#he's holding a cigarette here but it looks like he's holding a stick of chalk

[hugedwarflover]

My first drawing for this year, and it's a reference to It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia, which is one of the best, if not THE best sitcom of all time in my opinion. If you haven't seen it, I highly recommend it because it's hilarious and all the actors are phenomenal. My AU based off of the show is where Bashful is Charlie Kelly. The Pepe Silvia meme was the first meme I ever saw for Always Sunny before I started watching the show. I thought about drawing Bashful wearing the shirt and tie that Charlie wears in this scene, but then I decided not to. I do plan on redrawing many moments from Always Sunny. I want to make many drawings of Grumpy and Doc as Mac and Dennis, my favorite cartoon ship as my favorite live-action ship.

[scr11bles]

hii !! i saw ur medic fic and fell in loveeee !!! i love their work. could i order a transmasc reader x spy tequila espresso with a side of black forest gateau and vanilla macarons ? :3€

order up for anon! Wanna order something for yourself? here's the menu!

- tequila espresso: "I didn't think you'd be so responsive." + black forest gateau: cockwarming + vanilla macaron: gentle sex

(MDNI under the cut!)

cw: drinking/slight inebriation, smoking

_________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐

You liked Spy. And you believed he liked you too. Honestly, in the beginning he was rude, overly cocky, and just a flat out asshole, but damn did his charms overrule the cons of his personality. Now after a few years of being a member of the Red team, you grew to be the closest with Spy. Sure, you liked your other teammates, but there was just something different about the Frenchman that made you swoon.

You almost felt bad about your feelings at first. You wanted to chalk it up to the suave nonchalance that Spy exuded, but overtime you wanted to believe that he treated you differently because he liked you. So now here you are, walking down the eccentrically decorated hallway to Spy's study, wringing your hands together nervously at just the mere prospect of spending time with him, as if you haven't done it hundreds of times before. It was a common occurrence, where you would meet in his study, drink, smoke, maybe even share a dinner that he himself prepared instead of what the others cooked.

Wen you approach the door to the study, it creaks open and there stands Spy, looking down at you with his usual sly smirk.

"On time as always, mon ami."

He opens the large wooden door to his study, letting you slip past him before he lets it close shut with a heavy thunk. Spy's study was by far (in your opinion) the most beautiful thing in the whole base. The whole room is decorated extravagantly, expensive paintings hanging from the walls, elegant furniture placed throughout the room, and the roaring fireplace that bathes the study in a soft orange glow. You make yourself comfortable on one of the large couches close to the fireplace, basking in the warmth that the smoldering wood emits. Spy sends you a small glance over his shoulder before walking over to a nearby cabinet that holds his alcohol, laughing to himself gently at the sight of you sitting on the plush couch, remembering that only a couple of months ago you were more timid than a mouse to even sit on one of the elegant pieces of furniture.

Spy opens the cabinet, running the tips of his fingers along the tops of the various bottles of alcohol before selecting a vintage wine. He takes the cork off and pours two glasses fluidly, turning back around with the glasses in his hands and walking to where you sit in the couch. Spy extends the glass out to you, smirking as his gloved fingers brush against yours when you gingerly grasp the glass of wine and take a tentative sip.

"Je boirais lentement, ce vin est plus vieux que toi."

The man purrs, turning and sitting down in a lavish chair in front of the couch you chose to sit on. Spy reaches into his suit and pulls out a packet of cigarettes, a premium brand- you notice, and lights one swiftly with a small lighter before bringing the stick of tobacco to his lips and letting the smoke linger on his tongue before exhaling.

The two of you talk for hours, simply conversing on simple topics or delving into more intimate ones- it's what close friends do, right? You're two glasses deep into the wine bottle when you stand up for another refill, Spy smiling up at you from his seated spot and beckoning you over to him with a small flick of his gloved fingers.

"Come have mine, mon couer."

You oblige and walk over to him, taking his half drank glass of wine, and slowly sipping the rest of the contents while maintaining eye contact with the Frenchman. You swear you see his eyes darken as he looks up at you, his gaze flicking to your lips before he reaches out and intertwines his fingers with yours, making your eyebrows cinch together in confusion before he tugs you forwards, making you stumble and fall into his lap.

You feel your face burn from the embarrassment of the forced position, your heart stuttering in your chest as you straddle your teammate, your thighs pressing into his hips. Spy looks up at you with lidded eyelids, brushing his gloved thumb over your knuckles and bringing your hand up to press gentle kisses to your fingers.

"This is okay, right? I want confirmation."

You nod your head more eagerly than you thought, making the man beneath you chuckle and bring his cigarette up to his lips, taking a long drag and putting the butt of it out before grabbing the back of your head and connecting your lips in an electric kiss. Spy pushes the smoke into your mouth, the heady tobacco making your senses burn along with the passion of your teammates kiss. Spy pulls back first, making you whine lowly and send him a small glare before it softens as he moves his hand down your body, caressing your waist before pushing his hand under the hem of your shirt, the cool leather of his gloves contrasting with your heated skin.

Spy moves his hand up your body slowly, letting his fingers explore every inch of your skin before he stops as his fingers brush against your top surgery scars, gently caressing the scar tissue before he teases your nipple with his thumb, smirking to himself as you keen and whine beneath his touch.

"I didn't think you'd be so responsive, mon couer. I haven't even done anything yet."

He mumbles softly as he rolls his hips up into yours, the audible sound of his breath catching in the back of his throat making your blood run even hotter. Spy continues to tease your nipple, bringing his other hand down and unbuttoning your pants, giving him easier access to your underwear. He snakes his hand down your underwear, brushing his fingers through your slick and smirking up at you from the sound the elicits from your throat. The Frenchman glances to the side, staring into the fireplace in contemplation before a small wicked smile tugs at his lips, withdrawing his hands from you and making you stand up as he does. Grabbing a nearby book and opening it to a folded page, his other hand swiftly undoing his belt as he sits back down on the expensive chair, the apparent tent in his pants calling out to you. When you take a step forwards Spy raises his hand, looking you up and down with hooded eyelids.

"Strip for me, won't you?"

Spy purrs, laughing softly at your flustered expression before watching you start to undress with hungry eyes. After you've shed all your clothes Spy beckons you towards him, gently grabbing your wrist and guiding you to straddle his lap once more, relishing in the moan that escapes past your lips as his clothed cock brushes against your dripping mound. Spy reaches down, steadily pulling his underwear down to free his aching cock, hissing through his teeth as he guides himself into you slowly, sighing happily as you sink your tight heat onto him.

The subtle burn of Spy's cock inside of you is delicious, making your hips stutter and jerk as you acclimate to his size. Spy's hand grasps onto your waist, squeezing your hip and giving you a serious look as he smirks.

"I need you to stay still for a bit, surely you can do that?"

The request makes you squirm, causing Spy to grip your hip tighter to keep you in place. The man simply opens his book to his saved page, shifting his hips to get comfortable as he starts to read. After a few grueling minutes of silence and the occasional glance Spy gives you, you start to shift your hips impatiently, making the man beneath you tut at you and squeeze your hip.

"So impatient."

The Frenchman tsks at you, snapping his book shut and setting it down on the nearby end table and giving you a feigned look of annoyance before he bucks his hips up into yours, reveling in the broken moan that falls from your parted lips. Spy chuckles to himself as you start to move your hips, the sound followed by a rumbling moan from deep in his throat as he matches your rhythm as he moves his gloved hands to rest on your waist before moving them up your back to pull you close to him so your face rests in the crook of his neck, his rich cologne clogging your senses.

Spy's soft moans flit past your ears, his hot breath ghosting over your skin as he continues to roll his hips, snaking one of his hands down to brush over your perked bundle of nerves. At the stimulation, you keen, arching into Spy as he quickens his pace and starts to pepper quick kisses along your throat and jaw, connecting your lips once again for a heated kiss. Spy parts from your lips to let out a hitched groan, quickening his fingers beneath you to match his level of pleasure as he slowly careens towards his release.

Spy tilts his hips, smirking when he feels your body turn to mush at the different angle, his cock brushing the sweetest spot in you. With just a mere flick of his gloved fingers brushing over your clit the pleasurable band that was growing taut in your stomach snaps, heavy whimpers and gasps tumbling past your lips as you cum around Spy. The tightening of your heat around Spy forces him over the edge, the Frenchman nipping at your ear and jaw as he groans softly, painting your insides with all he has while his thrusts falter and turn to lazy twitching movements. Spy chuckles as you whine into his neck, moving one of his hands to gently grasp the back of your neck and pull your head back to make you look at him, grabbing another cigarette from nearby and lighting it before bringing it up to your lips to let you have the first drag.

"Let's stay like this for a bit, shall we?"

how could you refuse when he says it like that?

_________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐

would you guys believe me if i said i was a spy disliker for a long time (he was too hot i didnt wanna admit it)

[talentforlying]

SENSORY DETAILS FOR YOUR MUSE. 

SCENT: 'ashtray' is the general first impression; everything he owns has a clingfilm of silk cut cigarettes to it that is endlessly being refreshed. beneath that are other kinds of smoke: fresh-lit matches, and bonfire, and burning wire. metallic and pungent and crisp, with an underlying layer of oaky and sweet once you've gotten used to it. there's also something vaguely bittersweet, like red wine. nicotine & cytrel are all over his fingertips, and so is the bitter iron tang of old blood when he's been stressed enough to chew at them; there's also frankincense, and myrrh, and sage, and beeswax. his hair smells like a lavender shampoo that he picked up from kit ryan, and a coconut oil conditioner he picked up from dani wright; there's pine pomade when he's feeling good enough about himself to put in the effort. there's always a whiff of shaving cream around his throat. when he's been near demons and other denizens of hell, sulfur lingers on his clothes; when he's been using magic, he smells like a lightning strike, burning ozone.

TOUCH (RECEIVING): he runs fever-hot most of the time, and his skin is a seismographic map of tattoos and old scars, surprisingly soft in the few places it's been left untouched. receiving touch is complicated; even when telegraphed, there's a tautness that enters his body under someone else's hands. he's had time to practice not flinching away from unexpected touches, but if you leave your hand on him for too long he gets twitchy and irritable and will inevitably shrug you off. casual contact that isn't directly hand-based has nowhere near the same effect: hip checks, shoulder bumps, or an arm around his shoulder are accepted, returned, and leaned into without hesitation.

TOUCH (GIVING): his hands are the harshest parts of him besides his personality, and oddly inverse in expected sensation: what you'd expect to be smooth is rough, what you'd expect to be rough is smooth. almost every inch of skin is littered with cut and burn scars ranging from small to severe; he's missing his left thumb, cut off just above the knuckle, and the pads of his fingertips are glossy with scar tissue, overlapping crescent-shapes from his teeth. they have a tendency to tremor when not in use/being used for something gentle/intimate and the tremor gets worse when he's emotional, but when set to a task, they're rock steady. there's usually smudges of wax or chalk or charcoal on them, and the nails are either perfectly manicured or bitten to the quick depending on his mood. when it comes to touching, he associates it with pain and fears his ability to inflict it on others, so he limits himself in its application: either a brief, friendly/kind gesture or hands in his pockets. every active touch has a purpose to it, a focus, an intent; there is always a thought or a plan behind what he's doing. he's prone to full-handed, all-in, lingering touches, no matter the potential danger: if he's reaching out or taking something, he's committing to it. he has a reputation for injuring himself on things, but it's not because he's careless: it's because he's stubborn, and holds on tight to what he's got even when it's hurting him. ( ah, symbolism. )

HAIR: naturally curly, either short enough to be a little spiky or long enough to get a decent handful. usually looks a bit like this, though a more natural, un-fried blond. left alone, it's relatively soft, if somewhat coarse, and floppy. he runs his hands through it frequently when he's working through a problem, so it's not uncommon to see it sticking up all over the place. there are a few bristly patches here and there that won't grown in properly because of shitty electroshock practices, but you can only really find them if you run your fingers through them. in his high periods ( when everything's going well and his mental health isn't shot ) his hair is usually around nape-length and he takes enough pride in his appearance to style it neatly: pomade, gel, slicked back if he wants to look particularly posh, the works. in his low periods, he'll either chop it haphazardly short or not have the energy to cut it at all, and it quickly becomes unwashed and unruly.

VOICE: gravelly, low-range tenor (baritone?) with a liverpudlian accent and dialect that's been thinned out a little by a lifetime spent in london, and thickens when angry or stressed. usually settles in the lower end of his register, but spikes higher when agitated. though he has a flippant manner of address, his tone usually ends up being some degree of deadpan. there's a certain level of breezy affectation around strangers and people he's lying to that disappears around friends and the people he loves. no matter who he's speaking to, though, just like everything else about him, his speech is rife with intention: he speaks evenly and clearly, choosing precisely which words to give weight to and when. he tends to come across as believable and earnest, someone who means what he says, whose words hold meaning; whether he does or not is a moot point.

FACE:   the two most common descriptors for constantine are that he is pretty, and that he looks exactly like his father. only one of those is something he wants to hear. he's very good at controlling his expressions, and his base setting is inscrutable. he's always clean-shaven or with a very light layer of stubble unless he's in a low period. his face has a narrow frame with delicate features, a well-defined jaw that's uneven on the right side from a previous break, pronounced cheekbones, a high forehead, a strong brow, and a pointy chin; fairly filled out, but there are definite signs of ill health that linger in the architecture. his eyes are electric blue, bright and alert, and oddly reflective at night; they're slightly sunken and heavy-lidded, with thick, dark eyelashes. there are permanent dark shadows stamped underneath, and deeply defined crow's feet at the corners. there's a deep knife scar beneath his right eye that connects with the lower lid and runs halfway down his cheek. his eyebrows are set low over his eyes, giving him an intimidating resting face; there are deep-set frown lines between them. his nose is sharply angular, a little crooked from several past breaks — with a few faint scars criss-crossing the bridge as evidence — and there are several broken capillaries spider-webbed around his nostrils from a lifetime of heavy drinking. his lips are bow-shaped, ranging towards thin, and often cracked; he's got dimples, and a big, beaming smile that makes his eyes sparkle and crinkle at the corners.

TASTE: copper pennies, sweet tobacco, irish coffee, the tingling burn of capsaicin. something forbidden.

CLOTHING:  he's a fairly snappy dresser and likes to look, at minimum, put-together and confident; there's definitely a chip on his shoulder about growing up working class, etched in by a whole childhood full of bullies and the sneers of margaret thatcher's london, and he exorcizes that by putting on respectable airs. his outfits usually range from business casual to very formal: at his finest, it's a white button-down shirt, black slacks, nice cufflinks, blue or red tie, ben sherman label cerulean suit, and a clean trenchcoat. his one personal, rebellious touch to a nice outfit is the shoes: he likes his stompers, vintage solovair derby boots with yellow ladder-laces and steel toecaps he added himself. at his most careless ( which is also his most depressed ) it's a rumpled white button-down shirt missing a few top buttons, loose tie, wrinkled slacks, black ankle boots with no socks, and a trenchcoat with years-old stains that will never come out. in between, especially in the more domestic periods of his life, there's some more variety: pastel button-ups, the occasional leather jacket, a black trenchcoat that's awful rare to see in use, a red-and-black-striped tie, light-colored knit sweaters, black jeans with a chain loop, and the occasional ratty band tee that he only ever wears to sleep. he's also got a collection of eclectic sunglasses and silly boxer shorts, because he finds them fun.

yoinked from: @handgiven whoever wants to snag this, feel free!!

[incorrectbatfam]

hcs about tim when he was a kid?

The first time Robin saved him wasn't from a villain or any sort of trouble Tim searched for with his little camera in the dead of night, but at 3:36 PM in the Gotham Academy parking lot, where Tim was playing on his Game Boy without watching where he was going, and wouldn't have noticed the school bus rumbling toward him had it not been for the hand on his backpack tugging him back into the crowd of kids on the chalk-covered sidewalk.

"Watch where you're going, kid," said Jason Todd-Wayne, the snarky kid from an older grade. "I don't wanna see blood and guts 'til at least ten tonight." Tim nodded, putting his video game away until it was his turn to board the bus.

Later that night, once his parents were out at another dinner party, Tim hung his camera around his neck, filled his little backpack with juice boxes and carrot sticks, and slipped out the back door. His destination was the harbor, where there have been reports of suspicious activity. If Batman and Robin were anywhere tonight, it was there.

The subway was quiet. Most people had gone home, and the ones who hadn't were either exhausted from their night shifts or too drunk to form a coherent sentence. Tim ignored the curious and concerned look from the ER nurse two seats away and adjusted his camera settings for the fourth time that evening. But even she was gone, since the harbor was the final stop. That left him with a man asleep in the corner and a dock worker holding a cigarette in his mouth, waiting for the first chance to light it.

Suddenly, in the middle of a pitch-black tunnel, the train lurched to a violent stop. Tim held his breath, waiting for the PA. But it never came. And he didn't have a phone—not that it mattered, 'cause no one could get a signal down here.

BANG! Large claws scraped across the window behind him. Tim squeezed himself under the seat as the yellowed eyes of Killer Croc scanned the car. Could lizards smell fear? Tim's trembling hands radiated it. It felt like forever before Croc moved on.

What came next was what he expected: Batman swooped in, Robin following suit. Tim managed to snap a photo through the window, but it was dark and blurry and he was too far away. Maybe if he got closer...

Tim quietly crawled across the grimy floor until he reached the part where one car connected to the next. He pulled the door open and tiptoed across the connector—he saw people do it while the train was moving, so he should be okay now. And it worked. He now had a much better view of Robin's fist colliding with Croc's jaw.

Down the train he went, changing cars every time the pictures stopped coming out to his satisfaction. Ten minutes and maybe a hundred snapshots later, he reached the caboose. He gave the cowering elderly woman a short nod and small smile, as if to say, "It's not that bad. I'm a kid and I'm here."

Croc's body crashed through the window, and Tim barely ducked behind a seat to avoid the flying class. Now, in the full emergency lights, he got a front-row view of the sharp yet elegant choreography. He took a couple pictures before turning to the old woman and saying, "You need to get out of here."

He helped her into the front car, but that wouldn't do much if the fight traveled back there. A tire iron slid across the floor as Croc had Robin in his grasp. Without thinking, Tim picked it up and slammed it down on the connector, separating his car from the rest of the civilians. Slowly, it rolled away. Through the adrenaline, he smiled. Maybe he could get into this superhero thing too.

His short victory was even shorter-lived. Croc's gargantuan form tumbled down the aisle. Tim leaped aside, camera clutched to his chest as the smallest squeak left his mouth. He didn't think anyone heard, but was instantly proven wrong when Robin whipped his head toward him, eyes wide.

Robin gave Batman a "be right back" and scooped Tim up and out of the train. Tim buried his face in Robin's cape, wind whipping past and stomach dipping with every up-and-down swing. A minute later, they landed on the platform and Tim forced himself to unlatch his fingers.

Robin asked if he was okay and Tim nodded mutely, then he asked, "Where are your parents" and Tim mustered the words to say it was just him.

Robin muttered something about lousy parents and told Tim to go home. When Tim pointed out that his only mode of transportation was being torn apart by a villain, Robin laughed, ruffled his hair, and asked if he knew how to hail a cab. Tim shook his head. He only ever used the train or his parents' chauffer. Robin said, "It's kinda like this." Then he stood up, waved his arm, and yelled, "EH TAXI!" Tim giggled and waited until Robin disappeared back down the tunnel.

Robin—Jason Todd—saved him a number of times after that—Poison Ivy's carnivorous plants, gunshot-filled alleyways, at least a dozen falls from high places, and even once when Tim found himself in point blank range of a freeze ray. Each time came with a hair-ruffle and cheeky wink and reassuring smile and clever quip, but not a grain of recollection in Robin's eyes. (Not that it was too surprising—Tim was just a nondescript dark-haired kid and Robin probably saved fifty people a day.) And each time stuck with him, just like that first day with the bus and train.

Then one day, while tailing Batman to a construction site, Tim climbed atop a crane to get a birds-eye view of the ten-against-one fight. Batman acted rougher than usual, and news of Jason's death hadn't been released yet, leaving Tim to wonder what was going on. A bullet whizzed past him, catching him by surprise and throwing him off-balance. He barely grabbed onto a beam by one hand, but didn't know how long he'd last with the slick dew making it impossible to grip. Tim gulped when he realized just how far up he was. His eyes darted around, waiting for the familiar flash of red and green.

"HELP!" His voice echoed through the lot. His fingers gave in and let go. He couldn't tell if he was screaming or not as he plummeted toward the ground. Suddenly, a strong arm wrapped around him and swung around the crane. He looked for the familiar cape to nestle in, but found it missing. Instead of the bright colors, he found blue and black. When they landed on solid ground, as grateful and starstruck as Tim was, he couldn't stop a question from spilling out.

