion,  Enemies to Lovers, Misunderstandings, Secret Identity, Touch-Starved,  Sharing a Bed, Mutual Pining, Getting Together, Angst with a Happy  Ending, falling for the person you’re supposed to be swindling: the love  story, getting revenge on the people who manipulated you: the saga, and  some cws���…., Implied/Referenced Suicide, Suicide Attempt, Mental Health  Issues, Emotional Manipulation, Blow Jobs, Rimming)

paired wings soaring by typefortydeductions (E, 33k, WangXian, Modern, slice of life, domestic bliss, angst, fluff, smut, hurt/Comfort, kissing, bdsm, artist WWX, poetry translator LWJ, slight somnophilia)

undone (the spreadsheet song) Series by spookykingdomstarlight (E, 282k, WangXian, XiYaoSang, LWJ/OMC, Modern AU, Artists, Communication Failure, Mutual Pining, mutual obliviousness, Demisexual WWX, Eventual Smut, Getting Together, Mentions of Past Lan Wangji/OMCs, Crack Treated Seriously, Friends to Friends With Benefits to Lovers, Angst with a Happy Ending, Non-Linear Narrative, Established Relationship, Pre-Relationship, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Separation Anxiety, Family Drama, Dysfunctional Family, Self-Worth Issues, Casual Sex, College/University, Temporary Long Distance Relationships, Relationship Pressures and Stresses, Insecurity)

simple love | 簡單愛 by auberjing (E, 19k, WangXian, Modern AU, Hurt/Comfort, Slice of Life, Getting Together, Falling In Love, Strangers to Lovers, Caretaking, Angst and Feels, Grief/Mourning, Eventual Smut, Happy Ending, Hopeful Ending, Nude Photos, Nude Modeling)

Howling by MimiSpearmint (E, 40k, WangXian, Modern with Magic, Mortal Instruments Fusion, Horror, Eldritch, Domestic Fluff, Single Parent WWX, Witchcraft, Getting Together, shifter!lwj, yllz!wwx, Intercrural Sex, Hand Jobs, Angst with a Happy Ending, Switch WangXian, a bit of a degradation kink, anti-STI sex talismans, Anal Sex, Oral Sex)

The Fifth Type of Non-Contact Force  by Caixx (T, 83k, WangXian, Modern AU, High School, Slice of Life, Slow  Burn, Fluff and Humor, Actually Somewhat Canon, Mutual Pining, Horny  Teenagers, Angst with a Happy Ending)

过眼烟云 (Like smoke in the air) by frostferox (T, 14k, wangxian, modern, homage to The Farewell, food as love language, weight loss and grief carried by diaspora, family feels, drinking during wedding)

Creatures of Emotion by thievinghippo (E, 33k, wangxian, modern, rimming, phone sex, blow jobs, office sex)

A Life Without Regrets by naqaashi (M, 74k, WIP, WangXian, Time Travel Fix-It, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Crack Treated Seriously, musical cultivation, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, Rogue Cultivator WWX, Murder Husbands, Happy Ending, PTSD, BAMF WWX, Cultivation Sect Politics, Worldbuilding, Módào Zǔshī & The Untamed Combination, No Yīn Iron, Genius WWX, Inventor WWX, Artist WWX, Musician WWX, Bad Parent JFM, Bad Parent YZY, Cultivation Theory, Sentient Burial Mounds, Dysfunctional Family, Grief/Mourning, Parent-Child Relationship, Angry WWX, Angst, No Golden Core Transfer, BAMF LWJ, Idiots in Love)

🧡 Fakespeare in the Park by Scrippio (T, 72k, WangXian, ChengQing, XuanLi, Modern AU, Modern: No Powers, Theatre, Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Accidental Baby Acquisition, Plus some very on purpose baby acquisition, The occasional existential crisis, all the relationships are established, Light Angst, one emergency surgery, but it's fine)

~*~

8. itmf mama lan bonding with lwj, or encouraging him to pursue wwx, or her bonding with wwx, etc. anything along those lines! thank you 😊

The Same Moon Shines Series by sami, Winterstar1412 (Varies, 790k, 44 Works, WIP, WangXian, Tags vary per work)

A Mother’s Curse (A Mother’s Blessing) by Eudoxia (E, 33k, WangXian, A/B/O Dynamics, Omega WWX, Alpha LWJ, Huli Jing LWJ, Huli Jing WWX, Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Curses, Case Fic, Animal Transformation, Arranged Marriage, Misunderstandings, No Sunshot Campaign, No Yīn Iron, Cloud Recesses Study Arc, ish, Mentions of Ace LXC, Mentions of Ace WN, Knotting, Rimming, Blow Jobs, Oral Sex, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mating Bites, Mating Bond, Size Kink, 69 (Sex Position), Mpreg, Pregnancy, Pregnant Sex, WangXian Have a Breeding Kink, Intersex Male Omegas, Vaginal Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Cunnilingus, Squirting)

~*~

9. Hi!!! Do you have any fics where yllz! wwx is just "at his worst"? Like, little to no sleep, eats too little, kind of scary for the wen renmants sometimes, a time-bomb, kind of unhinged, and being held together only by resentful energy maybe? The story can be anything but pls a lot of angst and maybe a happy ending?? or maybe not ^^. I just think that a really fucked up, dark, half-dead yllz is pretty cool. Sorry if this is too long, and thank you <3

No night as deep as my night. by orange_crushed (E, 17k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Kind of A Vampire But Also Not? Unspecified Powers, Character Turned Into Vampire, Blood and Gore, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Mutilation, Loss of Limbs, Vomiting, Trauma, Sick Character, Child Neglect, Harm to Children, A-Yuan Will Be OK I Sincerely Promise, But It's Grim There For A Second, Suicidal Thoughts, Penetrative Sex, Rimming, Spit As Lube, Sex In A Cave, Survivor Guilt, Angst and Romance, Angst with a Happy Ending) this is after the wens are gone though

~*~

10. Hi! For the next itmf, I'd love to read anything with wangxian defending each other from other people's insults. Thank you!

~*~

11. Hi! For the next in the mood for, can I get some time travel fix its with both Wei Ying and Lan Zhan remembering? Thank you so much!! @vulpestars

Til Death Do Us Part by Thyone14 (Not Rated, 69k, WIP, WangXian, Time Travel, Fix-It of Sorts, Fluff and Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Character Death, WWX Needs a Hug, Protective LWJ, Soft WangXian, POV LWJ, mostly, POV Alternating, No Smut)

In My Defence, I Have None (For Never Leaving Well Enough Alone) by SemiLocalCryptid (T, 73k, WIP, WangXian, Time Travel Fix-It, Established Relationship, BAMF WWX, BAMF LWJ, POV NHS, but only for the first chapter, POV Alternating, between Wei WuXian and Lan WangJi for the rest, probably, Angst with a happy ending)

~*~

12. For itmf, are there any fic where Wangxian exchange bodies like soul swapping

Thanks

come home to my heart by occultings (microcomets) (M, 29k, WangXian, Bodyswap, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, Canon Divergence, First Time, Getting Together, Confessions, Sharing a Bed, lwj is a service top fight me, Misunderstandings, and a little bit of hurt/comfort as a treat)

💙 Holding shreds by barisan (T, 5k, WangXian, Cloud Recesses Study Arc, No Sunshot Campaign, Body Swap, Not for sexy shenanigans, Chronic Pain, Hurt WWX, Hurt LWJ, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Abusive YZY, Bad Parent YZY, Bad Parent JFM, Good Uncle LQR, Hurt/Comfort, Medical Inaccuracies, POV WWX, Angst with a Happy Ending, Jiāng Family Bashing, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Getting Together, Smart WWX) my favorite by my beloved barisan

~*~

13. hi, i have an itmf request 🙏🏽 are there any fics where lwj tells wwx about saving a-yuan much sooner? i know they were very busy with canon and all but i read a few fics where wwx agonizes about failing his son, and i just want him to KNOW 😭 thank you! @danmeiireader

~*~

14. I'm wondering if anyone's got any recs for fics where the characters have wings? Doesn't matter if it's canon setting or AU

Wing!WuXian Series by TheLineyPool (M/T, 40k, WIP, WangXian, Crack, Gods, Wingfic, Non-Accidental Baby Acquisition, White Crow A-Yuan)

Two is a Pair, Three is a Murder by cosmicworry14 (E, 6k, WangXian, Wingfic, winged!wwx, demonic bird wwx, Bird/Human Hybrids, Protective LWJ, Possessive LWJ, Possessive WWX, Animal Instincts, Courting Rituals, Blood and Gore, Dark)

so there is a fic, where the lans were birds, however wangji has black feathers like his mom and he was shamed for it and would bind his wings so no one saw it and then he meets wei ying who encourages him to be himself. if anyone knows the name of this I think it would work

~*~

15. hello, hello! hope you have a wonderful day/afternoon/evening.

for "I'm in a mood for...", any fic where LW achieved immortality status during or after the sunshot campaign and be treated as such when other characters find out.

Kinda like Jammingjackelopes' Time and Time Again's LW where he's immortal all-throughout the story and he would often summon/form ice when he's pissed off. Those parts always remind me how he's not mortal anymore and i love how he still spoils WWX.

~*~

16. Hello! for the next itmf is there any fics where wwx pulls a bssr and kinda "isolates" burial mounds from the cultivation world and their drama?

The Trouble With Politics: a Treatise on Jiang Sect Deputies Gone Rogue by Sect Leader Wei Wuxian by stiltonbasket (G, 40k, WIP, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Yílíng Wèi Sect, or: the one where yu   zhenhong is a wild card, Smitten LWJ, Domestic Fluff, Politics, Happy Ending, Sect Leader WWX, Fix-It of Sorts, JZX still dies though)

~*~

17. hiii thank you for all of your hard work!!! I was wondering if you guys had any fics along the lines of wangxian meeting their younger selves or younger wangxian meeting their older selves? if there's any recs like that it would really be delightful! ig this is an IITMF ask

You Will Become Me by pft_a_Frog22 (Not Rated, 3k, WangXian, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Time Travel, Good Uncle LQR, broken relationships, Yúnmèng Jiāng Sect Bashing, (implied), JC Bashing, (also implied), but its there, Golden Core Reveal, Suicidal Ideation)

A Wedding For The Ages by pupeez4eva (Not rated, 6k, wangxian, time travel, humor, everyone lives au)

Timely by apathyinreverie (T, 8k, WangXian, Time Travel, Domestic WangXian, Fluff, Fix-It, Post-Canon, Cloud Recesses Study Arc, Mutual Pining, wwx is sunshine personified, Smitten LWJ, Genius WWX, Romance)

Hanguang-jun’s Husband by lilacevergarden (T, 6k, Time Travel, post-canon wangxian being disgustingly in love, wwx bullying teenage wangxian, Yeah that’s it, Jealous WWX)

Listen to the Voice Inside Your Head by pupeez4eva (M, 12k, wangxian, time travel, humor, post-canon, sometimes it’s ok to bully your younger self)

💖 Travel Back Down That Road by iSwallowMy_converse (T, 8k, wangxian, time travel fix-it, BAMF WWX, YLLZ WWX, sometimes it’s ok to bully your younger self)

💖 From the Future for the Past by friedchickenlord (G, 27k, wangxian, time travel, fix-it, fluff & humor, happy ending, denial, pining, bullying ur younger self is in fact ok)

ripples spread out when a single pebble is dropped into water by RoseThorne (G, 1k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Time travel, Crack and Angst)

~*~

If you didn’t get an answer to your ask here, don’t forget to make use of @mdzs-kinkmeme and MDZS KINK MEME on Dreamwidth. Authors actually do use them for ideas. You may get what you order!***Your prompt doesn’t have to be kink! Fluff, crack, whatever - it’s all good!***

[suavissimapenna]

20 questions for fic writers

Tagged by @andromeda4004 Thanks, friend!

How many works do you have on ao3?

Five at this point!

What's your total ao3 word count?

24,657 (though I'm currently writing a WIP that will probably double this for the Fairy Tale GO Bang).

What fandoms do you write for?

Good Omens, though technically I cross listed one of my fics to the Queen fandom.

Top five fics by kudos:

I feel like I'm cheating since this is all of them so far, lol.

Say the Word (T, 5k words) The aforementioned Queen fic where Aziraphale helps Brian May with his astrophysics research and Crowley makes a deal with Freddie Mercury.

Like an Angel (T, 1600 words) The classic "heard a Hozier song and wrote this in an hour" fic. A fluffy snippet Aziraphale and Crowley in the Garden ft. tender wing grooming.

Break Up, Break Through (T, 2k words) Post S2 reaction fic. The Bentley has enough of Crowley's moping, which it communicates in song and by kidnapping him back to Soho. Maggie and Nina have to deal with a maudlin demon.

Here I Am (G, 6k words) My first multi chapter fic AND my first AU. This is the first installment in a Church AU series with Priest!Crowley and Aziraphale as the music and liturgy director of the parish. Crowley arrives at the Church of All Angels, Tadfield as the new interim priest. Chaos ensues.

The Fellowship of Christian Minds (T, 10k words) The second installment in the Church AU. Crowley and Aziraphale learn how to work together amid church drama, parishioner gossip, and their own foibles.

Do you respond to comments?

Yes! I love getting responses from authors, so I do my best to respond.

What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Break Up, Break Through is the closest to angsty I've got, though I tried to give it a hopeful vibe. I don't like to leave things on an angsty note, ha!

What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Say the Word has the happiest, fluffiest ending, with a reference to "Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy" as "their song."

Do you get hate on fics?

No, not so far! I hope it stays that way tbh.

Do you write smut?

I've been too scared to so far, though I can see myself working up to it in the future.

Craziest crossover:

Does the Queen fic count as a crossover? If so, that's all I've got in that arena. I suppose you could characterize the Church AU as influenced by The Vicar of Dibley in terms of vibes, though it's not an official crossover.

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I know of!

Have you ever had a fic translated?

No, though I would love it if someone wanted to!

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

No, it's just been me so far. I think it would be fun to do at some point!

All time favorite ship?

The Ineffables are apparently my ride or die forever. I can't let them go!

What's a wip you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

I don't have any languishing WIPs because I don't really let myself start things I don't plan to finish, at least so far. I've only been writing fic for about a year now, though, so there's always a possibility.

What are your writing strengths?

I'm really pleased with my references and throwbacks to canon, generally, especially in AUs. I like to think I'm good at dialogue and getting character voices right, though that's so subjective. I know I can hear them saying it in my head when I'm writing, and I hope that translates!

What are your writing weaknesses?

I'm still figuring out how plot works, and making the transition from more argumentative writing to fiction has been a fun challenge! My beta reader has helped me edit out "thesis statements" from my fics, lol.

Thoughts on dialogue in another language?

I'm here for it! I'm not verbally fluent in another language, but I have reading knowledge of several dead ones (see my Latin usernames). I love a bit of multilingualism, though I worry that Latin in particular will either come off as pretentious or like I'm summoning a demon on accident.

First fandom you wrote in?

I wrote some for Tamora Pierce's Immortals series back in the FF.net days. I'm such a sucker for a heroine who can both talk to animals and shapeshift into them.

Favorite fic you've written?

Why do I have to choose??? Say the Word will always have a place in my heart as the one that got me into writing for fun again, and for how well my research on it helped it come together! I'm also really enjoying writing the Church AU because it's such a self-indulgent one for me. I do love all the priest smut in the fandom (and there is A LOT of excellent priest smut), but as I was reading it I wanted more of a look into the day-to-day hilarity of church life, so I decided to be the change I wanted to see in the world.

No pressure tagging: @noodlefrog-omens @sodiumazideandothertoxins @mirjam-writes and anyone else who wants to answer!

[some-user-some-place]

For One Night Only

Rodent brainrot - Vincent Charbonneau x Rody Lamoree ( + Manon and her relationships with these two)

Vincent character study fic (kinda going for my interpretation of his motives in canon + a little fan service :D)

Word Count: 9k

Warnings: Shitload of angst, Light Smut, Implied Manon Death, She steak in this :/, Biting, Alcohol and cigarette abuse, not manon friendly, sad (catastrophic) ending, Implied cannibalism.

You can also read this on ao3! Or just drop by, leave a kudo or comment, read my author's notes, or don't, anything you feel like tbh.

♡ ~✿~ ♡

Vincent always had a complicated relationship with silence. 

Truth be told, it surrounded him everyday, and he absolutely despised it. It was usually accompanied by piles of paperwork in his office, the same tasteless wine he had made a habit of downing, and the reality that he was alone. 

Don't get him wrong, he likes being alone, prefers it actually, but that specific variety of loneliness just doesn't suit his taste. 

Ha . 

Either way, he also misses the silence, when there's a busy day in the restaurant, when he's trying to do some paperwork on a particularly noisy night, and especially, when a group of drunk patrons are delaying his much needed rest.

Much like right now. 

He already sent his cooks home, the chatty group of girls won't order anything else, he knows it. And yet, 30 minutes after closing time, he's watching his newly hired waiter entertain their whims. 

“Thank you, mister” The giggling girls are already halfway out the door by the time he snaps out of his inner musings. They're awfully touchy in their drunken state, he wonders how Rody manages it all, smiling like a puppy receiving a treat.

I guess that is why I don't do customer service .

“Boss? Are you there?” There's a hand waving itself in front of his eyes by now, accompanied by a mildly concerned face.

He could touch it if he reached out.

“You've got tables to clean and a floor to sweep, I wouldn't waste any time if I planned on getting home tonight.”

“Oh yeah, right to it boss!”

The process of cleaning the restaurant was always the same, cleaning, checking the ingredients, giving Rody a plate…

Oh yeah, he totally forgot about that. 

“Hey, Rody. I have something for you.” That perked up his waiter's attention. He watched his face morph from surprise at being caught off guard, to curiosity, until it landed in complete and utter disbelief.

“Really?!” Rody looked like he was about to hug him, and Vincent still couldn't pinpoint exactly why. 

“Uhm… is there a problem?”

“NO! I mean, thank you so much boss, I really could do with that raise! I just didn't think you'd actually give it to me but I've been working hard and-” If he didn't stop babbling Vincent would lose his ability to hear things too.

“It's not a raise.”

“Oh”

I guess he is a good waiter, and it's not like the bistro is doing badly, he could raise his hourly pay a little bit. Maybe it'd give him an incentive to actually arrive on time, and if nothing else it would severely diminish his exposure to Rody’s puppy dog eyes…

Ok this was getting ridiculous, even for him. 

“Take this, it's one of the dead plates from today.” He handed him a neatly tied package from the kitchen. He spent way too long trying to make the perfect ribbon, secure enough but also elegant. Because Rody rides a bike, and he couldn't give him a plate, at least not if he ever wanted to see it again. Nothing else.

“Oh, thank you, Vince.” 

Vincent could feel the following silence suffocating him, but he didn't really know why. 

“You know, you're actually nice.” The waiter blurted out. And if his eyes didn't mislead him, there was a touch of red in Rody’s face.

I like it.

What.

He was babbling again. Oh fuck. 

“-and you know boss I didn't mean that you look unpleasant to be around, I mean you kinda do, I think it's the frown you wear all the time, if you smiled more I think you'd get more ladies… I don't think I've ever seen you smile, actually. You really should, like that picture of you in the newspaper! But actually real, you know, natural. And-”

“And you're talking about women again.”

“I mean, yeah. That's why I do this, all of it. To share it with a special person, right?”

“Is that a question or a statement?”

“I guess, both…? Don't you have anyone to share everything with?”

Not until very recently. Although, he didn't really want to share anything with his newest… acquaintance. He couldn't bear even thinking about her.

“Do you?” 

Wait, oh fuck no, he's gonna start talking about-

“Of course! I share everything with my girlfriend!”

The same one whose smell was all over Vincent's pillow. 

NO

“... I guess I used to. Share everything with her. She hasn't been picking up for a while, I think she's mad at me actually…”

Was he… crying?!? Oh hell no!

“Would you stop acting like an abandoned puppy for two seconds! It's quite pathetic.”

“Oh, I'm sorry boss, I guess I am. Maybe that's why she-”

That's about enough. 

“I have- I mean, would you like a glass of wine? I have some in my office and…” A breath. “You look like you need it.”

His waiter, his tall, muscular, 30 something year old waiter, was nodding like a reprimanded toddler. Head down, holding back tears. It was pitiful to say the least. 

I want to hug him.

Again, what. 

At that moment Vincent made the intelligent decision to leave the room, maybe the wine wasn't the worst idea. Who knows how Rody would act, maybe he'd actually get some of the faux bravado alcohol was so known for producing… maybe he'd break down crying hysterically… Either way, the chef would certainly be more apt to deal with it if he too had his own fix. 

Exactly, this was for Rody’s benefit, he totally was not looking to drown his own emotions. Of course. And forgetting his own unpleasant situation was just an added bonus, the cherry on top per say.

What a pity party they both were.

After procuring his most expensive bottle - he didn't even know why he chose that one. The 20 year old mess of a man crying in his restaurant did not have the paladar for it - Vincent made his way back to his companion. Who, at this point, was no longer crying, but could still crush his heart with the lost look all over his complexion. 

“Uhm… Rody, I don't think there's any easy way to say this but…” Consciously, he knew telling the truth was the right thing to do. It was unbearable to see him running after a girl that has long since moved on. How genuine she was in that process, Vincent couldn't say. He very much felt she was also just running away from her problems, probably why they started this… thing between them. Truth be told, he didn't mind being a replacement, he was actually relieved. God knew he wasn't in it for her. That just meant he didn't have to concern himself with her feelings. Still, she had moved on, in her own way, and Rody needed to let go too. He deserves to know, deserved a better situation, deserved the truth. 

Besides, that thing eating him up inside every time he mentioned his “soulmate ” was rapidly becoming too complicated for his liking. It needed to stop, before he no longer could just shove it to the back of his mind. 

Brought back to reality by a call of his name, the chef takes a deep breath. “... What I'm trying to say is-

“No, I get it. I've overstayed my welcome.” A nervous giggle. “I probably should get going, it's getting late already. And you shouldn't have to deal with my mess either way, I'm so sorry-”

Before Rody could descend into his usual rambling, Vincent took a hand to his own temple, a frustrated sigh involuntarily escaping him. “No, it's not that Rody.” An exasperated laugh made its way into the air between them. “You really can't let me finish a sentence, can you?” 

His attempt at teasing was, surprisingly, appreciated. A short lived laugh accompanied by a huff from his employee was a sight he was much thankful for in that exact moment. Especially when the remains of it were still present in his face, in the form of a small smile. 

I want to feel it .

There was something seriously wrong with him today. 

The newfound faint levity of this atmosphere was inevitably short-lived. Vincent knew there was no going back in his decision, so he knew taking the opportunity to do this now was preferable. Particularly as he couldn't help but understand that if he didn't do this now, he would never. 

“Look, you have to recognize that… this isn't healthy for you,” Hearing that, Rody looked up, trapping Vince in inescapable eye contact. “Even you have to recognize you are chasing after someone that doesn't want you to, not at this moment at least. I can't know for sure what she feels, but it's painfully obvious to see that you are giving yourself up for something and it just won't pay off the way you want to.” 

Every day he would watch him struggling and sacrificing everything, and he couldn't help but replay her words in his head.

“He's just, he loves too much.” She had told him one night. In the comfort of her own apartment, nursing a drink, she had started recounting memories of her younger years. Vincent resigned himself to listen, not too keen in talking about his own… complicated youth. She had eventually decided to tell stories from her past relationships, and a considerable amount of them were related to his own waiter.

“He's too kind for his own good.” Behind her compliment lied a sense of worry and pity. Akin to that of a person watching a little lamb grow, knowing of the inevitable slaughter in its future. 

He couldn't help but pay attention to her words, as if she was letting him into a hidden part of their lives, which she was. But he suspected there was more to this, a bigger inaccessible part of Rody he could never truly know.

“I just… I couldn't keep letting him destroy everything he ever built for himself, everything he could ever build, just to make me happy . Well I wasn't even happy, I never wanted any of it! It was all for nothing!” Marieanne took a lengthy breath, recomposing herself from her small rant.

When she continued, in a much quieter voice, she no longer seemed on the verge of tears. Instead, she looked… soulless . “I had to keep seeing the one I love - loved - the most, ruin everything good that ever happened to him, all in my name.” 

Vincent wanted to say something, but the renewed bitterness in her expression left no room for anything other than listening. He was trapped in his seat, hanging on her every word. Every feeling that sparked onto her features was a new spotlight on him, he felt as if he was never supposed to witness such intimate sentiments. And yet, he was nothing more than a moth to flame, eager to receive every little bit of information she was willing to share.

“I know I did the right thing, I just wish he knew it too. He just won't let go, and I…” She paused, contemplating her words. “I don't know what to do, but I promised myself I wouldn't let this go on, and I won't. His obsession, his delusion, will not drag him down any longer. Even if I have to break his heart for it.”

