#i always heard people saying mixing deep voices is harder than higher voices but because i started my

[bmpmp3]

now that virvox has basically handed me my own personal slightly clunky boyband with the voicevox humming update to play with i now fully understand the urge for anime idol companies to give all the vocal lines to one specific character. i want to put my specialest little guy of all time (takehiro) in like every part LOL

[fyeah-bangtan7]

Jung Kook: “I think we’d better not ever stop”

We asked Jung Kook to draw anything he wanted for the photoshoot. The photos featured in this article are snapshots while Jung Kook was at work. Even when the photoshoot was finished, he left the studio only when he completed his drawing.

“Butter” has been at the top of the Billboard Hot 100 chart for six weeks straight. (This interview took place on July 12) Jung Kook: I was never attached to rankings, but as good as it is and as happy as I am since we’ve kept setting records since “Dynamite,” it also feels like a burden.

Is it because you’ve been successful beyond anything you could’ve imagined? Jung Kook: Sort of. A huge number of people have given me recognition, so I’ve been going along thinking I have to work harder, but we did even better with “Butter” than with “Dynamite,” so I think I ended up feeling weighed down. That’s what I’m like. BTS is an amazing team, but maybe my problem is that I’m not able to keep up with BTS.

You were the one to set the mood for “Butter” by singing the intro to the song. Didn’t that make you feel good? You were definitely as amazing as the team itself. (laughs) Jung Kook: “Butter” just feels so good. It’s different from our usual style, so it felt different while recording. The song’s great, too. I love that, but it’s separate from that feeling of pressure. I mean, I hope BTS does even better, honestly. Lately I’ve been thinking that that pressure means I need to do better. After “Dynamite” became number one on the Billboard Hot 100, it’s not like we’re being forced to try harder; it’s just my personal ambition. I think I can do better.

Why do you think “Dynamite” wasn’t as satisfying? Jung Kook: Because I couldn’t express everything I wanted the way I wanted to. When I listen to the remixes, I think about how I could’ve sung it differently. Like, “Aw, man! If only I could do it again!” (laughs) I got some things from singing “Dynamite,” like, I’m not quite there yet. So I try to practice singing at least an hour every day, no matter what. Any singer who’s been at number one on Billboard for six weeks had better be really good at singing. That’s what I think.

Something about the way you sang in English probably made you hear your own singing in a new light. Your tone is different from when you sing in Korean. Jung Kook: Sometimes you have to bear down a little on your words to talk in Korean. Plus I’m from Busan, so I speak in a little bit of a low voice. I don’t have that when I use English, though, so it’s like there’s pros and cons. It’s easy to use your head voice when you sing in English as well, but it can be uncomfortable, while in Korean, if you try to sing higher using your head voice, it can sound a bit nasally sometimes. But at the same time, it can be hard to break old habits when I sing in English since I’ve always been singing in Korean.

“Dynamite,” “Butter” and “Permission to Dance” are all English songs and you were in charge of the introduction for all three. It seems like you put some thought into how to create different impressions for each song. Jung Kook: “Butter’s” really bouncy, as you know. It’s a little deep, it’s got a driving beat, it’s rhythmical. And before I record, I listen to a recording with guide vocals, and then when I go to record, I have to keep all these characteristics in mind and mix them together with my own style properly in this subtle way. I think it’s seriously an intuition. (laughs) I had a hard time when we were recording, obviously, and when I first did it, my voice didn’t sound right, so I had to keep looking for the right voice. I think the most important thing is to really nail the voice you want to use first, and so is figuring out how to make it your own. In “Permission to Dance,” for instance, I sang it more the way I wanted than the style the guide vocals had.

How do you come to that kind of conclusion? Jung Kook: Everyone’s voice has to sound different, so it can be overpowering if I copy the guide too much when I sing. So sometimes I follow what I’m thinking of exclusively. I was thinking about how I should sing the first part of “Permission to Dance,” and when I went to record it, even Pdogg, the producer, told me, “It’ll work best if you go with your own voice, your own style.”

What effect does listening to so many other artists’ songs and analyzing them have on you? Jung Kook: The more I listen to music, the more my vocals change. It really changes a lot when we get a song and listen to it and practice it. I guess you could say my vocal cords are always readying themselves for improvement when I practice. (laughs) And improving while I record, and just improving any time I sing. But there’s also times when it suddenly doesn’t sound right when I try it the way I want, so I just give it a try, or I quickly look up other vocalists and listen to their songs or ask some of the older artists. Doing that helps me find a certain voice I’m looking for.