"Where's Robin?"

Nightwing sighed and patted Tim's shoulder. "Don't worry about that. Just get home safe."

And with that, he was gone. Duty called, Tim supposed. Still, he couldn't help but feel the top of his head, the missing hair ruffle feeling plain wrong.

He saw the news later. He allowed himself to cry. No one was at home to hear him anyway.

Everything changed. Gotham changed. Batman and Nightwing changed. Tim's whole trajectory—the whole purpose of his existence—changed. You know how the story goes. He blackmailed Batman and became Robin.

The Jason came back. Jason scorned him, hated him for taking a mantle that was once his. Jason tried to kill him, and though he didn't succeed, Tim should've despised him.

But he couldn't bring himself to it.

[prolix-yuy]

This list of themes is incredible!! They’re all so good. I’m going to combine two:

Reunion AND The power of words

Preference for fluffy, but I won’t say not to a smidge of angst.

Featuring this man

😌😍

I love you!!

xoxo

Skyeeeee my beloved! You deserve this ask after all the times I groaned into our DMs about being nervous about writing Javi. Well now we're getting somewhere after @beecastle's lovely intro story, and I hope you enjoy where I took it! I definitely took some inspiration from Lie to Me because, duh, how couldn't I, it's immaculate and i adore every new chapter. Love you to pieces!

The Road Ahead

Pairing: Javier Peña x F!Reader

Summary: And there are many paths to tread.

Word Count: 2.8k

Warnings: M, angst, allusions to violence, smoking, lots of Javi introspection, some pining, a bittersweet ending. While this story is not explicit, my blog and the content shared on it is 18+ MINORS DNI.

Notes: Here is part 2 of our Javi thought piece! This is entirely indulgent and I had a super fun time writing Javi against another person compared to him all by his lonesome. Enjoy my lovelies!

“Would you like one?” she says when Javi doesn’t answer right away, waving the pack of Marlboro Lights in her other hand. Her smile deepens from curious to knowing, clocking Javi’s eyes lighting on the end of her cigarette.

Javi can’t remember the last time he was tongue-tied in a woman’s gaze. Chalking it up to his addictive brain, he sidles up to her with a shake of his head, one palm curling around the handrail. He notices, with quiet triumph, that she sees how easily his fingers circle the painted wood. He knows they’re big, that they’re good at splaying over skin and grabbing and pleasuring, but it never hurts to be reminded. 

“Trying to quit. Doing the Nicorette thing.” Javi leans on both hands now, looking over the darkening horizon that stains the sky in purples. “But, you know, old habits,” he finishes, trying to catch a casual glimpse of her in the corner of his eye.

“Oh, sorry,” she says, and stubs out her barely smoked cigarette in a paper plate of half eaten cake. 

“Oh, no ma’am, I didn’t mean…” Javi tries to protest, and without thinking he brushes his fingers along the back of her arm. The rush is better than the nicotine, unexpected and thrilling. She chuckles, leaning on her elbows as the last vestiges of smoke wisp away.

“It’s okay, I find the company preferrable,” she says, cocking her head at him as he fights the blush tingling around the tips of his ears. There’s a smoothness to her that puts Javi off balance. He’s always good to the women in his life, but he’s not always good at getting them into his life. His flirting is seen as charming, endearing even, but mostly ineffective. But she has a way about her that lets words hit harder than they should. It makes Javi chuckle and come down to his elbows on the railing, pert bottom sticking out next to her luscious one (he checked).

“So then you’re enjoying the wedding?” he asks, lacing his fingers so they have something to do. She rolls her shoulders with a sigh.

“Well, not all company. It’s a little stifling in there,” she muses, shifting the weight on her feet. Javi peeks down to her heels, obviously uncomfortable, but necessary for the occasion. He briefly considers asking if she’d like to take them off, take a seat. He toys with the idea of taking them into his lap and putting his restless hands to work.

“Ain’t that the truth,” he finally agrees, voice dropping into a quieter rasp. He’s suddenly drained, the weight of the world he’s taken on his shoulders screaming down his spine. It would be so easy to put it down, but would he float away if it wasn’t there to hold him to the earth?

“Does it help?” she says, and Javi’s so caught up in his metaphor he has no idea what she’s asking. He stares blankly at her, eyebrows pulling into a confused furrow before she taps her cheek. “The gum. Does it help with quitting?” 

Javi’s face breaks into a sheepish smile, huffing out a laugh. He misses the glance she gives to his full lips, the way his tongue darts out to wet them, parted and supple. 

“It takes the edge off, but I’d rather have one of those,” he says, nodding to her pack. She shrugs and smiles knowingly, letting some silence stretch as her outline begins to blur into the night. Sharp edges of light from the dance hall carve out the high points of her face, the texture of her hair, the wrinkles in her shawl. Javi considers leaving for a moment, but her face is back to that quiet expression she wore before he walked up. The one he only ever sees when people don’t know they’re being watched. It intrigues him too much to part yet.

“How do you know the couple?” he asks, cringing at the small talk. She sways, shifting weight to her other foot. Javi again considers urging her to sit. He again dashes away the idea of her moaning while he presses his fingers into her arch.

“The bride. She and I knew each other growing up, fell out of touch when I moved. But I’m back in town for a few weeks helping my mom, and this is apparently the social event of the month,” she says, smiling over her shoulder at the dancing inside. Music thrumming in Javi’s chest, he chews his words as you face him again.

“So you grew up here,” he says, the ending open. She nods, wrapping her shawl tighter around her shoulders even though the night air is still desert warm.

“Yep, been a while but there’s still lots of familiar faces,” she mulls, not meeting Javi’s eyes. His stomach sinks, slow and thick like a spoon into molasses. 

“Yeah, everyone knows everyone here,” he mumbles, and that need to run, to get out, to get on a plane and away from Laredo and all the memories it holds claws at Javi’s chest. For a moment he’d forgotten. She’d made him forget.

“I remember seeing you around town. You were handsome then, too,” she says, light flickering too softly for Javi to get a good read on her expression. Was it that same uncomfortable reverence he’s had to accept all night?

“You’ll have to forgive me if I don’t remember you,” he apologizes, fingers tapping at the handrail. She shrugs nonchalantly, and Javi thinks she might be a little closer than before.

“You wouldn’t have. I wasn’t much of a looker, or a talker, or an anything back then,” she says with a flippancy that makes Javi regret his words. 

“Doesn’t mean I couldn’t have noticed you,” he replies, and she rolls her eyes. God, will he ever be able to flirt like a normal person? Every attempt feels like a monumental effort met with a patronizing smile. 

“That was cute, but you don’t have to. You only had eyes for one thing.” To his surprise Javi watches her scoot closer to him, arm close to brushing his flannel-covered his bicep. 

“I suppose most people remember that too,” Javi muses, Lorraine’s sparkling eyes back in the forefront of his mind. 

“Not all that,” she counters, raising Javi’s eyebrow. When he turns to look at her he can see the fan of her eyelashes, the soft sheen of her lipstick. 

“No, you only had eyes for the road out of town,” she says, the cool honestly of it holding him as much as the candor in her gaze. She searches his face - for what Javi can’t guess - before continuing. 

“Anyone who wanted to settle down knew not to get tangled up with Javier Peña. And anyone who wanted a ticket out of town knew not to try and cash it with you.” The words pull Javi’s brows together, a familiar scowl fighting to return to his face.

“Why’s that?” he asks, though the answer matters less than the mounting desire to know how this woman could find each soft spot in his armor.

“Because these broad shoulders of yours were ready to hold the weight of the world on them, but only alone,” she says, and air leaves Javi’s lungs. Fuck. Fuck. The wave of emotions riding those words batter against Javi’s ribs. He wants to tell her she’s wrong, that he’s not so noble as all that. He wants to tell her she’s right, that he’s never been able to see himself with someone by his side. He wants to tell her to fuck off with her psychoanalysis bullshit. He wants to let her touch him with a softness reserved for skittish puppies and men long damned for their decisions. 

Her eyebrows suddenly shoot up, and Javi can almost feel the spike in her heart rate.

“I’m sorry, that was…wow, I’ve had enough to drink tonight,” she laughs nervously, pushing off the railing. With the quick reflexes of his work Javi circles her wrist, a gentle grip urging her to still. 

“No, you’re…” He struggles with the words he needs to make her stay. “...Perceptive,” is what he settles on with a sheepish tilt of his head. She covers her face with her other hand, peeking at Javi over her fingers.

“You can just say rude, I deserve that one,” she shoots back, and Javi lets out a restorative laugh, like the first pull of a cigarette without the burn on his tongue.

“No, if you want to know rude, I have plenty of stories about that,” he says, preening under her knowing gaze.

“Do tell, I’ll be the envy of the town with a few tales of our hometown DEA agent to spread around,” she shoots back, sparkle in her eyes bright enough to battle the stars. Her words pour cold water down his nape, a brief wave of nausea urging him to drop his grip, no matter how soft her skin is beneath his rougher palms. 

What could he tell of his life that wasn’t ripped through with blood and terror and questionable choices made in the dark?

“Hey.”

A soft voice winds its way up to his ears, a gentle hand resting on his arm. When he meets her eyes the glow is like candlelight in a window welcoming him home.

“You don’t have to tell me anything. I hear enough of the hero talk in salons and bars. What you did in Colombia…I don’t think any of us can understand it. So they thank you and call you a hero but…it couldn’t have been easy. I hope you didn’t have to go through it alone.”

He didn’t, there were men and women who stood with him, and who fell as a consequence. And there were times when he felt more alone in a room of allies than in his apartment trying to drink himself to sleep. But he was rarely alone.

“Thank you,” is the best he can manage with her scent and her heat curling between them. She’s close enough to embrace, to bury his nose behind the hinge of her jaw and press her deep deep deep into his body, until their bodies could meld into one like so many women before her.

“There are some good stories too,” he murmurs, shoulders lifting as she smiles and backs up from him.  

“I’d like to hear them,” she says, hopping up to sit on the railing with an expectant look. Feet swinging in those high heels, Javi succumbs to his secret desire and slips them off her feet, hand curling around her ankle as his cheek comes close to brushing her knees. When he flashes her a cheeky smile showcasing his dimple he thinks he sees a flash of desire in her eyes, but it’s gone when he straightens up.

“I’ll censor some of the more colorful language.”

“You better not, Javi.”

They talk as the evening deepens, the party winding down to a few stragglers giving well wishes. Javi thinks he sees Chucho a few times, but he doesn’t come out to the back porch. 

Javi tells her about Colombia. Not everything, not the gore and gristle that would turn anyone’s stomach. Instead he tells her about the rolling hills, how green the trees look when mist surrounds them. How fresh the fruit tastes when you split it open with your thumbs. The way the air smells when the humidity is high and lovers dance in the streets. It’s the Colombia he always wanted. It’s the Colombia he barely knew. But it was the world he was willing to share with a woman who looked at him with kind eyes.

When the only sounds he can discern are the clatter of tables being cleared, Javi sighs and rests his palm on her knee, letting the heat of his hand warm her through the fabric of her dress. 

“The night seems to be ending,” he says, voice dropping into a huskier register. He’s standing close, her thigh pressed into his hip as he looks into the glint of her eyes. In the dark she is shadow and golden highlights, just enough to know she’s smiling at him. It emboldens him to slide his palm up her thigh, spreading it to cover but not squeeze. 

“Thank you for indulging me,” she says, cool fingers on the line of his jaw as he turns his head up to her. She slides them through the thick locks just above his ear, raising goosebumps along his nape. His eyes dart to her lips and back, parting his own. He’ll ask her before he leans forward. Ask her if he can kiss her before pressing his mouth to hers. He’ll savor it like this conversation, hold it on his tongue like good whiskey, come back for more if she’ll let him.

Before he can, she presses two fingers under his chin. Her expression is soft, but edged in resignation and regret.

“Are your eyes still on the road, Javi?”

The haze around the edge of his vision sharpens. 

Yes.

Laredo was never meant to be forever. Javi didn’t know if any place would be forever for him. 

Maybe a person, one day, would be forever. But not a place. 

She sees the answer, and thankfully doesn’t make him say it.

“Then this can only be a goodbye kiss,” she whispers, and when her lips come to his he accepts with the gratitude he saves for the handful of good things the world gives him. It’s sweet, sugar and smoke and chaster than he’s kissed a woman in a long time but no less dizzying. When she pulls back he fights against the desire to chase her lips, instead easing away from her and trying to hide his regret. 

It would be easier if she wasn’t right. 

“Thank you for making my night a little brighter, Javi,” she says, swiping a thumb over his lower lip to remove a trace of lipstick. He presses a kiss to it, earning another indulgent stroke in return, before she hops off the railing and gathers her shoes.

He wants to ask her name if he can have nothing else, but her smile widens over his shoulder. 

“Don Chucho!” she calls, walking over to hug the night’s worst interruption. A few words pass between them - compliments, pleasantries that rolled right past her and Javi in their conversations in the dark - before she steps away.

“My mother will be expecting me, I should be going,” she says, and with a warm smile and a squeeze to his bicep, she turns to Javi once more.

Ask her.

What could he offer her?

Ask her anyway.

Her face is content. She doesn’t offer, doesn’t assume. 

She could be what’s next.

No, she couldn’t. He knows what he has to do.

“Take care, Javi.”

“You too.”

And then she leaves.

In the dark of Chucho’s car, Javi admits to his plans. His work isn’t done, not yet. There are more wrongs to be righted, more weight to fall on Javi’s shoulders. He’ll take it. He always does.

He is not a hero, but he can do the work of one for a while longer.

The drive home with her mother is quiet, both tired from the dancing and the drinks and the long conversations held in very different locales. 

“I saw you talking to the Peña boy,” her mother says with curiosity. She scoffs, wiggling her sore toes against the rubber floor mat.

“Two ships passing in the night, mama,” she answers. Her mother shrugs, eyes on the road as they head home. A welcome distraction, a few titillating moments. A kiss that birthed butterflies. But that’s all it would be for them. Javi’s reputation follows him like a shadow, and not just the history he left behind in Laredo. An idiot could see how much Escobar took out of him. He deserves a new path that could be kinder to him. 

Besides, her eyes are on the road as well. A new job in Bogotá, one she was reluctant to take, but after the words Javi wove into the night it felt right. Despite her mama’s worries and her own reservations, it took someone who must have seen hell there to finally convince her. 

The days to her departure were shortening, no time for a fling with a beautiful but troubled man. But for a night it was thrilling to pretend they could be each other’s comfort. 

“Help me finish the painting tomorrow?”

“Of course mama.”

A few more days home.

Then a new chapter in a place where the trees blink like emeralds in the distance, the citrus bursts when you bite into it, and the sticky heat of the night makes her think of him and wonder what battles he may be fighting now.

END || PREVIOUS

[honeypirate]

In The End

Izuku Midoriya x female Reader. Pro!hero AU.

Angstyyyy based off a dream I had.

Readers hero name is: Visage

Readers quirk: can secrete and cover their body in a smoke like substance that makes them invisible and absorbs whatever sounds are made, they can push that substance from their skin and use it to surround themselves and others up to ten feet, making whoever is in the bubble invisible and soundless from those outside the bubble.

Reader works in Deku’s agency

—

Izuku activated his quirk, sending a small percentage of one for all to his legs to help him run faster, you try and clear your head as you run along side him, trying to focus on the mission and not on your fear, but it was easier said than done.

This fight was a long time coming, weeks of research and investigating, lots of late nights at the office, all coming to ahead this night when the villains made their move.

You were in the middle of giving yourself a pep talk in the bathroom of the office, trying to give yourself the confidence to confess your feelings to your best friend and coworker, but when you exited the bathroom you were met with an urgent Kirishima quickly explaining the situation and pulling you along with him out of the building where you met up with the others.

The villains are currently holding up the museum hall at their big event, multiple hostages and the contents of the new retired hero exhibit totaling millions. All available heros are to assist, you guys being the closest to the building meant you were one of the first called. Your stomach filled with nerves. Something felt off. You tried to push that thought away as you began to hear the commotion from the building around the corner.

Deku took charge as the captain “Visage and I will take the side door, Red Riot and Dynamight go around back, everyone else go in the front. Make your way to the exhibit room in the middle of the building and wait for the signal to enter��

you activate your quirk the moment you step through the door, a bubble spreading out from your skin and surrounding you and Deku, “stay close to me” you remind him and he nods, the hallways are quiet, all you can hear are the sounds from your breathing as you slowly searched through the rooms and hallways, making your way deeper into the building.

You and Deku worked well together, ever since you joined his agency you’ve been fast friends, you could feel in your bones how trustworthy he is and it made you want to get to know him more, leading to weekend lunches and grocery shopping dates, which weren’t dates but you wished they were. You were best friends for three years and you had feelings for him for at least two of them. You knew his fighting style and he knew yours, meaning you both could use each other’s help while fighting side by side. Even though your quirk made you invisible, he could somehow always know where you were, when everyone else couldn’t feel you he picked it up in an instant, when he wasn’t under your bubble he could guess where you were every time. He said it was just because you spent so much time together, he knows how your energy feels.

Static cut through your ear piece for a second followed by an echo of Deku’s voice from beside you “is everyone in position ?” A chorus of “in position” follows his questions “Q?” He calls for the hero who’s only job is to get in first and get all the hostages out, her voice a whisper through your ear piece, “In position, I’ll signal when I’m out” Deku stands next to the last door on your hall, you open the door and take a step through quickly looking around before nodding to Deku “clea—“ your voice cuts into a shocked gasp as a villian reaches up through the floor, grabbing your ankle and using his quirk to make you permeate through the floor into the basement below, leaving Deku behind who curses.

You curse as you hit the ground, your head and shoulders hitting the cold concrete and dust puffing out around you, “welcome to the party” a voice like nails on a chalk board calls out from the darkness, the room was dimly lit by a single overhead light that was flickering every few seconds. “Visage?!” Deku is calling you through your ear piece, his voice sounds underwater, probably from hitting your head. You get to your feet quickly and get in a defensive stance, stumbling a few times before you get your balance, you activate your quirk and hide yourself, before slowly moving through the room.

It’s a big room filled with old paintings and antique decorations that would be auctioned off in the months to come. You can hear heavy footsteps above and the commotion of fighting, you had to finish this villian quickly so you could go help the others. You move your quirk, expanding your bubble around your face so you can talk without being heard “Deku” you whisper and his voice through the other end comes back with relief “are you okay?!” “I’m in the basement. I think I have a concussion. I don’t know how many there are here. they can move through the walls” “I’ll make my way to you! Be careful!”

You walk through rows of shelves holding miscellaneous items that looked fancy and expensive, one of the shelves behind you rattles and you take off running, trying to get to the stairs, hoping to find a light switch or something to make the room better lit or hopefully be able to make it upstairs to Deku. The moment your hand reaches the wall and flicks the switch, the lights flicker on and a hand reaches through the wall grabbing your wrist and pulling it into the wall, leaving your hand stuck there.

As the body of the villian emerges from the wall, your stomach drops, you release your quirk, the smoke dissipating as you come into view again. No sense in holding a quirk if he knows where you’re stuck. You try to fight him off but he grabs your other hand and as hard as you struggle against him he over powers you and pulls your arm behind you, disappearing into the wall again, leaving your hands stuck in the concrete and your back against the cold.

“Shit!” you yell out as you try to free your arms, kicking behind you and pulling as hard as you could, but to no avail.

“That’s not going to work” the same voice says below you and as your eyes flash to your feet you see hands wrap around the toes of your boots and pull them two inches into the concrete floor. Panic surges through your body, there isn’t anything you can do now, your eyes widen in shock as the villian reappears with someone else, someone you recognize. “Spearhead” your voice comes out in a whisper and the man in front of you cackles. “Thats Me!” He says and bows slightly “I’m very glad you remember me. I was worried you wouldn’t, but I guess we did have quite the moment together” you scowl at the memory of going undercover as a sex worker to be able to capture him, the taste of stale cigarettes when you had to kiss him, you gaged and he scowled.

The villian with the permeation quirk disappears through the floor again. You bend your neck, using your shoulder to press the button on your ear piece “Deku, hurr-” the villian Spearhead rips the plastic piece out of your ear and stomps it under his heel. “Tck tck tck. Naughty naughty” he shakes his finger and sighs “I’m going to enjoy your death” his fingers transform into long black blades all directed at you “i spent months in prison, months thinking about how I would get my revenge when I broke out. What I’d decided on, is this” he says as he sends his blades with more speed, all aimed for different parts of your body. “Torturing you. A slow agonizing death. My friends will take care of the rest of your friends so it’s just you and me down here. No one will save you” his blades hit five different points in your body, one in each leg, each arm, and one in your stomach, slowly pushing into your skin in an agonizingly slow pace. You bite your jaw closed, hard, holding in your groans of pain, trying to not give him the satisfaction. Deku was coming. He had to be.