At the time, Vince didn't completely understand what she was describing. Rody could be passionate, but he couldn't see him as the obsessive, unhealthy love type. He now realized she never meant to call him a stalker or an abuser, he didn't harm her, only himself. He was paranoid of losing her, to his own detriment. 

These days, he is confronted with this reality every time he sees his employee. He is brought back to Manon's words, and he too could no longer bear to see his never ending spiral downwards. 

Currently, the waiter looked absolutely distraught. Having downed about two glasses of wine, he emanated a feeling of hopelessness. 

“I think-” He clears his throat, readjusting his thoughts. “You need to move on, Rody. She gave you this opportunity for you to get your life together, not dwell on this failed relationship until it kills you. Maybe, set new goals for yourself, like getting a better apartment, having a better routine, work on earning that raise you want so much… or, start going out more, maybe meet new people,… work on the relationships you already have, let people in.”

Vincent didn't know where the urge to look down came from, or why it was here at all, but it was too strong to fight. The distraught look on the older man’s eyes had only gotten worse, but a surprised aura did cross his face at the chef’s advice. Socializing was one of the few things Vince looked incapable of ever doing, so it was uncharacteristic for him to be encouraging it. Even so, it was still good advice, nonetheless. 

“Besides, you are making it even more painful for her. Have you thought about that? She also lost a relationship, and you keep making it so that she's always confronted with what she had to give up. And displaying even more obsessive behaviors isn't doing you any favors.”

“...” His employee was speechless, guilt flickered all across his features, so intense that it looked as if it pained him physically. 

“She feels unsafe, Rody, she feels followed. She can't even connect her phone or check her mail without being bombarded by you.” Marieanne had told him as much, in her endless explanations of her past relationship-

But she shouldn't have, right? To Rody, she never did, and it has to stay that way . 

Well now it won't, as he just outed himself with much too personal information. How could he know how she feels in any other way?

FUCK

Panicking, he decided to evade the situation, distract him so that he can't think too much about what was just said. But in doing so, he startled Rody, who was much too tipsy and lost in his own disgust and guilt. 

Then, there is a crash, glass is everywhere, alongside its contents. The red wine paints a grim picture on the formerly pearl white flooring, dripping from the table, it is mesmerizing for Vince. His gaze, unashamedly, follows the patterns displayed before him, the contrast of the wood and the free flowing carnage, the sounds of the droplets as they fall onto the tiles. It is beautiful. 

I want to keep it. This image, this feeling, the stillness, the quiet, everything. 

If only his cooking was as enthralling. 

Still seated at the table, his waiter also takes in the mess all around him, or better speaking, on him. He's now entirely soaked, as the glass fell directly from his hand. Only one thought in his mind: For fuck's sake that glass’ gotta be at least twice my monthly pay.

To minimize the scolding he is sure to receive, as he mistakes the sudden darkness in his boss’ complexion for anger, he spirals into a spree of apologies. He wants to clean this up, but there are no cleaning cloths around, and Vince will kill him if he dirties one of the folded up table cloths stacked not too far from them.

His hands twitch, a show of his nervousness, and he resorts to picking up the glass shards off of the floor.

That's when Vincent snaps out of his trance, slightly confused still. He needs to recompose himself from… whatever that was.

“I- uhm- I'll, I should get something to clean this, I… yes. I'll be right back.”

He heads to his office, his legs give out almost immediately. His mind seems incapable of coherent thought, his body trembles, his breathing is wrong. 

Get yourself together. 

He closes his eyes, seated on the floor, back to the door. 

GET YOURSELF TOGETHER.

He opens his eyes again, no more trembling, but his chest still moves much too fast.

GET. YOURSELF. TOGETHER.

He gets up, picking up a cloth and a change of clothes for his companion. 

It's ok, it's all fine. 

Heading back, he cannot muster many words, delivering the pile of fabrics with a simple “Here.”

Unfortunately, he forgot Rody is an absolute idiot, as he almost uses the shirt to soak up the wine. Luckily, the chef restrains his hands with a simple touch. 

“This is for you to put on, that is for cleaning!”

“Oh. Sure. But I don't think I need it, I'm sure I can just dry this up and change at home. Thank you, but-”

“You look like you just got murdered.” Ever blunt, Vincent had no intention of letting this moron walk home in such a state. As if to end the discussion, he heads to the back, giving the privacy needed to change. 

And yet, he finds himself in his office, fighting the urge to see what's going on in the suddenly impossibly quiet salon of his bistro. He tells himself it's because Rody is incapable of not making noise, he could be breaking even more things. Or because it's very likely he’ll just be stubborn and not change at all.

I'm reality, he just can't bear not knowing what's happening. The lack of control, especially after… that thing, left a sour feeling of helplessness within him. 

So he looks, and beyond the small hole in his office wall, he discovers the familiar silhouette of the man he observed running across his restaurant every day. Today however, it was very still, contemplative, as it slowly undid the buttons of the dress shirt enveloping it. One by one, it revealed more of that tanned smoothness that had transfixed him on more than one occasion.

What am I doing?

The illicitness of it all wasn't lost on him, quite the opposite, it made his heartbeat pick up, adrenaline speeding through his veins. He felt powerless in his own skin for the second time this night, but this time he had no rush to break out of this trance. He needed more.

Vincent's shirt was picked up from where it previously sat in the empty table, in its place, the formerly white top of the waiter's uniform. That diverged Vince's attention to his hands and arms, he hadn't realized how strong he actually was. It was surprising, but… interesting. 

He could probably pick me up, huh.

That realization seemed to be enough for his newly discovered creativity to take hold of his mind, and yet, he couldn't quite grasp a single one of those thoughts. As if they didn't belong to him, foreign concepts and feelings yet to reveal themselves to his consciousness.

In his state of fascination, the sudden ring of the telephone went almost unheard. In contrast, the very object of his leering had started to head towards the offending noise, making Vince suddenly aware of it in the process. 

“Hello.” The annoyance in his tone was impossible to miss, and still he had no intention of even attempting to hide it. 

“Hey! Sorry to bother you in your restaurant, but you didn't pick up your personal phone sooo…” The familiar voice trailed off, in an effort to sound cute. It would never work on him, but he still had to pretend it did. 

“Oh, Marieanne.” He wasn't surprised, she had called him before, in such late nights even. He suspected it was when she got especially lonely, wallowing in those distinctly hurtful memories. 

“I was just wondering, maybe you'd like to eat something with me… perhaps, home cooked?” There was an evident smirk decorating her last words, a joke for herself only. 

“Are you asking for a free meal?” It sounded like an accusation, but it lacked the fervor to be serious. And it didn't go unnoticed. 

“Well, what other reason would I have to date a chef, a renowned one at that? It's only fair…” There was a small laugh by the end of the sentence, but Vincent tuned it out in favor of focusing on that one word: “date”.

Ugh

He did not have the mental capacity to entertain her whims tonight.

“I'm not exactly sure I'll be able to make it tonight, it's been a long day that refuses to end… I'll call you back.” And just like that he hung up the phone, before any objections or bargains ensued.

Heading out, he found himself lingering at the entrance to the salon, analyzing the scene in front of him. Rody was holding that photograph he carried everywhere. He had shown it to Vince before - multiple times, actually - he would go on and on about the date he had taken his ex girlfriend on, how he'd worked tirelessly to afford it, how he wasn't able to sleep for two days from the sheer yearning, and how he had insisted on a picture to remember it all. 

Now, it was forever a reminder of his loss. One he carried everywhere, even though it brought him nothing more than sadness. 

I will never understand him. Why? Why make yourself suffer?

“I've been there before.”

“What?” Jumping out of his skin, the waiter’s confusion was imprinted in his face. Understandably so, for the older man’s sudden words were more akin to an out loud thought than a conversation starter. 

“The restaurant, from the picture,” he made a vague gesture towards it, shrugging, “I’ve known the chef for a long time, actually.”

“Oh… oh yeah, the food's great!” It seems like the mere mention of eating is enough to cheer him up. Idiot.

“How'd you meet her?”

“Who?” Vince completely forgot about the conversation currently taking place, regardless of the fact that he started it.

“The chef, the one you mentioned, from the restaurant…”

“Ah… that,” He was rapidly regretting having ever acquired the ability to speak, or mastering this language, or even being born at all. “That is… a long story.”

That would surely discourage the ever impatient man currently staring into his soul. 

Or so he thought, as Rody simply kept looking at him, letting out a single “oh?” as permission to continue. 

“She's a friend from college.” He had no intention of adding anything else, so it didn't bother him when he got “interrupted”, as for what was actually said…

“You went to college, what for? I guess cooking shit but, I mean, did you like it?”

“Uhm… yes. Did you?”

“Ah… I guess, uh… I should get going huh, it's getting late and everything.” There was an awkward smile on his face, one that reflected very well how Vincent felt himself. 

Maybe it was the wine, maybe the emotional rollercoaster that was that night had permanently damaged his ability to think straight, or maybe Rody’s stupidity was actually contagious. For whatever reason, despite all the alarms going off in his head, all the uncountable reasons against this awful idea, and his general better judgment, he still found himself speaking the following words: “You should stay here.” 

Bad idea!!!!

“It is late, as you said yourself, so it could be dangerous to ride back so far, especially on a bike… Besides, there's a couch in my office, and I can give you a blanket.” He should've lost his vocal cords as a child. “Perhaps, this will be the day you actually arrive on time.” He added, as a mutter, consumed by the need to escape the silence overtaking the room.

“Hey! I can arrive early! In fact, I will arrive here the earliest, you'll see!” It's so easy to get a rise out of him, huh.

“So what you're saying is you're late on purpose?”

“No! Uhm… That's not, I just, I have really bad luck. But I still try! I swear!” He was almost begging not to be fired by now, it was amusing, but Vince knew he should give him a break, and he still hadn't gotten an answer yet…

“So? Are you staying?” He did his best to look uncaring, maybe annoyed even, but deep down he felt like burying his face in a pillow and screaming bloody murder. Maybe that's actually a better coping mechanism than all the wine and cigarettes…

“I don't want to intrude-”

“Don't be stupid.” If he wasn't welcome, he wouldn't have gotten an offer. 

“Oh- okay. Sure. Thanks!” Rody offered a flustered but grateful smile, and Vince decided he was too tired to deal with whatever it did to his insides. 

After getting everything ready, he was about ready to collapse in his own bed upstairs, still, good manners had him going back to his employee. 

“Uhm, everything settled?”

“Oh yeah, thanks boss!” He was shirtless. 

Goddamnit, Rody.

“Great. Goodnight, then.” He needed to leave, now. It was not the time to unpack what had happened earlier, none of it. It was time to not stare at his employee's - That's right, I'm his boss! - naked torso.

“Wait, I- You, you can be a really cool person, you know?” There was a hand touching his own, stopping him from leaving. “I know you're a bit private, and that's totally cool,” Curse whoever invented prolonged eye contact! “I just think you should, I don't know, maybe be a bit more open?” There was a coy smile in his lips, and yet he could barely take it in before being recaptured by the older’s mesmerizing eyes. 

He wanted to run. No, small correction, he needed to run, as far as he could. Before whatever sickness is giving him all these strange and mortifying reactions could completely overpower his conscious mind. 

He couldn't form words, almost in a trance. He settled for nodding, loosely registering the goodnight thrown his way. He didn't feel his legs at all, his brain had stopped, even his vision was blurry. But his heart hammered in his chest with a vigor, slowly clawing its way to his throat. 

The only image in his mind was of fluffy hair, emerald eyes, a tanned figure, and smooth skin. Maybe that's why he didn't see the pile of boxes in the entrance to the kitchen, newly acquired ingredients yet to be organized. 

Next thing he knew, he was on the floor, as a familiar form hovered over him, just out of his reach. 

“Are you okay, boss? Do you want some ice?” Rody was frowning, clearly concerned, as he alternated between helping him sit up, checking for injuries and picking up the many things scattered across the floor. 

He wanted to say something, anything, but as he stared into his eyes, letting himself be cared for, the more fearful of it all ending he became. It was so rare - probably as a result of his own actions, but nonetheless - having someone worry. Rody didn't even have to, it wasn't a dangerous fall, and Vincent was nothing to him, so why? And worse, why did he like this so much? He didn't need this pointless attention and pandering, he was a grown man, with his own restaurant, a luxurious apartment, a promising career, so why?

And none of it changed the concern in those beautiful eyes, or the softness of a frantic, but sweet touch, the poorly hidden panic behind meaningless reassurances and a weak but oh so touching smile. 

He’s taking care of me.

He cares for me.

He cares. 

This was terrifying. The realization brought forth a completely unknown feeling that took his breath away with its sheer intensity. He had people be “in love” with him before, he had people admire him and his conquests, he had been envied, resented, coveted, hated. But not this, this was too sweet, too fragile, too… much. 

Or maybe, just maybe, this had happened before. Maybe people had cared for him, and worried as much as those eyes, and dropped everything to help him, and cheered when he succeeded, and wanted to know him, be a part of his life, and none of it mattered. Not to him, it never did. 

So why? Why could Rody reduce him, the acclaimed chef Vincent Charbonneau, to a shy wordless disgusting mess. He didn't want this at all. It was pathetic, it was madness, it was confusing, and awful, and embarrassing and, and he didn't even know what it was. 

These feelings, and reactions, and situations and thoughts, they were foreign in every sense of the word. Entirely new, terrifyingly weird, but also, external, like none of it belonged to him. This wasn't who he was, or ever wanted to be.

And it continued to grow, especially as - in the height of his panic - Rody picked him up, placing him on the kitchen counter. He proceeded to roll Vince's ankles, checking if they were twisted when he fell. He would pause, asking if anything hurt. The chef shook his head, finally coming to his senses, but he still couldn't help but get caught by the seriousness dominating the otherwise carefree man. 

“I'm fine, you don't need to worry.” Vincent muttered, still mesmerized, but it was for nothing, as his waiter simply moved to examine his head.

Believing he might've spoken too quietly, he elaborated. “I’m serious, I just wasn't paying attention to where I was going. It was a small fall, after all.” And still, the hands in his hair limited themselves to turn his head to the side, looking for better access.

“Rody! I do not like repeating myself, I've told you to stop already!” He resorted to his commanding voice, the one he reserved for the poor cooks in his bistro's kitchen and particularly troublesome clients. 

To no avail. He straightened himself, facing the stubborn employee head on. He would not be ignored, that was the one thing Vincent Charbonneau would not be: unnoticed and disregarded. Almost on impulse, he captured those energetic hands, finally ceasing the other man's movements. 

Rody was never particularly hard to read, always wearing his heart on his sleeves, so it was truly fascinating to see as emotion after emotion flashed behind his eyes. First it was confusion, presumably from the abruptness of Vince's hold, then - as his thoughts slowly caught up to him - he was ashamed, flushing red as his face darted across the younger man's figure. And lastly, a peculiar darkness took hold of him, maybe regret for putting them in this position? Perhaps anger, from getting restrained… Would he feel unappreciated for trying to help and getting scolded instead? He could very well think Vincent was being ungrateful…

It was brief, that conflicting emotion, as Rody became aware of Vince's gaze. As their eyes locked, the air in the room shifted. Suddenly, it was as if all of the oxygen vanished, a suffocating aura taking its place, heavy for reasons unknown. 

A new emotion overcame the man in front of him, even more indecipherable, locking away Rody's thoughts. His expression was eager, but fearful; determined, and yet lost; confused, but all consuming; like nothing the chef had ever experienced, or had someone experience in relation to him. It made him feel small and uncertain, and for that alone he prayed he'd never encounter it again. 

That stare had frozen him in place, and still, he felt like he was slowly getting closer to it. It was magnetizing, irresistible even, but he would not dare to move. Still, the more he lost himself in it, the more detailed it became. He became aware of his own reflection, presented to him in the center of emerald eyes, of their conjoined breaths, hanging in the small space between them. Had Rody's lips been this red all of this time? Was his hair always this smooth?

A puff of air hit his face, soft, but much too sudden. It startled him, enough to bring him back to the fact that the hands he was previously holding were now resting on top of his own. One arm to each side of him, he was effectively trapped, although he had no intention of escaping. Their touch was sweet, almost disinterested, unintentional; unlike the nose brushing his own. 

Wait, what?!

It happened fast, one second he was gazing at the man before him, hands now gripping his wrists, forcing him down. Their chests were touching, his legs parted for better access. He was hyper-aware of the trail Rody was tenderly tracing with his nose, only stopping when he reached his ear, hot breath hitting his cheek in fast, short pants. His head twisted slightly sideways, lips aligning with his own. Vincent could no longer bear the eye contact, closing his eyes as he took a deep breath. It was only a simple caress of lips, quick but electrifying. It had him leaning forward, desperate to deepen the contact. It was addicting, a drug so powerful it had him hopeless with the smallest of doses.

The next, he was falling. The space in front of him now empty - cold - as the man previously occupying it yanked himself away so fast he stumbled. He had a horrified look on his face, and it was slowly killing a part of Vincent. He opened his mouth, he didn't really have anything to say, but he was terrified of what Rody might do. If he let him break the silence, he might verbalize whatever thought caused that expression to cross his face, and that would certainly be the last nail in the chef's coffin. He had to act fast. 

“Rody… Look, listen-”

Hearing his voice seemed to be the catalyst Rody needed, the spark to light his internal flame. And it burned. 

“I'm so sorry! I should’ve never- I wasn't thinking at all and I just… I swear I'll never do this again! How could I do this?! I'm so sorry, boss. I'll totally understand if you wanna fire me now, actually, I better just leave. I'll never see you again! Please, just don't call the police, please!!!” What.

The oldest was about to get down on his knees, forcing Vince to spring into action, pulling the much bigger man up by his shirt. The waiter now looked up, eyes burning holes in his soul. They fixated on his mouth for a short second, but rapidly moved up to meet his gaze.

Vincent still couldn't think of anything to say, but as he observed Rody's lips part, apologies ready to burst from his tongue, something overtook him. Determination, the likes of which he had never felt, not even towards his job or education. He needed to shut that moron up, with his unwarranted apologies and incessant begging.

He closed his eyes again, and simply dove forwards. The electricity was back, but this time it was deliberate, aggressive even. This was a statement, but it was also a challenge, with a touch of annoyance. It screamed Just fuck me already, but it still had an edge of hesitancy - waiting for permission, reciprocation too. 

Vincent was persistent, he waited until the shock subsided, hanging on every noise, every twitch the other man made. And yet, his bravado was quickly dying. Maybe he had misread the situation, maybe that expression on his face was regret. Either way, this was probably a mistake. 

He was about to pull away, both out of shame and due to the human need for air, which he had ignored for what felt like an hour now. That's when he felt a sudden grip on his waist, desperately pulling him in. It was rough, nails digging into his flesh, as if biting, to leave a mark. He felt drunk, probably because he was, but this high was like nothing he'd even dreamed of. Before he could even think to stop himself, his hands were grasping frantically at Rody, alternating between their hold on his shoulders, or pulling his neck closer. 

His lungs were pleading with him for much needed air, forcing him to break off the contact. He took a deep breath, only to have it be promptly knocked out of him as sharp teeth started nibbling away at his skin. They took their time abusing him: starting at his neck, then slowly climbing up to his ear, only to return to his misused neck, sucking on the sensitive bruises on their way down. 

All semblance of dignity left Vincent as the noises he was struggling to suppress hit his ears. And worse, he couldn't care less, as Rody started working on his collarbone - when had his shirt gotten unbuttoned? - he could only hopelessly beg. He didn't even know what he was pleading for, but the all-consuming want was rapidly becoming too much, he needed relief, he needed more.  

His back hit a wall, his office wall to be more precise, lips recaptured as hungry teeth attacked his bottom lip. He was trapped again, hands pulling him off the wall, into Rody, as his own were tangled in auburn locks. 

He had never felt like this before, this was too good to be true, he knew it. His mind told him to be prepared, he'd surely wake up any minute now, and yet he never did. Nonetheless, he kept waiting, it was terrifying, but in a thrilling way. Maybe this was a dream, that meant he didn't have to give a fuck. No fears, no consequences, he was free. He could give in, fulfill all of those needs long forgotten. He couldn't get enough, and yet he felt completely overwhelmed. He didn't know what to do, how to feel, anything. So he surrendered, completely turning off his brain. He was ruled by the sensations, that thing inside of him slowly rising, controlling his movements, like an instinct he'd long suppressed. 

He felt his knees part, a leg taking refuge between them, further pinning him to the wall. He could feel himself shaking, slowly losing balance, but the lower he slid against that very wall, the higher that knee rose against him. That contact was dangerous, and so was the smug look directed at him now. Like an artist admiring their creation, Vince could feel as Rody’s eyes memorized him, what he did to him, and he couldn't feel more wanted. 

They locked eyes, just as he was pulled down against that damned leg, which immediately took the opportunity to tease him, dragging itself onto him at a tantalizing pace. He wanted to crawl out of his own skin, craving the contact as if it was oxygen, he mustered up the last of the strength left in his muscles to get back on his own feet, pushing Rody back a little bit. 

The older man was left a bit confused, especially when he reached out to continue what he started, only to be met with swatting hands. 

“This is a bit unfair, don't you think?” Vincent signaled to his naked torso, then, pointed at the waiter's uniform which, although heavily disheveled, remained untouched. 

“Uhm… sure.” What followed was a rather cute display, as that idiot - a very well built, handsome, skilled idiot, but still! - nervously attempted to get out of his dress shirt, almost choking himself with the poorly tied bow tie. 

“Are you, uh- are you giggling?” Rody looked rather amused, but the sparkle in his eyes revealed a deeper emotion, one Vince couldn't afford to dissect. 

“I… I guess?” In his defense, Rody's theatrics were ridiculous to everybody but himself. On the other hand, Vincent Charbonneau did not giggle . He simply didn't, end of story. And he was damn good at masking his laughter too, that is, when he found anything worth laughing at at all. But somehow, right now, he couldn't care less. What if he was giggling? Tonight, the critically acclaimed chef was nowhere to be seen. What was left was the touch starved 20 year old lonely mess of a man, clinging to the only thing that’s made his pulse quicken in years, and his image was the last thing on his mind. 

The expectations, the predetermined life he was supposed to want, the opinions, the fears that kept him up at night, the control he so desperately craved, in here, in this office, it was all drowned. Not by a bottle, or the cigarettes in his pocket, but by the touch of someone. It was ridiculous.

Maybe that's why people cling to those ridiculous romance novels…

For the first time, the prospect of pleasure was within his grasp. Rody did something to him, something none of his previous partners could. He could finally understand why his colleagues were so enamored with the idea of women, even if he could never think of them in that way. And what if it was wrong, or unnatural? This - intimacy - was something he could never truly feel, never even wanted it either, but now that he's found it, he'd discovered that he was starving.

Lucky for him, he had a rather appetizing meal right in front of him. In the form of his blushing half-undressed employee, but one takes what they can get, right? Besides, he wasn't one to complain either…

So he did what any other would in his position, recaptured those lips. And next thing he knew he was being thrown across his desk, belt half-undone as kisses were left half-haphazardly across his body, trailing closer and closer to the darker circles in his chest. Waves of divine shocks pulse through his veins, blinding him to the fact that he was effectively pinned underneath the larger man. 

As he finished positioning himself, the oldest bent down to Vince’s ear, whispering: “Is this okay?”

His brain barely had time to register the confusion, for right after this question, Rody rolled his hips into Vincent's, effectively ripping any semblance of thought from his mind. If what he was feeling before was shocks, sparkles that teased his skin in such an inebriating way, this was an explosion, an all consuming fire that blinded him with its intensity.

“AH!~” He could no longer control his vocal cords, much less his legs, which had tangled themselves on Rody's back. 

Talking about him, the waiter wasn't unaffected either, having tightly shut his eyes, as he regained his breath. But he still decided to be a tease, murmuring against his neck: “What did you say?”

“Fuck, yes. YES! Don't you fucking stop!”

“Sure thing, boss.”

The idiot was giggling, GIGGLING! The audacity! With a smug smile all over his face too! Vincent wanted to strangle him right now. But soon those hips were moving again, bringing that fire back to life.

True to his word, Rody kept a steady pace. Not too fast, but enough to keep Vince on the edge, feeding that madness of a sensation taking control of his body. Still, unlike his rhythm, his hands were frantic, switching between guiding him in for kisses, holding his arms or hips, or even just hugging him close. It was probably for better hold, or to further contact, he knew this. And yet, he still felt like crying out every time it happened.

In the few moments of clarity, a small, but persistent part of him felt awkward. What should he do in a situation like this? It was silly, really, but he was holding one of the most beautiful men he'd ever laid his eyes upon. He wanted to just gaze upon him, admire his face, his hair, how it felt to be pressed against him, the way his chest rose, how his erratic breaths felt hitting his neck, the fullness of his lips, how his skin glistened in the low light, sweat rolling off his temple. He needed to memorize that concentrated expression, barely containing itself from crumbling in pleasure. 