You sang uncannily similar to SUGA when you briefly sang his part in “Life Goes On” over V LIVE, even though your voices are different. You’re quick at picking up on the characteristics of others’ vocals. Jung Kook: I used to rely on that a lot. Like, I can hear [the characteristics in their voices] at least. (laughs) Now, though, it’s like, Oh, [I] guess I shouldn’t do it that way. You can safely assume I’ve heard a countless number of other singers’ songs. Then I would think a lot about how I want to sing, thinking how those other singers would sing, before making my own voice. I carry over those people’s voices and vocal patterns and think about how it would sound if they sang in this room, then I think about how it would sound in my own voice, and then sometimes I can make my voice sound similar if I try to.

It seems like it was important for you to find your own style for the performances as well. Not only were the three English songs different from your earlier work, but there were also a lot of parts in “Butter” that you could only perform through gestures and facial expressions. Jung Kook: Before “Butter,” I just worked really hard, and had fun doing it, in whatever way I wanted but starting with “Butter” I think I managed to do things in a more thought-out way. I was more attentive to my facial expressions and movements and thought through what I should do in each situation in each performance to do it in my own style. And it was kind of a fun process. I don’t feel any pressure about that; I just thought I can create that kind of image if I just try to be a little cool and not cringey (laugh) for people from now on.

What image do you want people to have of you, as an artist? One that says, This is who I am as an artist right now. Jung Kook: I don’t think I’m at the level where I need to worry about that yet. I have a general idea about what kind of singer I want to be and what I want to be really good at, but I don’t think I’ve ever imagined defining myself as a certain type of singer yet. Because it’s an ongoing process, when I can prove myself, then, bam!—I give proof and become a truly influential person, only then can I go around saying, This is the kind of singer I am. For now, I don’t have anything, I guess you could say, “substantial” to show off. I think, Even if I’m part of BTS and tour stadiums, does that automatically make me better than other artists? And then, by thinking so, I center myself again.

Couldn’t you be a little softer on yourself? Jung Kook: No. I have to think about the future many times throughout the day. For example, sometimes I spend a whole day doing whatever, but whenever I do, I regret it severely. So I promise myself that I’ll get this and that done. That’s how I live, because if I don’t think that way, I won’t jump into action to get anything done. It’s like the title of our song, “Life Goes On”: the treadmill just keeps on going, and we’re on it, so I always think, I’d better not ever stop. I can express myself better if I think while I talk, and I can organize my thoughts while reflecting back on what I said. I try to think about everything in that way. I think I need to improve, whether it’s at singing or my hobbies—more than now, better than now.

Are you doing particularly well with any of your hobbies these days? It seems like you got a little better at painting, judging by your vlog. Jung Kook: I think I’m getting better overall, little by little. My vocals are where I’ve definitely improved lately. And bowling! (laughs) I learn how to paint by watching videos on YouTube. I think I’m good at picking up skills by emulating others. I’m actually not good at learning things. (laughs) I just like to do what I like to do and I naturally learn from the people around me, I guess. And I think the things I really want to learn are still the same: singing, English, exercise.

Learning from other people and wanting to do better is a form of recognizing who you can compare yourself against. Are you at all influenced by the other members? You’ve talked a lot about how much you’ve been influenced by the six older members. Jung Kook: I think I started paying attention to people other than myself after I moved to Seoul and met the other members. I wasn’t paying attention to my surroundings, but I do notice them now. It’s like I really started to see myself for who I am from that point on.

That makes me think of when you talked about seeing the sights in Seoul for the first time on tvN’s You Quiz on the Block, the way you got to know the feelings the outside world can give. Jung Kook: The first time I saw the streets of Seoul, they were enormous. I was really worried, since I’d just come to Seoul, and I got to know myself because of the change of environment. I think it was the very first time for me to think for myself, and it became the starting point for me to get to know myself.