“You won’t win, Spearhead. Even if you kill me here, you won’t win. You’ll find yourself back in prison or dead before tomorrow” you spit out, blood filling your mouth from the wound in your stomach and leaking out of the corner of your lips as you pant, the pain from your wounds making you sweat, making your eyes blurr with the pain and with your angry tears. “You always had a problem underestimating heroes”

His face turns red as he trembles in anger “there is no IF baby,I WILL be killing you here” his voice is quiet and he rips his blades out of your body, blood spraying from your wounds. You cry out in pain and struggle, again trying to pull your arms and legs free. He giggles at you and walks forward,bending over dramatically and looking at your left thigh, he pokes his finger into your wound and you scream “I hit an artery I believe. How sad. That means we only have like seven minutes left together.” He pulls his finger from your wound and you choke back a sob as he stands up, he sticks his finger in his mouth, cleaning your blood off with his tongue. “Deku” you whisper and hang your head, feeling your boots fill up with the blood pouring down your legs, staining your white suit red. “Poor kitten! Too bad. So sad” he laughs and then yells out as he stabs two of his blades through to shoulders “DEKU!” You cry out, just making Spearhead laugh harder.

“I’m right HERE!” Deku shouts, a green blur flying past you and punching Spearhead in the face, you hear a crunch as his cheekbone shatters. Spearhead starts to fight back but before he can Deku is attacking, breaking his hands before he can use his quirk and kicking him in the face, making him fly back hitting the wall and slumping over, dead or just passed out, you didn’t know.

“D-Deku” you say and a smile tugs your lips as you try to focus on him. The pain is subsiding in your body and a surge of worry fills your body. “You’re here” your voice is barely a whisper as tears stream from your face.

Deku uses his strength to bust the concrete wall and floor, freeing you from the confines. He leans you up against the wall and pulls gauze out of his pockets of his suit, quickly trying to stop the bleeding in your wounds. He gets almost all of them packed and taken care off for the time being, only having trouble with the one in your left leg. “He said... he hit... an artery” you’re having a hard time talking, forcing words out between breaths that you couldn’t seem to catch. “No it’s okay. It’s going to be okay. I can stop it and I-I- I’ll get you to Recovery Girl” you reach out, pushing past the pain of the stab wounds in your bicep and shoulder, and brush his hair out of his eyes “You’ve always been so handsome. I wish I had more time with you. I don’t want to forget anything” you chuckle softly then groan as it shakes your wounds. He gasps and looks up into your eyes, his beautiful green eyes filling with tears as he rips off one of his sleeves of his suit, using it as a tourniquet to tie around your upper thigh, you grunt as he ties it as tight as he can. You let your hands drop to your lap and your head falls back against the wall.

“No no no please. Stay with me” he reaches out and cups your head, holding your face in his hands and getting your blood on your cheeks. You smile softly “I would do anything for you ‘Zuku” you whisper “but I’m worried I don’t have much time. I’m so scared” your tears start flowing down your cheeks again, mixing with the blood from his hands and running down your chin and neck. His tears match yours as he tries to keep it together, you hear static and voices echo fromHis ear piece “The ambulances are here. Please hold on.” You smile and reach up again, not even feeling the pain in your arm much anymore as you brush your thumb across his cheek “I have cherished every moment we spent together. I should have told you sooner how I felt” you hear commotion at the stairs now, people shouting, it all sounded underwater. All you could focus on for your last few seconds of consciousness was the man you were in love with. The last thing you notice before your hand drops from his face and you fade into the darkness is his soft pleading voice and his warm hands on your cold cheeks “Don’t worry, y/n” he whispers through his sobs “Because in the end, we’ll be together. Like always.”

[hopelikethemoon]

Goldilocks (Javier x Reader) {MTMF}

Title: Goldilocks Rating: PG-13 Length: 2000 Warnings: It’s very soft.  Notes: You can find everything about Maybe Today, Maybe Forever here. Set in November 1992, before Used to be Lonely.  Summary: Reader spends the night alone at Javier’s. 

@grapemama​​​ @seawhisperer​​​ @huliabitch​​​ @beccaplaying​​​ @thewallpapergoesorido​​​ @twomoonstwosuns​​​ @gooddaykate​​ @livasaurasrex​​​ @ham4arrow​​​ @plexflexico​​​ @readsalot73​​​ @hdlynn​​​ @lokiaddicted​​​ @randomness501​​​ @fioccodineveautunnale​​​  @roxypeanut​​​ @snivellusim​​​ @lukesrighthand​​​ @historynerd04 @mrsparknuts​​​ @awesomefandomsunited​​​ @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead​​​ @exrebelshocktrooper​​​ @synystersilenceinblacknwhite​​​ @ah-callie​​​ @swhiskeys​​​ @exrebelshocktrooper​​​ @u-wakatoshii​​ @space-floozy​​​ @cable-kenobi​​​ @cool-ultra-nerd​​​ @himbopoes​​​ @findhimfives​​​ @pedrosdoll​​​ @frietiemeloen​​​ @arrowswithwifi​​​  @cinewhore​​​ @random066​​​ @uncomicalhumour​​​ @heather-lynn​​​ @domino-oh-damn​​​ @cyarikaaa​​​ @ahopelessromanticwritersworld​​ @im-still-a-pieceofgarbage @ksgeekgirl​​​ @yabby-girl​​​ @xqueenofthecraziesx​​ @punkass-potato​​​ @coredrive​​​ @pascalesque​​​ @theduchessofkirkcaldy​​​ @queenquazar​​​ @sabinemorans​​​ @buckstaposition​​ @holkaskrosnou​​ @yespolkadotkitty​​​@seeking-a-great–perhaps @kochamcie​​​ @jaime1110​​​ @katlikeme​

You could count on one hand the number of times you had spent the night at Javier’s apartment since you started being together. At first, there was some lingering weirdness about that first night — a holdover of emotions, worries, and second guessing that made being there again uncomfortable, even when it wasn’t. 

It got easier the second and third time, but he always ended up at your apartment. Neither of you had put in much of an effort into make your apartments feel homey — but yours always felt like home when he was there. 

And it felt barren when he wasn’t there. 

He had been gone on an assignment several hours south of the city and you missed him. You hated that you missed him. You hated how easily he’d become someone you didn’t want to go to bed without. 

You tried to keep that emotional wall up. To keep yourself focused on the reality of relying on someone who could up and decide to leave you tomorrow. But your heart wasn’t as easily convinced. 

It had only been one night (and a day in the office) without him and it was starting to get under your skin. You chalked it up to hormones — which seemed to be getting to you more and more. But that didn’t change the fact that you missed him. 

Javier was a creature of habit. Four years ago he’d told you where he kept his spare apartment key in his desk. Luckily he hadn’t moved it. 

Second drawer on the left, inside the empty stapler at the back. 

You knew where it was in case there was ever an emergency. 

And you figured being lonely, pregnant, and hormonal was a good enough reason to commit a little casual B&E. You knew he wouldn’t care. It wasn’t like he didn’t have a key to your place. 

It felt weird to be in his apartment without him, but you made yourself at home. 

Unsurprisingly, his fridge was bare — save for beer and a jug of milk to go with the box of cereal in his cupboard. 

“I’ll stop at the store tomorrow and get us something better,” You remarked as you ran your hand over your stomach. “Cereal will have to do tonight.” 

You grabbed a bowl and filled it with cereal and milk before making yourself comfortable on the sofa. 

Yours was far more comfortable than his lumpy leather monstrosity. You tried not to think about the things that happened on it — before you happened on it. 

“One day,” You started, talking to your stomach as you scooped up a mouthful of cereal. “I’ll have to decide if you were made in a bar bathroom or on your father’s horrendous sex sofa.” You shook your head. “I could also go with the story that you just sprouted up one day.”

You glanced at your wristwatch and frowned. You wondered what he was doing. Was he safe? Was he exhausted? Was he as lonely as you were?

Did he miss you? He always acted like he missed you every time he came back from being on assignment. But who could really know? 

You could only hope. 

“I never wanted this,” You said as you ghosted your hand over your swollen belly. “Motherhood never felt like the right path for me. I still don’t know if it is.” You tilted the cereal bowl and drank some of the milk, before leaning forward to sit the bowl on the coffee table. “After everything I went through I couldn’t… I didn’t want to repeat my own childhood. But I knew I had to do right by you.”

You sank back against the sofa, playing with the hem of Javier’s shirt that you’d changed into. 

“Your father means the world to me and I hope… I really hope he’s going to stick around. I know what a broken home feels like and… I don’t want that for you, kid.”

It was stupid — how badly you wanted what your brother had. Minus the white collar vibe. But how the hell were you supposed to end up there? 

What was the real longevity for you and Javier? Not the one you wanted to believe in. The real one. The one that recognized that he wasn’t a settle down type — no matter how much he seemed like he could be. 

Then novelty would wear off sooner, rather than later. And then you’d be left to do this thing on your own. You could do it. 

You just didn’t want to. 

Which was fairly apparent considering you’d gone to his place, stolen a shirt, and were sitting on his sofa eating his cereal. 

But at the same time, you didn’t want to be one of those people. You didn’t want to try to keep yourself in a situation if you weren’t wanted. If he showed any signs of being over it — you weren’t sticking around. 

If worse came to worst — you could go back to Atlanta. You’d be stuck at a desk again, but at least you’d be employed. There was no way in hell you could stay in Colombia. 

You’d have to work out the particulars of letting Javier see his daughter. You didn’t want her to grow up without him completely. Even if it was easier on you. 

“I’m so tired of hormones,” You complained as you rubbed at your eyes, trying to keep tears from falling. 

You scooted to the edge of the sofa, before standing back up and walking back into the kitchen to rinse out your cereal bowl. 

With any luck, Javier would be back in the morning. Though, with the turn in the weather there was also a chance that he’d be gone until Monday. Which sucked. 

It wasn’t fair to miss someone as much as you did. Especially when he was only halfway yours. The DEA had their claws in him and they knew how to exploit his skills. 

And it had always been that way. It was just different now that you’d been relegated to desk duty for the foreseeable future. 

Javier’s bed smelt like him and the faint scent of cigarette smoke. Which was also him. You never thought you’d become someone who buried their face in someone’s pillow, but you caught yourself doing it nevertheless. 

It wasn’t quite the same as sleeping beside him. There was no arm around you, no fingers fanned out over your belly, no leg to warm your cold feet on. 

Things would’ve been different if you’d stayed. If you’d given into all the emotion Javier had poured out that night. But you still didn’t trust that his touches meant more. That he wasn’t just scratching a long suffering itch. 

With your luck, he’d find some reason to dip out. You couldn’t even blame him if he did. Life was a shit show and you weren’t going to force him to part of it. 

You hugged your arms around his pillow and pulled it into your chest, inhaling deeply as you tried to convince yourself to sleep. Two more sleeps and then Javier would be home. 

Home. 

 ——

 “I don’t know many nursery rhymes,” Javier murmured as he snaked his arm around your waist and roused you from your sleep. “But I do recall one about a girl who was keen on breaking into houses to try out their beds.” 

You were disoriented at first. The darkness of the bedroom didn’t help you get your bearings — but you knew it wasn’t your apartment. 

“Shit.” You swore, squirming a little in his hold. “What are you doing here?”

“It’s my bed.”

“Yes, but—“

“Storm blew in early.” Javier pressed his face into the crook of your neck, “You’ve stolen my pillow and my bed.”

“Your shirt too.” You admitted, grinning to yourself. “I feel like I should be embarrassed.” 

Javier chuckled, “Don’t be, baby.” He ran his hand over your stomach. “It was a nice surprise.”

You covered your face with your hands and groaned dramatically. “If I’d known you were coming back tonight—“

He pulled you back against his chest. “It was a nice surprise.” He repeated, kissing your neck. “I was in a bad fucking mood and…” He clicked his tongue against his teeth. “I saw your bag sitting on the floor by the sofa.” 

You squeezed the back of his hand on your stomach, “I was lonely and my pregnancy brain told me your bed would cure it.”

“Did it?”

You hummed, “I ended up wishing that you were here too. Looks like it worked.” 

He chuckled against your neck as he kissed you again, “I debated swinging by your place, but I’m too fucking tired.”

“I guess we lucked out.”

Javier tapped his thumb against your stomach, “I know I did.” 

You rolled onto your back, before turning to face him. “I thought you’d be mad about me breaking in.” 

“And you did it anyways?” Javier snorted, giving your hip a squeeze as he pulled you towards him again. 

“Never come between a pregnant woman and what she wants.” You whispered, winding your fingers through his hair as you leaned in to kiss him. You misjudged the angle and got a mouth full of mustache. 

Javier laughed, a warm sort of laugh that made all of you tingle. “Did you miss my mustache too?”

“Always.” You grinned as he closed the distance and kissed you. 

“You’re always welcome here, baby.” Javier told you, brushing his lips against yours as he spoke. “Even if I’m not here.”

“Good.” You played with the hair at his temple. 

“Gives me something to think about when I’m stuck in a car for ten hours.”

You laughed, “Hopefully you keep those thoughts tame.” You teased, trailing your fingers down his neck. 

“They vary.” He retorted, brushing his nose against yours, before he tilted his head to kiss you again. 

“Aside from the storm,” You started as Javier pressed kisses along your jaw. “How’d it go?”

He sighed against your neck, “We got eyes on the target. Total wash in the end. No confirmation of illegal activity. If the storm hadn’t blown in — we would’ve had him.”

“Shit.” You bit down on your bottom lip and shook your head. “I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be.” He mumbled, trailing open mouthed kisses down your throat. “How are you?” He questioned, running his hand up and down your side. “How’s our little one?”

You slid your fingers into his hair and tugged lightly. “Still a little asleep. Earlier was rough — hormones, emotions, all of that bullshit. But we’re both good.” 

“Good.” He squeezed your hip. “Fuck, I’m tired baby.”

“I bet you are.” You whispered, toying with his hair. “Luckily you’re in bed, which is where sleep happens.” 

Javier snorted, “Smartass.”

“I’ve been told that a few times.” You laughed softly, laying on your back and reaching for the pillow you’d stolen. “Here.”

“Thanks.” He mumbled as he stifled a yawn. Javier shook his pillow out before tucking it under his head and readjusting beside you. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“I’m glad I’m here too.” You told him as he ran his hand down your arm and took ahold of your hand and interlaced your fingers. “But you should sleep.”

He missed you too. There was no way around that. No way to convince yourself that it was all for show. It wasn’t just in your head. 

[twdmusicboxmystery]

10x19: One More - Analysis

Okay, what did everyone think of 10x19? I really liked it a lot. I’m still trying to get a handle on what everything meant, and I think there’s a lot more to be had than what we see on the surface, but it was a really tragic and moving episode. I got lots of messages from people who watched it early and immediately noticed the Bethyl callbacks.

So, I’m going to do something slightly different this week. Today, I’m going to focus on those—all the obvious callbacks—and tomorrow I’ll do more of a forecasting post about what I think this episode means for the future and where I think it’s going.

***As always, spoilers abound below for 10x19. Don’t read until you’ve watched!!!***

I kind of figured from the description that this would be a case of Gabe and Aaron = Beth and Daryl. And that’s definitely true. I’m going to call this a mixture between Still callbacks and Consumed.

Still, because of all the callbacks I’m sure you noticed at least a few of. And Consumed because it’s two friends out looking for something. Actually, the first thing that made me think of Consumed is that they kept showing really sad things accompanied by really sad music, which reminded me of Consumed. I know for most people in our fandom, that’s not our favorite episode because it’s a Daryl/Carol episode, but just for the imagery and music and sadness of the dystopian world, I really love it. And this episode was similar to that.

So, it starts by showing some—both white and yellow. This flower

Is an Easter Lily. Yeah, not kidding. EASTER Lily.

Of course there are both white and yellow flowers. The yellow ones are reminiscent of the ones we saw in the cemetery in Alone.  

Then we see Aaron and Gabe surrounded by walkers. When they start killing the walkers, its shows blood hitting all the flowers in a really kind of graphic way. I was like, “ew.” But at one point, they also hit a green grasshopper.

So, I was thinking that blood hitting the flowers and the grasshopper could possibly represent Beth being shot. And there are plenty of blond walkers to be had in this episode.

Aaron and Gabe arrive at a particular house. On Maggie’s map, it says this should be a two-story house with a root cellar, and she wants them to check the cellar for supplies. But when they get there, all that’s left is a doorframe with a swinging door and the chimney. The rest has been burnt, and by the looks of it, fairly recently. This is where they see the three charred skeletons with the pink flowers growing around them.

Couple of things. 1) This is a foreshadow for later in the episode. It has to do with the 2 stories, and I’ll get to it at the end. 2) The charred skeletons are a bit like what Daryl saw in 6x06, which was chalk full of Beth symbolism. 3) The pink flowers. (Pink Theory.)

In terms of foreshadows, this really screams the CRM to me, because of the burnt skeletons and the ties to 6x06, and remember that in 5x09, the radio voice (Andy) talked about the republic and a group that was setting people on fire. It’s like that’s one of their tactics.

One thing I didn’t realize from the trailer is that these are not three adult skeletons. It’s two adults and a child, all with their arms wrapped around each other. There’s a huge theme in this episode of families dying and specifically children dying. (Which is actually another tie to Consumed; remember the mother and child walker they find, and Daryl burns? Well, here we have two parents and a child, all who’ve been burnt. Yeah, not a coincidence, folks.)

We have two or three representations of families or children dying in this episode. I was thinking about the family in the gas station in 4a. I don’t think any of theme were children, but Daryl said something about them holding hands and taking themselves out Kumbaya style. And a lot of the skeletons we see here seem to be either taken out by their family members, or else they’ve committed suicide. There’s the child walker Carol and Daryl saw in 5x06. There was the creepy nursery near Denise just before she died. Etc. And it’s really very dark, ominous symbolism. Very sad.

Then Gabe pulls out an egg timer (another one of those), sets it for 5 seconds, and lobs it into the field. When it rings, tons of walkers spring up. So, it’s their way of checking before walking into tall grass. In this case, it shows the dial turning as the timer counts down. It definitely feels like a symbolic countdown to something big.

There’s also huge bullet theme. And usually single bullets. Mays makes them play Russian Roulette, which is all about one single bullet in the chamber. But there are tons of times when they pick up single bullet casings, or we see bullet holes in cars or walls or cans. Just a huge theme.

Okay, let’s get specific. They come upon a line of cars, which is really important. But just before that, Gabriel sees basically two piles of bones. I could tell not all of them were human. Some were too big. And I thought they might be horse bones. @bluesandbeth told me she thought they were two horses with their riders still on top. And she’s right. I couldn’t tell when I first looked at them. But once she said it, I could see it. It’s like a horse lying on it’s side, with the rider still straddling the horse, also lying on his side. And they died that way.

Now, other than knowing that we’ve definitely seen horses in the show before—think Buttons—I wasn’t sure what to make of it. Until @wdway said something interesting. You know the two horseback riders we see in the opening credits? Me and my fellow theorists are always going back and forth about who they are. I originally thought Rick and Michonne, which is the obvious conclusion. But @wdway told me she thinks this is actually Rick and Beth.

And you know, that makes a lot of sense since we didn’t see these new opening credits until Rick disappeared into the CRM. So, they could represent the two missing sheriffs.

And that makes a lot of sense with these bones. Because this scene with the cars has about 20 callbacks to Beth and what we think happened during the missing 17 days. So the bones represent the two riders from the opening credits, which represent the two missing sheriffs.

Now, onto the cars. One has the trunk open (Still) one has the side door hanging open (5x09). And there’s a van where Aaron sees a female walker in the front seat, which is kind of like what we saw in 5x09. Gabe finds a can of food, but there’s a bullet in it, which probably means the food either leaked out or spoiled. 

But the really interesting thing is that him opening this trunk and looking in is very reminiscent of Maggie opening the trunk and finding the Beth walker in 5x10. So if we can equate those two things, both times, it represents opening the trunk and Beth being inside. In 5x10, she was represented by the walker. Here, by the can of food with a bullet hole in it, just like Beth got shot in the head.

Another thing I was reminded of was in 6x04, when Morgan sees the man and woman and she puts down a can of food and a bullet on top and says, “Thank you.” I think this symbolism may be related to that.

Then they go to the MiniMart. On the outside, it feels like the Big Spot or else maybe the gas station where Rick and Daryl met Jesus. In fact, much like in 6x10, there is a post for cigarettes with a price of $4.30.

When it pans out, there’s a coffee pot lying on its side (important because it’s something that water runs through, and we’ve seen a coffee theme as well) a walker with a bullet hole in its forehead, a bright yellow magazine rack by the door, etc. And this was a place you could play the lottery, so there was a poker theme going on.