Truth is, Rody was surprisingly good at volume control, at least if compared to the chef currently screaming himself hoarse. Nevertheless, he wasn't made of steel, letting out small little puffs of air against his skin. Alternately, to Vincent's dismay, he'd bite all over his chest to keep quiet. He discovered he loved his little noises, especially the gasps and whines that did manage to escape. They were rare, but oh so delicious. It felt good to know he could make him feel like that, it was making him crazy in such an unexpected way. He decided, right then and there, he could do anything to see such adoration in his complexion, he wanted to be needed, to be able to make him cry out in every single way he could, he wanted him to stay.

“Hah~ You're- I'm, fuck! I'm close.” The way he bit out the words served to confirm them, and it drove him crazy. Vince took it upon himself to make him crumble, not only matching his movements, but picking up the pace to an excruciating speed. It was his sweet revenge, and besides, he also greatly appreciated the motions. So he allowed himself to be petty, and if he got even bigger bite marks as a result, that was tomorrow's problem. 

This was heaven, especially as he felt nails dug themselves into his hips, driving him upwards as the larger man all but collapsed with a cry of his name. He kept up the pace, although slowed, even as Rody freezed, never letting go of him. And so Vincent didn't either, continuing to hug him through the intense explosion. 

That's when he felt little cold droplets hit his skin, shaking him to his core. He immediately froze, thoughts cutting through his head like a million stray knives. He didn't understand, he was effectively lost, like he'd never been before. 

Suddenly, he felt as the crying man sat up, as if burned by the body beneath him. As Vince rose after him, Rody was already getting dressed, shaking hands struggling with his belt. The panic set in - He wants to leave… - he lunged for anything he could reach, successfully catching one of his hands. 

The realization that the waiter was refusing to even look at him crumbled the ground he stood on, he felt small, as a wave of shame took hold of him.

“What have I done?! ” He wasn't the target of that sentence, he knew it was nothing more than an out-loud thought, murmured under one's breath unconsciously. So why? Why did he feel a dagger embedded on his chest, bleeding him dry of every semblance of happiness he could hope to still hold onto. It was the desperation in his tone, the disgust and self-hatred, as if he was begging to go back in time. To undo this mistake.

Taking in the state of the man in front of him, he gave up on any hopes to make him stay, to save any part of the sliver of paradise he had been gifted. He just needed to know, to understand, why? What had happened, had he done something? Had he read it all wrong?

“Rody-”

“I quit.”

NO.

“RODY!” The younger was desperate now, powerless in all the wrong ways, and still the larger man continued to dress himself, with renewed vigor. And he could do nothing but beg.

“Just, please! ” His legs were failing him. In a last ditch attempt to stop this, he clasped both his hands around Rody’s wrist, praying for any answer. “Please, talk to me.”

“I can't do this to her!”

The following silence was suffocating, even if short lived. 

“What.” It wasn't a question, it was a chance. An opportunity for the other man to rethink, and for himself, to pretend he'd heard wrong, to ignore it all.

“Look, I- I started all of this for her, Manon. I promised I'd get a job, and get myself together.” A dry laugh. “And here I am, cheating on my girlfriend with a- with, with you! ”

All of a sudden, he was back to staring at that mysterious darkness, except this time he knew exactly what it was. Nausea. Pure and simple. Both at himself, for ‘betraying Marieanne’, and directed at Vince. 

He's disgusted with me.

And it was all because of what, a long lost relationship with a woman who was already seeking out other people? This is unbelievable, truly.

“For fuck's sake, Rody! She doesn't want you! Christ, she hasn't for a while. She's done, moved on, she's probably out there fucking some other guy as we speak!” The regret hit as soon as he saw the rage behind emerald eyes, sharp jewels that shined with unrestrained anger. Especially, when it wasn't true. He knew she wasn't with anybody else, that is, besides himself.

“I. Quit.” His tone left no room for discussion, neither did his attitude, as he marched out of the office, slamming the door along the way. Still, Vincent wouldn't just let himself be discarded, cast off like some old plaything.

“STOP!” It was hard to think through the hurt, all of his emotions hushing through his head, rendering him a caged animal, driven by nothing but blinding rage and the instinct to fight. 

“Can you stop acting like this pathetic abandoned dog?! How many times do I have to tell you, she's gone! And you stalking her to hell won't change that. And neither will this pity party you throw every single time she's mentioned. Are you incapable of being your own person for one fucking night?!”

Without the anger to fuel him, he felt hollow. He knew he needed to correct what he just did, but in the end, he hadn't lied a single bit. He was tired, tired of tiptoeing around this. Finally it was out there, it was freeing, but he needed Rody to understand. And being rude wouldn't help with that at all. 

“Look, I'm sorry, but you have to recognize it's over. I just, I don't want you to suffer even more. She's not coming back! And I worry, okay?! I care about you! God, why do you think I hired you in the first place?!”

The waiter's expressions flashed so fast it gave him whiplash, and he continued to hang on every single breath he took. It was agonizing, but he was all but maxed out. He was done, with this rollercoaster, with these emotions, with this night, with this dance they kept doing, with pretending. It, too, was over now. 

And it immediately backfired.

“Fuck you! You, you're sick! This is sick, all of it!” He made to leave again, only for Vincent to put himself in front of the door. 

“Get the fuck out of my way!” He didn't touch Vince, but for a split second the aggression radiating off of him made him scared. He desperately wanted to hold his ground, but he had nothing left in him. And just seeing the usually upbeat clumsy jokester, who would always make the best of a situation, glare at him with such disdain. He felt like crying. 

So he stepped out of the way without another word, heading to his office. He barely hesitated when he heard the door slam shut, but he knew there wasn't a thing left to look back for. It was a lost cause, and yet he desperately wanted to keep clinging to some delusional hope that this was still salvageable. Rody would walk back in at any moment, or he would wake up back in his room after some liquor induced fever dream - or nightmare, all things considered.

He collapsed on the very desk he'd been perched on earlier, when the tears strolling down his face were a result of the pleasure induced joy. Now, he couldn't even cry, for he had no tears left, he was nothing more than a used up rag. Discarded and forgotten. 

When the telephone rang, he was barely aware of his surroundings. Picking it up out of habit, in a daze. He heard her voice, something about a dinner he'd never gotten back to her about. He couldn't focus. His hand brushed against something, fabric, a shirt. The shirt he'd given his employee - if he still was that - a couple of hours earlier. He laughed out of despair, lifting it up to his face. 

The smell brought back newly formed memories, turned sour so soon, and he suddenly needed a drink. 

He told her something, probably a yes to whatever she wanted, all he registered was the loathing her voice dug out as she asked: “My house, is that okay?”.

He couldn't believe what he was hearing, she wanted to meet at a night like this?! Ha. She would, wouldn't she? After all, all this bitch is ever good for is ruining whatever good thing happens to him. And Rody still loves her. Even when she's bland, and self absorbed, and just like all the other women he's ‘dated’.

At that moment, he understood. It wasn't about what he could give, or what he was doing. No. It was about what he could feel. It was about love, that pestering unforgiving thing, he could never truly get. Of course he would fall for her - ‘She's so sweet!’ - she's filled with it, so much it's dripping down her every fucking pore. And isn't it what everyone wants, they need to feel loved, they live off it. He needs to show him he too can give love, shower him in it, serve it on a silver platter, so he can taste it all. 

“Mine. My place.” He responded, hanging up almost immediately.

He knew what he had to do, to show Rody that he too could give him love. Mind made up, he went about cleaning up. Eventually stumbling across the discarded drinks - instantly downing the much deserved scarlet tranquilizer - and the forgotten ‘dead plate’ he'd so tenderly prepared. It was no bother, this next dish he'd serve would be so full of love that he would finally realize just what Vincent can actually give him. And he'd be solving both of their problems, it was perfect. It will be perfect! 

As he heard the bell on top of the bistro's door ring, signaling her arrival, he quickly stashed away his utensil. He couldn't have her stressed, the meat would be too full of nerves, and he could never serve such a thing. He was a renowned chef after all, he ought to have strict standards, especially with the most important dish of his life.

She called for him, so he signaled her over. “In the kitchen.” Her footsteps responded almost instantaneously, driving closer and closer. So he hid. She would look for him, he knew, and she wouldn't check the blacked out corner closest to the freezer, because why would she? But she would walk by it to check his office, and she wouldn't see a thing. It was best like this, no fight, no noise, nothing. 

So when she entered, with another call of his name, he took hold of the knife, counted her footsteps, and most of all…

He smiled.

[minilpark]

my everything with rooster

warnings: canon injuries, character death, not edited

genre: hurt angst pain no comfort >:)

author notes: honestly imagining this scenario hurt me so much, i just hope i wrote it down in a way you can feel it too- this is my first "real" fic, so pls be gentle. also, there's an implied pining for each other

y/c/s - your callsign

waking up this morning, you didn't expect "making an emergency landing" would ever be in your to-do list. only thing you had to worry about today was supposed to be surveillance of enemy positions, nothing too big, especially since there was a ceasefire agreement established.

emphasis on was.

running into bogeys was nothing new for you nor rooster especially for being in the job for so long. all you were instructed to do was to scare them off, specifically no weapons allowed to be fired unless fired upon first.

"easy enough" you thought while proceeding to get tone on one of the su-57's that were sent out. after their pilot bugged out, you turned to look over at rooster and see how he was doing.

"how's it goin over there flyboy? you need some help?" you chuckle seeing him try to maneuver behind the enemy while you begin to close in.

before he could even get a response out, you could see and hear the enemy's guns being shot at his aircraft. rushing over to back up your wingman, you radio back to command letting them know the situation. upon hearing "weapons free", you begin to engage the enemy.

however, they were a formidable opponent. being able to constantly shake you and rooster, getting multiple shots in on both your aircraft in vital places. for you, it was the fuel tank, but for rooster, it was the cockpit. turns out mav wasn't wrong when he told the both of you months before that it's not the plane, it's the pilot.

with the limited time you two had left to keep this fight up, you had finally managed to get good tone on the plane and shoot the bird out of the sky. not having good structural integrity of either of your planes, rooster made an executive decision to make an emergency landing...on enemy territory.

once you two got settled in a secure, but hidden spot, you called for emergency evac. after which, rooster let out a breathy chuckle, catching your attention.

"hey what's so funny, bradshaw?" you smile confusedly while scooting closer on the snowy ground to your wingman.

rooster rested his head on the tree trunk turning slightly to you and smiled a bit

"ah nothing, just the fact that all of this happened on what was supposed to be a simple surveillance mission is all-" he said while letting out another breathy laugh, making you furrow your eyebrows in slight concern at the sound of a wince at the end of his laugh.

"yeah- but if anyone got caught in a situation like this, it would've definitely been us..." you shifted slightly to face him better and tilted your head "are you doing alright?" you said while giving him a once over and noticing a bit of blood soaking through his flight suit.

without even waiting for an answer, you unzipped his suit, leading to his eyes widening and him scooting back slightly

"woah, y/c/s, take me on a date first before you try to get in my pants-" he joked, before realising how serious the look on your face was and quieted down.

seeing how bad the damage was, you felt your blood run cold. you could tell the bullet went clean through which usually was good, but with the size of about a 20mm round, it left a sizable hole in bradley's abdomen. the reason he couldn't feel anything wrong was because his adrenaline is still running...at least for now.

before he could get a good look at his abdomen, you quickly cut off the sleeves of your flight suit and put pressure on the wound to try and buy time for evac to arrive which was estimated to be about an hour from now.

rooster winced which indicated the adrenaline was wearing off.

"so how bad is it? and don't pick now to start sugarcoating your words-" how this man could still find a way to joke with you was beyond comprehension-

"you'll be fine. i just need to buy you some time before evac can get here since there isn't much i can treat you with at the moment." you tell him while running through your head of what you can do to try and slow his bleeding as he's probably lost a good bit of blood from the time he got shot till the time you actually noticed.

rooster winced again while trying to sit up, "alright, what can i do then?"

"i would say that you can sit here looking pretty for me while i fix you up, but i need you to hold this down and keep pressure on the wound while i figure something out-" you say before taking his hand and placing it over the area.

taking a breath for a second to clear your head, you realise there isn't enough time to run back to where you two stashed the jets for the first aid kit and make it back to rooster in time, so you're going to have to make due with what you have to try and slow the bleeding.

which means the best you can do is tie off his flight suit sleeves as tight as you can around his abdomen to keep pressure on it.

and surprisingly enough, this worked for a while. you kept a diligent eye on the area and kept him talking as best you could. which wasn't hard as you two, under regular circumstances, seemed to never stop rambling about nonsense or arguing about stupid things.

until you noticed his responses became far and few in between your own.

looking up at him, you noticed how pale and sweaty his skin became compared to his natural glow and the snow surrounding you both.

you sat up and patted his cheek lightly with one of your hands, "rooster don't go falling asleep on me now-" you insisted, while the other checked his pulse. he was going into shock, so you lay him down and elevate his legs a bit.

"i'm sorry darlin' just...feeling a bit tired is all-" he breathed out shallowly.

"i know, i know, but i need you to fight a little longer, evac should be only 10 minutes out, we're almost home" you stressed

yet, despite all your best efforts, the blood loss and pain is too great and you can tell he's really starting to fade as it gets harder and harder for him to keep his eyes open-

"nononono don't go, stay with me please. please, i can't lose you. you- you're everything i wanted to be. if you go-" you plead while chuckling slightly "then..then who will i argue with on who's the better pilot-"

he smiles weakly and holds the hand that you've rested on his cheek while looks up at you, and at barely a whisper,

"you'll always be the better half...i love-" and just like that you saw the light fade from his doe eyes

no pulse.

but you were "too damn stubborn" -rooster's words, not your own- to accept that he was truly gone

so you began compressions for what seemed like hours until the paramedics arrived.

even when they landed and ran over to you, offering to take over, you wouldn't budge.

you still didn't budge even when the paramedics looked to each other and shook their heads, confirming the loss of your partner.

you knew that stopping the compressions would just confirm your worst fears, that bradley was truly gone before you could even tell him how you truly felt about him.

and yet, that choice wasn't up to you.

you were pulled off his lifeless body, being dragged and hauled to the helicopter to return to the carrier.

the last glimpse you got of him before the funeral was being zipped into a bodybag.

when you touched down on the carrier, the world around you was silent.

and it feels like your life has been that way since.

[olderthannetfic]

Same anon as who mentioned Chinese whisper fanfic. I came across a post today condemning fanon content being disconnected from canon in fandom spaces. And again i get why people are upset that they cant discuss canon and it gets spoken over in favour of fanon. But like they're in a fandom space, that makes transformative works (full of their own niche interpretations of characters) and it just comes across as a little entitled. canon purity feels a little too close to how comic dude bros get mad about at female fans for writing fanfic that changes characters sexuality and stuff.

--

"Chinese whispers" is such a weird term. Here, we call the game "telephone".

And yes, agreed. I'm in BTS fandom right now, and there's just so much official content, and the fic side is full of AUs. I really don't see the big deal if someone is writing their version of dragon shifters running a cottagecore magic emporium without knowing every single bit of interview footage.

I think the biggest butthurt comes from two situations:

1. People who want intense canon meta but can only find it on some homophobic, misogynist subreddit if at all (and who are thus angry that Their People don't want to do the kind of fandom they want to do)

2. People whose least favorite characterization got enshrined, ensuring that all the fic is WRONG ON THE INTERNET

The thing a lot of "but canon!" whiners don't seem to get is that most OOC is not only in the eye of the beholder but a consequence of poor writing skills. Plus... well...

The greatest OOC sin according to most of the internet is actually making the characters queer.

People can be bisexual and you don't know? They could be gay and in denial? Sheer madness! They're all straight, and your crazy AU where they aren't is OOC, fool!

When you see this kind of crying about OOC, it really puts things in perspective, I think.

Honestly, fandom has been wanking about OOC forever. There's an essay on the old fanfic symposium about how different authors extrapolate from different bits of canon to arrive at very different views of what's in character:

Three-Point Characterization, or No, We Really Aren't All Watching the Same Show by Rachael Sabotini

That's from 2005, and Rache had been in fandom for ages before that. This was not new then.

[rae-gar-targaryen]

loved you once [angel reyes x fem!reader]

A/N: So, this is NOT the Angel fic I previewed the other day. That one (and the EZ fic) is STILL COMING, I PROMISE! This just jumped into my head and wouldn’t leave. And I wrote it with a speed I am heretofore unfamiliar with (heretofore? Did I use that right?) I invented a tattoo and an ex-girlfriend for Angel, and I fudged the timeline a bit. So, apologies in advance for that. 

As always, if you want a tag in anything I write for Angel, EZ, the Mayans fandom (or anything else), please feel free to send me a message or an ask, or add yourself to the taglist (link in profile). 

Pairing: Angel Reyes x fem!tattoo artist!reader (as always, the appearance is ambiguous, but the reader is described as having female pronouns/parts. Also, the reader here speaks a bit of Spanish. I’m half Mexican, so I do imagine a latinx reader, but I hope I’ve written this so you can imagine yourself with no restriction.)

Word Count: 15.3K (HAHAHA WHAT THE FUCK all for a TWO AND A HALF MINUTE SONG, ARE YOU KIDDING ME????) of ANGST! (SERIOUSLY THIS IS SO ANGSTY) lyrical nonsense and the remnants of sticky, cotton-candy sadness … fluff that makes you feel empty. 

Warnings: ANGST, non-explicit references to infidelity, sexual references and sexual content, oral (male receiving), fingering and other nastiness -- so 18+ ONLY, please! Canon-typical douchebaggery, references to a past relationship, song references and poetry. (It is me, so yeah, poetry.)

Summary: You and Angel may as well be strangers now. But why? After all, you loved him once. And he loved you, right? Based on the song “Loved you Once” by Clara Mae. Listen here. 

--

We don't need to be best friends, we don't need to hang again. But tell me why we have to be strangers because I loved you once?

What were you doing here? You haven’t been back to the clubhouse in months. Not since -- well, you know. You hadn’t talked to him since then, either. But that wasn’t your own doing. 

No, Angel had erected a veritable wall of silence, and you respected him enough not to breach it. 

That was what relationships were all about, anyway, right? Mutual respect of the other’s needs? So when Angel had told you in no uncertain terms that your relationship was over, you were … upset. Understandably. You wanted to sit with him, talk about where this sudden insistence that you depart his life had come from, but he was resolute. With the absolute air of authority that comes with either a great deal of thought, or borne of virtually sudden external influence, with nothing in between. He clearly didn’t want to sit and talk about it. 

And so you didn’t. 

Ever mindful of his wellbeing, and when he was and was not receptive to communication. 

"It ain't working," he had said. You had settled for merely imagining the faraway look in his large, oilslick eyes, since he was much more interested in staring at his boots and the grooves in his floor, his forearms laid over spread thighs, unmoving and resolute from his spot at the end of the bed. Refusing to meet your eyes. 

From your seat next to him, you made to brush the arm closest to you with your fingers. When you touched, he gave no indication that you were even there. That he even felt you. Which you knew was bullshit. He always felt you. 

"Angel, what --" you hated the way your voice cracked as you tried to ask him what the hell was going on. You hated how you had sounded so small and quavering to your own ears. That wasn't who you were. You were clear, outspoken. It was always one of the things Angel said he loved about you. Loved.

You didn't know this, of course, but Angel hated it, too. How you’d sounded in that moment. Hated that his words had taken the fire out of yours, your voice unfamiliar in its timidity. 

"It ain't working," he repeated. "I can see it. Not my fault you can't." 

That was it. 

No "I'm sorry, querida." 

No "I hope we can stay friends." 

Not that you would expect an apology, or anything as cliché as a "let's be friends," from a steadfast man like Angel. Predictable in his volatility. 

You should have pushed back. Demanded an answer. You hated that you didn’t, the shock and sudden sadness morphing you into a silent, crystalline girl you didn’t recognize. Your eyes welled with tears, turning your head away from where Angel sat -- at least you wouldn’t let him see you cry. Even if you knew he knew the tears had spilled over your lashes and down your cheeks were of his own doing. 

You had arrived back at his place a day after your tense "conversation" to discover that your items you had come to reclaim were tossed into a box and left outside of the door. 

You had knocked once, in the hope that if Angel was home, he’d at least come to the door to shout through it, or, heaven forbid, would open it so you could look him in the eyes just once more while he shattered you. Your knock was met with silence, though you could have sworn you felt Angel on the other side of the door. 

In the months since then, you had cried (obviously), you had questioned (it was sudden, it wasn't just you; your friends were surprised, too), but most importantly, you had persevered. 

You had taken a bunch of new clients and inked some pieces you were incredibly proud of. You had gone out with your friends a few times, always with a wary eye on the door of the local dive, ya know… you never knew who would walk in.

Santo Padre is a small town, after all. And the cracks in your soul were nowhere close to healed. No molten gold to spill in and repair the fissures of your heart, rendering metamorphosis of something broken to something flawed, but beautiful. You sat, alone, still just… flawed. You had never felt less beautiful. Even after all this time. 

And your friend Aneesa, ever the supporter, would stop at nothing if it meant hyping you up enough to leave your cave of blankets, sheet masks, and comfort movies. Your only rule? All nights out with Aneesa were strictly girls’ nights. She was gracious and understanding of this rule, of course. She and Gilly had been together a touch longer than you and Angel. 

And if Angel had ever asked Gilly to ask Aneesa about you? Well… you never heard about it.

Not that Angel would do any of that. Shit like that was so middle-school. 

So, here you were. Back at the clubhouse after months of self-imposed exile for the sake of self-preservation. 

Coco had texted you -- the first you’d directly heard from anyone within Angel’s circle, inviting you to a patch party for some nameless, faceless newbie. The invitation had a string attached to it, of course -- the tattoo artist’s chair in the corner of the clubhouse needed a resident for any partygoers jonesing for new ink. Certainly, the new patch would need something decidedly “Mayan” to show off his new status. 

You had hesitantly agreed -- Aneesa would be in attendance of course, and offered herself as a human-sized buffer to separate you from people you were otherwise hoping to avoid. 

--

Now, perched near the tattoo chair, you busied yourself with setting out your portfolio of completed pieces, sketches and most-requested designs. You wiped down the chair a few more times than strictly necessary, but you wanted to be ready for anyone who might plop themselves down for a new piece of art. 

The main room of the clubhouse was sweltering -- a familiar blend of desert heat, cigarette smoke, citronella, and the smell of citrusy, foamy beer. The dim lighting and thundering bass giving everything a slightly blurry edge in your party-periphery. You glanced across the room at where Aneesa and Gilly sat together on a corner couch, thighs pressed together. Aneesa tossed her head back in a full-bodied laugh at something Gilly had whispered into her ear, swatting his arm -- Gilly’s reciprocal smile demonstrating his pleasure at having garnered such a reaction from his girl. 

A wave of cheers and noise accompanied the thwack of the clubhouse door swinging open -- more Mayans pouring in, jostling one another's shoulders, slapping each other on the arms, and good-naturedly cajoling. 

There was Coco, mid-pull of the cigarette between his lips, quicksilver eyes flashing around the room, taking stock of who was where. EZ followed, million-watt smile on full display as he gently guided a pretty girl with long, inky hair through the bottleneck at the entryway. 

If EZ was ambling his way in, then, surely, not far behind ...

With an arm around a tall, broad guy you hadn’t seen before, was Angel. Midway through a joke with the guy you assumed was the new patch, you took the opportunity to study the man you had once considered the moonlit orbit of your entire world. 

You hated to admit it to yourself, but he looked good… His arms still replete with thick, corded muscle. His hair was a tad longer on top than you remembered, slicked back and belied with cleanly-cropped sides. His smile as warm and blinding as the cruel light at the end of your better dreams, only for you to awake each day alone. 

As you continued your silent study, you were surprised to see -- still adorning his left arm … the tattoo you had given him on the day you had first met. You had thought he would have blacked it out by now … a cover-up on top of a cover-up. 

But there it was --- the soft, leafy greens creeping down his forearm on sharp vines, abutted with bursting blooms -- small, ornate gladiolus buds and a sprig of purpling rosemary. Such a flowery piece on the arm of someone like Angel might have been laughable. But if anyone dared, he would simply stare, stone-faced, with burning eyes and a set jaw, ready to ask just what they thought was so fucking funny. 

To you? It was perfection. It was remembrance. 

‘Cause I loved you, once… 

---

You had moved to Santo Padre from Oakland. Hardly an axis-tilting move, but significant enough to you. 

Your friend Oliver had offered you a seat at his tattoo shop. And you? You were positively itching to get out of the city. A few too many bad nights with a few people you could no longer in good conscience consider friends. 

So, here you sat, resident of one of two chairs in this corner parlour off the so-called “main” drag in sweltering, dusty Santo Padre. 

Your books were pretty clear … Not that you attributed much logic to the ebb and flow in any conceivable pattern of the tide that was tattoo shop patrons, but January seemed an agonizingly slow month. You filled the idle time with keeping the shop neat, disinfecting and re-disinfecting every surface, and organizing Oliver’s books. 

And if you weren’t dreaming up new sketches and designs for the more adventurous prospective client, you were jotting idle lines of lyrical poetry in the margins of your sketchbook. 