When you took some candy you liked from the BTS pop-up store, j-hope said you were still the same from when you first met when you were 13 years old. Do you think you haven’t changed at all compared to back then? Jung Kook: In some way I must be better or different on the outside, but I’m sure there’s still things about me that are the same as when I was 13. I learned how to be considerate towards the other members and how to understand them because I fought with them occasionally, but nobody’s going to stop me if I take candy. I take it like I always did. Like when Hobi and I fought over a single banana. (laughs)

But what’s changed about you, then? Being a member of BTS must have had an effect on your view of the world. You sought understanding from your vegetarian viewers when you were eating meat in a salad on V LIVE before. Jung Kook: I thought to ask because I know that many people abroad, and in Korea, too, are vegetarians. It’s one of the things you learn when you tour around many different countries. Obviously I don’t know about every single country’s culture or personal identities or choices, so even though I have a long way to go, I think it’s important to respect them based on what I do know.

I think you must know that you’ve had an influence on a lot of people. Partway into your V LIVE, you talked about how you couldn’t find any of the kombucha you drank before anymore because it was all sold out and you thanked your fans for giving a little help to small business owners. Jung Kook: Restaurants aren’t doing well and there’s a lot of closed-up shops in the markets now, as you know. So if I’ve had an effect on even one person, it’s been worthwhile. And sometimes the people I’ve had an influence on go on to make donations, too. There could always be someone who takes advantage of the things I say or do, but I’m confident a lot of people will use them for good.

This influence is something you’ve crafted with your fandom, ARMY. I imagine you’ve been influenced not only by the other members but also by ARMY since you were young. Jung Kook: There’s a lot going on inside a concert venue: the lighting, the stage, the floor, the stage design, the video projected on the screen. Plus there’s the music, the dancing, and us. Even if they’re all in balance, ARMY has to be there to complete the scene. When it comes to our concerts, ARMY are the ones who bought the tickets and they’re the main characters. I think everything we focus on comes back down to ARMY. We share in each other’s feelings and they’re the source of our strength, and I think they have synergy with us. It’s not enough to just say ARMY and us like each other, or that we love each other. There’s definitely more to it than that. It’s, well—I don’t know. It’s hard to put into words. (laughs)

I think you need ARMY to be there at the concert for you to fully realize the concert you’re aiming for. Jung Kook: Yes, exactly! Even if everything’s set up and we’re in front of the camera, if ARMY’s not there, it’s a completely different concert. Even when ARMY’s there and there’s a live camera broadcasting it, I’m like, There’s a camera? Sure. Obviously I care about it when I have to say hello to ARMY sitting on the other side, in front of their screens. Other than that, I get all my energy from all the ARMY sitting right in front of me. That’s how much they mean to me. It’s completely different.

The concept for BTS 2021 MUSTER SOWOOJOO was similar to being in concert with an audience. It must’ve made you think of ARMY even more. Jung Kook: I’m seriously good as long as I can perform. I can put on more and more concerts in the space of a year if we’re touring. I felt it more profoundly this time since we couldn’t perform with an audience. Wow, I really took things for granted all this time. I should’ve done more.

You must be disappointed. It’s your time to shine as a vocalist and as a performer. Jung Kook: (sighs) I, well, I really need to hurry up and make a mixtape, first of all. (laughs)

How’s your mixtape going? Jung Kook: I was working on it just before I came. But it’s hard! (laughs) I could just make it about myself, and then it would be like, I started as a trainee when I was 13, I worked hard, and found success. But anyone could do that. So I keep thinking I want to make up my own original, complex story and write the songs from there. Billie Eilish’s debut album left a big mark on me when it came out, in that respect. And it’d be nice to have a cohesive flow to the tracklist, but even if it’s all jumbled up, that’s fine, too, as long the good songs keep on coming. That’s sort of what I’m thinking. So these days, rather than focusing on the album’s story as a whole, I’m just going to write whatever it is I want to say in each song. If I get that feeling right after listening to a track, I’ll try and make it. And I’m going to try to make it a little bit light-hearted.

It can’t be easy for you to concentrate on it if you’re making it here and there between all your other work. Jung Kook: It’s fine if it takes a really long time—it’s just hard to work on it in pieces. I mean, if I stay up late working away at it, it’s hard to get through the next day. (laughs) I stayed up all night again last night and slept between appointments today, but I’m still going to keep working like this today and then go work on my mixtape again anyway. I’ll do my best to release it as soon as possible. I want to write and record a lot of material.

s there anything about yourself, other than your work or concerts, that you want to show to ARMY as an individual? Jung Kook: I want to show them, that, umm … Just my real self, Jeon Jung Gook. That I’m fairly easy-going, very honest, and nothing special.