 Okay, the ARM symbolism is alive and well. My fellow theorists and I have been obsessing about what the arm symbolism points to ever since Leah threw the walker arm at Daryl. In this episode, a walker sticks both hands out of the door, and Gabe hacks them both off, around the forearm/elbow area. 

Then, another walker gets its head and torso out and Aaron stabs it in the head. He and Gabe both grab an arm to try and yank it out of the way so they can get by, but the arms (really the hands because it separates at the forearms) just come off. And really, it’s just the skin, not the bones that comes off, but still. (Ew.)

This is where Gabriel goes up on the roof and we get the scene from the promo.

Okay, so when I first saw the promo, I immediately said this was a Grady callback. The “SAVE US” is something that could only be seen from the sky. Like…from a helicopter? Plus there were some important scenes on the roof of Grady. There’s a walker that’s handcuffed. So it’s an imprisonment theme. And Grady was all about imprisonment. And finally, we have what looks to be two lovers, dead, but entwined together on a mattress. I was thinking that if this is meant to represent Grady, that might represent Beth and Daryl. The love that never happened because Beth “died” and the relationship died with her. Or something equally tragic.

But there are other things we can connect this to as well. First off, what you don’t see in this shot is that there are two other walkers also tied to a second pole, but neither of them are animated. They’re just corpses. So we have a grand total of three prisoners here. If you look closely, the man lying on the mattress has a gun in his hand. Which suggests this might have been a murder/suicide situation.

It’s reminiscent of Merle being handcuffed on the roof in season 1, which was just before he went missing. It also reminded me of the strange, unexplained handcuffs Daryl found in 8x02 in that office building. Those were never explained. But the point is, it’s a handcuffs/imprisonment theme.

A big part of this is a foreshadow for the end of this episode and what happens with Mays. But given that he and his bro are one-off characters only appearing in this episode, I think this must foreshadow more than that, too.

We don’t actually see the inside of this place because Gabe goes to the roof, takes the ladder down (Ladder Theory) and then comes out the front door, but tells Aaron there’s nothing they can use in there.

Then they talk about going home. Aaron and Gabe been out for 2 weeks, which is definitely a Heath/Tara thing. In S6, they’d been out scouting for supplies for 2 weeks, and that was just before Heath disappeared into the CRM. Just saying.

Okay, then Gabe falls in the mud. Here’s the thing: we really thought Gabriel might die in this episode. Obviously not. But I do see some fairly clear death omens for him here. Of course I can’t be sure of anything, but I still think his death is probably close.

First is the fact that he trips at all. Anytime anyone really faceplants on the show, it sort of shows a coming catastrophe for them, which is often death. Beth face-planted in the elevator shaft in 5x04. Spencer fell off the zipline in S6, and died less than a season later. You get the idea. When, when Aaron lifts the walker off him, it leaves some intestines (ew) on his stomach, and the camera focuses on them for a moment. Just felt like a death omen to me.

I will say, however, that anyone who’s read the comics knows that this feels a lot like they might do exactly what they did there for his death. And they don’t usually do that. They almost always remix it in some way. So this could also just be a nod to his comic book death. We’ll have to see where they go with it.

But this scene is super interesting. It feels like EXACTLY the same thing we saw in 10x18. We have Gabriel’s map being ruined, and then a huge storm that immediately follows. And there’s Beth symbolism (talk of a water tower, etc). So I thought it was interesting that we saw it twice, in two subsequent episodes. Also, for most of the episode they’re kinda sorta trying to get to the water tower. As though water tower is end game or something.

Then they get to a warehouse that wasn’t on the map. Gabe finds the bibles inside. I’m still forming a theory about the passage he opens up to, but we all know they use biblical symbolism in this show a lot, and especially around Beth. But remember they found a bible in the barn in Alone. Later, Mays says the pages are torn because he uses them for toilet paper. (Toilet Paper Theory.)

Then we get to the really good Bethyl callbacks. Aaron and Gabriel eat pork, drink alcohol, play poker (not exactly the same as Beth and Daryl’s drinking game, but it’s a game), Aaron has a “bullshit” line, Gabriel shows an 8 and a 2 card, Aaron says he needs to “take a piss,” etc.  

I did notice something while watching, but wasn’t sure what to make of it until AK was talking at the end of the episode. It shows one hand of poker and Aaron folds, which means Gabe wins. This is where he shows a 2 and an 8, which isn’t anything in poker. So, he won the hand on a bluff. And I went, huh. Wonder what that means. But it was a foreshadow of what happens with Mays. I’ll get to that.

Gabe has an “I’m serious” mention. In one of the bigger parallels, the dialogue is not the same, but the meaning is. So, different words, same meaning. Gabriel says his line from the promo about how evil people aren’t the exception, they are the rule. That really disturbs Aaron and he says, “okay, now I’m sober.” It’s the equivalent of “you ain’t a happy drunk at all.” And then he drives it home by saying, “I’m going to go up to the room and pitch myself off head first.”

And THEN—get this—he picks up a golf club and smacks a golf ball at FG, hitting him in the foot. Gabe says, “ow.” So not only a golf/Still reference, but I think it specifically ties back to when Daryl uses the club to kill the walker and hits Beth with the gore.

They say in TTD that they actually did an extended golf sequence where Aaron and Gabe set up this huge mini-golf course thing, but most of it got cut from the episode for time. So there was originally a massive golf theme in this episode.

Of course Mays shows up to take them captive. He shows Gabriel Aaron’s metal arm. So, more arm symbolism.

Without going into tons of detail here, let’s just recognize that the entire theme of this episode is whether or not there are good people in the world still. (Beth line.) Mays thinks all people are evil but Gabe and Aaron prove him wrong by refusing to the point the gun at one another during the Russian Roulette game. There’s a line where Gabriels screams at him that he needs to remember who he was. (“who you were.”) Which is a direct parallel to Beth telling Daryl to stay who he is. Which is a good person. So it’s a similar theme being explored here.

At one point, Mays says, “there’s nothing left in this world but thieves and murderers.” It’s not the same line Glenn says in 5x02, but the wording of the first part is exactly the same. “There’s nothing left in this world that isn’t hidden.”

We also definitely get an “illusion/hallucination” reference here. I noticed Gabriel said (and I’m paraphrasing; didn’t write down the exact words) that Mays was so bitter, and had so convinced himself that everyone in the world was evil, that he’d blinded himself to the truth and couldn’t see that he was about to kill two very decent guys (Gabe and Aaron). So, it just struck me as a you-can’t-see-the-truth-that’s-right-in-front-of-you theme. Plus, maybe a see no evil theme?

Another theme that jumped out at me is whether or not they are the same as him. At one point, he says, “you’re so close,” and I think he means to becoming a villain, like he is. During their fight, he says they’re the same and Gabriel rebukes him, saying they aren’t like him.

We’ve seen that theme a lot before. It’s like a theme of the bad guys trying to make the good guys like them, and the good guys have to prove they’re better than that. So, Crazy Tattoo Guy at Terminus came running out of his train car yelling, “we’re the same,” before he died. Joe Claimer tried hard to convince Daryl that he was like them and one of them, even though he wasn’t. And we could even tie this to Beth saying, “I’m not like you or them, but I made it.” Slightly different meaning in that case, but the verbiage is similar.

(BTW, notice in the pic above, Aaron has a head wound, bleeding from exactly the spot Beth was shot.)

And surprisingly, they actually manage to convince Mays that they’re right and he puts away the gun and unties Aaron, looking as if he’ll let them go. He unties Aaron…and then Gabe kills him. Pretty brutally.

So this is the second reason I think this might be a death knell for Gabe. And it also ties to the bluff in the poker game. AK said that everything Gabe said to Mays about him still believing in God and the bible was a bluff. So we’re left wondering if it was a complete lie, and Gabe has entirely lost his faith. Now, a crisis of faith does line up with Daryl in Inmates/Still, but at the very least, Gabe is in a really dark place. But he hides it well. It doesn’t look that way to others. But I feel like he’s spiraling and being super self-destructive, and this might soon lead to his death.

Remember when he killed Dante? It’s a lot like that. And at one point, Aaron says that Gabe doesn’t mean that (all the negative stuff he says) because his mind is just really full of the Whisperers still, but not all people are like the Whisperers. So, I think the idea is that dealing with the Whisperers really messed Gabe up.

But of course they go upstairs, or up a level and find Mays’ twin brother. And the thing is, Gabe wasn’t entirely wrong to kill him. I mean, in terms of Gabe’s inner arc, obviously he was being really, disturbingly brutal. But Mays was keeping his twin brother a prisoner upstairs. We see two bodies—that of a woman and child—each with a bullet hole in their foreheads. Which is obviously reminiscent of Beth. But the brother also says Mays “made him play.” Which means he did the Russian Roulette thing, but unlike Gabe and Aaron, he didn’t shoot himself but rather turned the gun on his wife and child and eventually shot both of them.

So neither of these guys was exactly Alexandria material. Then the brother gets ahold of Gabe’s gun and shoots himself. Aaron and Gabe leave. On their way out, it shows a photograph of the two brothers laughing together, clearly before the apocalypse.

Okay, let’s talk about this scene. This is what I meant was foreshadowed by Maggie’s two-story building description. Gabe and Aaron found a 2-story building where a family died together. You could say the same thing here of Mays and his brother.

I’m still not entirely sure what to make of the evil twin/evil sibling symbols. I think it must foreshadow something, and we just don’t understand what it points to yet. We saw it with Lizzie/Mica, with Noah’s twin brothers (and the picture of Mays and his brother is very reminiscent of that) and now here. So it’s really fascinating to me, and I’ve talked about it before, but it’s obviously symbolism that’s still in play and that we don’t entirely understand. For more on this, see the 5x09 Post I recently wrote.

But here’s the other thing about this scene. It was this scene in particular that reminded me of the handcuffs Daryl found in S8. 

Because Mays’ bro was handcuffed in the same way. Near those cuffs in S8, there was also what might have been a dogfood sandwich, which is exactly what Daryl was fed at the Sanctuary in 7x03. So you see what I mean? It’s a whole imprisonment theme, with similar symbols around it. And dog symbol always = Sirius = Beth, which is why I think it has to have something to do with her. Then, I saw this:

Guys, this is the exact same brand of dog food we saw with Daryl at the Sanctuary. It’s called A-OK.  

And what does it mean? I’m not sure, but consider this: even in 4x01, Beth had a lot of imprisonment symbols in her cell. A bird cage, a no exit sign, a garden gnome. And if Grady was tied to the CRM, and was absorbed by them, then Beth may have been a prisoner of the CRM for like 8 years, now. And even putting her aside, Rick has been their prisoner for 6 years. That much is confirmed in the show. So I think this points to the CRM in one way or another. It’s about a long imprisonment term, but is tied to Sirius and the return.

In the last scene, Gabe and Aaron walk through a field and they are coming up on the water tower, though it’s still in the distance. One of them says it’s the last place on the map. And I think that’s significant. So, I had a few different thoughts about how we could interpret this.

So, as I already said, Beth = water = endgame. But we also know the CRM is purifying water. So CRM = endgame. What I mean is, maybe it’s saying that the CRM is the last huge battle they’ll have to fight, and maybe then they’ll get the world back. And we’ve kind of thought that for a while. That they’ve been hinting at this group and this war, since season 1 when Rick saw the helicopter in Atlanta. And Beth will be a big part of it.

I also think we may be getting lots of hints of them losing Alexandria here. So it might be a matter of losing one more home or finding one more home. Something like that. If the CRM is the “one more” in the title… well, at first, Gabe says, “two more,” and then eventually “one more.” So I’m thinking two more big arcs. The first is the Commonwealth. The second “one more” is the CRM. But I think that will last for several seasons.

It also occurred to me that the “one more” could also be a death omen for Gabriel. One more place. One more battle. One more episode? And then he’s done. But all of this is just conjecture. Me brainstorming ideas.

One other thing I wrote down is that AK said the bullet in the gun in the Russian Roulette game represented one last trial, and would this be the bullet that will break them? I thought that was interesting, especially in terms of Beth’s loss breaking Daryl.

Okay, lets go back to what I said at the beginning. Obvious callbacks to Bethyl and Still, and lots of things suggesting her imminent return. Since the water tower = Beth and Gabe and Aaron were kind of searching for it the whole episode, you can see how that parallels 5x06, Consumed. But I also think it foreshadows the spinoff with Carol and Daryl leaving together to go search for Beth, even if they don’t know it initially. The fact that Aaron and Gabe were originally searching for something else (food/supplies) but sort of ended up aiming for the water tower here is probably purposeful.

Bottom line? This still points toward Beth being very close. I’ll do more general forecasting tomorrow. Thoughts?

[404-not-found-xix]

I've been thinking about Tyrell visiting the Allsafe offices in S1... just imagine if he had asked Elliot out to lunch or something :)

Spring mornings, skipping work to chat, and teasing banter? My kind of afternoon Alex.

*****

Safety had been Tyrell’s first priority at Evil Corp. As their Senior Vice President of Technology, it was imperative that their data remained tightly locked.

After the Colby incident, it was imperative that he helped the company save face. They couldn’t put on a weak front amidst the controversy- instead, confidence. The rest of the board was far too old and had better use as speaking bobbleheads in front of a camera. They had built the company to what it was but they were dinosaurs of a bygone era. Wellick was far more suited for the position and he knew it.

He patted down his tie, slicking out of the elevator, and strolled into Allsafe. He had a meeting with Gideon Goddard to talk about their next steps in securing Evil Corp’s data. 

__

It was a short meeting. It could have been held through a video chat, but with something as important as this- he chose otherwise. And, anyway, it wasn’t his true reason for coming here. 

“Elliot-” He smiled with a formal nod, almost beaming as he stopped by the tech’s desk.

He turned from his work slowly, reluctant to stop crunching numbers and writing his next line of code. He had been assigned to Tyrell’s case.

“Good morning sir,” His eyes flicked up, pen in hand.

He reached out and they shook hands, “Please, you don’t have to be so formal with me. Call me Tyrell,”

“Mmm,” He nodded, looking him over. “You came for a meeting with Gideon, right? To talk about the temperature control in Steel Mountain and our suggestion to regulate it by adding an analog component. In the case of an outside attack, it would involve someone physically collecting each protected key before making any changes. They would need to know the location of the designated space before potentially jacking up the heat in your data room and accentually frying them to shit. It would be unrecoverable.”

“Yes, well, that’s why I wanted to talk to you. I wanted your opinion on the matter- off the record. Are you hungry?”

He glanced at his desktop, mulling it over. “Are you buying?”

“Of course,”

Elliot saved his data before powering down. Grabbing his jacket and slipping it on. “Alright, I’m ready.”

___

[Music playing at the restaurant]

The two took Tyrell’s car. His bodyguard drove them to lunch, a French restaurant. A place where you could sit outside under a large pergola with blooming vines wrapped around Earth. Small wire tables with freshly made lattes, a plate of macrons, and flowers in an elegant glass vase. 

It took Elliot by surprise, but he didn’t mind. The place was beautiful and extravagant in an understated way. It felt at peace at its own existence, windchimes glittering in the breeze.

“I thought since it was such a beautiful day, you would like this. I like coming here for their pastries, they’re divine,” He smiled, pouring a cup of refreshing cucumber water for them both.

Elliot shifted in his seat, unzipping his hoodie in the Spring weather. Even popped a button at his color, fixing his hair. “It’s nice, it’s really quite beautiful,” He pulled his teacup to his lips, drinking the smooth hot liquid.

The two made their orders and chatted about work. It was easy to flow like this. Elliot felt confident about coding and security measures, easy technical conversation for his skill. He was brilliant and he knew it. He felt it.

“So... enough shop talk, what does a guy like you do for fun?”

“Umm..” He set down his tea, rubbing his forehead with a wicked smirk, “For fun? Shit...” His tongue slicked across his lips, “Taking my dog Flipper for a walk. She prefers going to the park.”

“Mmm.”

“There’s also movies, I’m a big movie buff. I grew up on Star Trek and Back to the Future- I’ve probably seen that one a million times,” He nodded. “There’s a long tradition of my sister and I watching The Careful Massacre of the Bourgeoisie every Halloween. We didn’t do it for a couple of years, but I really enjoy that,” He chuckled, smiling, as he thought back. “It’s special, ya know?”

“That’s tender,” Slowly, his heart was melting. Watching Elliot relax and exhale his stuffy work persona was heartwarming. There was more to him than meets the eye.

“Do you mind if I smoke?”

“Care to share?”

He reached into his coat pocket and thumbed for the squares. He fitted one between Tyrell’s lips- chalking it up to the sweet tea and romantic atmosphere. “Come here,” He spoke in a low tone, flicking the lighter between them. They softly leaned forward, catching the ends of their cigarettes together under the heat of the warm flame. The ends danced, grazing each other under the intimacy of the light and shared body heat. There’s always a reason to linger... Eyes catching the other, blue eyes glinting together.

Tyrell flushed beat red, snatching the end from his lips and playing with it between his fingers. He sat back, exhaling a long drag, eyes sharp and witty, “You’re a tease, Alderson.”

He snapped the lighter shut. 

Those lips parted, teeth holding his in place. “Oh, what do you mean sir?” Coyly.

“What businessman takes his lackey out for lunch, probing for personal information on an afternoon like this?” He gestured to the sky, “I know what you’re doing,” A stream flowed from his painted lips.

“Ah,” He flicked his stick, “I thought I was being subtle.”

“Nothing you do is subtle,” He played with his end, watching the other. “I like it.”

[vigilantesanonymous]

clean - klaus hargreeves

Diego is your best friend, and he asks you for your help, the one and only favor he’s ever asked of you. The catch? It involves helping his addict brother get clean.

Warnings: addiction, alcohol, mentions of an abusive relationship

Word count: 4900

***

A favor. That’s all that Diego mentioned in his text about why I oh so urgently needed to meet up with him. That’s Diego though, curt, short, and to the point. Elaboration was not his strong suit, never had been. 

“You need to get a real place to live, Diego,” I say, looking around the cramped room that reeks of sweaty dudes and menthol muscle cream. “I mean who are you, Rocky Balboa?”

“Hey, I’m doin’ just fine. Mind your own business,” he snarks, obviously butthurt that I don’t revel in the aesthetic of living in a gym as much as he does. “I asked you here to see if you could do a favor for me,” he says, his tone suddenly shifting to serious. “It’s about my brother.”

Diego Hargreeves, in my years of knowing him, has never talked about his family. I know they exist, from all the splashes in old newspapers about the Umbrella Academy. But he would be damned before actually speaking about any of them. Any time that I tried to tease out some information about the strange family that Diego was apart of, he clammed up, changing the subject to literally anything else. So the fact that he wanted to ask me a favor involving his brother had me start to wonder if Diego had been replaced by a clone, a carbon copy of the man who had erased his family from his life. 

“Which one?” I ask, slightly confused. “One, four, five, or six?”

“Klaus,” he responds. “I um, I really need your help with him.” Diego rubs at his forehead, his go-to body language for when he’s stressed. “This isn’t easy for me to ask you this, but you’re my closest friend and the only person that I really would trust with him. My brother Klaus is a drug addict, and he got caught, again, buying pills off of some loser. I’ve tried talking to him, talked about getting clean and sober, I know a few of our other siblings have talked to him, but nothing sticks. He just won’t listen to us,” Diego says through gritted teeth. “He’s in jail right now, and I’ve been talking to the ADA to see if they’ll let him out easy if he gets clean. But they’re being really strict about it, and they won’t let him out unless someone really helps him get clean. They’re going to make him get checked weekly, make sure nothing new is in his system. It’s going to be rough.”

“So where do I fit into all of this?”

“That’s what I’m getting to.” Diego has never been one to ask for favors, especially not one this grave, and I can tell it’s painful for him to get the words out. “You’re one of the most kind, patient, loyal people I know. If anyone can help Klaus kick this, it’s you. So, I’m asking you if you’ll help my brother get sober.” 

“Diego Hargreeves,” I sigh heavily. I didn’t know on my walk over here that I would be enlisted to become a one woman sobriety clinic, but I owe Diego my life. So anything that he asks of me, I’ll do it.

“I know it’s a lot that I’m asking of you,” he starts, but I cut him off with a shake of my head.

“You know I can’t say no to you, you bastard,” I chuckle softly. “I’ll help your brother. I can’t say that I’m going to succeed, seeing as he sounds like he’s a real pain in the ass, but I’ll help you.”

Diego reaches out and smothers me in one of his rare hugs. “Thankyouthankyouthankyou,” he breathes, giving me a final squeeze. “You don’t know how much this means to me.”