If the month dragged on like this, you were sure you could publish an entire book of moody, mid-winter prose that would make Charles Bukowski want to drown himself in stiff Cabernet. 

The dinging of the bell above the parlour door yanked you from your doodling stupor. You looked up to see who had come in, your gaze met with a towering, golden-skinned man donned in a leather vest, his boots squeaking on the shop’s linoleum floor as he made his way to the front desk. He leaned over it and rapped his silver-ringed hand against the top with the ease and comfort of someone who had been in many times before. If the ink trailing his arms was any indication, he may as well be a regular, though you hadn’t seen him in before. There was no way you could forget that jawline, and those shoulders. 

“Yo,” he called in greeting, eyes flashing to where you stood, walking to meet him at the counter. You swore you saw his gaze dart over your form, giving you the old up-down. An easy smile graced his full lips as he made himself comfortable leaning against the counter.  

“Oliver here?” 

You shook your head, the action serving to answer his question and --hopefully-- clear your head of the foggy spell this man was casting over you with his presence alone.

“Nah, sorry. He’s guest-chairing at his buddy’s shop in L.A. Did you have an appointment?” 

“I look like the kind of guy with a datebook?” He chuckled at his own joke. “No appointment, corazón.” 

“Walk-in? Always a risky strategy,” you lilted. 

“What can I say? I’m a risk-taker,” he replied with the practiced ease of breezy flirtation. 

You smiled softly, grabbing Oliver’s calendar from the desk, flipping to the following week. “He’ll be back in next week, if you want to wait?” 

“That’s no good for me, babe, I’ll be out of town.”

“Ah.” You huffed a bit through your nose “Bike rally?” You asked, gesturing at his worn leather kutte, cringing internally a little at the teasing edge your voice had taken on. Were you always this bad of a flirt? 

The man looked at you shrewdly for a beat -- seemingly trying to discern just how much fun you were making of him before taking mercy on you and peeling back the slight layer of awkwardness the conversation had taken.  He scrubbed the back of his neck before confirming,

“Uh, yeah, actually,” he rumbled a chuckle. “Why? You wanna go?” He raised a full brow at you in a mild challenge. 

Your eyes widened at his seemingly-serious invitation. You took in the quirk of his lips, causing the slightest crinkle at the corner of his warm eyes -- the look of a man borne of good humor and who smiled often. It was endearing, and if you were honest, made you melt a little. Even if you now realized he was teasing you. 

“Sorry, guapo,” you cracked a smile of your own, gesturing at the empty shop. “As you can see, I’m a very busy girl. Highest of demand.” 

“Claro,” he replied. “So, I better get in while the getting’s good, huh? Your chair open now?” 

“Uhm,” you chewed your lower lip, now slightly nervous at the prospect of spending more time with this man. “¿Quieres esperar para Olí? I won’t be offended. You haven’t even seen any of my pieces.” 

A beat of silence passed between you both, the man seemingly weighing his options. 

"I mean," You broke the silence and leaned forward, lightly tapping a fingernail against his bicep. “What if my art style doesn’t suit the king of the bikers?” 

"Something tells me you'll suit me just fine." His smirk was full-bore now. He didn't miss a beat, did he?

You were silent, probably for a few moments too long. Was he actually flirting with you? You blinked. He probably flirts with everyone ... get over yourself, you internally chided.

"Angel," the man said, recovering the moment and holding out a large, ringed hand for you to shake. You gave him your name, shaking his hand firmly. 

You nodded your head over your shoulder, toward your chair. 

"Well, come on back, Angel, you can tell me about what we're doing today."

Angel followed you back to your station, and you could swear you felt his dark eyes on your form as you walked, the thought that this man was looking at you with any kind of discerning attention made your cheeks warm a little. He folded his long body into the chair you gestured toward, and you took the rolling seat next to him. He proffered his left arm to you, tracing down a spot on his forearm.

"Just wanna cover this up," he paused, letting you observe the offending ink. "It's about time." 

"'Clara Forever,' huh?" You took in the faded, loopy lettering down his forearm. "Who's Clara?" Your tone was gently teasing by nature, but he seemed to clam up a bit at the question, regarding your sharp tongue with sharper eyes.

"Well, it wasn't forever," he finally bit out, shoulders now a little more tense than before.

"Aw, cariño," you sighed in good-natured taunting. "Didn't anyone ever tell you the number one rule of tattoo? 'Forever' is a certain jinx. And a name is almost never a good idea… unless it's your dog's."

You made a sweeping hand gesture over the rest of his person, your eyes noticeably cataloguing the ink adorning most of the real estate on his arms and what little you could see of the top of his chest. 

"How did anyone let you get this far without telling you the rules?"

He relaxed at the humor in your soft voice, comfortable now that he had confirmation that you were teasing him rather than seriously ridiculing. His posture relaxed once more, he waggled his eyebrows at you, also teasing,

"Le sorprendería saber que nunca fui uno para seguir las reglas?” He asked. Would it surprise you to learn that I was never one for rules? 

"¿Tú?" Your eyes widened in mock surprise. “Para nada.” Not at all.  

"Hey," he swatted your arm gently. "Cuidaté, niña. Insulting your customers? I can see why your chair is empty." He chuckled at his own little jab as you busied yourself gathering your supplies.

You turned and reached for him, holding his arm in one hand and running your now-gloved thumb over "Clara Forever." 

"So?" You queried, "What are we doing with this? How do you want to cover it?" 

Angel shrugged, the leather adorning his shoulders creaking ever-so-slightly with the movement. 

"Figured I would just black it out. I've been putting it off long enough. To hell with her anyway, yaknow?"

"Hmm…" you considered his proposal. "I could do that, if that's what you really want. Easy enough. But…" you trailed.

He shifted in the chair, arching an eyebrow at you.

"But?" He pressed.

Now it was your turn to shrug. You released his arm from your grip and gestured to the booklet containing photos of your most prized work. 

"Why waste the opportunity to give yourself something you really want?" You handed him the book. "Besides… from the looks of things, you have limited real estate left on this arm. May as well fill it with something… more you?” You made to hand him the scrapbook. “You can see what else I've done. See if anything sparks an idea." 

Angel regarded you for a moment. Leaning forward in the chair and slightly more into your space, eyes never leaving yours. He took the edge of the book, deliberately brushing his fingers over yours as he did so, making you hold your breath a little. If Angel noticed, he had the decency not to say anything. 

“Why not?”

You exhaled softly as he leaned away again, flipping his way through your book. 

As he scrutinized the photographic renderings of your pieces, you took the chance to really take him in. His strong jaw and full lips were objectively pleasant, abutted by deliberately-shaped facial hair. He had a prominent brow, something that would surely give away his feelings, even if he decided not to verbalize them. There was no hiding a frown or a smile on that face.  You fiddled with your fingers as he flipped through the pages. 

“This is some seriously top-notch shit, querida,” he voiced his approval, followed by a warm smile. He flipped his way through your minimalist renderings, floral pieces, lines of script, and one particularly involved piece with a burgundy phoenix and lifelike flames...

“Yeah?” You couldn’t hide the pleasure in your voice that he might think of you in a positive light. “Which one do you like?” 

He flipped the book to you, gesturing at a geometric planetary canvas piece you had etched down a prior client’s thigh. 

“Did you think of that one?” 

“The client had their ideas, I just execute, I guess… That was a fun one.” You shrugged, glancing at your shoes scuffing at the linoleum, suddenly feeling very shy under his scrutiny.

“Hey, don’t do that,” he leaned forward once more, his fingers gently brushing along your chin to bring your eyeline to his. “Don’t downplay your talent. You’re a badass. Own that shit.” He gave you a soft wink, releasing your chin from his grip.

Um, wow.

Was it always this hot in the back of the shop? Or were you just spontaneously combusting? Did that seriously just happen?

All you could do was nod. 

“Aight,” he crossed his legs at the ankles, making himself comfortable in the chair. “I’ve decided.” 

“Yeah?” You breathed, “What’ll it be?” 

As if he was doing nothing more complicated than ordering fries, Angel pointed at your book. “Dealer’s choice.” 

“Excuse me?” You couldn’t believe he was just going to trust you to cover up his ex’s name etched into his arm. “¡Oye! Did you hear nothing I said earlier about walk-ins being risky? Nothing about the rules?”

Angel scoffed. “About as well as you heard that I don’t give a shit about rules, babe,” He crossed his arms over his chest. “You like rules, huh?” 

Oh. The rumbling tone his voice had taken on with his last question did not go unnoticed by you. If there was any heat to spare in this shithole desert-town, it was now one hundred percent flooding through your body. 

But you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing he’d had that effect on you… (although, let’s be real, he probably, definitely, already knew).

“Fine, Angelito,” the mocking tone had returned to your voice. “But unlike Clara, this one’s gonna be forever. If I find out you cover up my art, I’m gonna blacklist you at every shop in Southern California.” You raised an eyebrow at him in a challenge. “Can you live with that?”

Angel nodded. 

“Do your worst, Vince.” 

You wrinkled your nose at the moniker. “Vince?” 

“Yeah,” he seemed so assured in his own cleverness. “Like Van Gogh?” 

You rolled your eyes. 

“Van Gogh!?” You feigned offense, hand-over-heart, lashes batting. “Not even Frida? Come oooon, Angelito.” 

He chuckled. Shifting in the chair and offering his arm to you so you could get him ready. 

“You gotta earn ‘Frida,’ dulcita.” 

“Everyone’s a critic,” you sigh, shifting your focus and taking stock of the space on Angel’s arm and what you had learned of him so far.

Someone who was seemingly confident and breezy, whose rough exterior belied something softer that was just out of reach. Someone who clearly cherished things and people he adored, if the tribute you were now covering was anything to go by. And, by the same token, more than a little impulsive. He wore his heart on his sleeve, apparently literally. 

You gathered your inks and began to work, your playlist and the buzzing of the tattoo gun filling the silence. 

It’s not like you had any reason to know it, but Angel considered you as you were working, admiring your focus and the intensity with which you afforded your art. Was he a little nervous about the fact that you were free-handing a design for him off the top of your head? Maybe... But what was life without a little risk? And he certainly wouldn’t mind a little risk with you. You were, it was obvious to him, very pretty. It was more than a little off-putting how easily you traded quips with him, seemingly unaffected by his presence and everything that came with it. If it wasn’t for the little hitches in your breath when he gently flirted with you, he wouldn’t have anything to go off of in terms of your interest. Something that was both respectable and maddening to him. 

He reached his other arm over to the side-table, grabbing your sketchbook and idly flipping through the etchings. 

Not only was the book filled with little designs, splashes of watercolor mixing with pen and charcoal, but he noticed the cramped words in the margins, perusing at his leisure and ignoring the itching buzz of the needle on the skin of his other arm.

“So, not only a Vince, but a Frost,” he broke the silence. 

You paused your work, wiping your brow with the back of your hand and looking at him with a question in your eyes.

He tapped his finger along the lines of prose in your book. “A poet,” he said. 

“Ah,” you said. “Uhm, more like a bad poet,” you chuckled, embarrassed. You made to begin again, when Angel gently gripped the wrist of your free hand. 

“The fuck did I just say?” He lightly tugged, forcing you to look into his maddeningly honey-dark eyes. “Don’t brush off your shit. Would Frida do that?” 

You regarded his eyes for a moment longer, darting your gaze to his pouty lips, resolutely set in their mission of imparting some of his confidence onto you. 

“Point taken, Angel,” you pulled your hand from his grip, which he released, trailing his fingertips over your hand as he did so. “I’m the greatest poet who ever lived, you’ve convinced me. Fuck William Shakespeare.” 

“Yeah,” Angel boisterously agreed, pleased to be bolstering you but surprising you with the little barking shout, “Fuck that dude!” 

You chuckled, shaking your head and silently returning to your work, the silence filled once more with the pleasant buzzing as you drew away. 

When you were finished, you released Angel’s arm, allowing him to inspect the clean lines of the greenery that you had drawn out of his former-love tribute. What were once loopy, cursive letters were now vines creeping steadily along his forearm, soft, yellow and red gladiolus buds emerging from where Clara’s name had once sat, neatly finished with the clean lines of the purpling sprig of rosemary along the edge of the piece. 

Angel was speechless, leaving you to marinate in your nerves. 

“It’s …” he started, “... flowery,” he supplied, lamely. 

“No shit it’s flowers,” you shot back, feeling a little defensive now, but wanting to make a quick recovery. “And they’re for you, Angel.” 

He seemed puzzled. 

“Gotta say, Vince, this is the first time a chick’s gotten me flowers,” he chuckled, “Guess they won’t die?” 

“They won’t,” you assured. “They really are for you, you know? Look at you, the rest of your ink. What it covered. You’re clearly a man formed by your experiences. It only seemed right, si? Gladiolus? They’re for remembrance. Rosemary? Symbolizes thoughtfulness and memory.” 

You continued as you began wipe the piece clean before wrapping it in new saran-wrap, “Your memories and choices make you who you are, sure. But you never know… something good could bloom from them, through the cracks."

His silence at the end of your little soliloquy was deafening. He hated it, you were sure of it. Fuck. Why did you have to get so fucking clever with him? You should’ve just done some black ink in something tribal, something masculine. What the fuck was wrong with you??

You dared to sneak a glance at his face, only to find that he was already staring at you, lips softly upturned in the hinting bloom of a smile, tarpit eyes twinkling with a good-natured mirth he would come to reserve just for you. 

“Fuck Shakespeare. That was damn beautiful, Frida.” 

The heat had returned to your cheeks, standing quickly. 

You stripped off your gloves, and made to turn your way to the counter, gathering the aftercare sheet and balm for Angel to take with him. 

You spun back toward him before he could get up.

“Oh! Can I take a picture?” You held up your phone, shaking it lightly. “For the ‘gram?” 

“Sure thing,” Angel dutifully held his arm under the lamp you had used to work, letting the fresh ink and colors pop against the golden dunn of his skin. 

You took a few photos, deciding to scroll through your camera roll later on and post your favorite. You made quick work of wrapping his arm in a sheet of clean plastic wrap before relinquishing your hold on his arm, turning to walk back to the counter. 

“Uhm,” you trailed … the telltale squeak of Angel’s boots on the linoleum indicating he was following you back to the front of the shop. You assembled everything into a bag for Angel to take with him, grabbing one of your cards from the front card-holder, and quickly jotting your number on the back next to your where the instagram handle for your art page was neatly printed, hoping he didn’t notice your sneaky little move. 

Angel resumed his comfortable lean against the counter, turning and tilting his forearm, scrutinizing your work. 

“It’s gonna be a clean one-fifty, Angel.”

He looked slightly surprised at the figure, a light frown dusting his features. 

“You sure about that? For the size, and the color, and time and everything? It’s been, like, hours.”

You shrugged. 

“We’ll call it the friends-and-family rate.” 

He gave you a long look, very clearly looking you up and down now, a prolonged edition of the greeting he had graced you with when he had entered your shop mere hours before. 

“And is that what we are now, querida? Friends?” 

How was it even possible for his voice to reach such a low register when he said these things to you?

While your insides flip-flopped at the flirtation, you hoped your face was the impassive mask you were trying to school it into. You subtly brushed your slightly-sweating palms against the frayed hem of your shorts before bringing an elbow up to the counter, resting your chin in your palm, lightly batting your lashes at him before responding...

“Sure,” you replied. There! Easy, breezy, cool-as-you-please. How does it feel, Angel?

“One day with you and friends already?” He rapped his ringed hand gently against the counter. “Can’t wait to see where we’re at tomorrow.” 

He swiped the bag off of the counter, tossing a few crisp bills onto the countertop and a wink over his shoulder before exiting the shop. 

You counted the bills on the counter, watching as Angel left the building.

Holy shit.

Three hundred bucks. He had tipped you 100 percent of what you charged him.

Cheeky.

Maybe Santo Padre wasn’t so bad, after all… 

---

Now, staring at him from across the room made you feel like you were drowning in the sickly-sweet cotton candy of sugared dreams, now lost to time. The saccharine balm melted to acrid wax, leaving you with only the tinge of bitterness. 

You were jostled out of your reverie by the sudden appearance of EZ’s blocky frame, ambling toward you with the same girl from before on his arm. 

He greeted you with a slow wave and a soft smile. 

“Hey, girl,” he greeted, clearly unsure of how much friendlier and closer he should approach you. 

You took mercy on Angel’s sweet, (big) little brother, opening your arms slightly for a hug. EZ took to the gesture like an over-excited golden retriever, scooping you up and spinning you once, before putting you back where he found you, slightly dizzier than you were before. 

He offered your name to the girl by his side, who looked pleasantly amused at the spectacle before her, her amusement melting to recognition at the name EZ had imparted to her. 

Ah. So she knew who you were. 

You tried not to let that realization sour your encounter, easing a practiced smile onto your features and offering your hand to the girl to shake. 

“Oh!” EZ chuckled. “This is Gaby -- er, Gabriela.” 

“Encantada,” you eased, gently shaking her hand before having a realization of your own. “Gaby, as in Leti’s friend?” 

She nodded, a warm smile illuminating her already sunshiney features. You could see why EZ obviously liked her. She had the practiced social grace of a debutante, but the friendly aura of someone you had known for your entire life. 

“I hope you’re keeping Ezekiel out of trouble,” you teased gently. 

“Only as well as I can,” she replied. EZ rubbed the back of his neck as you two gossiped about him like he wasn’t standing right there. 

“Listen, hermanita,” EZ began, swirling the dregs of his beer around the bottle clutched in his hand as the conversation lapsed into comfortable silence, “About Angel --” 

That was a hard no. 

“Coco!” You called as you spotted the lithe man prowling through the crowd after obtaining a drink from the bar, effectively shutting EZ up. 

Coco sidled over, slinging an arm over your shoulder and nodding in greeting to EZ and Gaby. 

“Wassup, chiquita? Over here with all the cool kids?” 

“You know damn well I was never cool enough for the cool kids,” you knocked your shoulder into Coco’s good-naturedly. 

“Dunno about that, pequeña,” Coco took a drag of his cigarette, sighing as he exhaled. “I’ve got some pretty cool body armour thanks to you.” 

“All in a day's work,” you mock-saluted. You were doing great. Keep it light, keep it friendly. You may be able to make it out of this unscathed, after all. 

Gaby and EZ were speaking softly to one another just to your side, as you and Coco continued your conversation. 

“So, who’s the new guy?” You asked, nodding over to where Angel and the still-unnamed newbie were tossing back shots. You tried to ignore that each one had girls placed on each of their laps. Well, mostly you were trying to ignore one girl placed on one lap; tried to ignore as ringed fingers trailed up and down her thigh hypnotically as he howled in laughter at something the new guy had said. 

The longer you stared at the way he was touching her, the more You thought you could feel it on your own skin. And you knew all too well how that touch felt. Memories, make you, right? 

You blinked harshly, turning your face back to Coco’s, only to find his hawkish eyes trained on you as he continued to smoke. Now you were certain he had seen everything you had, and more. And you cursed yourself for slipping. Because nothing slipped past Coco. 

He took mercy on you nevertheless. 

“Andres. He’s aight. You may not remember him from before, when he was just a prospect.” 

“Guess not,” you agreed, shrugging amiably, suddenly very interested in toying with the hem of your flowy little summertime skirt. 

“Mierda,” you heard Coco hiss, glancing up to see none other than the new guy -- Andres -- walk over, his arm around the waist of the girl from his lap, accompanied by none other than Angel Reyes, furnished with his own lap-turned-arm candy. She was giggling in his ear, popping her gum and bumping her hips against Angel’s as she walked by his side. 

You felt EZ stiffen from your other side. 

Great. 

The easy smile you’d had when conversing with Coco now felt positively screwed into place, settling unnaturally, a stranger's face made up of your own features. 

Andres smirked at you in greeting, eyes trailing over you -- the most unwelcome iteration of that gesture in this context to-date. 

“I hear you’re the girl to see about some ink.” 

You bit back the snarky response that rose to your tongue. You see anyone else here, tonto?

“Sure am,” you replied, cool as you pleeeeaseeee. Maybe a little too cool. The ice in your voice was obvious to everyone except the strangers before you. 

You really were doing great, weren’t you? 

“Great,” the new meat brushed the girl off from his side, plopping unceremoniously into your chair. “You did that right?” He pointed behind you to where Angel was standing, gesturing at his arm and your miniscule mural of memorial greenery. 

“Cierto.” You nodded, sparing Angel’s arm the barest of glances.

“Aight, well, none of that girly shit, alright, sweetheart? Angel may have had the good grace not to say anything, but flowers ain’t really my style, yeah?” 

What the fuck.  

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Coco visibly tense next to you, obviously displeased at the uncalled-for critique of your work. Of a piece he himself had often admired. He would never admit it, but he thought the story behind it was even better. It’s like you had walked out of some shitty romcom Leti watched with her tittering friends and into Angel’s dreams, sinking yourself beneath Angel's skin like a dream he would recount to all of his friends. Coco knew the most about you by nature of Angel's second-hand stories when you were together. Although Coco thought, once he had met you, Angel's stories didn't do you justice. How wonderful and talented you were. How warm and welcoming.

Angel watched the exchange silently, clearly none too keen to defend the piece you had designed for him. That had come to mean so much to you. 

That stung.

You winced, almost imperceptibly. But you were certain Coco saw it, not much escaping his sniper’s eyes. EZ, with his owlish perception and photographic memory, certainly would have seen it, too. If Angel saw it, it’s not like he was going to say anything now. 

Where the fuck was Aneesa? Wasn’t she supposed to be heading this kind of shit off? You glanced over at the couches in the corner where your friend had previously been sitting with GIlly, and was now nowhere to be seen. Fuckin’ typical. 

“Aight, no más flores." No more flowers. “What were you thinking, then?” 

That was you, ever the professional. 

Andres showed you his phone, a rendering of an old-style beastly cat, like a panther from an old folktale, pulled up in his image search. 

“Something for a warrior,” he puffed his chest slightly. “I was thinking here,” he shrugged out of one side of his new kutte, tugging the button-up to expose one side of his chest. 

“You got it.” 

You set to work, cleaning the area to be inked and getting your tools ready. The rest of the group drifted as the project progressed, clearly not feeling the need to stand there for the entire duration of a tattoo. 

You were acutely aware that Angel hadn’t stepped as far away as the others, circumventing the periphery of yours and Andres’ space, not close, but not far. And he still had yet to even look in your direction. Or acknowledge your existence. 

You tried your best to ignore the icy shard of Angel’s indifference that was currently wedging its way between your ribs and lodging itself firmly once more into your heart. At this point, you guessed it would never heal. 

“Sooooo,” Andres lolled his head to the side of his chair to face you, slinging back the beer from the bottle dangling in his free hand. “I haven’t seen you in a while. You were around a little bit when I was prospecting.” 

You opted not to respond, aware that Angel was likely listening, and you would need to choose any words carefully. Andres had no such reservation, clearly uncaring about who might be listening. He pressed on, each word more infuriating than the last. 

“You were Angel’s little sidepiece for a while, right?”   

You tried to keep your despairing sigh to a quiet little nothing. 

“Sure.” You offered lamely. “Sorry, man, I don’t mean to be rude, but I really work better when I’m not talking.” 

“S’alright, jaina. I can talk enough for the both of us.” 

You hmm’d nonchalantly at that, lip imperceptibly curling over your teeth in distaste at the moniker. You chose instead to focus on the piece. You wouldn’t give a shitty tattoo, even if this guy was a douchebag. And the pleasant buzz of the tattoo gun. Maybe you were etching the lines a little sharper than strictly necessary. If he noticed, Andres gave no indication, continuing on with his diatribe: 

“So, what happened? I mean, Angel knocked that other chick up? Ouch, right?” 

You were now seeing red, the edges of your vision blurring slightly with angry, pinpricking tears. Thank fuck you were just about done with this. 

“But that’s the life right? I mean, we’re not exactly known for being steady with just one chick. You know how it goes ...” He eyed you up and down again, lingering a little too long on your legs before finishing his thought with a smirk “... Clearly.” 

You hated his use of “we,” like he was in any way, shape, or form worthy to be in the class of man EZ, Coco, Bishop, or, hell, even Angel, was. None of them would talk to you like this. No matter what Angel had done. 

You shut off the gun, pushing back from the space with Andres, spinning in your chair, and grabbing the clean wipes for Andres’ fresh ink. As you dabbed the area and made to bandage it, the oblivious biker grabbed your wrist. None of the teasing fun or gentleness in the same gesture that Angel had imparted when you had first met. No, Andres’ grip hurt. It was all bruising possession and entitlement. 

“I think we would have fun, you and I.” He leaned forward and far too into your space, the stale stink of warm beer heavy on his breath. 

You wrenched your grip from his, standing quickly and offering him a tight smile, cheeks flaming with your anger and embarrassment. How dare he speak so trivially of your relationship with Angel. How dare he think you were so easily won with his kutte and shitty attitude. 