What kind of person do you think you are now? Jung Kook: I’m, I’m a, lazy … person. (laughs).

You’re being very hard on yourself. (laughs) How could you be lazy if you’re a part of BTS? Jung Kook: No, I really am lazy. (laughs) If I were alone I’d probably miss a lot of my appointments. (laughs) But I have to avoid making any mistakes when we function as a group. I’m really lazy, and—oh, I overthink things sometimes. I think more than people might expect, and I do things my way. Plus, even though I don’t care what other people think of me, I kind of still do. (laughs) I have no idea. I’m sort of goofy—? But I’m also trying to live a full life—I’m that kind of person. (laughs).

Thank you for the interview. Oh, by the way, I liked your “Butter” fan cam. Your moves were really agile. Jung Kook: Really? Do you think I’ve gotten better? (laughs).

© source.

[kitababie]

pathetic - suna rintarou

an // been slowly working on this one for awhile now, @undermattsun has given me skate rat brain rot sooo here we are they’re a dark content blog so please proceed with caution and dni if you’re a minor

wc // 1.5k unedited cause i suck, sorry

tw // smut, alcohol and drug use, reader doesn’t cum cause suna is a meanie ;(( but obviously all characters are aged up.

PLEASE DO NOT INTERACT (like, comment or rb) IF YOU ARE A MINOR i’m really not comfortable with it at all so please go read my fluff instead

It was pitiful really, the way you cling onto every word he spat at you, jumped at every opportunity to see him even if he spent the whole time hardly acknowledging you. He did acknowledge you when others tried to chat you up, you were stuck in a loop. You were almost giddy now, when you went to parties with him and someone got a little too handsy, you enjoyed the glint in his usually bored eyes, you must mean something to him right? That glint and the fact that he kept you around was enough for you to keep hoping.

So maybe you got a little overzealous tonight agreeing to this particular party; well, party is a generous term, it was just Suna’s group with a few plus ones hanging out in one of their basements.

You did have a bit of an alternative motive, which was pretty pitiful. But what else can you do? You just couldn’t kick your Suna addiction and he really didn’t seem to look twice at you until you had another guy trying to get in your pants.

So you had no choice but to flirt up a storm with one of his friends right?

-

The basement was half lit and smelled like old smoke and years of built up must. It didn’t seem familiar, or maybe you had been here and couldn’t remember the night, nevertheless you made your way further into the basement. There were a few small groups, some with faces you’ve seen before and some not. It wasn’t hard to find the half hooded eyes you were looking for.

He looked in your direction for a split second, nodding ever so slightly at your presence before bringing his attention back to lighting the small pipe in his hands.

How he always managed to make your heart race and stomach ache in anticipation with only a half assed nod, you would never understand. Your normally quick witted demeanour felt worlds away when you were near Suna. You headed to the kitchen, desperately needing a drink.

As you neared the kitchen, which was only a deep freeze, mini fridge and a few cabinets overhanging the mismatched countertops that were heavily cluttered with empty and full bottles and cans of alcohol alike. There were only two other people in the room, you recognized them to be the ‘infamous’ Miya twins.

They were in a heated discussion about...something. You really couldn’t hear anything to provide any proper context, which admittedly was probably for the best. The blonde-Atsumu right?- was more upset looking than his counterpart but they were equally loud.

Before you knew it there was an empty can being launched across the room, narrowly missing your head as you duck down.

“Oi! Next time look where you’re throwing!” You mumble an ‘asshole’ as you reach for the closest bottle of booze with the intention of mixing a drink.

Atsumu was quick to forget his argument and sauntered over to you, standing on the over side of the island countertop.

“Aw ’m sorry doll, how about I make ya a drink to make up for it?” He sported a lopsided smirk as he rested his head on his palm, leaning closer to you in the process.

You smirked back “depends on the drink I guess”

“How about I make it and you tell me how much of an amazing bartender I make?”

A ‘tch’ could be heard beside you, you jumped for a second not realizing the gray haired brother had made his way beside you.

“Shut it ‘Samu!” The blonde roared as he started pouring the drink.

“Didn’t even say anything ya idiot” his voice was low and rich. He side eyed you for a moment, you could practically feel his gaze rack up your body.