“Don’t thank me just yet,” I note. “Let’s get your brother out of jail first.”

~~~

Klaus has himself flung dramatically over the bench in the cell, his skinny arms flung to either side of him. Well- it must be Klaus because he’s the only one in the cell. I notice that he has a few tattoos, and more than his fair share of puncture holes around the inside of his elbow. His outfit it… Excentric. A crop top and pants so tight they might as well be painted on him. 

“Get up, asshole,” Diego barks.

Klaus looks over lazily, his energy shifting as he sees his brother. He bolts upright, a grin lighting up his features. “You’ve come to rescue me!” He cries as soon as his eyes fall onto Diego. He then turns to me, his expression becoming more coy. “Well Diego, I didn’t know you were going to bring your side piece. I would have cleaned myself up more for a proper introduction.”

Diego and I both look at each other, disgusted. “There’s no way-” “We’re not fucking-” We say at the same time, which only amuses Klaus more.

“Why’s she here then?”

“She’s going to get you sober,” Diego says with a devilish smirk. 

“Ah, so she’ll be my keeper then,” Klaus grins. 

Diego rolls his eyes. “Look, she’s a good friend of mine, so if you try to pull any bullshit with her-”

“You’ll skin me alive or something like that. Whatever, Knife-Boy.” Klaus dismisses Diego with a wave of his hand. 

“Promise me.”

Klaus raises his right hand, cocking his hip to the side. “I promise, okay? Scouts honor. I will be a delightful little cherub and do nothing except focus on becoming squeaky clean and sober.”

“Good. You better.” Diego gives Klaus a knowing glance before turning back to me. “Okay, he’s in your custody. Let me know if you need anything.”

“Will do,” I agree, swinging my keys around on my finger. “Alrighty Klaus, let’s get going.”

Klaus and I walk out into the crisp autumn air towards my car in the jail’s dinky parking lot. Despite the weather, Klaus was arrested in a crop top and sinfully tight black leather lace up pants. He shoves his hands in his pockets, goosebumps littering his arms. He shivers slightly. “If it gets any more cold out here, my nips might show.”

I laugh and shake my head at him, unlocking the door to my car. “That’s inappropriate. I’ll have to get you a change of clothes; I run a modest household,” I tease. 

“Oh wonderful, I can’t wait for our stay together to begin, then,” Klaus says, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “I’m surprised that my brother hasn’t tried to steal this car from you,” he notes as he swings himself into the passenger seat. “I don’t know a whole lot about cars, but this looks a hell of a lot better than that shitty vintage beater he’s got.”

“I know,” I reply. I drive a white ‘72 Ford Mustang, and on more than one occasion Diego has commented on how pretty my car is. I stick the key in the ignition, the roar of the engine a sound that never ceases to comfort me. 

“So what’s the plan?” Klaus asks me. He starts toying with the knobs for the radio, switching from one station to the next. “Find a sleazy hotel, snort some coke, have wild sex?” His eyes glitter with mischief as he says this.

“Yeah, don’t you wish,” I retort. 

Klaus huffs, folding his arms and slouching down in the passenger seat to pout. “Well you’re no fun,” he sighs. “Can we at least get some cigarettes and take out for dinner?”

“Why don’t we establish some ground rules instead?” I suggest, laughing as he groans loudly from his spot in the passenger seat. 

~~~

Something I learned very quickly was how feisty Diego’s brother is. Klaus did not take to sobriety well, and made it very clear and is very vocal that he was not going to get clean without a fight. Within the first day, he had cleared through all the liquor I had stored under my bathroom sink (for when I was having a rough day myself). He was suspiciously quiet for how talkative he had been in the car, which made me nervous. And low and behold, when I went into his room to check on him, he was laying on the floor, giggling to himself and reeking of whiskey. I dragged him to the bathroom and forced him to puke (“Kinky,” he slurs as I hold his head up by the hair. “You know, you’re sexy when you take charge like this. Maybe pull my hair a little harder,” he jeers, clearly enjoying making me flustered by flirting with me. “You having fun? This won’t be so funny in a second, smartass,” I snap. Klaus thought it was a great joke until I shoved my fingers down his throat and he starts purging himself of all my booze). 

That was the other thing: the relentless flirting. Whether he was sassy, or he wanted something, or wanted to throw me off guard, or even when he was in one of his sweeter moods, Klaus would always make some kind of remark that never failed to make me blush. After a few days, I should have grown accustomed to it, expected if from him even. But I didn’t, and every time he would say how hot it was that I was taking charge and keeping him from downing as many pills as possible to get high, or when he was shaking and barely coherent and suggesting a sexual exchange in order to get his fix, I would find myself red in the face. I tried to shake it off and chalk it up to him just buttering me up so that he could get what he wanted, but it didn’t always seem that way. Sometimes I would catch him staring at me for a beat too long, his usually mischievous look replaced with something softer. I didn’t really know what to make of it. 

“Ah, there she is!” Klaus cries as I walk in the door. He pops up from the couch a little too quickly for my liking for his current state. He’s so close to being done with the ugly stage of withdrawal- the shaking, sweating, screaming in your sleep and calling me a bitch because I wouldn’t get him something to get high with- stage. It’s made him a little worse for wear; he’s shaky and lightheaded because of the lack of drugs in his body. Only a day or two more and it should be out of his system completely. “My little angel! Did you get any snacks for our movie night?”

I feel my face heat up as I root through the convenience store bag for his cigarettes. “Yeah, and I got you a present too.” I hold them out to him, Klaus eagerly snatching them up like a child on Christmas Day. 

“Oh, bless you and your beautiful face,” he says gratefully. 

“They’re for us to share,” I say as I dump out the contents of the bag onto the counter. Smoking is the only vice that Klaus and I share. Klaus makes fun of me for it, saying that I smoke for the aesthetic of it, whereas he smokes because he’s an addict. I actually picked up smoking to temper my anxiety- the ritual of taking a drag, forcing myself to breathe slowly and surely helps calm me down a lot. 

Klaus leans against the counter, lighting up a cig. He takes a deep drag, letting the smoke tumble from his lips. I stand mesmerized as I watch it tangle through the curls in his hair to the ceiling. The slight tremble from his hands stills as he absorbs the nicotine, and I see as the tension starts to ooze out of him. He takes a few more drags before offering it to me. 

“I really can’t thank you enough,” he says as I take a puff of my own. “That nicotine really hit the spot.” He shuffles over to me and gives me a quick peck on the cheek, his facial hair tickling my face as he does. “A token of my appreciation.”

I giggle, playfully blowing smoke at him. “I’m glad I could make your day, Klaus.”

“Well, there’s always something you could do to make my day,” he grins, giving a suggestive waggle of his eyebrows. He hoists himself onto the counter, feet dangling. He positions himself over me so he can see what else I grabbed for us. Giggling softly to himself, he leans back lazily as he watches me put things away in the kitchen. “Yeah, I’m pretty easy to keep happy. Smokes, yummy food, and someone to love me.”

Before I could respond, my phone started ringing. Diego, probably prompting me for another update on Klaus’ sobriety. I mentally scream, annoyed that I can’t seem to ever get to the bottom of Klaus’s flirting. Reluctantly, I walk down the hall to answer the phone, wishing the whole time I just would get the courage to deny the call and see what Klause really means. 

*

“Star China is absolute trash,” Klaus says, shaking his head. “I refuse to eat it. We should get takeout from that place that’s called Little Hong Kong or something. Their egg rolls?” He kisses his fingers, blowing it towards me. “Absolute perfection.”

I can never beat Klaus with his antics. They definitely have added to my experience of living with him. He always finds a way to overembelish an interaction, which keeps me on my toes. “Fine, we’ll get your fucking takeout place,” I say with a laugh. “But I want noodles.”

“Wait! I want noodles!” Klaus whines. “Can I have some too?” 

Klaus and I take a few minutes to negotiate what to order, Klaus perched over my shoulder as he reads the menu. His breath tickles my neck, causing my heart to start beating out of control. 

I pay for delivery, Klaus hopping up and down behind me as I gather all the food from our driver and shut the door with my hip. “Thank God,” Klaus moans. “I’m starving. I mean, I could practically wither away with how hungry I am.”

“Oh, shut up,” I laugh. “I feed you. It isn’t my fault that you choose not to eat vegetables.”

He snatches one of the boxes of takeout from me, grabbing a fork and heading for the couch. 

“Hey! Where are you going?”

“I like to be comfy when I eat!” Klaus calls back, already shoveling food into his mouth.

I roll my eyes. He’s always distracted by something, whether it’s Ben talking to him or the TV, which causes him to get crumbs everywhere. But he’s already rooted himself to the corner of the couch, his feet tucked underneath of him as he devours his chicken lo mein. 

“Okay,” I agree, setting the other food down on the coffee table. “But if I find any crumbs someone is picking them all up, and it’s not going to be me.”

“Ben?” Klaus asks, pointing to the chair across from him.

“That’s kind of rude to pin the chores on your dead brother,” I retort. 

“Don’t back him up!” Klaus cries, which only makes me laugh more. I decide to sit down next to him, making it easier for us to share food. Well, that, and I will take any excuse to be close to Klaus. “I was planning on sharing some of this, but now I’m not going to,” he huffs defiantly.

“Oh, come on Klaus. Please?” I lean against him, hoping that batting my lashes will win him over. 

Klaus stops for a second, taking me in. He looks me over and grins, jumping back into his character. “Oh, fine. I can’t say no to a girl as pretty as you.” He twirls some noodles around on his fork, holding it up to feed me some. 

I take the food from him, positioning myself so I’m leaning against him slightly. Klaus moves some of the cushions so that I’m leaning more on him than I am on them. He takes advantage of the way we’re sitting to steal a piece of shrimp from me, his eyes twinkling with delight as I turn to look at him, but I don’t call him out for it. 

“Y’know, out of all of my siblings, I could argue that Diego is the least conversational,” Klaus notes as we sit nestled together on the couch. “So how on earth did a nice girl like you become friends with such a hard ass like him?”

I pick at my noodles, moving them by pushing them into a pile and then placing one on top of the other. “It’s kind of a long story,” I say, not really answering the question. I don’t really want to talk about how Diego and I became so close. Diego’s one of the most important people I know, and I owe him my life, but reminiscing on the finer details of how we developed our bond wasn’t something I wanted to focus on.

Klaus shrugs. “Well, I’ve got time. I’m all ears. I mean, I really couldn't leave if I wanted to. Not that I do, of course.” He shifts closer to me, his bright green eyes locking earnestly with mine. I can’t bring myself to turn him down. He’s looking at me supportively, almost like he knows that there’s something sensitive tied to my friendship with Diego. “I was working at a bar he would go to a lot between calls, or if he just wanted some time off from being a self-proclaimed super hero,” I start slowly. “And I was dating this guy at the time. And he and I move in together, because I’m young and naive and I think that even though there’s a million red flags, that moving in together is going to solve all of our problems. But he starts getting rough with me- real rough. So one night we’re fighting, like top of our lungs screaming at each other, and I just get this feeling like…” I stop to rub at my temples. Thinking back to that night brings back so many memories I prefer to keep buried. “I felt like that was it. He was going to kill me. I don’t really remember how I got away from him, but I locked myself in the bathroom and called Diego, just saying that I needed to get out of there and someone to be with me. I knew the police took too long, and I was scared out of my mind. I went back out of the bathroom, and he was choking me, saying that I would leave over his dead body. And then, in a moment of pure poetic irony, I see a knife sink into his jugular.” I chuckle darkly. 

My mind flashes back to that night, the images reeling like a silent film. I remember how dark it was in the apartment, what little light illuminated his face was starting to blur around the edges as I lost more and more oxygen. And the thick thunk sound as Diego’s knife sunk into his neck. The way he stumbled back, grasping at it like that was going to do anything. Me sinking to the cold, hard floor, coughing and trying to catch my breath. My head pounding, my vision coming back, the feeling flooding into my extremities. And Diego, silently slinking forward out of the shadows as my boyfriend bled out on the floor, his eyes hidden beneath his Academy mask. 

“Good old knife boy,” Klaus chuckles darkly. “I’m sorry though,” he says seriously. “You don’t deserve that. I mean nobody does, but especially not you.”

“It’s okay,” I say, but we both know it’s not. 

Klaus silently pulls me into a hug, resting his chin on my head. I feel small but safe in his embrace. “So how come you guys never got together?” I appreciate his attempt to change the subject, even though it’s one that still makes me feel a little awkward. He tries to sound blase about it, but I feel like there is a twinge of something else to his tone. “Diego is one of my best friends, and I’m forever grateful to him, don’t get me wrong…” I taper off. “I just… I know that he could never see me as anything but the way I was that night. When he saved me. And in some ways, I appreciate how protective and respectful he is to me. But if I’m with someone, I want them to see more to me than just that. I know he couldn’t ever do that with me.”

Klaus hums in agreement. “I can see that. Diego is a good guy, but he definitely takes the vigilante hero role to a whole new level. I think that’s what ruined his relationship with the cop lady-”

“Patch?”

“Yeah! That one.”

“Yeah,” I agree. 

I can tell Klaus is looking at me out of the corner of my eye, but I don’t care right now. I feel weirdly distant all of a sudden, like I need some air and space or something. “I think I’m going to go to bed,” I say, almost mechanically. 

“Okay.” Klaus gives my hand a little squeeze. “Sweet dreams.”

“Thanks,” I whisper, but I’m sure he doesn’t hear it. 

Thinking about my ex always puts me in a bad place. That’s why I try to avoid it as much as possible. And that’s why I always keep alcohol around. Is it healthy? No. But I’ll be damned if I have to stay up all night with these thoughts and not get any sleep because of him. One thing I got at the convenience store that I didn’t tell Klaus about was the liter of my friend The Captain, Captain Morgan to be exact. I start throwing back shot after shot, making a face as I do, the sting of the alcohol making my mind melt slowly. But after a few, things start to loosen up, relax. And I feel like I can finally sleep because my thoughts are so spaced out, floating loosely in my brain.  

I feel myself bolt upright in my sleep before I fully realize that I’m awake. In my drunken stupor, I realize it’s Klaus screaming in his sleep that’s woken me up. Again. Poor thing, I think to myself. Maybe he needs someone with him right now. I throw my legs over the side of the bed and walk down the hall to his room.

He doesn't hear me come in at all. “Klaus,” I whisper. He stays asleep, his face screwed up with fear.

“No… No…” he murmurs. “Please Dave, stay with me.” 

“Klaus,” I say again, firmer this time. I give him a little shake, to which he gasps as he wakes up, his fingers digging into my forearms. 

“Holy shit,” he breathes. “Fuck, am I glad you’re here.” He whispers it like a prayer. Any of the usual giddiness and antics is gone from Klaus’ usually bright eyes. Instead, he looks scared and exhausted, the kind that builds up from years of torment and pushing down emotions. He releases me from his grip, falling back on the bed with a faint thud. 

“Move over,” I instruct. Obediently, Klaus scoots over so I can fall into bed beside him. 

For once in his life, Klaus is doesn’t have anything to say. I hear him panting, still recovering from his nightmare as I scoot around until I get comfortable. I look up at him to see him staring back down at me. 

“What’s wrong Klaus?”

He looks down, his long lashes tickling the tops of his cheeks. “It was just… A really bad nightmare, that’s all.”

“You wanna talk about it?”

He shakes his head. “Not really.”

I hold my arms out to him, silently offering to hold him. Klaus accepts, shimmying himself into my embrace. His skin is cold and clammy from sweat and fear. I put my hand on his chest and can feel his heart thumping hard and quick, the way it does when you’re terrified. I feel him trying to relax in my embrace. 

“You smell like booze,” he says softly. I sigh, glad I can’t see his face. Whether it’s a smug smirk of perfect me being not so perfect, or a scowl of disappointment, that was honestly the last thing I needed to see right now. 

I let out a weary sigh before responding. “Well, you’re not the only one who’s been having a rough night.”

“I’m not judging,” he says quickly, almost nervously. “Trust me, I’m the last person who would.” He flips around to face me, snaking an arm around my waist. “If you tell me about yours I’ll tell you about mine,” he offers earnestly. 

“Maybe in the morning,” I suggest. The alcohol is coming back to haunt me, and my brief moment of coherence is wearing off now that I don’t have to attend to the screaming man. I feel tired, and I’m comfortable in bed tucked next to the man that I’ve grown to love. Love. Loving Klaus is a scary thought, but I don’t want to over analyze it in the state I’m in. That could be saved for later. “I promise we can in the morning if you still want to. I’m just, I’m really tired Klaus,” I admit. 