“Uhm,” you tugged your fingers agitatedly through the ends of your hair, chewing your lip. “You’re all set, Andres. Aftercare sheet is on the table next to you. It’s on the house. Happy patch party!” Your voice sounded so shrill and fake in your own head, but you just didn’t have it in you to care at the moment. 

With that, you quickly whirled on your heel, in a distressed flurry past the Angel-shaped blur who had been watching the entire encounter, and out of the clubhouse door into the cooler late-night air. 

Getting heavy to breathe in this room together. It’s so awkward, we can’t seem to do it better. Can’t we just fake a smile and put our shit to the side? 

---

Angel had waited a whopping 18 hours to text you after your clandestine tattooed meet-cute. 

You were in the middle of exchanging consultation e-mails with a prospective client when your phone had buzzed. 

“Vince?” The text read. 

You bit back a smirk before responding,

“Vince? No Vince here. This is Frida’s phone.”

You watched as the little bubbles appeared in the corner, disappeared for a second, and then reappeared. You were grateful for the little manifestation of Angel’s hesitance. It made him seem more human. And it made you appreciative that he was clearly trying to choose his words with you, when words had seemed to come so easily to him when you had met. 

“My bad. Oh, beautiful, talented Frida.” 

You couldn’t hold back the smile on your features now. Grateful it was still you and only you in the shop so that no one could see your “obviously-texting-a-cute-guy” face. 

“It’s nice to hear from you, Angel. Good thing you didn’t throw away the card.” 

“That card was clearly a gift, querida. Much like the pretty flowers on my arm.” He snapped you a picture of his tattoo, the healing process underway. 

“Looks great!” You sent, cringing at your lack of ability to effectively flirt via text. It was something that your friends had teased you relentlessly about back in the Town -- your notorious lack of game. No! New home, new you! Be cute. Be cute. 

“So, if I’ve given you all the gifts, what do I get?” You sent with a “thinking” emoji. 

Angel at least had the decency to wait a minute or two before replying, either thinking about his response or keeping you in suspense… you weren’t sure. But you were grateful for the little opportunity to catch your breath. How did he make you so speechless when he wasn’t even in the room with you? Some things just weren’t fair. 

“Niña, I paid you for this ink. What more could you possibly want from me?” 

Tricky Angel. Zorro. Like a little fox, he had effectively maneuvered the conversation back to you -- the ball was in your court. Would you tell him what you wanted?

You chewed the end of your fingernail thoughtfully before responding. 

“You texted me, boy. Are you sure it isn’t you who wants something?”

If only your friends could see you now. That was damn smooth. 

“Boy?” 

You snorted to yourself. Trust a guy like Angel to get hung up on something small like that. The bubbles reappeared. 

“I was thinking about this pretty girl I met the other day. Hell of an artist. But a shit poet. Thought I would see if she was free sometime?” 

Angel was merciful. You could kiss him. Had he seriously just taken all the weight out of this conversation? Your heart felt a million pounds lighter in your chest, knowing he was asking you. The wave of relief that he wanted to see you again crashed through you, replaced in the tide with the backdraft of a feeling of mischievousness. You wouldn’t let him off so easily.

So you waited before responding. Let him sweat a little, right?

Only… you weren’t sure Angel was sweating as much as you were, fingers itching with the desire to text him back and accept immediately. 

When what had felt like an eternity (but in reality had only been about seven minutes) had passed, you picked up your phone, opening the conversation with Angel. 

“She’s free next Thursday … After your bike week, el rey de los bandoleros.” 

You put your phone back down on the counter, grinning like an idiot, feeling like you had just swallowed a bunch of bubbles. You entertained the notion that if your combat boots weren’t keeping your feet weighted to the floor, you would have floated away. 

Your phone dinged once more.

“See you then, mi reina.” 

Time passes slowly the more you want it to go quickly. And whenever you have a deadline you’re dreading, it gallops ahead. Time really is that bitch, and she does not give a fuck about your feelings. 

The following Thursday felt like it took a year to arrive. But it found you closing up the shop, your stomach fluttering with butterflies and pop rocks, adorned in your favorite pair of jeans and boots, a clean, flattering tank top that showed off your own ink. You hoped it was fine for whatever Angel had in mind. 

Honestly, he hadn’t said anything about your date. A few flirtatious texts here and there? Obviously. You sent him photos of the pieces you had done for new clients. He sent you ridiculous selfies and a couple of group pics of him and his friends at the biker event. One guy who kept popping up in the photos, Angel had told you, was his “little” brother. But there was nothing “little” about that dude. 

You loved seeing all of Angel’s goofy, smiling faces. Treasuring the photos in your small moments of quiet downtime. 

The rumbling of a bike engine greeted your ears, like the seductive purr of a large cat. You glanced up, a full Cheshire grin alighting your features at the sight of Angel’s gorgeous, deep forest green bike, and the man of the hour looking very at home on the seat. 

He rolled to a stop in front of you, unclipping his helmet and dismounting with his winning trademark smirk, ambling over to greet you. 

“Frida,” he scooped you into a hug, his tall frame causing you to lift, your toes now barely brushing the ground as he brought you to his height. He pressed a soft kiss to your check, setting you down gently and letting you get your bearings, chuckling pleasantly at the obvious, dizzying effect his greeting had had on you.

“Angelito,” you returned. “Back in one piece?”

“Hail to the king, baby,” he countered. 

“Yeah, yeah,” you teased, scuffing the toe of your boot into the gravel of the lot. “So, where are you taking me, o benevolent one?”

“Just gonna hafta find out.” He handed his helmet to you, helping you clip and tighten it beneath your chin. “Ever ridden before?”

“Uhm, well, sure” you replied too assuredly, quickly realizing your slip. “I mean, no. Not like that. I mean, yes, like that. But not on one of these.” Fuck. Could you be more embarrassing? 

Angel released a full-bellied laugh at your response, his head tossing back a little. 

“You’ll have to tell me more about alla that later, cielo.” You put your head in your palm willing the embarrassment to go away. Angel quickly pried your hands away, cupping your cheeks with his own warm hands, long fingers brushing your cheekbones reverently. “In the meantime, just hang on, okay?” 

You nodded, still cursing your idiot-brain that had partnered with the dirtiest corners of your mind to take over your mouth. Shut the fuck up, dumb-dumb. 

You clung to Angel as he drove, your hands roaming his firm torso probably a little too-familiarly. You enjoyed the way the wind whipped around you, tugging at yours and Angel’s clothes as you made your way up the canyon overlooking the desert that was Santo Padre. 

Angel parked his bike on the ridge overlooking the town, the sun beginning its descent in the desert sky in swirling hues of pastels and cotton candy pink-purple-blue overtaking the orange hue. 

You had never been up here before, and you told Angel as much. He looked pleased at that, pleased that he was the one to show you the best view of the Santo Padre sunset. 

Angel busied himself unpacking the bags on the side of his bike while you enjoyed the scenery. Pulling out a couple of wrapped sandwiches and bottles of water, he handed yours to you, coming to stand next to you on the ridge. 

"Thanks," you acknowledged, looking at the offerings. "What, no beer?"

Angel chuckled a little at that.

"I ain't tryna liquor you up, niña. Besides, you want warm beer that's been rattling around on my bike all afternoon?"

You crinkled your nose a little at that. "No," you decided. "Never mind. Besides, I'm more of a whiskey girl."

Angel glanced at you, sipping on his own water idly.

"Really?"

"Really," you confirmed. "Don't tell me you're one of those guys who thinks it's impressive when a girl drinks whiskey because it's such a 'man thing.' "

Angel held up one hand, defensively. 

"Nunca. Just took you for more of a… dunno? Maybe a rum kinda girl?"

"Don't think so. For now, though? Water and sandwiches do me just fine. Whiskey can come later." You took a bite of the now-unwrapped sandwich. "This is good," you confirmed around a slightly-full mouth. "Did you make this?"

"Of course. Pop owns the butcher shop down the street from your parlour. Sliced the meat myself, an' all," he said, a little proudly now that he knew you approved of his sandwich-making skills.

"Bueno," you giggled. "Thank you for this, Angel. Really. This is one of the nicest nights I've had since moving here." You shuffled a little closer to where he was standing, looking in his eyes as you thanked him.

"Bah," he waved away your compliments, "it ain't alla that. This can't be the most exciting thing you've done since getting here."

"Maybe it is," you pressed. "I dunno. Maybe I'm too boring for the king of the bikers?"

"I doubt that very seriously, querida," he turned his body so he was facing you now, sandwich long gone, fiddling with the water bottle in his hands. "You play your cards right, I'll introduce you to the rest of the club. Then things'll get really exciting."

You blinked. One date and he already was thinking about introducing you to his friends? Your inner shy romantic (okay, not so "inner," right? You're pretty clear about who you are) was doing little somersaults in your chest. 

You must've been silent a beat too long because Angel was quick to supplement, "Only if you want."

"I'd like that," you confirmed, nodding and smiling gently. 

"So, are you gonna tell me what brings an East Bay girl here?" 

You raised a brow. You didn't remember telling him where you moved from. He rubbed his hand along the back of his neck nervously, realizing you'd caught his slip. 

"I maaaay have scrolled your Instagram?"

You finished your sandwich, thinking about how much you wanted to tell him.

"Just time for a change of scenery. Olí is an old friend, and he offered me a job. I think he wants to travel more." You shrugged, "It just felt like it was time. Plus, I dunno… I like it here. Much quieter."

Angel nodded at that, not having the heart to tell you that his club was not at all quiet and was the source of the disruption in the otherwise-quaint town. 

You kept talking, telling him about the friends you'd left behind, your old shop, weekends spent in the park surrounding Lake Merritt, and going to Raiders games. Angel took in your features as you spoke, the golden light of the sunset making you glow like something out of a dream he'd had once. Your eyes sparkled as you talked about things you loved, the books and art that inspired your poetry. How you'd gone to art school. You were something.

"-- Sorry, I'm rambling," you breathed in a rush, flush with the amount of talking you'd been doing in a record amount of time. "What? Do I have something in my teeth?"

Angel realized he'd been staring as long as you'd been talking.

"No, querida. Nothing in your teeth." He gave you a dazzlingly white smile.

"Oh thank God," you returned his smile with a small one of your own, shying a little under his gaze, and wondering how long he had been looking at you like that as you'd talked.

He leaned over you now, his height giving him the definite advantage as he'd -- not unwelcomely-- invaded your space. He brought one hand up to cup your chin, his dark eyes revealing flecks of sparkling gold in the pastel wash of the sunset as his gaze once again met yours.

You saw his quick glance down at your lips, you unconsciously giving a small nod before his warm lips met yours.

Oh.

You had obviously been kissed before, been the recipient of past romantic attention. All of that paled in comparison, melting away as Angel's full lips maneuvered over yours, both of his large, calloused hands gently brushing your cheeks as he cupped your face, sliding one hand down to rest on the side of your neck.

You sighed lightly, one of your own hands twined into his shirt, the other resting on the side of his firm torso. 

Angel took the opportunity to slide his tongue past your lips, your own brushing against his as the kiss deepened.

 You were in no hurry for the kiss to end, enjoying the way everything about Angel was so warm, something that was surprisingly welcome, despite the ever-present desert heat of Santo Padre. You could get used to this. 

You had only known Angel a short time, realistically. Your one meeting spawning a series of flirtatious texts and snaps, and now this date that, while low-key, felt almost too perfect to be real. He made you feel safe, desired.

You could already feel him slipping beneath your skin to rest in a special place in your heart. And while you as a person were generally reticent to share that part of yourself with anyone, you had a feeling Angel could take up permanent residence there. If he wanted. 

You dropped from your tip-toes, effectively breaking the kiss.

Angel blinked, looking down at you and noting the pleasant glow on your skin, lips now slightly swollen from his kiss. He could get used to this.

The rest of the evening passed in a pleasant blur, trading quips and stories as the sun went down. Angel told you about his club, his brothers. About his pop and Ezekiel, and how at one time, he enjoyed being the bigger brother, teasing, pranking and lording over EZ until EZ had hit his growth spurt and could (and would) definitely hit back. 

As he drove you home, you snuggled a little bit against him, pressing yourself into his back and enjoying the way you swore you could feel his heart pounding through the kutte and over the rumble of the bike and the road.

He'd dropped you off with a parting kiss and the promise of another date.

Another date turned into several. Time you weren't at the shop was now spent with Angel, showing him what you were working on, inviting him over for dinners and to watch mindless television while he told you what he could about his day. 

The both of you were slowly peeling back the layers around your respectively guarded hearts, revealing more of yourselves only to be met with pure acceptance by the other. Even blindados had to take off their armour at some point. 

You cherished your time with Angel, and he quickly found himself stumbling, head over his own biker-booted heels for you.

After a few months had passed, he had brought you to meet the club. You had manifested nothing but general acceptance of his lifestyle and were eager to meet the people Angel had so obviously cared for. Who had helped shape him into the brash but conscientious person he was with you. 

And one sunny afternoon had found you bringing lunch you had made for the entire club over to the scrapyard, Angel agreeing with your plan. You never were one to show up empty-handed. 

As you walked across the yard, past the gate, and into the clubhouse, your eyes adjusting to the dim interior from the blinding sun outdoors, Angel bounded over to greet you. Taking the bag full of homemade goodies from your arms, he pressed quick kisses to your cheeks, and one to your forehead. 

He turned, met with the pleasantly-surprised stares of his brothers. He announced your name to the room before turning to you, pointing at each man and supplying a name. You nodded, smiling and offering a warm wave to each. 

The man you knew to be EZ from all of Angel's initial texts and photos quickly strode over to you, shaking your hand in his impressively firm grip before bending down to press a quick kiss to your cheek with a,

"Bienvenido, hermanita. Angel's told me a lot about you. Won't shut up, really," giving you a sly wink as Angel swatted EZ's arm in annoyance at his brother's revelation.

Boys.

The smaller man with the sharp eyes and full curls you knew to be Coco made his way over to where you were now seated as Angel went to get you both drinks, the other men digging into your offerings as you made yourself comfortable.

He sat next to you, tossing you a, "You mind?" Lighting his cigarette after you’d shaken your head.

He studied you through his own plumes of smoke before leaning across the table and speaking to you, lowly and with an almost conspiratorial rasp to his voice,

"You did that cover-up for Angel?" He asked on a smooth exhale.

"Mhmm," you nodded. "He gave me free reign. I was nervous he'd hate it."

Coco seemed to chew over your words for a dragging moment. You shifted in your seat. He was definitely sizing you up.

"Bold move, pequeña, giving the secretario of a biker club a sleeve of flowers." 

"I suppose it was," you sighed, more than a little uncertain now. "But it felt meaningful, right, I guess. I just sort of… started drawing. I… think it worked out, though?" You trailed off.

Coco nodded. "It's a fuckin' good piece, mami. Angel told me what you'd said about memories making you who you are." He snorted lightly through his nose. "It's funny. We've never even met before, and you're already sounding like me." 

A small smile played across his lips, returning it with one of your own.

"I'm glad you approve," you nodded. "Angel's opinion obviously matters, and don't tell him I told you this, but it means alot coming from one of his family." 

And that's what they were. His family. You could see it. The obvious camaraderie and care underlying each of their actions with the other. You admired the system of support, cushioned by good humor, despite being flung regularly into harsh reality. It was clear -- they were there for one another.

Coco's voice broke your train of thought,

"Maybe you got space for me in your books one-a these days?"

Your small smile was a full-blown, sunny grin now.

"Of course. Anytime you want to drop by, you're more than welcome." 

"Gracias, chica." Coco leaned across the table and patted your shoulder before getting up and taking his leave.

And so it went. The boys would filter through your shop. Olí teasing you about his offense that all of his most lucrative, inked clients were now going to you. 

You enjoyed the time working on pieces for them afforded you -- offering you a glimpse into their inner workings, what they felt was important enough to take up permanent residence along their skin. Making idle chit-chat with you while you worked. And always, always sharing embarrassing little anecdotes about Angel. 

The months passed with you and Angel, finding comfort in your unpredictable, but welcome, respective routines. 

One night in particular found Angel wrapped up in your embrace, the physical embodiment of your gradual and growing trust in one another.

He had arrived home more than a little rattled, his eyes wildly darting to the corners of the room before settling in you, exhaling a shaky breath before striding the length of the room and crushing you to him, pressing a bruising kiss to your lips. 

You understood he probably couldn't tell you what had happened, but you asked anyway, needing him to know you would hear him.

"Angelito, everything okay?" 

He shook his head softly in the negative, but didn't elaborate. 

You pressed a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. 

"Okay. We don't have to talk about it," you wound your arms up and around his neck, pulling him impossibly closer to you. "But it's going to be okay. I've got you. I won't let go."

He gripped your wrists, pulling your hands from his neck and sliding your arms down, bringing them to rest around his waist. Once he had positioned you where he wanted, he brought his hands to cup your cheeks, eyes heavy and dark with the weight of his stormy thoughts. 

He nodded at what you had said before bringing his lips back to yours. 

You brought one hand up to meet his, where it rested along your cheek. You twined your fingers through, joining your hands while breaking the kiss. You lead him through the apartment, bringing him to the bedroom. You had music softly playing from your speaker in the corner, candles lit to bathe the room in ambient glow and a warm, honey smell, all in anticipation of Angel's eventual arrival home.

You silently gestured for him to sit on the edge of the bed, where you took your seat next to him. 

You tugged the leather kutte from his shoulders, folding it reverently and placing it on the chair near the bed. He exhaled in relief, shoulders sagging once the leather manifestation of his obligation to a darker world had been removed. The weight of the world a little less on the mantle of his shoulders. 

You turned your attention to his feet next, unlacing and tugging off his boots. Then, his belt. 

Once he was just in his jeans and his t-shirt, you resumed your seat at his side, bringing him back into your embrace and carding your hands through his hair, as his head rested on your shoulder. 

Angel spoke, voice cracking as he broke the seal of silence in the room. 

"It was… it was awful, Frida." He sighed. "I do everything they ask. It's my job … Fuck. Sometimes I wonder how much more my heart can take. But then, I get to come home to you." 

His breath was shuddering now.

And while you didn't always know what to say -- it was a rare sight to see Angel so rattled. But you were a caregiver by nature, ready to give him the pieces of yourself that would make him feel whole.

You guided him down so that he could recline, you came to rest at his side, winding your arms around his torso, your face turned into his neck, cuddling him as he came down from the mania of his emotional high.

The moments passed, Angel's breathing leveling again as you stroked his hair in time to the soft music.

He turned his head to look at you, admiring the flutter of your lashes as you blinked at him, your gaze warm and adoring, full of twinkling fairy light and starshine. 

"Te amo, querida," Angel breathed. This was not the first time he had said it to you during your months together. But each time felt as momentous as the first, each declaration of love felt like the slip of something sweet, and you were determined to store it in your heart and mind forever.

"I love you too, Angel. More than anything," you murmured. "I love your smile, your sense of humor, your strength." You pressed kisses to his face and neck with each admission. "Mostly, I love your strength. And that you trust me enough to tell me when you don't always feel it."

He sucked in a shuddering breath before whispering to you,

"I love your mind. How creative you are. How you see everything so beautiful, just like you," he hmm’d. "Mostly I love your trust. And that you choose to give it to me." 

You kissed him again, leaning over him with your entire body, pressing your palms gently into his shoulders. 

As your kiss deepened, you each began to tug at the other. His hands carded through your hair, tugging gently, but firmly. You lifted his shirt from his torso, the kiss breaking so you could peel it away.

You divested one another of each layer, baring yourselves to the other, body and soul. Again, this wasn't the first time you had done this. But this felt momentous nonetheless. 

Angel skimmed his hands over your form, running his hands softly down and over your breasts, loving your soft sigh at his touch. 

You leaned over him once more, reluctantly removing his hands from you, and placing them gently down at his sides. 

"Your heart is mine, mine to protect," You hummed softly, invading his senses and placing kisses down Angel's neck and to his chest, trailing your lips lovingly over Angel's heart, and pressing one last deliberate kiss there. "And I take my job very seriously." 

As you kissed him, you lightly trailed your fingers down his torso, coming to rest at his hip.

Your declaration was met with silence; you glanced up at Angel through your lashes only to find him already looking down through heavy-lidded eyes at you, his now swirling with some unnamed, weighted emotion.

You trailed your hand across his hip, not breaking eye contact as you took his hardening length into your hand. He inhaled sharply at the sensation of your grip, but refused to look away as you began to pump him slowly, still pressing kisses to his hips, torso and thighs. 

"Please, querida," Angel gasped.

"Please, what?" You murmured back, your voice taking a throaty register you reserved strictly for private moments with your beloved.

"Please… use your pretty mouth?" 

You nodded. 

"Relájate, baby, I've got you," you assured. Sweeping your hair back, the action washing Angel with the sweeping comfort of your scent as you made your way lower down his body. 

Angel slumped back against the bedspread, glittering galaxy eyes still trained on you as you lavished him with attention. 

You took the opportunity to flatten your tongue, licking a broad stripe up the length of him, one hand braced against his firm thigh, the other holding him gently at the base of his cock as you worked.

You swirled your tongue around the tip of him, delighted at his throaty moans, feeling the effect they had on you, making you feel like you were burning from the inside, feeling the slickness from your own center as your thighs rubbed together. 

Taking Angel wholly into your mouth now, you bobbed over him, relishing in the heavy feel of him in your mouth and the throaty groans you received from Angel in response. 

Before you could spend too long lavishing him with attention, Angel tugged on your hair at the base of your neck. Following his grip, you lifted your head and released him from, watching (a little greedily) as his thick length bobbed against him when you relinquished him from the confines of your mouth. 

He guided you up his body, hand still knotted in your hair, pushing his mouth onto yours, uncaring of the saliva on your lips and chin, and the taste of himself on your tongue. 

You straddled his hips, surging the rest of the way up his body and effectively deepening the kiss. The hand that was once in your hair now made its way to loosely grip at your throat, the other skimming his way down your breasts, across your ribs and toward your center.

As his fingers traced through your folds, you involuntarily rolled your hips into his hand, alight at his touch, and desperately seeking more. 

Angel touching you was like the shock of a live wire. Every time felt just as electric as the last, goosebumps erupting across your flesh as his fingers traced across your skin. 

He chuckled through your fused mouths, drawing back at your reaction and the wetness he found between your legs.

"Eager, amor?" Every word fell that fell from his lips sounded like a dangerous purr.

You nodded, drunk on the way Angel's hand gently squeezed your throat, while the other was teasingly making its way to-and-fro across your wet folds, occasionally making his way up to lightly circle and press his thumb over your clit, making your eyelids flutter. Your hips continued to rock against his hand, silently begging for more, his teasing touch making you more than a little crazy.

"Yeah?" Angel asked, his voice thick and syrupy, the timbre like dark clouds. "That shit turn you on? Sucking my cock?"

His words combined with his touch made another rush of heat flood through you. You were certain you would pass out, that your knees would buckle. And you were doing so well, holding your place up and over his hips while he played with you.

The hand on your throat gripped a little tighter, causing your eyes to flutter shut.

"Nuh-uh, baby," he shook you lightly, all mirth gone from his eyes, no more pleasant, smiling crinkles at the corners. His full lips pressed firmly together. "I asked you a question. You answer that shit"

He pressed two fingers teasingly against your entrance, refusing to insert them, despite the little roll of your hips.

"Y-yeaahh," you sighed, head tossed back, "I-I fucking love it -- love you, Angel."

He rewarded you by sliding a long finger into you, allowing you to ride his hand. The hand still around your throat guiding you forward, over him, allowing him to press hot, open-mouthed kisses, first to your lips, dirty and raw, like an exposed nerve in his unabashed want for you. 

He relinquished his hold on your neck, allowing him to trail his lips and his tongue there, kissing you softly behind your ear, down and around your neck to your collarbones, all while his fingers continued their earnest treatment inside of you, his thumb now pressing to your clit, your warming crescendo building.

Using his height and the fact that you were straddling him, Angel encouraged you to lean forward, allowing him to capture one of your breasts in his grip, his mouth following. His warm tongue swirled around your nipple before he sucked the bud into his mouth, grazing his teeth ever so gently over your sensitive flesh.

Angel's attention was rewarded with your gasping sighs and breathy moans. How anyone could make you feel this good was beyond you. Angel had an uncanny ability to elicit responses and feelings like no other person before him.

You felt the thrumming hum and warm, sticky wave of your orgasm building as Angel worked his fingers inside of you, stroking that particular spot from within that he knew would be your undoing.

"O-oh," you whined, keening noises caught in your throat. "Please, baby, I n-need you. Need you inside." 

The room was sweltering. Or was it just you? Angel withdrew his fingers smoothly, not sparing you the chance to be disappointed at the loss of feeling as he smoothly flipped the two of you, guiding you down to the mattress and hovering over your trembling form. 

"Yeah?" Angel asked. "You ready for that, querida?"

You gazed up at him through your lashes, longingly. He would give everything, anything, that he had in the world if you only looked at him like that forever, gaze full of warmth, heat, and unfiltered, starry adoration. 