A cup sliding towards you snapped your attention away from Osamu.

Rum and coke, you conclude as the drink hits your taste buds, a very strong one at that. You thank Atsumu for the cup and try to bid the twins farewell.

“Ah come on don’t run away just yet, pretty lady” the quieter brother mused, grabbing your hand and pulling you closer. His body heat radiated towards you as he rests his hand on your waist.

“I have to go back to my...friend though” the hesitation made Osamu raise an eyebrow. ‘...friend’ as the only title you could come up with though, you only rolled your eyes as an answer.

“y/n.”

Speak of the devil. You spin around at the familiar monotone voice. Suna looked less than pleased, and definitely not sober, eyes burning a hole on the hand resting on your waist. You wiggled away from the younger twin and took ahold of Suna’s lazily outstretched hand.

“Till next time pretty boys! And thanks for the drink.” You wave them off as the raven haired male pulled you back to the grimy couch he was seated at earlier. You didn’t miss the eye roll he gave at your nickname for the twins. He slumped down on the couch and pulled you onto his lap, his hands on your thighs and hip. He loved being able to hold and claim you in front of everyone, he was rarely this clingy when it was just the two of you.

You chatted a bit with his friends who were also plopped down near the couch, it was hard to focus as you finished off your drink, you mental cursed yourself for not eating most of the day and letting the liquor go straight to your head. Your face felt warm and your thoughts felt more distant. All you think about were Suna’s hands that crept higher on your thigh and the one that made its way under the hoodie you had stolen from him a week back.

“Let’s get outta here.” He muttered out.

You turn back to look at him and say “I just got here Suna.” You protested lightly.

“I think you’ve socialized enough, we’re going.”

He pushed you off and you fumbled the landing a little, feeling the buzz hit your head harder than before now that you’ve stood up. He gripped the fabric of your sleeve and led the way.

It was dark out now, maybe you were there longer than you thought… Suna was still harshly tugging you towards his piece of shit car, you often told him that he’d end up on the side of the road one of these days and he just replied that if you didn’t like it you could walk.

“Think you’re cute huh? Chatting up the dumbass twins, stealing my clothes too” he pushed you against the side of the car, trapping you in between his arms. He had his same bored expression as his hand slipped back under the hoodie and pawed at your chest.

“Mm just trying to get your attention” you slur out with a low moan at the feeling of his hands on your skin.

“That desperate for some dick? Pathetic.” You lazily nod, too embarrassed for words but more than happy that you succeed in getting his attention. He lifted your legs, making you wrap them around his hips. Slowly he grinds against you, desperate you pulled him into a sloppy kiss. A breathy groan left your lips feeling him grow harder against you. Suna was never one for much foreplay however, he was quick to lower your bottoms and shift your panties out of the way.

“Wait Rin someone could see” you realized quickly as he shifted to get his erection free. He gave no warning as he slowly bottomed out in you. He laughed quietly “what don’t want anyone to see you so disparate for a scubbag like me to fuck you? I could call your pretty boys out. I’m sure they’d love to see you like this, practically crying because you can’t handle a little bit of cockwarming.”.

He was right, you were a mess. You tried to move your hips needing friction, his body was unmoving though. “Rin please” you whine out “just make it quick…” you bury your face in his neck, at least if someone came out they wouldn’t be able to see your face.

“As you wish” he muttered before finally moving his hips, his thrusts were fast and unrelentingly. You hung off of him trying your best not to moan, he just fit inside of you so well and his consistent rhythm was more than enough to start the coil building in your core.

He hissed when you clenched around his cock. He pulled your head away from him, hand holding your hair tightly. He couldn’t get enough of your fucked out face, spurting out strings of uneven moans.

You tried to match his pace but gave in as his thrust became more unpredictable and rough, you whimpered realizing he was close. Reaching down to rub your clit you huffed as his hand left your hair to grab your hand and pin it against the car.

You whined out his name, he only ignored you as his face began to scrunch and let out a silent moan as he came inside of you. You huffed once more and let your head fall into his heaving chest.

“Asshole.”