Klaus nods, silently agreeing with me. “Okay,” he says softly. “I’m tired too.” Hesitantly, he nuzzles himself into my embrace, placing his face in the crook of my neck and wrapping his long skinny arms around me. 

~~~

Most mornings, I wake up headache free. This is not one of those mornings. I peel my eyes open, not understanding why I’m not in my own room and why the fuck is Klaus here?!

“I tried not to move around so I wouldn’t wake you up,” Klaus admits as he watches me grasp at my throbbing temples. He must have been watching me for a while, which I find oddly sweet instead of strange.  “How are you doing, sport?” He’s sat up slightly, looking down at me with tender eyes. His dark hair is fluffy and sticking up slightly on one side from sleeping. Klaus is warm too, and I reflexively scoot towards him, he silently shifts to accomodate me. 

“Not well,” I answer gruffly. Then I start to put the pieces together. Drunk me really stumbled all the way to Klaus and slept with him? God, I need to never do that ever again. 

“Someone’s a little cranky,” he teases. “I can’t believe you didn’t share though!”

“Klaus!” I snap. His face falls, immediately sorry. 

“I shouldn’t have asked you all that stuff last night, huh?” He asks softly. “I’m sorry I brought it up. His ghost just keeps following you around though, and he was being so annoying with the accusing and bitching and-”

I sit up so fast that I feel woozy. “Did you just say that my ex-boyfriend’s ghost is following me around?”

“Um, yeah?” He says it so plainly, like it’s common knowledge. “Did- Did Diego seriously not tell you about our powers? They’re kinda like the whole reason that I’m fucked up literally all the time. Both literally and metaphorically.”

“No Klaus, he didn’t mention the powers or the seeing dead people thing,” I sigh. 

“I’m really sorry,” Klaus says softly.

“What? What are you sorry for?”

“I just- I’m sorry that Diego dumped me on you, and that you’re trying to take care of me, and that your ex-boyfriend is a piece of trash,” he says a little bit louder to an empty space in the room. “I know I can be a lot. But no one has ever been this kind to me- well, scratch that. No one has been this kind to me since Dave.” He rakes his fingers through his hair, trying to find the words to tell me what the hell he means. “What I’m trying to say is- You’re a really amazing person. You didn’t have to help me with all of this, getting clean, you didn’t have to come to see if I’m okay when I’m having nightmares.” He slips my hands into his, rubbing his thumbs soothingly over the back of my hands. “I like you a lot. Like, really like you a lot. I’ve been really scared of being vulnerable with someone after Dave but, you make me feel not so scared.”

“So all the flirting was real?” I ask. I feel slow, my brain processing what I’m hearing a few beats too late. 

“Of course it was. You’re fucking hot!” He cries, both of us giggling. “Um,” he swallows, flinging back to seriousness. “If you would want to like, be an item, or date, or something… That would be cool.”

I giggle, sliding a hand up to cup his face. He flicks his gaze up to meet mine, his green eyes melting into mine. I lean in and press my lips to his firmly, Klaus immediately melting into the kiss. He makes a little squeak of excitement as I pull him closer to me, grinning ear to ear when I pull away.

“How’s that for an answer?” I smirk.

“I don’t know, I think I’ll have to check again,” Klaus says before pulling me in for another kiss.

[brvdleymilligan]

HLO slinks in thru a bead curtain.......... truly sry this took me so long to concoct bt i’m here now, hand on hip, smiling coyly at u all...... i’m nai n i’m rly excited to b here so i’ll just dive right in!! u can find bradley’s pinterest board here n her muse tag here. like this or hmu for plots!

[ cis female, she/her, margaret qualley , twenty-four ] i can’t be sure, but i think i just saw BRADLEY MILLIGAN drive onto the parkway. don’t they know we’re not supposed to be driving on that haunted road right now? maybe it has to do with the fact that they’re so +RESILIENT and -VOLATILE that makes them feel UNPHASED about everything going on. i guess we could also chalk it up to the fact that they’re always reminding me of LEMON IN A FRESH CUT, THE AMBER BLINK OF AN ANGRY ALLEY CAT, GRINNING WITH BLOOD ON YOUR TEETH. either way, i hope they get back safely. [ nai, she/her, 24, gmt ]

aesthetics: singeing a hole in your fishnets with the cherry of a menthol, spitting a pistachio behind the bar just to hear it ping off the nozzle top bottles, lemon in a fresh cut, a war torn poppy standing alone in an empty field, pressing thumbs to yellow bruises, stomping over flowerbeds when there’s a path right besides it, dangling over ledges just to feel your chest jolt, a snarling rottweiler that needs muzzling, limp feet poking out behind a door, ‘I PROMISE I DON’T BITE’ scrawled on a name tag, slapping a bald head in front of you at the cinema like it’s a bongo, not owning a single jacket that isn’t stolen, driving a stranger’s car down the wrong lane against the screaming traffic, hair more feral than a wolf cub and eyes smudgier than a coal mine.  

BACKGROUND:

ok SO. her father owns a strip club in crescent hill named no angels. it’s kind of.... a seedy establishment i won’t lie. hs a red glowing sign like it’s lighting up a window in amsterdam. cigarette butts floating in oil slick puddles outside. unsavoury characters crawling all over like rats in a sewer. despite this it’s a legitimate business on the surface of things n it does pretty well in trade. it’s like.... that place people warn u NOT to have ur bachelor party at unless u fancy urself the type tht willingly enters a lion’s den bt tht almost??? adds to the allure in a way??? ppl r like wow so sketchy it’s the thrill of a lifetime........ i mean run while u still can bt go off i guess

it isn’t Confirmed Public Knowledge bt it’s pretty heavily implied thru the rumour mill that bradley’s father is the head of a gang of rly............ Not Nice people. all the ppl that work for him u would hands down NOT want to run into in a dark alley. while things seem legitimate on the suface it’s pretty clear they’re into shady dealings n the townsfolk that suspect that would indeed b correct! the club’s a front for a drug business n they’re also washing n running counterfeit cash thru it. they probably also have their hands dipped into a few other local businesses to run their cash thru these too n keep it all seemingly by the books so nobody comes sniffing around. they even r friends with a member of local law enforcement that’s working w them for a cut so they honestly have all bases covered to keep things airtight n foolproof. perhaps a business in reed too which bradley oversees bt i haven’t given this Too Much thought as of yet??

so ya she’s grown up fairly local most of her life n would maybe be known around town as such.................. the milligans r certainly Interesting as far as families go so like. it honestly wldn’t surprise me if ppl nudge elbows when they see one of them coming n immediately walk in the opposite direction. just quite an intimidating presence...... they’re like caged animals where ur specifically instructed NOT to stick ur fingers between the bars bc they WILL bite

on a more personal note her dad is pretty much the worst human being alive n bradley hs like….. a lot of issues with herself as a result of years of toxicity n abuse

in terms of more family bkground info her mum’s name was alyssa n she vanished when bradley was 12. jst like…. into thin air. nothing. no note. zilch. gan! n when bradley asked her dad abt it his response was essentially “guess she didn’t love us enough to stay”. as bradley’s got older tho n become (without intention) more involved in the business side of things, it’s become pretty clear there was far more to the story.

(abuse tw) they had a horrible marriage n tony ws emotionally manipulative at the best of times, violent at worst, which didn’t help the fact tht alyssa ws struggling a lot w severe depression n rly just… not in the mindset to b dealing w anything else, even where motherhood ws concerned. bradley p much… would look after her a lot n they’d both b scared of her dad n it was just a whole unhealthy mess.

(death implied tw) anyway im rambling bt basically tony (bradley’s dad) gt wind of alyssa sleeping w men tht worked fr him n he just… got rid. bradley’s kind of worked out over the yrs tht her mum didn’t jst leave on her own accord n tht something must hav happened to her bt she’s too scared of her dad to ever directly accuse him

when her mum went all of her dad’s cruelty pretty mch got channelled straight onto her. it ws diluted between two before bt as u can probably imagine her upbringing was jst…. a steep downhill decline

(drugs implied tw) she learnt ways 2 deal w the incurring trauma bt they weren’t healthy ones at all! bsically jst. will do or take anything fr the distraction. chases a thrill like it’s the only way to remind her she’s alive. has absolutely no regard fr her own wellbeing n often gets other ppl in trouble too bc she’s so insatiably reckless

(hospitalisation tw) she hd….2 separate stints of psychiatric hospitalisation n she never tlks abt it. like ever. acknowledging she’s been vulnerable is her worst nightmare n bc of the way her dad raised her she always thinks any sign of struggling within herself is weakness. truly does…. not kno how to properly emotion

CUT TO!!!! the present. she’s currently living at the motel which is like. the least homely place she cld ever live rly but bradley loves making her life uncomfortable n doesn’t rly believe in growing sentimentally attached to anything if she cn help it <3 probably gets into arguments all the time w her neighbours it’s a whole thing.... atrocious at feeding herself has breakfasts frm the vending machine like her organs aren’t screaming fr vegetables.... plays music too loud n sometimes vanishes for days at a time without a word. she’s a lot.

i honestly feel like the murders haven’t rly phased bradley too hugely....... i won’t lie she probably genuinely is like. oh maybe it’s smthn to do w my dad. n just blinks the other way not rly that phased. on some subconscious level i think she rly just thinks........ death follows her wherever she goes n is like. this is just life for me! kind of depressing. holds her hand bt then screams n pulls away when she inevitably bites me.

PERSONALITY:

the kind of sour cherry only certain people have a taste for

once drank a bottle of whiskey, insisted she could still do a cartwheel and accidentally kicked an old man’s front tooth out in the process. proceeded 2 collapse into a flower bed and laugh so much abt it that she cried

barely takes anything seriously 50% of the time and is angry the other 50%

if she was a coffee she’d be black with five grains of sugar that you couldn’t taste until the last sip

(alcoholism tw) high functioning alcoholic. if u ever see her w a coffee cup u jst kno tht one sniff will confirm high alcohol percentage. honestly idk hw she does it her liver must b yellin

loyal to a point of fault. if she cares abt u (rare) and u murder a man in cold blood (not so rare in the broad scheme of bradley’s life) she’ll brawl anyone that says ur guilty

honestly wld probably fight a person over anything. sometimes she’ll jst be having a bad day n she’ll burst n take it out on whoever says the wrong thing. minefield!

has the worst luck in romance…. ever. ALL her past bfs hav been absolute beasts n as a result she has the ‘romance is dead n love is a lie’ mentality. definitely NOT a romantic. very cut n dry abt these things. sex is mostly just sex n she’d kind of scoff at anyone that wanted more from her

mostly wears stolen clothes from strangers and jackets that swamp her. huge chunky stomping boots with steel toe caps that would RLY bruise if they gave u a kick. hair is p much always a wild mess n she usually hs kind of smudgy/smoky makeup bcos apparently she’s allergic to combs and generally looking presentable… relatable content. the only time she rly looks put together is when she has to do something/go somewhere/see someone on behalf of her father....... he kind of uses her as a sort of. honey pot sometimes fr shit his gang get up to it’s like. not! a way u should ever utilise ur daughter but :/ i cannot stress enough how much i wna drop kick him in the neck

she’s v sarcastic. blunt. kind of has a habit of…. assessing a person n she’s quite perceptive bc she’s been trained to b by the way she always has to monitor her dad’s expression fr the slightest emotion change. she’s very confident n can p much mke a conversation out of whatever if she feels like it. independent too like she hs a bunch of (predominantly surface connection) friends bt she doesn’t care abt going out places alone n does this often. she’s probably kind of known around town bt itd b a 50/50 balance between bein known as intimidating n bein known as that one girl tht always gets into anarchy

likes: drunken snow angels that drag on so long they flirt with pneumonia, stealing cars, throwing watermelons off rooftops to watch them explode, shooting pedestrian’s with bb guns from hidden spots on rooftops. 

dislikes: telling the truth, tulips so yellow it’s like they’re gloating, playing music loud enough to fry your brain and serve it on a piece of toast, going home.

PLOTS:

someone tht works at the ‘no angels’ strip club?? either as a dancer or bartender or whtever. just a forewarning it’s probably gna b a pretty….. seedy and Not That Pleasant environment bc it’s like. a crime hotspot inevitably bc it’s a gang hangout so. ur chara wld truly be in fr a rollercoaster ride to say the least

(drugs tw) she deals coke fr her dad’s gang so perhaps ur muse buys off her

anyone….. she’s brawled in the past like. she’s literally a menace i cnt express this enough. wil jst randomly throw a drink in someone’s face fr no reason bc she’s bored. she’s probably pissed off 1000 diff ppl in 1000 diff ways. the possibilities r endless n i jst think tht’s a sexy prospect!

fwbs perhaps??? exes??? (probably ws a tumultuous relationship honestly bradley is. a handful...... it’s also rly not often she ties herself down tbh so this would maybe have to b discussed/be circumstantial/kind of rare)

mayb someone tht she met at an aa meeting when she hd to go fr a court mandated thing one time after bein arrested fr public indecency. i feel like there’s probably a rly expensive statue somewhere thts fancily sculpted n she like. did a flying kick n broke the dick of it off n gt arrested fr it

ppl she……. Goes Wild Goes Crazy w. truly jst the most self destructive person alive so anyone w a similar mindset wld b a hellish bt fun combination

on the contrary a gd influence cld b nice perhaps? like someone tht genuinely cares abt her n she jst doesn’t kno hw to compute it

maybe people who r her neighbours that live at the motel too??

OH it could b fun if ur muse runs or works at a local business maybe like. a bar? idk? n bradley n ur muse have developed a rapport bc she frequents the place n is................ a Character

um. honestly the world’s our oyster. hmu n we cn brainstorm if none of tht catches ur eye!

[kessielrg]

[Kingdom Hearts AU] Maybe Next Year...

Summary: Inspired by @schizophrenichangedman‘s Ventus, in which Sabrina gets a Christmas visitor, and the duo share a silent night together.

Rating: K+

Word Count: 2,853 words

If you like this story please reblog!

---

It was usually a lie that Sabrina couldn't feel any emotion than pure pessimism. At the moment, her mouth was pursed into a thin line to keep herself from shouting against her adoptive father. His words had stopped making sense a good three minutes ago. She didn't even know why he was still talking to her- the only words she needed to hear was 'I will not be home for Christmas.' The addendum of 'I might need to give you a rain check on New Years too.' was also unneeded, and possibly just as frustrating.

To his credit, he really did try not to have the whole holiday week booked with anyone but family. This was only the second year that he wasn't able to smooth over whomever he needed to be home. But it still hurt. He might as well had reached through the phone and pulled her heart out of her chest.

“Please Sabrina, I know you're mad, and I did everything that I could. I swear on my life.”

“I'm not mad.” she told him. A bold faced lie, but she was a good actor. “If anything, that just means we get to go on an even bigger vacation later, right?”

“Didn't we plan on going back to Paris?”

Even if he couldn't see it, Sabrina shook her head. “Ireland.” she corrected him. “I want to spend the night in one of those historical castles again.”

“You just want to wear a cape and dramatically swish it whenever you go down a flight of stairs.”

“Hell yeah.” she agreed with a soft snort. “Don't forget the dramatic entrances into the ballroom accompanied with slow, romantic waltz music.”

Hearing his laugh was a small comfort. She would have liked it more if he was sitting next to her. After awhile, her father let out a soft sigh.

“I love you, my little princess.” he told her in a gentle tone. There was a small indication of weariness in his voice. Sabrina had to close her eyes in a vain attempt to hold back the waterworks. She hated crying.

“Love you too, you old coot.” she mused back. For a moment, her voice broke- revealing just how much she was trying to hold back. But she didn't give her old man time to comment on it; she hung up the call as quickly as she could. The next moment after, she smacked her head against the cool kitchen counter. Her arms tangled around her head as she let out a low moan of annoyance. She should have known he wasn't going to come around tonight; if he was, he would have been home by now.

She probably would have just given up right then and there had her phone not buzzed. The teen took one look at whoever had messaged her and immediately grimaced. Letting out a grunt, Sabrina took a few steps away from the counter and looked up toward the cabinets. Intuition told her that whatever camera set up to spy on her in the kitchen was placed on top of the fridge. She'd almost assume it was the fridge itself if they had sprung for one of those 'smart' appliances. Thankfully, her father didn't see much use in it. The Alexa, on the other hand, was absolutely bugged for sound input when it was plugged in. That bit had been confirmed to her some months back.

Turning her attention back to her phone, Sabrina flicked through her messages to answer her most persistent pester.

Mister Jekyll: Looks like you're home alone for the holiday, little girl.

Lady Aesthetics: Tell me something I don't know. Fuck off.

Lady Aesthetics: Wait. Why are you awake? There's no way you're pissed because I got ditched.

Mister Jekyll: I thought you wanted me to tell you something you didn't know.

Mister Jekyll: But don't flatter yourself. Space cadet saw something that wasn't meant for him, and you can imagine the results.

Lady Aesthetics: I refuse to believe that it had to do with me.

Mister Jekyll: Fine. Believe what you want. Either way, I've got a surprise for you. You're going to get a visitor around 11 if I leave enough breadcrumbs. You might even get two gifts too. The one is red wrapping paper should not be opened around him though.

Lady Aesthetics: Are you finally gifting me those his-hers guns we talked about the other day? I'm flattered.

Mister Jekyll: Let's just say, you'll be absolutely vibrating the moment you touch it.

Lady Aesthetics: Comforting.

Mister Jekyll: Oh, most definitely.

Mister Jekyll: Above all, you'll have twelve whole hours of not being monitored by me or my comrades.

Lady Aesthetics: So I AM about to be murdered? Not a very poetic date to go out on. I expected more from you.

Mister Jekyll: Unfortunately for you, I've grown attached. I'll have a special punishment for you later. For now, get ready for your visitor.

Raising a rather skeptic eyebrow, Sabrina once more looked up at where she suspected the hidden camera was. Stupid illegal GoPros and their ability to be smaller than a pinkie nail. Shrugging, the teen started to make her way to her room- she apparently was going to have a guest. How fun.

. . .

Sure enough, just a few minutes after 11 PM, the doorbell rang. Not quite sure which version of the blonde haired, blue eyed pester she'd be experiencing tonight, Sabrina opened the door without a look of interest. That quickly changed when her eyes drifted from his face to his hair.

“Oh. My. God.”

Ventus gave her a confused tilt of his head before absently reached for his hair. Half of it had been tied a bright red, and the other side a festive green. When he tilted his head in a certain direction, sparkles in his hair glistened in the porch light. It didn't stop there- Ven was even wearing a tacky Christmas sweater that detailed a large present made of several layers of knit. It look incredibly top heavy, really, and Sabrina had no sense of envy toward him. In his hands were two presents; one was wrapped in green paper and not much bigger than a ring box, the other was a bit longer than that and wrapped in red paper.

“What's that look for?” he questioned, noticing her weird expression as she continued to stare at his hair. A smile then drew on his lips as he then mused, “You scared of a little tinsel?”

“Hardly.” came the undignified huff. “I just suddenly remembered that you got away with that while we were at school. There's no way that your hair complies with the 'only natural hair dye colors' rule in the student handbook.”

“It's natural when you're Christmascore.” he spat back with a little razz of his tongue.

Rolling her eyes, the young woman told him, “Just get inside.” before moving a little out of the way for him to actually enter.

Ventus didn't need to be told twice, practically skipping inside her house before noticing something. Or rather, the lack of something.

“You guys didn't decorate.” he pouted.

“Not true.” Sabrina objected. “We have a tree.”

“Where?!”

“By the staircase,” she informed him before leading him toward the kitchen.

Ven bounced with every step he took. The grin on his face was just bursting with joy in seeing what the tree at Sabrina's house looked like. It had been placed near the L-shaped stairway, well lit with some sparse decorations here and there. He wasn't much of a minimalist, but he supposed it would do. As he set the presents he was holding under the tree, something about it just seemed… off. Ven took a closer look at it; taking a branch between his finger tips and even daring to take a bite out of the ends.

“It's not even a real tree.” he moaned; his pouting starting anew. He then looked to her with an almost puppy-like disappointment. “You know, for someone who came to school in a white limo on her first day of school, you sure do know how to skimp out on the holiday decorations.”

“Well, I'm sorry that I was invited to three different soirees since break started. Two of which occurred outside of this state, so I was away for a good week.”

“But you're rich.” Ven continued to pout. “Shouldn't you have maids and butlers catering to your every whim at every moment of the day? Maybe even set up a Christmas light show spectacular outside your window? What's the point?”

“Don't you dare diss Miss Astra.” Sabrina snapped at him. “She comes by every Wednesday to clean while I'm at school. We gave her three weeks off for the holiday.”

“You can't be that lonely.”

Sabrina's face hardened into something so dark that Ven almost got a shiver up his spine. Looking him dead in the eye, she outstretched her arms to gesture at the entirety of the house.

“Does anything about this house make you think I could be that lonely?” she questioned. Her voice was just as spine chilling, and deeply bitter.

Deflating a little and averting his eyes, Ven let out a small, “Touche.” But he quickly shook his head. He came here in a mission, didn't he? Never would have thought that giving Sabi a little Christmas cheer would be so difficult. Maybe it was time to divert the conversation a bit. Something to eat, maybe. He had skipped dinner tonight out of spite and he was just starting to feel a tiny bit peckish.

“Just one question,” he then tried to ask her, “No candy canes?”

“I've got candy cigarettes.” She offered, her tone still dark, as she went over to one of the kitchen counters. She opened up a drawer and pulled out what certainly looked like a box of cigarettes. As walked back over, she fiddled with the top. She pulled out a white stick from the box then offered the rest to Ven. “100 percent sugar, tastes like chalk, and almost just as smooth as 'em too. You'd never know the difference.”

Ven's eyes widened as he reached over to take a candy cigarette from the box. He immediately stuck the stick of sugar in his mouth and chewed on it a little. It really was like eating chalk- but the candy cigar had a bit more resistance to it when he bit down though. You could almost crack a tooth if you wanted to.

“Well,” he then decided, unsure if he wanted to keep the candy cigarette in his mouth or hold it between his fingers, “Since it's too late to really do some Christmas binging, how 'bout you open up my present? I think you'll like it. Meant to give it to you at school, but I… I got a little side tracked.”

“Sounds like the biggest understatement of the year.” Sabrina snorted. Regardless, sticking her candy cigar in her mouth as well, she went over to the tree and picked up the green gift wrapped present. She then picked up another present from the pile, one that she had personally wrapped herself.