"Mmm," you nodded, "Please? Angel?"

He was only a man, after all. Who was he to refuse when you asked so prettily for him?

He gently turned you over so that your back was to him, running his hands down the slope of your back and guiding you to your knees, propping your hips up.

Positioning himself behind you, Angel resumed his grip on your throat, using it to guide your head around so that he could kiss you again while he guided himself inside of you. You moaned into the kiss at the sensation, never tired of feeling every ridge of his thick cock sliding into you like he belonged there.

Angel groaned, breaking the kiss and shaking his head, chuckling darkly, his eyes flashing as he swore, 

"Never fuckin' get tired of that shit," he began to move his hips, using his other hand that was gripping your hip to guide you along his lengthy, meeting his thrusts. "Never tired of your pussy … You're so … good."

Angel's words coupled with his thrusts were driving you crazy, causing you to eagerly meet him with the momentum of your own hips, the heat in the room spliced with the distinctive noise of his skin meeting yours. 

Angel, leaning over your back, crowded your every sense, the taste of him, of his kisses still lingering on your tongue. Your ears met with the harmony of your two bodies and the filthy words and sounds coming from Angel's mouth. The sight of him was as intoxicating as ever, as you looked over your shoulder at him, the shadows of the room playing across his tawny skin, glimmering in the low light with the sheen of sweat you knew was also present on yours.

“Say my name,” Angel pants into the slick skin on your back, kissing a line down your spine, his body covering yours possessively.

You were too caught up in everything Angel, failing to respond quickly enough for his liking as you gasped at every thrust.

A crack of heat flashed across your ass, Angel swatting you there once. You should be annoyed, but you couldn't lie -- you fucking loved it when he was like this. Only for you. 

"A-angel," you sighed, the crescendo of your orgasm climbing, threatening to burst any second, you tightening around Angel.

"Bueno," he purred. "You close? Yeah, you fucking are," Angel snarled, taking in the way you threw your hips back desperately to meet him, squirming one hand beneath you to touch yourself. "You can have it, baby, I'll make it good. You just gotta ask pretty for me." 

You deepened the arch in your back, flexing your hips back toward Angel, and gripping the bedspread before you in your fingers, face pressed flush with the sheets, your other hand still pressed to your clit.

Angel tilted your head, leaning over further and gripping your jaw, squeezing to pucker your cheeks. He kissed you, sucking your lower lip between his. He kissed you gently, a deceptive contrast to the hand gripping your face, his hips snapping into yours at a now-brutish pace. He pecked another light kiss to your lips, followed by another, gently biting your lip and dragging it lightly as he drew his face from yours.

He released your lips as you whispered another plea into his mouth.

"Come on then, baby." 

Your orgasm washed over you, pinpricks of striking matches splintering across your skin, followed by a euphoric wave of white-heat, blissfully soothing every nerve it had just lit.

Angel followed, emptying himself into you with a few final thrusts, groaning at the way you tightened just so around him. 

He withdrew gently, collapsing next to you as you both caught your breath. 

Your lashes fanned your cheeks as you blinked hazily at the form of your love through the soft glow of the room.

"I do love you, Angel," you told him, leaning across the sheets to rub your nose back and forth against his, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth, grazing your soft fingers against the lines of his forehead, easing them away into an expression of soft serenity. "Always."

---

Now, you walked out of the clubhouse, around to the side of the porch, a quiet corner away from the noise. Willing yourself to calm down as small, hot tears trickled their way, uninvited, down your cheeks. 

Your thoughts were moving a million miles a second, the battle of luck you were waging with the universe saw you quickly losing. 

The year you spent with Angel replaying itself in your mind. Every word, every touch, that goddamn tattoo. Remembrance, my ass. How you would hold him when he came home too high-strung and strung-out emotionally for words. How you would save the best leftovers for him when you knew he had been away and would be craving the Chinese food from the place down the block when he got back. How he felt inside of you on the coldest nights and in the most tender mornings. How he would whisper enchanting endearments into the shell of your ear as he rolled his hips into yours, your mind and body completely his. How you would wear his shirts and overly-large socks around his apartment, leaving doodles and scribbled poems on sticky notes for him to find in his moments alone. How he kissed you warmly, his tongue sweeping into your mouth like syrupy possession that you never wanted to end. 

How it did end. How he had thrown out your world, crumpled it into a crushed paper ball and tossing it away with the carelessness of a child. Ending things with seemingly no spare thought for your feelings. How EZ had let slip when he saw you in town that Angel was expecting a kid, the timing of everything suddenly making a little more sense. How it made you feel, now that you knew you were wholly his, but he was never entirely yours. How you had kept to yourself in the months that followed, the cracks in your heart widening until you felt like you would drown in them. 

The pulse of your feelings for him, always strong; they warm you. But it was still you they all left behind. 

Your thoughts were still swirling when, off to the side, you heard the porch door open and close again, and you prayed that whomever was coming outside was going to have a smoke out front, or that they were on their way out. That they wouldn’t find you. 

But of course, these things never worked out how you wanted them. You cursed any god you could think of for just how un-fucking-lucky you were sometimes. 

Because, really, who other than Angel was making his way around the porch to you? Taking in your hunched form as you leaned over the railing, looking anywhere but at him. 

Of fucking course.

You kept your eyes down, focused in your clasped hands as you leaned over the railing, refusing to look at him. 

And now? Now he was looking at you, and it's the one time you wished he wouldn't. 

One thing you wouldn't do, now that he was here, was break the silence first. He didn't want to hear what you'd had to say, so why would you grace him with your thoughts now? Petty? Sure. But you weren't the one in there with your hands on some ass while a so-called friend harassed your ex. 

A few uncomfortable beats dragged on before Angel broke the silence, shattering it like glass with a verbal hammer.

"What'd he say to you?"

You remained silent.

"What the fuck did he say, Frida?" His voice angry now, demanding. The same tone he used to break your heart. 

"It ain't working. Not my fuckin’ fault you can't see it."

You rolled your eyes, another shard of icy glass painfully wedging into your heart at his use of the name. Still refusing to look in his direction when you replied, softly but sharply, 

"You know exactly what he said. What I'm trying to figure out is why, exactly, you care."

"I care, Frida," was all he offered.

You snorted in response. Undignified, sure. But couldn't he see this was killing you? Where was his mercy?

"I do," he insisted, the thud of his boots across the wood of the porch indicating that he was crossing to you, coming to stand a ways behind you.

"I'm not going to do this with you. He said some shit. It's over. We move on. What more could you have to say about that?"  

Keep it simple, keep yourself safe. You gave him nothing to say back. And then… 

"And if I told you I wanted you? I wanted you back?"

You whipped your head around to -- finally -- meet Angel's eyes, which you did for a fleeting moment before zeroing in once more on your shoes, staring resolutely at the ground. You were not going to let him see you cry again, godfuckingdamnit.

The fleeting glimpse of his face, of his eyes meeting yours once more after all this time, was enough. He looked more tired up close than he had before. Still unfair in his striking beauty, his midnight eyes still enough to pull you in, drown you in their oceanic depths. You hated it. Hated that he still had that power over you. But try as you might, you couldn't hate him. 

Your silence was killing Angel with the precision of a thousand miniscule cuts. Each deeper than the last. Until he couldn’t take it any longer. He reached through the space between, for where your hand rested on the railing. You saw the gesture coming, and whipped your hand away at the last moment, cradling it to your chest like he had burned you. You faced him fully now.

You chuckled softly, wryly, and devoid of any humor before you muttered, "You don't want me, baby. Please don't lie."

“And how do you know that’s a lie?” Angel mumbled thickly, working his tongue around the words, through his own emotion. 

You scuffed your toe into the hewn wood of the deck, shrugging before you responded, simply, 

“If I was what you wanted, you wouldn’t have gone looking elsewhere. And you certainly wouldn't have found someone else. You wouldn’t have said what you said, ended it like you did, with everything on just your terms.” You sighed deeply, with the rattle of tears lodged into your chest before you spoke again, “You made up your mind and never even let me say a word. If you wanted anything to do with me, you could have at least given me a word.” 

Angel blinked, hard. The familiar pressure of real tears building behind his eyes. You were right of course. And fuck, weren't you always? You'd always told him like it was, harsh truths that only you could cushion in your gentle, empathetic way. 

"Please, querida, just let me explain what happened--" 

You held up your hand, shaking your head firmly, effectively silencing Angel.

"No!" Much softer now, "No. I- I'm sorry, Angel, I don't mean to be rude. But, no." Your voice small, but clear, as you'd finally gotten your opportunity to say something back to him. "I, uh, I don't want to hear any explanation, and you really don't have to?"

You lilted the last part like it was a question, but continued on. 

"You, um, you've had a lot of time to tell me something, anything, about what the fuck happened. And you didn't. You left me with nothing. Just confusion and hurt, and I've made peace with that. It's taken a while, but … I just… I don't need that from you. I gave you space, always respected your decisions and opinions, and now you won't do the same. You're still trying to take from me. Offering me an explanation now?" You scoffed. "That isn't for me, and don't fuckin’ act like it is -- it's for you. And I understand that, that's fine. I'm not angry at you for that, but I'm also not going to humor it." 

You exhaled shakily, you couldn't believe you'd said all of that, that you had made it through.

Angel was speechless. It made your heart feel even sicker -- all of this silence from him for so long, and he'd offered to explain himself and you'd (gracefully) told him to fuck off. Why had you done that??

It was about time you'd stood up for yourself, that's why. 

An explanation would be nice, sure. But where Angel's words, whispered affirmations and heady declarations of love, had once made your soul swell and sing… now, you knew, anything he'd had to say to you would only serve to do the opposite. 

And your heart, perpetually bruised by nature of you being a hopeless romantic, just couldn't take it. 

You hopped off the porch, spinning around to face Angel, finding his eyes on you still. Hadn't you wished for him to look at you? To really see you once more? 

"I'm out," you tossed a thumb over your shoulder toward where you'd parked your car. "Sorry, I don't mean to abandon the old post, but uh, I'm sure you guys have someone to fill in. I'll text Aneesa to grab my stuff, don't worry about it." 

Like he would, you thought.

You were mostly rambling to yourself, and not really to Angel, as you backed away, fleeing to your car. 

Angel watched you go, the resonant ache in his chest that had been ever-present since tossing your stuff out, amplified when Luisa had left him, and now sure to be permanent, buried in cement beneath the weight of his every decision, and every word.

You looked good, he thought. Your hair was longer than when he'd seen you last. Your little skirt flouncing as you strode away. Your skin still glowed, full lips still twisted into that wry smile of yours that he had seen from across the room. All of that was true, but your eyes were also tired, and your smile never quite reached them. 

The thought that he was responsible for dimming that sparkle made him feel sicker than he already had. The way you had brushed off Andres, despite his obnoxious insistence, and the things the cocky  new patch had said to you -- may as well add those to the ever-growing pile of things stained and tainted by Angel's guilt.

And he was left alone with that guilt as you left the lot. He turned back to the party. His cool facade slipping back into place. Not ready to face the wrath of EZ and Coco, surely waiting inside to proverbially beat his ass.

What would you say if I come over? And we stand face to face now that we're older?

---

Angel shuffled into his apartment, the late hour catching up to his weary form as he ambled over to his bedside, flicking on the lamp. 

Rubbing a large hand down his face, he sat on his bed in a huff of exhaustion. Your first encounter in months since he'd all-but tossed you from this very room was pricking him with a kind of nauseating nervous  energy. But all he wanted to feel in that moment was you, whether he deserved it or not.

He'd still had it, didn't he? Where was it?

He pulled open the drawer of his nightstand, fishing through its contents for what he hoped was still in there.

His fingers curled over his prize -- a slip of paper adorned with your handwriting. Scrawled lines of poetry on a neon pink Post-It note, curled with age and disuse, something you had left for him while he slept in one morning. 

“I was thinking of you,” you had said when he had asked you about it later, shrugging as if it were the most matter-of-fact thing in the world. 

Your love for him was clean in its simplicity and forwardness, whenever he could wade his way through the mire of your shy demeanor. You had stuck the Post-It to his nightstand while he was sleeping and you made your way to work. Your words were cramped and crunched into the small paper square, but ready to greet him with the shining light of a sunny new day. 

“I see your ardor through a pearlescent lense, and all is pleasantly pink and blurry with you-- Resplendent in your love's solar hope. You are so warm beneath the brush of my fingertips, and I burn. So in love with you, as I am and as I do."

Now, his eyes scanned the words for the millionth time since you had written them. He had committed it to memory by now, wishing he could hold you instead of this crumpled piece of paper, mocking him with its annoyingly bright pink hue.

But how could he? Angel was the kind of man who simmered in his emotion -- burning slowly, lowly, only to reach a pitch. He kept to himself until he couldn’t any longer -- and then it was all bleeding hearts on a very crisp sleeve. 

He had done what he had thought was right. Cutting you out with all of the brutality and finesse of a battleaxe, to focus on Luisa and his unborn son. He thought she was what he wanted. But now, he didn’t even have them. He had nothing to show for his decisions but the lonely, sick feeling ever-present in his chest. 

The you at the beginning of your relationship would have kissed each bruise in his soul, one by one, until they were better. Would have gifted him with the warmth of your time and attention until he was made whole again with the molten heat of your gracious heart. But the you now? 

Angel could never, would never, cover the tattoo on his arm, though he had thought about it. Blacking it out once and for all, so the piece of you he wore on his sleeve would finally match the  pitch, and emptiness inside. But he couldn’t bring himself to do it. It was, as he’d said all that time ago, your gift to him. And he’d made you a promise that he wouldn’t. 

All he wanted was to look you in the eyes so he could remember that he loved you once.

And not that he had any reason to know it, but across town, you had made it home. Your phone shoved to the bottom of your bag, lighting up with texts from Aneesa, EZ, and Coco. But the only person on your mind was Angel. 

How much of what he had said was true? You weren't sure. But you were sure that you knew where you stood, still painfully alone and in love as ever, the cracks in your heart only fillable by the very person you had brushed off earlier.

And, while Angel readied himself for bed, snapping the lights off and attempting to cut through the oppressive darkness by staring at the ceiling with his own penetrative gaze, the empty side of the bed had never felt more cavernous, but more weighted. Mocking. 

If Angel was being honest with himself -- something he was never too keen on being in his more sobering moments -- he didn't love you once. He still loved you.

Thinking after all this time, I just wanna meet your eyes so I can remember why... Why I loved you once.

Tagging:

@themarcusmoreno @ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa @steeeeeeeviebb @qveenbvtch @mxsamwilson @ifimayhaveaword @huliabitch @pettyprocrastination @phoenixhalliwell @flightlessangelwings @cinewhore @velvetmel0n @moonlight-prose @rebeccasficrecs @videogamesandpoorlifechoices @aerolanya @djvrins @jenrebloggingfics @ciriswife @justanotherblonde23 @superhoeva @witching-hour​ @luckyharley1903​

[mayybirds]

I mean relevant to the story so far! It’s nice reading something without knowing what’s coming up :)

Mini-Essay it is lol! I'll restrict myself here to songs relevant to the story so far, and if anyone has specific questions about other songs on the playlist they're welcome to ask and I'll answer separately (and more vaguely without dropping major plot spoilers)--so that anyone else looking to avoid any risk of mild vibe spoilers can do so.

Some songs on the playlist honestly fit multiple portions of the story, especially some songs that I associate with Mia and Ethan, but I'll honor my song order here and speak specifically about the chronological portion of the playlist we're in so far.

Under a read-more for people's sanity lmao.

1) Go Tell Aunt Rhody, RE7 Soundtrack. This is like...the quintessential song to include in any RE7 playlist right? Like. It's canon and it just...is so good. It's an obvious inclusion. That said, this song is super close to my heart and super important to me for this fic. It speaks to my feelings on Eveline and why she's a tragic figure because the lyrics fucking know how fucked up her story is. To me it's never read as the song of a villain...it's the song of an unbelievable tragedy that started in evil--not Eveline's actions, but her creation. This song defines how I view Eveline, and how I viewed RE7. Period. Like...I literally heard it before I played the game. It's what got me to play the game. I heard this song online and fell so fucking in love with it that it (re-)introduced me to Resident Evil and kick-started my obsession with it (I knew of the franchise before then but primarily through watching older cousins play when I was a kid). TtVtL could not exist without this song lol.

2) Woke Up Dead, Blood on the Harp. This is another one of those songs that's both about the fic and about the game itself for me. It's the perfect "Ethan in the Baker House" song for me. This journey of slowly feeling like you're losing your sanity and your humanity as you descend into the darkness because you're dead, everyone's dead, nothing will ever be the same again. It's a song for a descent into madness (and if you think RE7 didn't drive Ethan at least a lil crazy idk what to tell you...it absolutely did), as you're surrounded by even further, deeper, darker madness. You are literally seeing through the eyes of the dead. And the sound is...perfect. It's country as fuck and gothic as fuck and dark as fuck and I love it. It's a song for the launch of TtVtL for me as we arrive in a familiar story and then take that initial turn from canon. Ethan having dragged himself through all this insanity and clawing his way to survival and then being confronted with that request--kill the girl, free everyone. And then the darkness reaches out and he reaches back and... well, you know what happens lol.

3) Prayer Factory, Florence + The Machine. This is the song of the void, the stumbling and running and fleeing, and then...the decision. Ethan's absolute fear of his past and his own self, his true self, and of the truths he's been confronted with. How trapped in his own mind is as he flees the bunker and oscillates between what he's supposed to do and his own instinctive knowledge it's not right. And how that instinct wins out, in the end, despite all that repression--"all the the things that I ran from I bring as close to me as I can." Ethan realizes he can't keep running from who he is, and what it means for him. He kills monsters, not people. He cannot kill Eveline, and to save her he must begin to embrace who and what he really is.

4) Build Momma a Coffin, Blood on the Harp. God, I love this song so much. It's one of the Big TtVtL songs for me, to the point where I think I even mentioned it in one of my author's notes on the fic itself. This is the first Ethan & Eveline song for me--their running away song. The song for saying "fuck it. and fuck dying here" and running and packing themselves into Lucas's car and driving the fuck out of the Baker estate. It's the song for burying their dead things, abandoning the thing they found safety in for so long. Eveline leaving the Baker Estate behind--her sanctuary, her tomb. Ethan leaving behind...Ethan Winters, in a sense. He's abandoning Mia (abandoning the whole reason he came here), and the life he lived until now where he played pretend at who he is and where he came from. He's giving up something safe and comfortable to do the right thing. They're burying Mia, burying the Bakers--building that coffin--and swearing off the lives they had previously.

5) Evelyn, Tim Killman & Silent Films. This is, probably predictably, an Eveline song lol. It's a tricky one to find the lyrics to so I'll just link them. I got recommended this song by an Anon and I fell in love with it. It's a great early!TtVtL Eveline song. Especially the imagery about decay--the lines "I've seen decay// Give way to growth // And make the most // Of nearly nothing" are gorgeous and very fitting. It's important to remember Eveline is still in a really dark place in the fic right now. She's only just left the Baker Estate, and still has a lot of work to do to begin to fully understand both her own humanity and the humanity of others. Her empathy is stunted and shattered in favor of self-preservation, and there will still be a lot of work left to Ethan to teach her that there's a difference between protecting herself and killing/hurting others when there's other options. But, this Eveline is already starting to trust Ethan. She's going to start that process of reflection, of questioning, of growth. She can become more, and she will become "preoccupied by what [she] could be."

6) Little Lies, Fleetwood Mac. Lmao the start of what is a very big Fleetwood Mac fixation with this fic. Fleetwood is Ethan's band. His favorite. Some of the Fleetwood songs in this playlist will definitely literally be referenced to in the fic itself. Because Ethan copes through music and will definitely be introducing that to Eveline. Little Lies is the song for Ethan & Mia's relationship history. That little thing inside both of them that knew the other was hiding something that they smothered out because they loved each other so much. And then the realization of the secrets, the lies, as it all spills over--first for Ethan, and then Mia when she realizes he's left her behind. There's still so much love there, and denial. A wish to go back to how they were and hide away, but the knowledge they can't.

7) Go Insane, Fleetwood Mac. This is kind of an...Ethan & Mia & Eveline song? It's about Ethan & Mia's relationship, but also Eveline's initial suspicion of Ethan and her knowledge that Mia lies and always has (and the realization that Lucas was also a liar). It's about that suspicion and lack of trust compounded by trauma and secrets and realizations. You're alone and you can't trust anyone and you go insane under the pressure of it and the lies you've been fed because insane is better than dead. It's like...the encompassing song for RE7 and the first four chapters of the fic through to Mia's breakdown. Ethan knows Mia is a liar and it broke him (but also saved him long term?), Mia knows Ethan is a liar and is shattered and grieving, Eveline knows Mia lies, and Lucas lied, and Everyone lies--is Ethan lying too? She doesn't know. She doesn't know. But she'll destory him if he is.

8) Savages, Marina and the Diamonds. This is the song for the last chapter of TvTtL, the current one I'm writing, and a little onwards. It's a song for Chris, Ethan, Lucas, and Eveline. "Underneath it all, we're just savages. Hidden behind shirts, ties, and marriages." It's something they all believe deep down--just in completely different ways. These are all characters who have seen the worst humanity has to offer and has come to expect it from almost everyone. Chris is this resigned, exhausted, bitter character--two steps from drawing his gun at all times because fuck if everyone else isn't as well, in his mind and in his world. Eveline's almost the most similar to him...she trusts no one, deep down, and she's full kill or be killed, still. Ethan has seen so much himself and is in some ways just as grimly Aware of the truths of what people can and will do to each other...but he's not resigned in the way Chris is, he still wants to try. Meanwhile Lucas...he knows and has seen all the same types of shit. The difference is that he revels in it. You've got four characters who inherently believe on some level everyone is capable of animalistic violence and have come to expect it from others when confronted--combine them and put them in conflict with each other, and it's gonna get messy.

[gonzo-rella]

Dear Old Dad | Jesse Pinkman (ft. Hank and Marie Schrader)

MASTERLIST | AO3 | KO-FI | COMMISSIONS INFO

Requested by: @flowercrowns-goodvibes​

hi love! i’m SO excited to see that you are now writing for breaking bad!!! could i request a jesse pinkman x reader imagine, where the reader goes to UNM and is hank and marie’s daughter, and her and jesse really love each other but she doesn’t like his business he’s involved in, and hank also gets mad and yells at her because she gets involved with him and according to hank, he’s dangerous and really bad. and the reader is kinda dealing w the consequences of that? :) ty love!!

Relationship(s): Jesse Pinkman x fem!reader (romantic), Hank and Marie Schrader x fem!reader (familial)

Summary: To say your parents are displeased with your choice in love is an understatement, considering your father is a DEA agent and the guy you’re head-over-heels for is a drug-dealing junkie who supposedly gave your Uncle Walt some weed.

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol (including implied underage drinking) and drug use (of course; it’s Breaking Bad), inappropriate language, family drama, angst, in depth description of angry/upset reader (i.e. crying, the merciless beating of a pillow, which definitely isn’t based off any of my own mental breakdowns). (Let me know if I need to add any)

Word count: 4k (excluding bonus ending), 4.6k (including bonus ending)

(A/N: This doesn’t follow the exact timeline of Breaking Bad, since I feel like writing something that’s not at all canon-divergent (especially in a reader-insert fanfic) is pretty restrictive. I also decided to make Marie a somewhat prominent character in this too (even though it wasn’t included in the request), since she would most definitely intervene if her daughter was in love with someone like Jesse. Buckle up; I may have gone a little overboard in terms of length and depth with this one, as reflected by this  author’s note. But, that doesn’t really matter. It’s probably one of my favourite fics I’ve ever written, which you could probably guess considering how long this thing is. I tried to write it with more nuance than ‘Hank bad; Jesse good’, but I don’t know how well that aspect turned out. Also, I couldn’t choose between two endings I had in mind for this, so there’s a ‘nice ending’ and a ‘bonus ending’. Anyway, I hope you enjoy it, because I sure did. I’d love to write more angsty stuff like this in the future.)

The moment you’d arrived at these random girls’ house with your dormmate, you couldn’t believe you’d agreed to come to this party. However, looking back on it, if you hadn’t attended this party, you never would’ve met him. While your dormmate had taken to drunkenly dancing to the blaring music in the living room, you had quickly retreated to the empty kitchen of the party hosts’ house. At least in there, the music was muffled enough to let you think.

As the designated driver, you were obliged to only drink non-alcoholic drinks, so you’d settled on letting a can of Diet Coke you’d found in the fridge and a book about Charles Manson you’d found on the kitchen table to be your entertainment for the night. You’d neglected to ask your roommate if she had any idea at what time she wanted to leave, but knowing her, you’d probably have to drag her to the car at 2 AM, all the while looking like a kidnapper.

Unfortunately, the tranquil emptiness of the kitchen was short-lived when a trio of guys, probably at least a couple of years older than you, came barging in around 20 minutes after you’d settled comfortably in your spot at the kitchen table.