“I have a present for you too.” she told him. “Here, catch.”

Ven let out a surprised yelp as she tossed the large square gift his way. He was just barely able to catch it with both hands. As eager as he now was to open it, he patiently waited for Sabrina to come back over. He took her cue as she sat down by the tree, backs against the wall that bordered the living room and kitchen.

“On the count of three.” he playfully told her. “One… two...”

Neither of them waited for him to say three before tearing into the presents.

Sabrina was not surprised to know that Ven's gift was in a ring box. She just didn't expect to open that up to find a gold plated necklace inside. The charm at the end was of a rather simple looking crown. But still, it looked nice. Giving a moment's worth of thought, Sabrina started to take the necklace out of the ring box. Ven next to her was rather disappointed with what his present was.

“It's a book.” he said in a flat voice. Sabrina made a small sound of inquisition as she looked over at him for a moment.

“A portfolio, actually.” she told him as she put the necklace on. “Open it up and skip the first few pages. The foreword gets kinda winded.”

Still bummed at what appeared to be a bum gift, Ven did as he was told. The foreword did look winded -lasting about five pages front and back- before Ven saw something that nearly made his jaw drop. In the book were full color photographs of natural forests and creeks. The print of the photographs were so pristine that Ven felt like he could just jump in.

“I love it.” he said in a near whisper. “It looks so… familiar.” He looked over at Sabrina before giving a little hum. Sabrina was looking over the necklace as it hung around her neck, falling just in the middle of her breast. Between the lighting of the tree illuminating a bit of her hair, and just her near blank face, something about this moment didn't feel real. And when things didn't feel real, Ven just had to make sure that they were. Ergo, it should not have been a surprise that he placed his head on her shoulder.

Sabrina partially came out of her line of thought to glare at him. She tried to make a half hearted attempt at shaking him off as she told him, “Get your tinsel head off of me.”

“Nope.” he replied with a smirk.

“I'll lay on you if you don't move.”

“I dare ya.”

That was when Sabrina gave one very precise shove, almost knocking Ven completely off to the side if he didn't bob back over. As he sat up straight again, Sabrina had placed her head on his shoulder.

“Checkmate.” she mused. Ven laughed a bit as he moved his head a little to catch a whiff of her hair. Lilac. She always smelled like lilacs. Or lavender. Sometimes both. Too bad she didn't let him indulge in whatever shampoo scent she bathed with for long. She sat back up and stared absently at the ceiling.

“How are you getting home tonight?” she asked him with an almost genuine curiosity. “I doubt any of them actually brought you over, and I sure as hell am not driving you back in the dark.”

Ven recoiled slightly at the idea. “Dunno,” he decided. There was a small pause before he added, “Fuck them.”

Sabrina looked over at him and raised a neatly manicured eyebrow.

“Your grandfather came home?”

“How did you know?” he asked, quite darkly. He refused to look at her- instead bringing his knees closer to his chest. He wasn't going to get mad about it -not yet-, but it was still a sore spot.

Sabrina offered up a callous shrug before admitting, “I guessed. Sorry your family's shittier than mine.”

“Do you think your old man could adopt me? You're home alone so often that if you went insane, no one would even notice.”

“Oh, he'll notice.” Sabrina mused, taking a new candy cigarette out of the box. “You think I'm good at reading people? Take three guesses on who I got it from.”

“Really?” he asked in a small wonder- his eyes hungrily looked at the candy cigarette box, but fully eating one proved to be his allotment for any food at the moment. Talking about family was not helping the growing nausea either.

“It's one thing to be born from money,” Sabrina agreed, giving the candy cigar a few licks before sticking it in her mouth. It didn't long for her to pull it back out with a small 'pop' before adding, “It's another to be barred from the family legacy and still try to make it big. I don't envy what the old man does- let alone the people he has to deal with. Stuff like not making it home for a major holiday rarely happens. He even told me once that he doesn't even accept vacation pay from it.”

“Do you believe him?”

For a long time, she didn't answer him. When she did answer, her voice was small but toneless.

“Do you know how good I can get at lying?”

“Yeah?”

“Take three guesses on who I got it from.”

“Oh...” was all the reply he could give. Slowly, Ven relaxed his legs against the carpet and once more brought his attention to the photography book.

“Hey Sabi?”

“Yeah?”

“Maybe next year will be less shitty for both of us.”

For a moment, Sabrina didn't say a thing. Instead she carefully started to snake her arm around his and hugged it. In a voice that didn't entirely sound like her own, she mumbled back at him, “Yeah. Maybe.”

“Merry Christmas, Sabi.”

“Merry Christmas, Ven.”

[hermankopusortizorsumshite]

You and Kozik were friends with benefits, at least that’s what you told yourself. He often visited and stayed the night, but he always left in the morning.

“Hey, I’m gonna head out.” He whispers, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“Okay, I’ll see you later.” You giggle, patting his hand as he headed towards the door. “Hemi?” You call, stopping him at the door. You run to him, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Why can’t you stay here?”

“I can’t. I’m done with Rev, man. Come with me.”

“I can’t. My job is here, my house.”

“I’m not leaving SAMCRO, sorry.”

“Just come with me.” He barks, grabbing the door handle.

“I can’t!”

“You don’t want to! Afraid your daddy will hate you? Disown you?” He shouts, pointing at you. Tears filled your eyes, you plant your hands on his chest.

“Just go! And don’t come back!” You shout, pushing him out the door and slamming it.

“This is over!” He shouts from outside before climbing onto his bike and flying down the road. About an hour passed by when she heard a bike pull up. Ignoring it, you went back to the laundry, folding one of his shirts and tossing it on the bed. The door creaked open, you figured it was Kozik coming in to apologize.

“Listen, I’m not in the mood, Kozik. Just go.” You call out, but he doesn’t respond. You found it odd and turned to find a Hispanic short masculine man with a gun pointed at you. “Aw shit.” You groan, an elbow swings up, knocking you unconscious.

“Clay Morrow, long time no hear. Listen, I need a few things from you, and I’ll give back an old lady. The new guy’s old lady.” A thick Spanish accent growled through the phone, and Clay’s eyes met Kozik’s back for only a moment before he stood up and headed toward the blonde.

“What do you need?” He asks, tapping Kozik’s shoulder.

“Money, and the drug business you got from Álvarez.”

“Dude, you leave your old lady unattended up in Tacoma?” He hushes to the blonde. Kozik lazily spins on the bar stool, flirting with the barkeep. “Kozik!” He barks, the blonde jumping. “You leave your old lady unattended in Tacoma?” He’s confused for a moment before his eyes slowly bulge. Sliding down onto his feet, he grabs the phone.

“Who are you?”

“It doesn’t matter. You listen, I have your little puta here, and if you plan on seeing her alive, you bring me what I need. Álvarez and twenty-thousand dollars.” The ransom was believable, but he couldn’t place it. He’d heard the voice before.

“How do I know you didn’t already kill her?” He challenges, praying to hear your voice. He hadn’t left on good terms, and even if you were through, he loved you.

“Aye, puta!” He hears a scuffle and loud thump, a groan coming from someone.

“He-hello?” You ask. He stared into Clay’s eyes and he expelled the breath he’d been holding. “Hello?” Your voice snapped him from his trance.

“Shit, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to leave like that. I’m sorry!” He shouts at you, seeing your ghost standing in front of him.

“Hemi.” You whisper. He heard the tiredness, the exhaustion and pain in your voice. It hurt his heart that you weren’t there with him.

“I got you, cupcake.” He chuckles, wiping his face down. The stress was eating him alive.

“Well Hemi, this little love story is great, but me and cupcake here have some talking to do, so how about you drop the bag with Álvarez at the park on Seventh, at noon. I’ll assume once Álvarez is alone with the backpack, we’ll proceed with giving her back.” The phone hangs up. Kozik shouts.

“No! Shit!” He drops the phone on the bar before he starts pacing the length of the bar.

“Quit before there’s a hole in the floor or you wear out the floor there.” Tig groans, taking a drink from his beer. “It’s not like she’s your old lady.”

“Shut up, man.” He huffs, pacing still.

“It’s not! She called and said you had a big fight before you left. You said it was over.” He chats, still nursing his beer. Kozik’s eyes meet the black-haired man’s in a fit of rage and shock.

“She called you?”

“She called the office maybe two hours ago, just wanted to make sure you made it here okay.” Tig shrugs, turning to face Kozik as he stood to head out. Kozik grabbed his shoulder.

“You didn’t think I should hear that? That I didn’t need to talk to her?” He barks, hands fidgeting as he stands there on the verge of a breakdown.

“She said not to tell you. She didn’t want to talk to you, I offered to come get you.” He states, putting his hands up in defense.

“She didn’t?” He whispers, wiggling his nose to keep from crying. He’d been so mean for no reason, just upset you wouldn’t putt everything down and come with him. He knew there was a reason he pressed you harder than normal. If he had just made you pack a bag, you’d be here at TM, ignoring him and angrily doing her painting. Her commission was currently a pitbull painted in pink, blue, and green, and she’d laid the base colors. He’d remembered the base colors well as she’d smeared them across his body before they made love all night.

“Shit!” He shouts, kicking the wall of the building, his fist connecting with the tin siding. “Why man!” He shouts, feeling the tears well up in his eyes. “I should have made her come with me.” He mutters against his Dyna.

“Hey cowboy.” A voice calls, heels clicking against the pavement as they got closer to him.

“Go away.” He whispers, feeling her help him to his feet.

“Puta! Wake up! If your amante makes it today, you’ll go home alive. If not, muerte.” He runs a finger along your throat, imagining a blade in its place.

“He’s a man of his word, he’ll be there. He’s not my old man, you moron.” You spit in his face, wiggling at the restraints. His hand cracked across your face, knocking you out once more, dragging you to his car and getting to the park at 11:56.

“Puta! Up!”

Kozik stood there, dropped the backpack with Álvarez and started back to his bike when he saw a girl humped over on the ground 20 yards from him. He headed towards her, to find her pretty battered and beaten up. Scooping you up, he carries you the van before heading back to his post. Your face so beaten, you were unrecognizable to him.

“Kozik.” You whispered, and caught Tara offguard. She gave a shriek, grabbing a scalpel and pointing it at you.

“Geez doc, don’t scare the poor girl.” Tig chuckles, trying to get some of the blood-crusted hair away to see your swollen green eyes looking at him.

“Tiggy.” You smile, grabbing his hand with your weak one.

“I see ya baby. It’s okay, hunny. We’ll call Kozik, tell him we got ya.”

“He brought me here.” You whisper, patting his fingers.

“I know. He didn’t recognize you. You’re pretty tore up, darlin’. Don’t worry though. It’s alright now.” He hushes, pressing a ghost of a kiss to your forehead. You hear a phone click open and hear Tig hush into the speaker, “you grabbed her, man. We got her. Let’s go.”

Kozik’s feet thudded towards the van, his heart pounding harder with every step closer. He didn’t want to get in the van. He didn’t want to see you. Tig slides the door open for him to get in. His eyes drop to you for a moment, finding your swollen, bruised green eyes looking at him. Your bottom lip was busted up and bruised pretty badly. His eyes charted every little thing wrong. Every bruise, every cut, every red spot.

“Shit.” He whispers, his eyes filling with tears once more. His heart putted a little, almost stopping when you gave him a little smile.

“I’m okay, Hemi.” You hush. You pat his hand, assuring him you were okay.

“It’s my fault, fuck, I’m sorry.” He whispers, hands hovering over you, afraid to touch.

“I’m okay, Hem.” He shakes his head, moving away from you and hugging his arms to himself.

A week passed, you had healed for the most part. Kozik had been scarce lately, since the napping. You chalked it up to busy, but something about it bothered you. You were heading to TM currently to confront him. Upon arrival, you find only a woman behind the bar and Tig at the bar, drinking.

“You seen Kozik?” You call as you head to the curly-haired man with a smile.

“Nah, he’s in the shop. Why? You here to rile him up?” He asks with a laugh, pulling you into a warm hug.

“No, just here to see him. Haven’t seen him since he took me home and posted some prospect panty-wetter at my house twenty-five eight.” You groan, reveling in the contact of another human being.

“I’m sorry, darlin’. He’s been pretty fucked up. Cried a lot, fought me a lot. He was scared out of his mind when he heard about you.” He informs, his hand resting on your back.

“He hasn’t really cried a lot, a lot.” The barkeep contributes. “We’ve slept together almost every night this week.” Your eyes meet hers, a fire lit behind your green irises.

“Hey, uh. You might wanna get outta here.” Tig warns her as you reach for a bottle. “Woah woah, don’t do this. Your not thinking right. Hey, listen. I’m gonna go get Kozik. You two obviously need to talk.” He disappeared from the bar for what seemed like seconds, and when you heard Kozik’s voice, you snapped. You lunged over the bar, grabbing the girl and dragging her into the open carpeted area by the pool table, grabbing a pool cue and hitting the girl with it.

“Christ Tig! You left them alone?” Kozik shouts as he rushes towards you. You swing the pool cue like a bat, connecting with his arm with a crack.

“Don’t touch me.”

“You just hit some chick! You expect me to do what?” He shouts, reaching for the stick in your hand.

“To leave me alone! You couldn’t come visit, and I gave you time because I thought maybe you needed it. My mistake.” You snarl, stabbing the pool stick at him to keep him away from you as you exit into the sunshine. “Yeah, I just assaulted some crow eater at the TM, Wayne. Hit her pretty hard with a pool cue. Send an officer to come get me, if you don’t I’m gonna kill this little smarmy bitch.” You hiss into the phone, sitting the pool cue on the ground next to you and pulling out a cigarette and a lighter.

“Listen, I needed some—“

“Different pussy? You stretch mine out too much?” You bark, raising your brows as you took another puff off your cigarette.

“No, no it’s not like that.”

“Oh! I’m sorry. I forgot that little rule, where you don’t want your bitch once another dick’s been in it. Is that right?” You ask, eyeing him dangerously. He was taken aback by the words that tumbled so effortlessly from your lips.

“Cupcake—“

“Don’t. Don’t call me that Herman. You lost that privilege. It’s Nell. You know it. 
Use it.” It stung. It was like being shot. You hissing his given name at him like venom. You’d never said it in your life.

“No-“ The police showed up as you stood and headed toward the car, arms above your head.

“Turn and place your hands on the hood of the car, feet shoulder-length apart.” The officer states, patting you down and cuffing you, stuffing you into the back of the car. Kozik took towards the car, but Jax and Opie held him back.

“No!” He shouts, strangled and broken. He fell to the concrete. He’d just gotten you back, and now you were gone again. “No! I’m sorry! Let me go, man! Let me go get her!” He cries, the three men moving away from him to give him a moment. “That’s my old lady.” He whispers, his fists hitting the concrete. “I can’t protect her. I can’t make her happy.”

“Kozik, we need to talk about what she said.” Tig hushes, hauling him to his feet.

“That she left?” He hushes, reaching for your hand only for it to be replaced with a cold bottle of rum.

“Kozik, she said you wouldn’t want her once another guy’s dick was in her. Koz, we all talked. None of us had sex with her. Kozik I think that she was—“ Tig stopped, he couldn’t say it. Kozik’s eyes lifted from the bottle in his hand to the other man.

“No man,” he whispers.

“Raped.” Opie finished. Kozik swallowed hard, unable to breathe.

“No.” He growls, slamming the bottle into the bar, shattering it before standing and stalking out. He rode to the station, finding Wayne’s car in the parking lot.

“I gotta see Nell.” He hushes to the sheriff, his eyes flicking to the door and back to the man at the counter.

“I’m sorry, I can’t let you back there. She won’t let anyone post bail. Sorry, kid.” He shrugs. Kozik rolls his eyes and heads to another desk, grabbing a keyboard and smashing it into the counter, the desk monitor.

“Listen!” Wayne shouts, grabbing him and cuffing him. He gets tossed into the cell next to yours.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” You groan.

“I had to see you, Wayne wouldn’t let me.” He shrugs, sitting on the hard bench.

“So you did what?” You ask, sitting on your own bench.

“I smashed a keyboard and computer.” He chuckles, sliding against the adjoining wall.

“Typical.” You snort, sliding a little closer.

“Cupcake, when you said that I wouldn’t want you once another guy’s dick was—“

“Yeah, the little Mexican fucked me. So what?”

“It was assault, darlin’.”

“Kozik, you were banging some crow eating hooker, why does it have to be assault? Maybe I liked it?” You huff, covering your mouth to keep from crying.

“Cupcake, I’m sorry. Okay? I couldn’t feel worse. You didn’t like it. It‘s okay, and I’m sorry you ever thought that I left because of that, or that I would.” He hushes, reaching through the bars and grabbing your hand, squeezing it. “Don’t worry though. The guys are on it, gonna cut his dick off and superglue it to his forehead.” He laughs, and so do you. For a moment, he was concerned when you put your back against the bars, but you encouraged him to lean against you. Both your hands held the others through the bars and the two of you fell asleep.

“Wakey wakey lovebirds!” Tig laughs, watching the two of you groan as you come to life. The minute the two of you were released from your cells, Kozik’s arms snaked around you and gripped you tightly against his chest.

“Christ cupcake, it’s been a long damn week. Let’s just go home. Find a bed, and never leave it.” He growls against your skin, hefting you over one shoulder and patting a hand on you rear as he carried you out of the station like some kind of trophy. You were met by the MC and their women, cheering echoing and bikes roaring. Kozik drove you straight to his Charming apartment, carried you inside, and dropped you on the bed. In seconds he had three blankets, four pillows, a couple water bottles and a bag of chips. He dove into the mess covering both of you up and snuggling against you.

“I missed you so much, Hemi.” You hush, feeling tears of joy fill your eyes.

“I know, cupcake. I missed you too.” He whispers, trying to pull you closer to him.

[hobbledhobbit]

Paint and Patience

Another part of the tales of the Institute Green. This one following the Illustrator, Ms. Steam. .

A puff of smoke dissipated after swirling and distorting the stars it hovered in front of.

"Fear is strange. Was there any reason not to have it that you can be certain of?"

"For myself?"

"No, of course not." The pale man made a vague gesture into the building from their spot on the balcony. "Their fear."

He took another deep drag, awaiting her answer.

"All mortals have fear, Mr. Pale. The end always looms like the back cover."

He contemplated, letting his gaze take in the curvy and soft form of his coworker. She liked her candy striper outfit most of all and it let the inviting roundness of her form offer refuge in the form of a vast change in scenery from the black iron and gold speckled dark wood of their world.

"That's what I had figured too. But the fear is on all aspects. They love, there's fear; they succeed, there's fear; they give up...you get the idea."

Ms. Steam gave an amused hum before turning to him fully. "They are yellow. Maybe it's not the fear that gives you pause when dealing with them?"

Ms. Steam took the spent cigarette out of his hand and flicked it over the railing. He had a nasty habit of burning the filter when he was lost in thought. The smell was never pleasant. 

Mr. Pale was slender and ordinary, his overall countenance being somewhat "beige", though his eyes held a sharp intelligence and his tongue a wicked wit. 

Ms. Steam liked talking to the scrivener, he was always agitated over their charges and the conditions in which they were formed. The illustrator had an idea that it may be his only way to show his caring side for anything.

"I believe you're right," he finally said, "I am more enraged by those who live without that...I guess it would be more a concern for the welfare of others than fear…"

"Compassion?"

"Compassion! Yes, thank you. Those that lack compassion for others and make grand swathes of suffering. They hold my ire."

"Had one recently that's got you in this tizzy?"

"No. It'll be later this evening. I would feel bile rising in my throat if I had the capability. I taste the lies and excuses on my tongue and moving through my fingertips to take the last vestiges of their existence to print." 

His voice grew ever darker, as he mimicked typing on his typewriter, his hands looking suddenly more large and sharp, his plain face gaining sharp edges and wider eyes, his teeth sharpening and slowly multiplying.

"Sickening, wretched filth!" He gurgled out.

Ms. Steam shrugged, unbothered. "We are only the record keepers. No need to grow attached."

He cleared his throat and fixed his appearance, brushing his blond hair back and suddenly looking more to his normal human-like form. 

"We aren't machines, Ms. Steam. Every monster we document can feed our own monstrous nature, teach us our own excuses for screwing over other lives."

"What do you suppose we do for it then? Become judges for life forms that are under our care?"

"Teachers. I think the Evil need to be taught a lesson. We should make an example."

Ms. Steam waited for Mr. Pale to continue, but it was obvious from the way his eyes darted around in his head that the idea was still cooking. 

She pat his head and made him look her in the eye.

"When you figure it out, set it up. I'm in thorough need of distraction. But for now, we must tend to our duties."

He gave a small nod and a tight lipped smile. It was no secret that he disliked his job, but he was the best at it.

She took her leave, walking in from the cold of outside to the warm hallway. Her shoes were almost silent upon the hard wood. The reflection of the candy striper outfit was blurred for a moment in the polished floor before it showed Ms. Steam in a plain, floral, flowy dress. She used the key around her neck to unlock her office door and step in. 

The yellow glow of the human soul took a moment to take shape. Young and small.

"Sorry for being late," she smiled, "Are you ready for your portrait?"

The 'studio' was large. The ceiling was high and vaulted, the floor had many different colors and textures that one couldn't tell if it was made of dirt, marble, wood, or any of the other things floors are usually made of. There looked to be all sorts of settings along the long wall. Beaches to mansions, forests to kitchenettes, mountains to dumpsters.

The girl looked to be a little younger than a teenager. Short dark hair and brown eyes, sun-kissed skin and a strong jaw.  She was in night clothes and looked overwhelmed, looking around from her seat on a fainting chair.

Ms. Steam went to her large desk and picked up some materials. She loaded a small tray with chalk pastels and paint. 

"Take your time," she said to the girl, then paused giving her an understanding and patient look. "Tell me what you think is happening. This fear will go away soon, I promise."

"He killed Mom. I went to go hide my little sisters, but I guess he killed me too." She started to cry in earnest. "They're probably so scared. I don't know what to do! There's nothing I can do! I'm dead!" 

She sobbed and screamed her dismay while Ms. Steam set up the easel near a beach setting.

"Angels are supposed to help the innocent!" The girl accused from her seat. She smacked her bare feet against the ground and stomped over to Ms. Steam. "You're supposed to protect us and God's supposed to deliver us from evil!"

"Deliver you where?" Ms. Steam turned to the girl, eyebrow slightly raised. She felt it wouldn't be the best option to tell the girl she wasn't an angel.

The girl's righteous fury was snuffed out by the calm of the question. She looked lost and on the verge of more tears. 

"I-I don't know. If you're good, evil isn't supposed to happen to you." She sniffled, "And you're supposed to get rewarded for being good."

Ms. Steam sat on a stool to look the girl in the eye and wipe her tears with her skirt. 

"I'm sorry, little one. The universe doesn't do good or evil. That's a human thing. Kind or cruel are choices people make."

Ms. Steam offered a hug to the child, who was falling apart again in tears. She accepted the hug, was wrapped in strong arms, and felt light as a cloud.

"The nightmare is over. I know it's scary to not know what comes next. But even your choices mattered so much at the end."

The girl was hiccupping through her sobs, clinging tightly to Ms. Steam. "They're so-s-so little and he's gonna hurt them!"

Ms. Steam rocked her lightly and pet her hair. "I know...what if I brought them here? Would you feel better knowing where they are? They would probably like to know where you are too."

Fear stabbed through the girl and she looked at Ms. Steam. "He killed them too?!"

"Long ago already. They're in my queue."

"What's going to happen?"

"I'm going to paint your picture of what you want to be remembered forever as. You're a good older sister. Brave, just, and with so much love in your heart that your last moments were thinking of nothing but protecting others. Rewards aren't in my job description, but I think that I could work one up for you."

"Holly!" Called two little voices from the fainting couch.

The girl turned and let go of Ms. Steam, running to the two blonde children running towards her in their pajamas. 

"Katie! Kathy!" She called to the twins, hugging them tight to her and hurrying her face in their disheveled blonde curls. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry!"

"Sorry for what?" asked Kathy.

"Why are you sad?" asked Katie.

Before Holly could answer, they both noticed the beach and dragged Holly towards it. 

Holly noticed that they were all in their bathing suits, and the studio had faded away entirely-there was only the beach then. She saw Ms. Steam still standing there, starting to work on the canvas in front of her. She gave Holly a wink before going back to her work.

Holly looked at her sisters who were already splashing in the water and got to playing with them. They built sand castles and played in the water together. The sun didn't bother any of them much, and they felt full and content. 

Ms. Steam stepped back from her work, looking at the picture of Holly pulling her sisters through the water as the little ones kicked up a spray behind them.

The twins looked caught in a moment of trust and fun as Holly tried to teach them to swim.

The studio had phased back to its normal state, the girls now residing as the artwork. Ms.Steam added a single small cloud in the distance as her signature and bowed low at the piece. 

"Thank you for the opportunity," she said.

When she stood back up, the canvas had a frame of glittering gold. She took it and wrapped it in plain brown paper before placing it in an adjacent room for delivery.

Ms. Steam dealt more with children and those that didn't have a command over their language. She found that younger children were more accepting of their fates than older ones. Responsibility and shame hadn't really had a chance to stick in yet and make them second guess everything.

She went about putting away her supplies and let out a sigh. She placed the last brush behind her ear and exited her studio. So long as her things weren’t all in place, the next soul wouldn’t show up. 

The door she approached was labeled “Mr. Slow: Security” on a gold plaque. She knocked and entered, finding the large form of her colleague sitting at his desk, shining his shoes. He looked up boredly, eyes crinkling at the side once he recognized his visitor. 

“Ms. Steam. What an unexpected and fun surprise. What brings you to my office?” His voice was deep and had an edge of threat to it. Unfortunately for Mr. Slow, she had taken the centuries to become immune to his specific charm. 

“Mischief brings me here, Bacchus.  Do you intend on participating or trying to subdue?” She leaned on the doorway, pushing her hair behind an ear. “I do so hate to lose out on the fun because someone had to distract you.”

Mr. Slow sat up and put his hands on his desk. “So long as the mischief isn’t brought to these halls, there’s no reason for us to tussle. I do have a feeling that I will be having to teach Mr. Pale a lesson later today, but that won’t likely interfere.”

This was met with an amused hum. She covered her mouth to feign hiding a smile, “I am starting to think Bartleby likes your teaching method. You boys and your roughhousing.”

Mr. Slow went back to shining his shoes, “I’ve been informed, Ms. Steam. Go back to your room. The day isn’t out yet, no matter how many clients you put in a single frame. Only the frame counts.”

“Pushy,” she teased, straightening herself out. “I’ll see you at the diner afterwards, Mr. Slow.”

The door closed, leaving Mr. Slow alone. He leaned back in his chair and thought about the conversation he had overheard on the balcony during his rounds. Redirecting fear could be a fun way to spend an afternoon.

[hannahindie]

Lie to Me

Characters: Dean x Reader Word Count: 1,267 Warnings: Alcohol use, vague mention of sexy times. 

A/N: Awhile back, I’d asked for prompt advice and got “Impala” from @adoptdontshoppets. It has taken me seventeen years to finish this, but here it is! I also cheated a little and used a word from my One Word Bingo, because I’m way past any kind of due dates ever, and I make the rules now. The word was glow. Nothing much to be warned about, aside from some insinuated adult situations and the word breast. If you aren’t over 18, maybe don’t read it. You can read like....3/4 it. Don’t read the last paragraph. 

Beta’d by @pinknerdpanda and @amanda-teaches because they are my favorite Amandas and I love them, they are the best. They’ve also been posting some pretty dang good stuff, so when you’re done reading this (if you make it past this stupid long intro), head on over to their blogs. You won’t be disappointed.

I’m going to tag my old tag list, but at this point, I feel like I should probably redo the whole thing. If I have tagged you and you want to stay, you don’t have to say anything. If I’ve tagged you and you’re like, “Why is this weirdo tagging me, I don’t want that crap” then politely let me know you’d no longer like tagged. If you aren’t tagged and would like to be, let me know. I’m going to attempt to write more, especially with this whole everyone is quarantined thing, so when I’m not cleaning, cross stitching, working, or playing FF14, perhaps I’ll be sharing some words with you. 

Neon lights drip down the black sides of the Impala, trapped in cold drops of rain as she rumbles to a stop. The door squeaks open and a pair of booted feet swing out, grinding the wet stones against each other as the boots’ owner stands up. 

There is a pause, brief, almost unnoticeable, before the person shuts the door and hurries into the bar. The lights are dim, dull behind a thin wall of cigarette smoke. It’s one of the last bars that allow smoking indoors, and the patrons are taking advantage of it with the rainy weather.  The way the colored lights above the tiny stage in the corner reflect off the swirling cloud reminds the man of how the traffic lights looked in the fog when he was a kid, laying in the backseat of the very car he arrived here in. 

His glance around the semi-crowded room doesn’t give him the answer he’s looking for, so he sits at the bar, orders a whiskey neat, and gently lays his phone on the scratched wood in front of him. He remembers another time he sat at this bar; but, if he’s honest, most of the bars he has spent his time in look remarkably like this one. He hears pool balls clack against each other, and he smiles to himself as he stands up and motions to the bartender for a beer. He grabs it, tosses some money down, then runs his fingers through his hair. If he’s going to sell it, he has to play the part. 

He saunters over, beer haphazardly dangling from the loose grip he has on the neck, and positions himself so that the guy he has his sights on notices him. The guy finishes the round he’s on, cockily grabs the money off the edge of the table, and waves it a couple times. So, the guy is an asshole. 

Perfect. 

The guy that lost practically throws the stick at him, sore loser, that one, and Dean fumbles the stick slightly before getting a grip on it, giving the winner a sloppy looking grin. He chalks the cue clumsily, nearly missing the tip before tossing the little blue square on the cue rack and nodding to the guy to break. He watches the balls as they spin across the green felt, the sound of them cracking against each other almost comforting, and begins plotting what his next move will be. Right before he sets up his shot, he feels a gentle pressure at his elbow. He looks back and sees the reason he had come to this bar in the first place. 

Y/N. 

She leans forward, and the feeling of her as she presses against his arm is a warmth he hasn’t felt in awhile. She whispers in his ear, a warning that he somehow missed, then steps back. He straightens up and looks at his opponent, then tosses the pool cue back onto the table. He hears the guy curse and without turning around, flips him off, Y/N on his other arm. He isn’t here to hustle, anyway. She leads him to a corner booth, dark except for the beer sign glowing above their heads, and they settle in.

He can’t help but stare at her; she’s gorgeous. She always has been, but the years have been kind, and though there’s still a bit of an edge to her, civilian life has softened it a bit. She talks low, her dimples popping whenever he gets her to laugh. It’s like no time has passed at all. A part of him wishes she had never left; she was good at it, maybe even as good as him. He can just barely see the scar that was the reason for her leaving the hunter life, the moment she realized it was either stay and die or leave and survive. He’d always thought she was braver than him, and the moment she left, he knew he was right. 

A warm touch brings him out of his thoughts and he looks up to see Y/N staring at him. He gives her a sad smile as he realizes what song is playing, and grabs her hand, nodding towards the small dance floor near the jukebox. She follows behind him, settling her head against his shoulder when he finally chooses a spot away from everyone else. The song is almost too fast to be a slow dance, but Dean manages it, gripping her waist tightly as he rests his chin on the top of her head. 

Lie to me And tell me everything is all right Lie to me And tell me that you’ll stay here tonight

He wants her to lie, to tell him she wants to stay with him, at least for tonight. He knows even if it does happen, it will be over in the morning. But feeling her against him like this, their bodies moving in sync as if they had never been apart, well...he’s fine with whatever he can get.

Tell me that you’ll never leave, And I’ll just try to make believe That everything you tell me is true

Lie to me, go ahead and lie to me Lie to me, go ahead and lie to me Lie to me

She looks up at him, and he pulls back slightly. He thinks he could kiss her, knows that he could and get by with it, but is it a good idea? A part of him says no, but the bigger part says that he has nothing to lose. He moves back in, pulling her closer to him until their lips meet. He tells himself that if she doesn’t kiss back, he’s done. He’ll walk away, no harm done, and that will be that. She will head back to whatever guy she’s seeing this time, a safer option than he’ll ever be, and he will find another girl in another bar with low expectations. 

But, she does kiss back. She kisses back just as fervently as he kisses her, and he decides he doesn’t want to walk away. Ending be damned, he’s going to enjoy it while he can. He breaks away long enough to pull her through the crowd and out the door, barely making it to the Impala before their hands are on each other again. 

It doesn’t matter anymore It could never be the way it was before If I can’t hold on to you Leave me something I can hold onto For just a little while won’t you let me be Anyone can see That you love him more than me

This is not the first time this backseat has served a purpose other than strictly travel, and though it is not Dean’s first choice for her, it’s what they have. He knows he doesn’t have much time, so he savors how she looks in the neon lights, the raindrops rolling down the windows casting shadowy rivulets that roll down her smooth curves. 

His rough hands cup her breasts as she moves above him, and he tries to memorize every scar, every freckle, every detail he can. The rain pounding against the car muffles her cries as she falls apart around him, bringing him over the edge with her, and the moment is over. Her eyes close and she nestles into his side, a smile on her face. 

It’s just for tonight, he tells himself. Just for tonight.

But right now, baby, let me pretend That our love will never end Lie to me, go ahead and lie to me

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Forever Tags: @trexrambling​ @pinknerdpanda​  @wheresthekillswitch​ @emilywritesaboutdean @arryn-nyxx​ @emptywithout​ @escabell​ @charliebradbury1104 @jarpadandjensenaremyheroes​  @deanssweetheart23  @canadianjelly @super-not-naturall @aubreyreadsstuff @dean-winchesters-baby @melissaj616 @fandomismyspirit @keepcalmandcarryondean @assbutt-still-in-hell @owllover123 @rosie-winchester @amionthetumbler @duubaduu @hiimaprofessionalfangirl @goldenolaf25 @authoressskr @nanie5 @mrssamfuckingwinchester @zincomms @kathaswings @crazynerdandproud @barbedwireandbubblegum @sandlee44 @boxywrites @justanotherdeangirl @smalltowndivaj @captainradicalpassion @myloveforyouxx @atc74 @mrsbatesmotel53 @there-must-be-a-lock @masksandtruths @thelittleredwhocould @jotink78 @amanda-teaches @ilsawasanacrobat @squirrel-moose-winchester @mjdoc90 @anticipate1003 @mrswhozeewhatsis @mogaruke @speakinvain @linki-locks11 @wildlandfox @rhochradel @lostnliterature @eternal-elir @spn-ficfanatic @polina-93 @lexiiiii28 @poukothenerd @emoryhemsworth @yourewelcomeforbeingmyfriend @adoptdontshoppets @closetspngirl @mersuperwholocked-lowlife @ellen-reincarnated1967 @hunterscabin

Dean Only: @akshi8278​ @valkyrieslament​ @lavieenlex​ @highonpastries @wholelottajackles @imascio08​

[darker-soft-starker]

Love your blog! Could we have a snippet of a starker good marriage au? Where Tony comes home one night to see his hiding place not exactly how he left it so he checks the Internet history (sloppy peter) and realises his husband has put it together. So he goes upstairs but peters there- in bed, not calling the police...or maybe from peters POV? Whichever you prefer! Super fan over here ;) ☺️❤️

Awww thanks nonnie!! You’re so lovely and I have utterly butchered your prompt, for that I am exceedingly sorry. This is not remotely good, whatever this is.

Warnings: Dark!Tony, mentions of murder, child abuse, dark fluff

———-

It’s long been said that home is where the heart is. 

Whatever it meant, Peter had always found that the old adage difficult to reconcile with - after all, home was six years old, belt welts and whiskey breath. It was holes in his sneakers, cupboards that echoed and the purple and red on the side of his mother’s mouth. Home was something you carried with you to the principal’s office, the hot end of the cigarette and being firmly told that his red-raised knuckles are not pillars to rest on.

What was home if you didn’t choose it - if you were always trying to run away from it?

That’s what he’d always thought anyway - and that’s what he did. Threadbare hoodie, battered backpack and clutching the fifty he’d stolen, Peter ran. He fled into the warm embrace of his Aunt May who mended his patchwork heart with Sinatra on Sunday mornings and hot chocolate, Luke Skywalker nights. 

Love for May was the sound of New York traffic and the smell of nicotine drifting from her bedroom window, overcooked spaghetti and the tickle of her hair on his skin. She wasn’t perfect but she made him feel like he had a place, a room with no conditions.

When she died a few years after, Peter ran again. He made a map of heart-lines all across the state trying to find himself in all of the people he came across. From the lonely girl with the curly hair who offered him a kind smile as he shivered around a steaming cup of coffee, to the boy with the brilliant brain and piercing blue eyes who made made grainy, chalk-masterpieces on worn footpaths. 

He never knew most of them but their faces were like picture frames, their conversations his home movies. 

The price of living in a place he was supposed to call home in New York never got cheaper and so he worked. He was working for eight dollars an hour and twenty percent off stock when Peter had first met Tony.

Tony Stark, he’d introduced himself as. An older man, dark suit, salt-and-pepper temples. Old school charm and eyes that were gentle.

It was easy to find a home in Tony. 

The way his arms wrapped around Peter felt more like four walls than anywhere he’d found a roof overhead and so they dated. They dated and fought and fucked, dug themselves into each others skin. The furrow was so deep they had got married six months after their first kiss, neither of them had family except each other now - Peter didn’t look backwards from where he had ran from. 

It was hard to want to when he walked home after a long day, trudging himself up to their single-room apartment with the leaking roof and the floorboards that squeaked in protest when you stepped over them, the tap that never stopped dripping - and Tony, the centre of it all.

Tony was there to massage his aching shoulders after an arduous day, to kiss his forehead, his cheek, his lips, to enter through the doorway into his body and whisper sweet-nothings into his ear like wind whistling against the windows. Tony was all finger-tracing, wit and he called Peter husband so fondly like it was a gift. It was easy to love him.

Eventually they started their own business together, moving out of the one-bedroom into something more quaint on the outskirts of town by the oak trees. A cottage he cared for because Tony was in it - an extension of them, but just a thing. 

They tasted success as business bloomed, dealing and appraising rare-coins, combining both of their loves into a venture that made Peter feel like he was someone, like an explorer, like he was bringing together his half to their whole. 

But success meant Tony was out of town sometimes for their clients. 

It left them both somewhat vacant whenever he had to go, never more than a day or two, Tony stealing remorseful kisses in the lowlight of dawn as he leaves, taking the light with him. 

For Peter there was not one place called home when home was a person - because when that person is not there it is just a house. A property. Just four walls whose roof isn’t as comforting as his husbands body wrapped around him, inside him. A house didn’t have a heartbeat he could feel thumping under his hand or look at Peter with an adoring smile, soft eyes that crinkled around the edges. A house didn’t breathlessly tell Peter they loved him, didn’t hold him when he wept through the afterimages of his nightmares, didn’t make him feel like he was a cathedral, worth more than weathered sneakers and the pink stitches of skin on his back.

Years passed, settling into their new community like the way that the smell of tobacco latches onto fabric in that weary what can you do about it kind of way. Peter didn’t mind so much feeling like an outlier, he had Tony and their work and passion for both that kept him warm. 

He stayed in the shell they called residence when Tony was out on business and when he came back Tony made him remember that he was a temple. Tony’s tongue licked and laved and moved inside him, all reverence and repentance. Peter was only too eager to forgive for just one more loving kiss.

Maybe that’s why he didn’t immediately turn around and leave everything behind when he stumbled in their dusty garage, used only when either of them pretended to care about gardening. Maybe that’s why he didn’t pack up and run again when he found the dog tags and the ID card in a hidden compartment in the metal shelving. 

Michelle Jones.

Steven Grant Rogers.

The names sounded like his heart jarring, like a baseball breaking through a window - he didn’t know what else to do except gingerly place the items back in the box and wander back into the house in a confused daze, because why, dust motes and orange sun rays in his eyes. Despite swearing never to drink the whiskey Tony keeps in stock Peter finds himself reaching for it. It always burns. 

He’d always drank it sticky and smoky from Tony’s lips anyway.

The wind rattles against the windows and he remembered he needed batteries for the storm, the torches laying uselessly on the coffee table when the lights begin to flicker. But he still has signal on his phone and the light of his laptop to guide his hand to the bottle and the keys as he spells out their names into the search bar and what comes back up is deceased and mystery and suddenly the whiskey doesn’t taste too bad anymore.

The lonely girl with the curly hair. 

The brilliant boy with blue eyes.

The whiskey emboldens him to keep typing furiously, misspelling often as his vision blurs and his throat burns. 

Peter can trace a disappearance to every single one of Tony’s business trips, the dates, the locations. It all aligns right before him, like pages that had been missing all along. 

The victims, at least five of them, are murdered with the same signature method: blunt force trauma followed by the post-mortem removal of the victims heart.

The cavity left in the deceased’s chest is always filled with pennies.

He doesn’t even realise he’s called Tony until the man answers, tinny and concerned on the other end of the call. Dwindling percentage blinks back at him, a shaky thumb pressing the call to speaker.

“…Baby? You there?”

“I’m here,” Peter swallows. “Just wanted to call you. Miss you.”

He hears Tony’s soft sigh as clear as the whistling wind. “Miss you too, baby. I’ll be home soon, promise.” 

He sniffs. “When’s soon?”

“Soon,” Tony laughs, low and familiar. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Peter nods, feeling syrupy, eyes glazing over. “Just wanted to hear your voice. There’s a storm.”

Peter doesn’t like loud noises. Doesn’t like metal clanging, glass shattering, doesn’t like how thunder sounds like belt buckles and upturned chairs hitting floors and fists on walls and how it reminds him that houses can only protect him from the elements. Sometimes when it storms Tony will curl up behind him in bed, and place his hands over Peter’s ears and press kisses to neck, other times he will stand with Peter in the shower until the water runs cold, their rapture echoing off the tiles. 

There’s a pause. 

“You sure you’re okay? Why don’t you turn some music on and get under the covers, sweetheart.”

“Good idea,” Peter lies. “I’ll let you get back to work.”

“Okay, I’ll see you soon. Love you.”

The thing with finding a home in a person is that sometimes there are parts to uncover and things you only notice when you stare long enough - secret rooms, hidden compartments and it’s just after that you notice the one floorboard that has begun to rot and ceilings that have cracks or the way the door hinges doesn’t work just right. Maybe he doesn’t work just right, either.

You can either pack-up and leave, or content yourself with the window that sticks and the dust-motes and say there aint no place like it.

“Love you too,” Peter whispers, shaking to his core as thunder rolls overhead.

——-

Tony comes home early.

His husbands eyes are dark when he finds Peter curled up in their bed later, late enough for the pale grey of early morning to filter through the glass. One of Tony’s business shirts is draped over Peter’s shoulders, curtain to everything outside of their bed as he rouses. 

“You left your laptop open. You been doin’ some research, baby?” Tony croaks, jaw set, mouth turned downwards. 

Peter doesn’t like that so he beckons, arms like open doorways when he reaches for his husband and takes him by the hand, wedding rings clicking togethers like locks latching. In Tony’s other hand is the ID and the dog-tags dangling by his side. He’s over being mad about being kept in the dark, long away off the initial burn of anger, too relieved that the vacancy is full again to mourn.

It feels like home when Tony kneels onto the bed and presses a kiss to Peter’s forehead, like their bed is a pulpit, the heat of Tony’s body as he nuzzles into his side a sermon. 

Peter turns his head to capture his lips, wondering how long Tony has been praying to him.

“Some” he admits. “I might need to pick your brain later. How did the trip go?”

Tony stills for a moment before the bristles of his beard scrape Peter’s cheek, a smile.

“Good. I found us a 1955 double die cent.”

“How much did the owner want for it?” Peter asks, raising their joined hands to kiss Tony’s red-raised knuckles, all copper and nickel.

The shirt falls loosely around his waist when he shrugs it off just to see how Tony’s eyes become a cavern, the slack of his jaw an invitation that Peter has always wanted to run into and curl up in. Maybe he should be running from the dark inside it, the unexplored territory, but he doesn’t. It just feels like a heartbeat, steadfast as a metronome, home.

“Just a few pennies,” Tony answers, eyes falling to Peter’s heart.