“Seriously, man, you really think these skinny college chicks are gonna have anything that isn’t some low-fat, gluten free shit?” the tallest and stockiest of them said, stood beside the skinniest one as the third one opened and searched every cupboard in the kitchen. 

“Hey, Jesse, can’t you just drive us to the store?” the skinny one requested.

“Drive you to the store? If I get pulled over, I’m fucked.” the one rummaging through the cupboards.

“I’ll drive, then.” the stocky one responded nonchalantly. “Give me your keys.”

“You can’t drive either, Badger! None of us can drive!” the one who had just been referred to as ‘Jesse’ responded with frustration. “Unless you want to get another DUI.”

“Jeez, relax.” ‘Badger’ responded, hands raised defensively. “We can just find some sober freshman kid who’ll drive us. They’ll do anything to get the approval of some older guys.”

“Yo, man, you really think anyone here’s sober?” the skinny one, whose name had yet to be determined, said.

“I don’t know...I guess that chick over there looks kinda sober.” Badger shrugged, gesturing to the asocial-looking young woman at the kitchen table, AKA you.

You immediately tensed up, your hope of going unnoticed by them due to them being clearly high and at least tipsy diminishing in that moment. However, you had the willpower to keep your eyes fixed on the book, despite the fact you weren’t actually reading it any more.

“Yo...uh...ma’am?” the skinny one said, approaching you. He sounded unsure about addressing you as ma’am, but it wasn’t like he knew what else to call you. “You sober enough to drive?”

“Yes, sir?” you responded bluntly with a hint of a mocking tone, not looking up.

“You think you could give us a ride to the 7/11 about a mile from here?” he continued.

“Do I look like a fucking cab driver to you?” you asked, finally daring to glance up at him. 

“If you give us a ride, I can hook you up with some crystal. Jesse’s got some in his car.” Badger tried.

“Shut up, man! For all you know, she’s a nark.” Jesse hissed, slapping his friend in the arm with the back of his hand.

“Don’t get your panties in a bunch; I’m not a nark.” you sighed with a roll of your eyes. Jesse sighed in relief. “But, I ain’t a junkie neither, so you can’t make me whore my car out to you guys for whatever drugs you wanna offer me. I will, however, take cash. 15 bucks minimum.”

“Deal.” Jesse said, reaching into his pocket  and placing a 10 dollar bill and a 5 dollar bill on the table in front of you.

“Pleasure doing business with you, gentleman. Let’s go.” you replied, stuffing the money into your pocket and leading them out the kitchen.

That night, something about you intrigued Jesse, and you couldn’t deny that the intrigue was mutual. You suppose that’s why, when he asked for it, you gave him your number.

That was three years ago.

When you hung out with Jesse, as well as Badger, Skinny Pete and (when they introduced you to him) their friend Combo, you couldn’t help but feel like some secretive teenager. You knew that if your dad found out some of your closest friends were a group of meth-heads, you’d be in for...something. 

You didn’t know what your parents could possibly do other than aggressively express their disapproval of your choice in company, seeing as you were a college senior by the time they found out.

However, you knew you’d really be in for it when they found out that you were particularly close with Jesse.

Your relationship with Jesse had been a tricky thing to describe up until recently. You were both madly in love with one another, and it was abundantly clear to everyone. Despite this, neither of you had ever been ready to take the step forward that would progress your relationship from that confusing little grey area between friendship and a romantic partnership to...well, a romantic partnership.

Both of you had an unspoken knowledge of why a relationship between you two couldn’t work. Jesse was everything that your father hated, all crammed into the visual epitome of any parent’s worst nightmare when considering their dear daughter’s boyfriend. The only thing Jesse feared more than the threat of your father’s wrath was the threat you would be under if any rivals in the business found out you were the girl that Jesse loved the most in the world. Getting involved with you in such a way would put you in almost as much danger as Jesse was in.

Still, you were both practically still stupid kids; you had the right to actively ignore those risks.

So, a couple of months ago, you’d finally taken that small step.

You were determined to hide the relationship from your family for as long as possible, which proved difficult considering your boyfriend was cooking meth with your Uncle Walt. To say your uncle was at all fond of the idea of you, his beloved niece, dating Jesse would be the lie of the millennium, but the man knew how happy you two were together. Moreover, making Hank any more aware of Jesse was bound to put Walt at risk too, so why bother meddling? 

Perhaps it was foolish of the pair of you not to plan ahead in terms of letting your parents know you two were dating. Who were you kidding? It was definitely foolish of you. However, your parents had no idea you were even friends with a group of stoners, let alone that you were dating one. For all they knew, you hated and looked down on those who were involved with the drug scene as much as they did.

You hadn’t intended on them finding out about you being involved with Jesse so soon, especially in the way that they did. Though, as shocked as they were, you had been just as surprised when they let you know that they had found out about your connection to Jesse Pinkman.

It just seemed like you’d been invited (albeit at the last minute) to a normal dinner at your parents’ house, but as soon as you got in, the tension was as thick as early morning fog.

“What’s going on?” you questioned, brows furrowed. 

“Um...why don’t you take a seat, honey?” Marie suggested as she wrung her hands and ceased pacing. Meanwhile, your father was stood looking out the window almost absentmindedly, seemingly deep in thought and/or avoiding looking at you as long as possible.

“Jeez, what is this? An intervention?” you joked as you nonchalantly sunk into the couch and made yourself comfortable.

“It’s not an intervention...we just need to talk to you about something that we’re both...concerned about.” Marie insisted, the corners of her lips straining to feign an attempt at a calm smile.

“Okay...” you replied, your evident confusion remaining. “Go ahead, I guess.”

Hank chewed on his bottom lip, exhaled and turned to face you. He scratched his face, clearly trying to formulate an explanation.

“So...uh...there’s some guy me and Gomie have been keeping tabs on in relation to the Heisenberg case. This morning were parked down the street from his house.” Hank began. “Anyway...we...uh...saw you leaving his house. I know you’re a good kid, N/N, so I don’t wanna make any assumptions about the kind of stuff you get up to. But...if there’s anything you wanna tell us, now’s the time to do it.”

“This morning, huh?” you answered, attempting to keep your voice in control as you wiped your sweaty palms on your thighs. “I, uh, wouldn’t know anything about that.”

“Sweetie, just tell us the truth, please.” your mom begged. “Or...do you really not know about...who he really is?”

“Who he really is? He’s not Batman, mom.” you responded, trying to avoid answering anything. 

“Kid...come on.” Hank sighed. The man was used to interrogating criminals who would rather die than confess any wrongdoings to a DEA agent, but never had he encountered a task as hard for him as questioning his daughter about her relation to a junkie she should’ve hated. “What were you doing at Jesse Pinkman’s house?”

You swallowed your saliva, debating it all in your head. If you went with telling the truth, you’d be ripping the Band-Aid straight off. If you had to have the truth squeezed out of you like a near-empty toothpaste tube, you’d only be riling up your parents even more, and they’d still end up knowing your ‘dirty little’ secret.

“Okay; fine. I’ve been friends with Jesse and some of his friends for around three years.” you admitted. You hesitated before allowing the next set of words to be forced from your throat. “And...a couple of months ago, Jesse and me started seeing each other.”

Perhaps you could’ve chosen a tone that was a little less nonchalant; that probably would’ve softened the blow just a little.

Your mother’s jaw dropped, her lower lip and chin quivering. Her trembling hand cupped her agape mouth. Your father huffed, face scrunching up a little as he pinched the bridge of his nose. He wet his lips with his tongue.

Much like how Hank was fighting the urge to lose it right then and there, you were fighting the urge to roll your eyes.

From their reactions, you would’ve thought you’d just told them you’d gotten knocked up by him.

“You’ve been seeing Jesse Pinkman?” he hissed with all the venom of an adder.

“Yeah.” you responded, attempting to keep your tone of voice as confident as possible.

“We-we...thought...you’d started...using.” your mother said almost breathlessly. Her hand fell to her chest as she took in a deep breath. “But, you-You’ve been seeing...your uncle’s drug dealer? That’s so much worse! What were you thinking, Y/N?”

At least that was all she knew, you thought to yourself. You knew better than to tell them the truth about Jesse and Walt’s connection to one another; you’d hate to incriminate him, or even your Uncle Walt. Even if you tended to keep out of Jesse and Walt’s business as much as possible, you knew enough about the business to know that exposing the truth to your DEA agent father would end badly for all parties involved.

“Jeez, mom, you might wanna be careful, lest you damage those pearls you’re clutching.” you murmured mockingly, folding your arms and averting your gaze.

That was yet another bad call from you.

You had to commend your father’s patience, even if was beginning to run out. It was like watching the top half of an hourglass gradually empty into the bottom half.

He gritted his teeth. You could tell the last thing he wanted to do was yell at you. He loved you too much to make a habit of it, and he knew that it’d only push you away and into that Pinkman’s arms.

“Kid...you must know the guy well enough to know him and the guys he surrounds himself with are all bad news.” Hank said.

“Bad news? Oh, you mean the drugs and stuff? I’m aware of that.” you responded, finally daring to look straight back at him. You knew that he knew about Jesse and his crowd’s involvement in the drug scene, so nothing you were saying was too incriminating.  “I get you’re all ‘anti-drugs’. I can’t say I’m that fond of that sort of stuff either, but he keeps me out of the dangerous side of it. So, what’s the problem?”

“Look, I’ve met plenty of Pinkmans in my day. Hell, I’ve had the pleasure of arresting plenty of Pinkmans in my day. Any cop’d tell you the girlfriends of junkies like him end up beaten or in a body bag, be it at the hand of the tweaking junkie himself or the guy who’s getting back at him for owing him 50 bucks.” Hank explained. His tone was sharp and grave, but, hidden beneath the harshness of it all was a sense of pleading.

“If this is your way of trying to get me to break it off with Jesse and steer clear of the guys, it’s not going to work.” you stated with the conviction you’d inherited from the man standing in front of you. “I know those guys way better than you ever will. I know they’re not some...devoid-of-morality lowlifes. And, Jesse’s not some abusive deadbeat. He’s never hurt me and he never will.”

“Honey, I know what it’s like to be young and...in love...and part of a group. But...he’s...they’re all-”

You cut your mom off, standing up in a sudden motion with clenched fists.

“I’m not going to be treated like some melodramatic, clueless, delusional teenager, alright? So, listen now and listen good.” you snapped. “Regardless of whether or not I get your approval on this, I love Jesse. Jesse loves me. For the foreseeable future, I’m going to continue seeing him, and I’m going to continue hanging out with my fucking junkie friends, even if all you see them as is some dangerous gang of losers.”

You took in and released a deep breath, then continued. “Forbid me from talking to all of them. Yell at me. Berate me all you want. Give me an ultimatum. I don’t give a rat’s ass.”

You were so caught up in your irritation, you hadn’t even noticed how uncharacteristically quiet your father had become. In most situations, Hank always had something else to say- a biting remark that served to break the tension or get under your skin. And yet, in the middle of the most intense conversation your family had ever had, he didn’t have much else he could say, even if he did have a lot to say. 

Anything he would do or say would be futile, or, at worst, irreparably damage the bond you shared as father and daughter. He’d realised that once you began your speech. After all, you were a Schrader. You’d had stubbornness drilled into you from a young age. Typically, he admired your strong will, but, now that you were refusing to cut ties with Jesse and his merry band of misfit stoners, he abhorred it in this moment.

Hank let out an empty laugh of disbelief, shaking his head as he rubbed his face. After another sigh, his expression became more grave.

“I guess you’ve made up your mind.” he stated simply. “You’re fine with getting shot in the head and buried in the desert.”

You swallowed your saliva, trying your hardest not to break down into some hysterical, screaming mess.

“I guess you’ve made up your mind too, dad.” you responded. “Leave me the fuck alone until you can start trusting me like you should be able to trust your fucking adult daughter. Son of a bitch!”

“Don’t you fucking dare talk to me like that, Y/N!” Hank yelled behind gritted teeth. “I’m your father. It’s my job to protect you, especially from dickheads like Jesse Pinkman! I’ll start trusting you like I should be able to trust my adult daughter when you start acting like an adult.”

“Hank-”

You raised your hand and silenced Marie.

“Don’t, mom.” you insisted with a trembling voice, before turning your attention back to your dad. “I’ll save you the trouble of yelling and get the fuck out.”

You stormed over to the door, pausing and turning on your heel to face them for one last time. “Oh, and, before I go, if you take out being pissed at me on Jesse or any of his friends, you can forget about me ever setting foot in this house again.”

With that, you swung the door open, stepped outside and slammed it behind you. You marched over to your car and got inside, angrily honking your horn as you screamed to yourself in frustration. Tears finally slid down your cheeks.

The drive was an erratic blur. Your mind was so much of a mess that you relied the autopilot-esque muscle memory you’d acquired to take you where you needed to go. Your impulses had already decided whatever that place was.

It was convenient for you that the roads were pretty barren, considering your infuriated state of mind had made you a menace to the road. Your knuckles were paled from how tightly you were gripping the steering wheel. You continued screaming and yelling to yourself throughout the drive, your unrelenting tears staining your cheeks. 

Soon enough, you had arrived at your destination by almost crashing your car as you pulled up in front of it. You then found yourself waiting on the doorstep after knocking at the front door.

Almost instantly, the door swung open, revealing the face of the man you needed to see.

“N/N? What’s going on? Are-are you okay?” he questioned frantically, immediately noticing your upset demeanour.

You couldn’t speak to tell him what was wrong. Instead, you just barged past him, storming to his room. 

Momentarily, Jesse stood still and watched you leave, unsure of whether or not to follow you. However, after some deliberation, he jogged after you, calling your name.

He found you sitting on his bed, his pillow in your hand and against your forearm as you punched it over and over. You ignored the fact that you were punching yourself through the pillow, too pissed off to care. 

Jesse just stood there in the doorway, frozen as he stared at the perplexing and heart-breaking scene unfolding before his eyes. He could hear you muttering to yourself but he couldn’t make out a word of it, since it all came out in a mixture of sobs and frustrated grunting.

It took a moment for him to decide on how to handle this, and he settled on a combination of common sense and acting on instinct.

To know whether or not he could help you with your problem, Jesse needed to find out what the problem was. To find out what the problem was, Jesse needed to get you to tell him what was going on. To get you to tell him what was going on, Jesse needed to help you calm down.

So, his first move was to rush to your side, taking a seat beside you. Hesitantly, he placed a hand on your shoulder, immediately causing you to tense up and stop mercilessly beating the pillow. Your breath hitched in your throat and Jesse noticed a subtle shift in your demeanour. 

You buried your face in the pillow, sobbing into it.

Jesse bit his lip, his heart continuing to shatter as you uncontrollably wept. He rubbed your back in a circular motion with his palm, hoping to help you feel better. 

“It’s okay. It’s okay.” he whispered to you,

Gradually, your muffled sobs ceased and you pulled away from the pillow, allowing him to get another glimpse at your puffy, damp face. You sniffled and wiped your nose with the back of your hand.

“I’m sorry.” you muttered. “I probably should’ve just gone home to have this meltdown.”

“Don’t apologise.” Jesse insisted softly. “As much as I hate seeing you like this...I want to be there for you, okay?”

You nodded, then proceeded to rest your head on his shoulder.

“Do you, uh, think that you’d be okay with telling me what’s going on?” Jesse asked, eyes fixed on you while you kept your gaze locked on the blur of a room in front of you.

You sniffled and nodded again.

After swallowing your saliva, you opened your mouth to speak, but nothing came out. You then closed your mouth and involuntarily let out a low whine as you exhaled, prompting Jesse to rest his hand on your knee.

“M-My dad saw me leave here this morning. And...I had to tell him and my mom about how I’m friends with...your friends...and about us.” you explained, voice trembling as you spoke.

“I take it it didn’t go well, huh?” Jesse said gently, ignoring his own feelings in that moment. It took him a second to push them aside, but he managed to keep his composure. After all, how you were feeling was more important to him in that moment than his own feelings.

You didn’t respond to his question, which he took to mean his assumption was correct. Though, considering your state, it wasn’t an illogical assumption to make.

“What did he say when you told him?” he prompted.

“He spewed some crap about how you and all of the others are bad for me. My mom was acting like I was some naïve kid. I told both of them to leave me alone until they could start trusting me...and he said...he wouldn’t trust me until I started acting like an adult. Well, he yelled it. I said some stuff he didn’t like and he said he was trying to protect me...then...Then I told him, if he took it out on you or the others, because my dad definitely would, I’d cut ties with him and my mom.” you rambled.

There was a moment of silence.

“Oh. Okay. Wow.” Jesse said after biting his lip again.

There was another couple moments of silence.

“So...um...if it came down to it...would you pick me over your parents?” Jesse  asked, scratching his neck.

You furrowed your brows and thought for a moment. It was a question that you often found yourself contemplating, but you’d never found an answer to it. In an ideal world, you wouldn’t have had to pick between your parents and your boyfriend. However, in an ideal world, Jesse wouldn’t have been a meth dealer.

“I don’t know.” you replied.

“Well, I’d ever make you choose, but if it ever does come down to it, don’t pick me; pick them.” Jesse stated.

“Huh? Why?” you questioned.

“Well, my parents cut ties with me. They don’t want anything to do with me anymore.” Jesse responded. “I know how much you love your family and how much they love you and I don’t want to be the thing to come between that...even if I think most of the people in your family are self-righteous pricks.”

You finally looked at Jesse, making eye contact with him and biting your lip.

“I know they love me, and I know they think I need to be protected from you...but...” you said quietly. “I don’t know if I could choose anyone who would make me choose in the first place.”

“You can’t cut ties with your family because of me, N/N.” Jesse sighed. “I’m not worth it.”

“Well, it’s a good job that they haven’t asked me to choose, then, isn’t it?” you responded. “And, for what it’s worth, I think you’re worth it, even if no one else I’ve talked to today seems to agree with me.”

Jesse smiled faintly, both at the idea that you thought his worth as someone in your life matched that of your family and at the fact you didn’t seem to be as upset now as you had been mere minutes ago. Your tears had finally ceased spilling, and all that remained were damp, glistening stains on your cheeks.

Your stomach growled. It elicited a chuckle out of Jesse, who pressed a kiss to your temple.

“Pizza?” he asked.

“Pizza.” you confirmed.

With that, he pushed himself out of bed and left the room, presumably to get his phone and order your favourite kind of pizza.

While it wasn’t the family dinner you’d been anticipating, eating pizza in bed with Jesse was the perfect way to make the best of a pretty terrible night.

BONUS ENDING

It seemed like mere moments ago that you and Jesse had practically passed out in his bed when you were rudely awakened to the sound of someone banging on the door.

There would be three bangs, a brief pause, and then another three bangs.

Your eyelids fluttered open and you rubbed the sleep out of your eyes with a tired groan. You rolled over to look over at Jesse, who had just woken up too. He propped himself up on his elbows and furrowed his brows. 

“What the fuck?” he mumbled. He seemed more irritated than confused, and rightfully so.

“Could you get that?” you muttered hoarsely, squinting as your eyes adjusted to the morning light.

“Yeah, yeah, sure.” he responded. He pushed himself out of bed, adjusted his t-shirt jeans and trudged to his front door.

It was from that moment that you heard shouting, though it was hard to tell considering everything that was being said (or yelled) was muffled by the walls of Jesse’s home.

With a grunt, you swung your legs over the edge of the bed and got up. You didn’t care that you looked like a total mess; you just wanted to go back to sleep.

However, the sight you found as you reached the front door was enough to wake you up.

“Dad?”

You balled up your fists as you glared at your dad and Gomie. Your dad had Jesse pinned to the ground on his stomach, hands cuffed behind his back. Jesse writhed beneath them, trying to push them away.

“What the fuck?” you questioned. “I-I told you not to take it out on him.”

“And, I told you that if you knew what was good for you you’d stay away from him, but you didn’t listen to me, did you?” Hank replied, a hint of coldness in his tone. “Gomie, put him in the car.”

You knew better than to fight right now. The more trouble you made for your dad and Gomie by trying to stop this meant more trouble for Jesse. Even if you fought and pestered and pleaded your hardest, it wouldn’t do anything to stop this. You sent a look to Jesse, knowing he’d understand what it meant. Begrudgingly, he stopped struggling.

Gomie complied with Hank’s order, pulling Jesse up.

“N/N, call Saul for me, alright? Tell him to get his ass to the DEA office and tell him what’s going on.” Jesse called to you as Gomie practically dragged him to the car.

There was a brief moment of silence.

“What are you still doing here? Don’t you have some spiting me to get done?” you practically spat.

“You think I’m doing this because I’m pissed off at you for throwing a tantrum over your boyfriend?” Hank said incredulously, stifling a sneer.

“No. I think you’re mad because I won’t take your...self-righteous bullshit. You can’t stand that you can’t get me to break it off with Jesse and cut ties with my friends. You’re supposed to be the head of the family, right? So, you’re supposed to be able to overrule me, but it doesn’t work when you just tell me what to do. It’s a kick in the ego for you when you can’t get me to listen to you.” you answered. “By arresting him, you’re taking back control, because, when you’re in control, you feel like a man. That’s all that matters to you.”

Hank scoffed. “Think what you want, kid, but I’d rather have him behind bars and you pissed at me for it than have you end up in a body bag.”

He slammed the door behind him as he exited.

With that, you were left standing there alone in Jesse’s house.

All that remained was silence, but that was soon interrupted by the sound of a car engine starting and a rumble that gradually faded away. 

[perfectpaperbluebirds]

Tepid Bath

@sicktember 2022 Prompt #23

Fandom/OCs: Hannibal TV

Title: Need You Now

Words: 1402

Inspiration: The phrase “I can smell that fever on you” originally came (I believe) from @victoriablackrose and her witcher fics! 

Author’s comments: Much more dark and angsty than yesterday’s fill, but always with a happy ending. It was only fitting to make both of the murder husbands sick this month if I was going to write them twice, so today enjoy the sick, pathetic wet kitten that is Will Graham when he’s missing Hannibal. Set in the same post-canon cottagecore AU as yesterday’s fic. 

Will was in bed when Hannibal returned. He had been in bed for… a while. It was hard to be sure how long. Since he'd fallen into the river, whenever that was. At least a few days, he thought. 

Everything was hazy. Will, alone, wandering around the frozen river, trying to find a good spot for ice fishing. Tired. He never slept well without Hannibal (hardly slept at all, really) and Hannibal had been gone for over a month on one of his mysterious trips. 

Will, out on the ice. Not paying close enough attention. The sudden crack, the splash that at first seemed distant and separate from him, until he felt the cold. Cold, hot, cold, numb. His body didn't know how to respond to the frigid water. He briefly feared for his life as his legs refused to move, to save himself from drowning. But at last he could kick, so he kicked against the rushing water and his wet, heavy clothes. He broke the ice with his arms until he reached a spot where he could stand and walk up the bank. 

He felt as if he were watching himself from a distance as he made his numb, shivering way back to their cottage, almost a mile away. His limbs were barely responsive, frozen as his blood seemed to be, so walking was more than difficult through the deep snow, but he also felt cold, stinging pain over his whole body. His teeth rattled in his head. His arms were locked around his torso in a futile attempt to retain any non-existent body heat. 

He reached the cottage somehow. Unlocking the door was almost the hardest part as he couldn't feel his hands and couldn't hold them still. Somehow he managed that, too, though. He stripped off his frozen clothes the minute he was in the door, frightened at the unnatural, waxy color of his skin. He staggered into the bathroom and started the shower as hot as it would go. 

The shower brought him back to life, at least for a few moments. He could feel again. He could think again. His skin turned pink, then red. He wiggled all his joints, focusing on the sensation. 

Eventually the hot water ran out, so he was forced to leave the shower. He bundled himself into several layers and considered starting a fire in the fireplace, but instead decided to rest for a while in bed. He thought it would be just a nap. He thought he was just tired. He slipped into sleep, wrapped in several blankets, and did not wake again for a long time. 

He partially woke more than once. The dreams would become more solid, and he would realize that he was at home in bed. He would listen for Hannibal, needing him, and be disappointed when he realized he was still alone. It would occur to him that he should eat, or see to his chores, or shower again, but before he could act on these thoughts, the tides of unconsciousness would pull him under once more. 

He was so, so cold. From the moment the hot water had begun to peter off he had been shivering again, through both dreams and waking. He was curled into the tightest ball, wearing several layers of clothes and covered in several more layers of blankets in a well-heated house, but all he could feel was the icy river water. The dreams passed in and out of nightmares, and he wasn't sure if he cried out or just imagined it.

Somehow he knew when Hannibal arrived. There was a shift in the dreamworld. He was aware of Hannibal's presence nearly as much as he was aware of his own. Hannibal's presence was like a rope he could cling to, to help pull himself out of unconsciousness, the thing he needed now more than ever. He grasped it desperately, yanking himself past the surface of the icy river at last. 

Hannibal was speaking to him. Asking him if he was well. 

" 'm tired, Dr. Lecter," Will heard himself mumble, hardly intelligible. " 'm so cold."

"I could smell your fever the moment I walked through the door, and now I can see it, too. What happened?" Hannibal knelt at his side, solidifying even more, and Will tried to focus on his face. 

"Fell into the river. Few days ago. Broke through the ice."

Hannibal's hand on his face made him jump, but it was something else solid that he could cling to, to remain awake.

"Your fever is dangerously high. We must bring it down immediately." Hannibal spoke matter-of-factly, rising to his feet again. He turned and strode out of the room, and Will faded out once more. 

A hand on his back wakened him. The hand was forceful, pushing him to sit up, as was the other hand around his wrist pulling him forward. Hannibal’s face was hovering in front of him again as he was helped to stand. Steely strength outside of his own propelled him to the bathroom. The water in the tub was running, and it had filled about halfway. Will noted all this absently, giving it no connection to himself, until the same strong hands began to strip off his layers of clothing. The cold encroached closer and closer until he was standing naked in the bathroom and being helped into the tub, shivering so violently that he couldn’t stand on his own. 

The water was not warm. The shock of it made Will hiss in surprise and fear. He pulled back from the sensation, splashing and writhing to get away, but the strong arms behind him were unrelenting. 

“In you go, Will. This is for your own good.”

Will couldn’t bring himself to put more of his skin into the water, but he was given no choice. He was pushed down, gently but firmly, until he was lying fully in the water that to him felt freezing cold, submerged up to his neck. He struggled to get out, imagining the tiny bit of heat he’d been maintaining slowly leaching away, but Hannibal wouldn’t let him. He held him in, rubbing his chest and shoulders soothingly. Eventually Will had to stop fighting. Hannibal was still so much stronger than he. 

Will realized after a while that he was actually, finally awake. He looked at Hannibal and truly saw him for the first time. Their eyes met, and held. Many emotions flooded through Will, and he struggled to verbalize a thought.

“I’m glad you’re home,” he finally said. “I needed you.” It felt totally inadequate, yet summed up his thoughts better than anything else. 

“As am I,” the doctor replied softly. “And I’m glad to see you’ve rejoined me now too, in mind as well as body. That must mean this treatment worked. I think I’ve tortured you enough for one day.”  

A gentle hand was offered, and Will took it gratefully as he stepped out of the bath, which he realized was really tepid, not cold. Hannibal quickly helped him dress again before leading him back to bed. As soon as he was lying down, a cold rag was placed on his forehead. Will sighed in relief, realizing the cool was now pleasant, rather than painful. Lastly, Hannibal handed him a handful of pills and a glass of water, both of which Will swallowed gratefully. 

“Thank you,” Will whispered earnestly, meeting Hannibal’s eyes. “I guess you’ve saved me again.”

Hannibal chuckled fondly. “As always, it was my pleasure. Though by my reckoning, we’re fairly even on that score. I’m glad I returned when I did, and I won’t be leaving you alone again any time soon if this is what you get up to when I’m gone. I won’t even be able to leave this house for the next few days until we get that fever under control, and all this could have been avoided if I’d been here when you had your accident in the first place, so you see where I’ve landed us.” The pair shared a warm smile, though Will’s was decidedly sleepy. Hannibal squeezed his hand. 

“You can go back to sleep now. I’m watching over you.” 

That was all the permission Will needed. He let his eyes slip closed and the dreamworld was waiting to meet him with open arms as he slept deeply for the first time in weeks. 

[writteninsunshine]

He’s Going The Distance - Chris Redfield/Ethan Winters - SFWish

Title: He’s Going The Distance

Author: Reno

Fandom: Resident Evil 7: Biohazard

Setting: Medbay, Post-Dulvey Incident

Pairing: Chris Redfield/Ethan Winters

Characters: Chris Redfield, Ethan Winters, Random Nurse

Genre: Hurt/Comfort/Romance

Rating: M

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 1386

Type Of Work: One-Shot, Part of the For All These Times series, Whump Bingo Fill #2

Status: Complete

Warnings: Gay, Slash, Yaoi, MLM, Pre-Slash, Canon-Typical Violence, Dissociating, Blood, Deep Wounds, Trans Male Character, Trans!Ethan Winters, Possible OOC for Chris, Medical Equipment, Medical Treatment, Stitches, Sutures, I.V.s, Pain Meds

Disclaimer: I don’t own anything.

Summary: Was Ethan truly so used to pain that he didn't notice that?

AN: Hey guys, it’s me again! Just thought I ought to say, if you want vague updates and to talk to me more, I have a writing Tumblr, too! Twitter is Sunshinecackle, and Tumblr is Writteninsunshine! I also have a writing Discord that is currently pretty dead. xD If you want it, please contact me on Twitter!

More whump fic bingo! I’m really enjoying these, they’re too much fun to write. Oops, I like to punish Ethan even if he doesn’t deserve it. He’s so whumpable. I hope you guys are enjoying this, I know I sure am. This one is for my editor, Gryph, who is the best editor I could ever ask for. MAJOR shout out to her!

Resident Evil Fic Masterlist

Ethan Whump Bingo Fic Masterlist

He’s Going The Distance

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

There was an old thought resurfacing as Chris looked at Ethan. A man who could live through anything was what S.T.A.R.S. had wanted, Ethan would have been welcomed into the fold. The man was a machine when it came to surviving anything. Despite this, he seemed too oblivious to notice when something was wrong with him. All the healing fluid in the world couldn’t help the man with how much constant pain wracked his body. It was almost impossible to discern one pang of pain from the rest. That hand was a nasty wound, the staples not quite sanitary when they’d been secured into his skin.

But that wasn’t what he’d noticed just now.

“Ethan,” He began, his voice soft and wary as if speaking too loudly might shatter the other man. “You’re bleeding.”

“I am?” His voice sounded exhausted, hoarse, and so soft Chris barely heard him.

Tugging him closer for inspection, he unbuttoned Ethan’s shirt and pulled it away like a pair of curtains. Yanking up the undershirt he wore, Chris paused a moment to stare. Unable to help how his fingers splayed over the other’s stomach, eyes taking in the thick scars beneath his pecs. His thoughts turned away from the injury for a second, he only stopped when he reached the center of Ethan’s chest. He took in the soft peach fuzz there with a quirk of his lips he wasn’t in control of. Finally, his fingers fell over the thick gash leaking over Ethan’s pale skin, and the touch made Ethan recoil some. 

“Don’t,” Chris warned, eyes narrowing a little as he reached around, pulling Ethan close again by his waist, a hand on his middle back, “You’re hurt. I’ll fix you right up.” 

Leaving Ethan for a moment, he returned with a basin of warm water and a few washcloths. Where he’d gotten them from, Ethan didn’t know, and he couldn’t find it in himself to care. 

Dragging one wet cloth over the blood, he cleaned Ethan up despite his hisses and gasps of pain. What was the best option was going to hurt, so Chris started by applying a local anesthetic gel to the area around the wound. He must have found it when he brought the rest of his supplies, Ethan figured. He winced, flinching when Chris’s hands got too close to the weeping injury, but he sucked in a deep breath and bit the thin skin on the inside of his lip. It was all he could do to keep himself from making any more noise.

“I’m going to have to give you stitches.” Honestly, Chris was worried that Ethan was going to start leaking organs. It was deep, and he could almost touch the other’s rib bones. Ethan had really taken a beating, and it was hard to fathom how he hadn’t noticed this. Then again, he was in shock after everything that had happened, after all of the mental and physical trauma he had taken. Maybe it wasn’t such a strange occurrence. 

After all, he was a civilian. He hadn’t been meant to find these kinds of things. If he had stayed away, he would have been blissfully unaware, but there might have been a worse problem on Chris’ hands by the time they arrived at the scene.

“Okay.” Letting out the breath he’d been holding, Ethan nodded just slightly to save him from aggravating his pounding headache, “Just… Do it quickly. I don’t feel good.” Swaying, he felt his knees begin to buckle, and Chris caught him in a tight embrace. This wasn’t going to work with Ethan standing, anyway.

Hefting him up bridal style, Chris carried Ethan like he weighed nothing. Sitting him down on a nearby gurney, he removed his shirts and set them aside. They were stained, torn to hell, and bloody. He’d have to get him a change of clothes. Helping ease him to lay down so that his right side was facing out, he ran a hand over the other’s chest in a hope to help calm him. Maybe it wasn’t entirely innocent, but he was trying to stay focused here.

“This might hurt, but I promise I’ll be quick.” All Chris got in return was a soft murmur he couldn’t hear, let alone understand. If nothing else, Chris was efficient, and Ethan looked like he was going to faint. That might help him do this without Ethan bellyaching the whole time. Stepping away, Chris grabbed a first aid kit, opening it up and setting it beside Ethan on the cot. Digging out a needle, some antiseptic, and surgical thread, he worked the thread through the eye of the needle and set to work.

The laceration was likely already infected, if not by something typical, then by the mold Ethan had been exposed to. With a little sigh, Chris poured some of the liquid over it, making sure to use gauze to get it inside. The forceps he had grabbed entering it made Ethan grunt, but he was too tired to try and fight it. Chris diligently worked on cleaning him up, wiping at more blood before grabbing the sterilized needle. He wiped it down again with a clean antiseptic wipe before starting with the initial stick. Ethan didn’t seem to notice this, due to the numbing gel, and Chris was glad for it.

With the easy glide of the needle and his skillful hands, he made quick work of the stitches, hoping not to bother Ethan too much. Once they were tight, he cut the cord and cleaned up the wound once more, wiping away the gel with a few medical towelettes, before drying the area. To make sure it would stay clean, he rubbed another cloth damp with warm water on the site before running more of the wipes over it. A dry rag then worked over the glistening flesh, and he didn’t stop until he had patted him dry.

“Ethan, I need you to sit up. I have to wrap this.” Chris spoke, breaking the silence in the room they were in. Unfortunately, it seemed that Ethan had fallen asleep, or maybe passed out, so he had no choice but to gently shake him awake. “Ethan, you have to sit up.”

Ethan nodded absently, slowly pushing himself up with the other’s aid. Bracing himself on his shaking arms, he let Chris wrap him up with gauze from his stomach to his shoulders, surprised by his gentle hands. Once Ethan was bandaged up, he was allowed to lay back once more, and Chris didn’t think about his next action. Kissing Ethan’s forehead gently, he petted a hand over the skin and the other’s sweat-damp hair.

“You should be alright, now. I’ll keep an eye on this.” Voice quiet, he smiled slightly, hoping to keep him at ease. It didn’t seem like Ethan was going to panic, though, too worn down to do much but flutter his eyelashes. “Sleep, now. I’ll get you some pain killers when you wake up.” God knew he’d need them. Moving the gurney around so that he could be more comfortable and closer to the setup for the I.V., Chris sighed in relief. Already asleep, or so he hoped.

Settling in a nearby chair, Chris pulled out his phone. He’d be stuck here for a while, for sure. It wasn’t like he had anything better to do, he’d been set to guard Ethan while his tests were being done.

Ethan didn’t wake for what felt like hours, and when he did it was with a groan of pain. Chris was quick to give him water and a shot of morphine that he was instructed to administer through the I.V. that a nurse had given Ethan. At the very least, he was going to be taken care of.

“Thanks.” Ethan managed, his voice cracking halfway through. 

“You need care.” That much was obvious. Chris combed a hand through the other’s blond locks once more. “If that means I have to do it, then so be it.” There was an odd fondness he felt for Ethan in this moment, watching him nod, his eyes glassy and distant. “You’ll be okay.”

With any luck, he’d bounce back from this. He’d been through hell already, what was another ordeal to save him?

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

AN: There we go! It’s not super shippy but I’ll still tag it, just in case. Also, this probably makes more pain for the start of The Village, but that’s okay. I might write something about it when I’ve seen more of the game. I got it preordered for my birthday but it’s at my friend’s house until I can see her again. I’ve been watching it, however, so I’ll get there eventually. I hope you guys enjoyed it!

Prompt: Ethan Doesn’t Realize He’s Injured

[wolfstar-in-color]

June Creator Spotlight: BigBlackDog

Hello, colorful cuties, and welcome to our first creator spotlight!!

Each month, we will highlight a different creator in our lovely fandom who features diverse characterizations. We will invite you to get to know them better through questions and answers, Fandom Discourse(tm), and a featured prompt created by our guest!!!

For our first spotlight, we are more than pleased to highlight the incredible work of bigblackdog!!! See a little snippet of this wonderful interview below, along with bigblackdog’s prompt! Look below the cut for our complete interview. Don’t forget to share and interact with this post, and if you have anyone you’d like to recommend for a spotlight, shoot us an ask! You can find our first guest’s Tumblr here.

“I've experienced ups and downs in the wolfstar fandom. It often feels like the wolfstar fandom is willing to engage in discussion about every political issue but race. And the few people who are trying to talk about race consistently encounter this silence.”

bigblackdog’s prompt: I want to see more latino characters who are not impoverished or criminalized. Give me a joyful latino/e remus!

Hello, I'm bigblackdog! I'm almost 30, and I've been active in fandom on various platforms for about seven years now. I'm latina/e and live in the u.s. with a small white dog.

Q: How did you start creating in the fandom? What did you wish to bring into the fandom? 

A: Like a lot of fans I started with self insert fic as a middle schooler. Sometimes the practice of self-insert gets ragged on in fandom, as if you're not doing real character work, but I think it's really cool. And if you're an under represented identity in the traditional western canon of literature, self insert is a radical practice. Making space for yourself in a story that refuses or ignores your identities is a radical act. And that's what i want to bring to fandom-- disruption and self care.

Q: What things about s/r as characters or in their relationship inspire you to create around them? 

A: Wolfstar was the first queer ship I was introduced to. I wasn't someone who arrived in fandom with my own robust queer reading skills, I needed other queers to hold my hand and introduce me to queer ships and how to find them and build them. My interest in r/s was simply a clinging to queerness I wasn't finding in other places. I really think it could have been any characters, as long as they were queer.

Q: What things would you like to highlight about the Wolfstar fandom and your experience in it? 

A: I've experienced ups and downs in the wolfstar fandom. It often feels like the wolfstar fandom is willing to engage in discussion about every political issue but race. And the few people who are trying to talk about race consistently encounter this silence. It's hard not to feel bitter. But i've also met some amazing people and overall feel that fans really are trying their best to be welcoming and inclusive.

Q: What type of content do you wish you saw more in the fandom? 

A: I want to see more discourse that aims at amplifying underrepresented voices like wolfstar-in-color. I want to see more fans of color joyfully and irreverently writing themselves into the magical world!

Q: What is your favourite wolfstar fancontent (fic/fanart/gifset/etc) and how does it inspire you? 

A: I love dontthinkonithermione's rp. Not only does she do an amazing nerdy know it all Hermione, she envisions Black characters in every corner of the hp world. Have you seen her Hogwarts p.e. professor rps? i love the space she creates for herself, and the joy she does it with.

Q: Which of your own identities inform your creative processes? How has that process been for you? 

A: I started out in fandom really trying to feel out the nooks and crannies of being queer. As i've spent more time in fandom and become more confident in my queerness I've started looking closer at some of my other identities-- Latina, mixed, adhd-- and how i can squeeze them into the hp world. For a long time it was hard, especially with being Latine and mixed, to envision how that identity could belong in a 90s British boarding school in the Scottish wilderness. I also really struggled with the feeling that i would get "diversity" wrong. I’ve also struggled with feeling like I have to write diversity because i'm an underrepresented voice. Brown people are often pressured to do the work of educating white people about racism and in fandom spaces that often means pressure to write the reality of racism instead of the fantasy that white writers get to play with. And sometimes i just want to write a pwp without worrying about the revolution, you know? But i really love fandom for its refusal to play by the rules of capitalism and canon, eventually i started to feel like putting more of myself into my writing was another rule i could break.

Q: What advice do you have for other content creators with diverse backgrounds in the fandom? What would you say to people that might feel they don’t have the “right” history/experience/characteristics to participate in the creation of content related to Wolfstar? 

First, there's a lot of content on tumblr that aims to silence your voice, learn how to recognize the difference between cancel culture and encouragement. Sometimes content that seems well meaning still presents writing diversity as a list of black and white rules (and virtue signaling) instead of encouragement for underrepresented voices to share their own messy experience. Set those rules gently aside. Second, fandom is built on the idea that the author isn't the only person who gets to play. we all get to play. It doesn't always feel like we were invited, but the great thing about fandom is there is no barrier to entry, no prior experience or publishing hoops to jump through. This is our playground too. If canon is dead then why can't our stories be brown and queer and neurodivergent? Third, find your people. i've found that having just one other person to talk about race with has made the whole space feel more welcoming.

Q: How could we build a more diverse fandom? 

A: We have to stop prioritizing white and cis male voices. We recognize that policing irl is a problem inextricable from whiteness and maleness, but we don't see that fandom policing online is also a problem deeply embedded in whiteness and maleness. White and cis male people frequently use their discomfort with difficult topics to change the subject from a critical discussion to one that prioritizes their white and/or male feelings. The same thing happens online when personal discomfort is used to cancel or undermine content that's challenging to a white or male voice. White and cis male voices are used to having their needs met above others. And we still cater to that in fandom spaces when we privilege 'fetishization' discourse over racial discourse. When we lift up bipoc and women/trans/nb voices and the issues they're concerned with we'll make fandom a more welcoming place for underrepresented voices.

Q: What’s your favourite thing to modify in Sirius’s or Remus’s characterizations to bring new perspectives to them? 

A: It really depends on the story i'm writing and what issue i'm trying to figure out. Sometimes i need Sirius to be Adhd to come to terms with my brain, sometimes i need two brown boys to fall in love and be happy against all odds.

Q: What does diversity mean to you? What does that encompass in fannish spaces? 

A: This is a hard question! I tend to think of diversity as those voices that are disenfranchised or pushed to the margins. And fannish spaces have all the same hierarchies and blind spots as other spaces. In fannish spaces there's the idea that you can curate your experience to some extent, but for marginalized voices, at least in my experience, no matter how much you curate the marginalization is still there.

Q: What are your ideas about the notions of culture and ethnicity? How do you relate to those notions? 

A: There was a time in my life where relating to my ethnicity was largely a process of recognizing larger systems of oppression and how they worked against my various identities. And for a while it was a really helpful way to frame my experiences. Now I feel a little less attached to ethnicity as like, a monolithic concept threaded through my whole life and more attached to the small things that I enjoy about my ethnicity and culture-- making a really good pot of beans, for example.

Q: Leave us with a quote or work of art that always inspires you. 

A: "Caring for myself is not self-indulgence, it is self-preservation, and that is an act of political warfare." Audre Lorde

[destellolunar]

SABRINA'S MONTHLY OBSESSIONS:

MARCH 2021

Fics:

Heal by AzulRoma (@roma-northr)

Tomorrows that follow @little-miss-sunny-daisy

Quiet light by coveredinthecolors

White winds blow by @helpless-in-sleep​

Waiting for you by @misssophiachase​

Picturesque by @supernutellastuff​

Edits:

The wolf posters by @recyclingss

Rebelion by @labime​

She will never forget him by @klavscaroline​

Big bad wolf by @lyannainsomnia

Magic of pegasus and tangled fusions by @klarolineagainnaturally

Blogs:

@parallel-outlines

@likemypulse

F i c s

HEAL — AzulRoma

Summary: Devotion told through the pain swallowing their hearts; a display of love through the act of cleaning each other's tears. [One shot]

Why am I obsessed?: The way of words this author has it's wonderful, it's truly something else. This is a very underrated story and most people should know about this beauty and this author. Her writing style is really deep and I absolutely adore the way she writes Klaroline, their scenes always get stuck in my mind, it's the perfect mix of intense emotions and sweetness. This is an emotional story, but it's precious.

WHITE WINDS BLOW — perfectpro

Summary: Caroline Forbes waits anxiously in the Riverlands to hear of the return of her betrothed, Elijah Mikaelson, from the uprising against the mad King Silas. Instead, a letter arrives from his younger brother, Lord Niklaus, telling her of Elijah's death and offering to uphold the joining of their houses himself. She will become the Lady of Winterfell, but Lord Niklaus, waiting at the heart tree, is a stranger. [One shot]

Why am I obsessed?: I'm trash for GOT au's, and the univese building in this one is exceptional. The narration it's so genuine, I honestly felt like I was watching a show and it was really magical. The way the KC relationship evolves is full of tender, how they slowly built up a bond despite the tragedy it has behind was such a joy to read.

QUIET LIGHT — coveredinthecolors

Summary: Caroline Forbes sets off to the Bahamas with her boyfriend, Elijah, where she'll finally meet his brother for the first time. But as it turns out... she knows Klaus Mikaelson a little too well.

Multi chapter: 1/10 (in progress)

Why am I obsessed?: This is a love triangle between our favorite originals and it's genuinely amazing! By the time I got to the end of the first chapter I was freaking out, and now, the anticipation is consuming me. Plus, Luiza's writing is the most glorious and poetic thing ever and adds so much climax into the story. It's filled with drama and I want all of it!

TOMORROWS THAT FOLLOW — sunnydaisy

Summary: How was she supposed to know that the cute guy she had seen on her morning run was a prince?

That’s what she gets for deleting her Instagram.

Multi chapter: 3/? (In progress)

Why am I obsessed?: Modern royalty fic with prince Klaus and actress Caroline it's everything to me! It's beautifully written and the story is so intriguing and charming. It's super fluffy and it's the perfect one to put a huge smile on your face. Besides, this was the story that made me obsessed with the modern royalty trope. It's so good and brings light to my life.

WAITING FOR YOU — misssophiachase

Summary: Detectives Klaus Mikaelson and Caroline Forbes are forced to work together on an organised crime case. Given their growing attraction and close proximity solving a murder is the least of their problems. [One shot]

Why am I obsessed?: The world building here is so good, it's an amazing story and although it's about detective KC it goes beyond that. The importance the author gives to all the chacarcters, how she lets them grow in so many aspects, the details, the dynamics, everything it's sensational. I love this one so much.

PICTURESQUE — supernutellastuff

Summary: She doesn’t talk to Klaus about feelings. Ever. Or at least when she’s sober. Sure, there are times when their friends pass out and the two of them lie on the rooftop, looking at the stars, and talk. Or times when they go to clubs and instead of trying to pick up people they find themselves in a corner spilling their guts amidst the pulsating lights. But alcohol or some other form of intoxication is definitely involved.

Klaroline (with a little Steroline) AU/AH where it's a miracle the gang still have working livers seeing that they spend more time than they should at the bar.

Multi chapter: 7/7 (completed)

Why am I obsessed?: This is a really engaging story and one of my favorites parts it's the dialogues. The pining was there but also some angst that show how an incredible way with words the author has. The chemistry between Klaus and Caroline is so real and it was delightful to get to read all their progress. It is fantastic!

E d i t s

THE WOLF POSTERS — recyclingss

Both in my heart and soul I believe The wolf by Yokan is canon, so these posters are everything I needed to complete that happiness. It's not only an amazing idea but the edits are fantastic! She captured the essence of the story so well and I can't stop staring at them. They are so stunning!

REBELION — labime

Is this one of the most stunning moodboards I have ever seen? Yes, is it. I adore the black and white aesthetic and the intensity of the pics. It's absolutely and perfectly gorgeous, it's so evocative and the overall atmosphere for the are it's inspired by it's unbelievable.

SHE WILL NEVER FORGET HIM — klavscaroline

This edit is stunning, I really love the inclusion of those pink roses and the overall aesthetic of it, but one of the reasons I'm obsessed with it it's because it's filled with so many deep emotions and feelings. It's beautiful and tragic, and I'm a mess everytime I read the little drabble it has. I adore it.

BIG BAD WOLF — lyannainsomnia

I could stare at this edit and everytime I will find something that I love. I consider dark aesthetics and color scheme a little bit tricky, but this one is perfection. The manip is so well done and the moodboard it's quite unique, I got goosebumps for how amazing it is.

MAGIC OF PEGASUS AND TANGLED FUSIONS by klarolineagainnaturally

We should be all thankful for having Lottie's talent and creativity on this fandom. I mean, KC x Barbie fusion? I never thought I needed that until I knew it was happening! This gif set it's stunning and has all the barbie vibes, and combining my younger self favorite story with my favorite couple it's a dream come true.

The tangled manip it's so realistic, like how? The color scheme just screams fairytale and I'm trash for it. I know everytime I'll watch Tangled I will only think about this beauty.

B l o g s

@parallel-outlines is the queen of klaroline gifs and no one can tell me otherwise. Her blog is art! Her gifs are everything to me, they are so realistic, so aesthetically pleasing, so cohesive and perfectly made. I could spend hours and hours in her blog and I will never get tired, there is so much art to look at and it's unbelievable how talented she is.

@likemypulse I recently found out this blog and I have spent so much time on it. Their edits are full of colors and they are super eye catching. The way they match the pictures and made such beautiful edits it's something that I really love and that I look up to. It's such a gorgeous blog!