[cafedanslanuit]

[ k i n k t o b e r ]  d a y   15    -   masterlist

↪ character: aizawa shouta [boku no hero academia]

↪ tags/warnings: +18, female!reader, punk/rock singer!reader, face-fucking, references to brat taming, light!brat reader, semi-public sex

↪ a/n: ahhhhh, i had this idea for so so long. punk/rock singer and aizawa have been living rent free in my mind for some weeks now <3

↪ featured playlist:

— bad reputation - joan jett

— paradise city - guns n’ roses

— hot for teacher - van halen

You took a second look at your broken fishnet, your fingers tracing the fabric. Memories on how it broke filled your mind making you smirk to yourself. You smoothed your faux leather skirt and stood up from your crouching position, looking at the other people on the stage.

“We’re good to go?”

The rest of the band nodded and you smiled. Passing a hand through your hair, you tapped the microphone twice and greeted the audience. They weren’t as enthusiastic or wild as the one you were used to, but after a long argument with your band you had agreed to accept performing in a higher-class bar. ‘It’s good money’, they had said. And they weren’t wrong, it definitely was better money than your regular shows at an underground bar gave you, but you felt like a caged bird. People with fancy shoes holding expensive drinks were looking at you like some sort of exhibition. And it kind of was. It was 80’s night for a reason.

The guitarist started the known riff and you did your best to put on a good show.

“And I don’t give a damn about my bad reputation…”

It was almost unnerving how people were still sitting down, shoulders slightly moving as they listened to you sing. You tried not to roll your eyes at them. Just one hour, you told yourself. One hour and you’re out of here.

You were in the middle of your fifth song and third beer when you started having fun. Your leather jacket was left behind on the floor and you were play-flirting along with the bassist, putting one hand on his shoulder as you sang to him.

“Take me down to the paradise city, where the grass is green and the girls are pretty,” you sang along with your longtime friend. You laughed at your antics and then went back to the center of the stage. For once, you didn’t care the audience was still sitting down. Fuck them. You were having fun enough for all of them and were going to take their money at the end of the night.

Suddenly, most people started looking at the club entrance. Imitating them, your eyes darted there as well, and saw a group of men and women making their way to a big table. You recognized most of them as they were pro-heroes, but wondered what they were doing there. A black haired woman put a birthday party on her head and you assumed it was her birthday. Your eyes kept focusing on every hero in the group until they stopped at a familiar face. A familiar, tired face, whose eyes were widened like a deer caught in the headlights. You winked at him and then looked away.

The song continued as you interacted with the band, rattling your hair as you did so, and twirling just enough for your skirt to rile up but don’t reveal anything. You never expected to see Aizawa again in a place like this, and definitely not tonight. You looked over at his table again and saw him back to his normal state, unamused eyes and just watching all his coworkers interact. He probably didn’t want to be there, and a part of you wanted to keep messing with that.

Before they could change to the next song, you asked the band for a particular one. They went with it, the drum solo filling the club as you propped up your right leg on one of the speakers, platform boots showing off. The guitar followed on the solo and you looked again at Aizawa, who now had an irritated look on his face directed at you. His friends were looking at the stage with a smile, ignoring his friend’s stare. You just smiled back.

“Wait-- wait a second man, what do you think the teacher’s gonna look like this year?” you asked your bassist.

You couldn’t suppress the cheeky grin on your face as you sang. You tried your best not to look too much at that particular table, instead you moved around the stage, probably doing one of your best interpretations of the song. You grabbed the unused microphone stand and used it as support as you crouched down singing the chorus.

“Got it bad, got it bad, got it bad, I'm hot for teacher. I've got it bad, so bad, I'm hot for teacher.”

For the second time during the song you looked at Aizawa again and almost felt yourself getting wet from the look he was giving you. It was a mix of incredulity, anger and dominance that riled you up even more to keep on teasing him.

Faster than you had wanted to, the song came to an end, leaving you more hot and bothered than you had wanted to. The band kept on playing the rest of the songs planned for the night and you didn’t look at the table again, just focusing on finishing the set as fast as you could.

Your plans of going to the underground bar with the rest of the band went away when they decided to stay there to share a drink for a while. You stuck your tongue out at them and said your goodbyes.

The city streets were empty, but you paid no attention to that. You walked to the alley behind the club and lit up a cigarette. You watched the smoke slowly come out of your lips, dissipating on the cold air around you.

“That thing will kill you,” you heard a voice warning you. You didn’t have to look up to know who it was.

“I’ve put way worse inside my mouth,” you teased him, taking another drag. “Didn’t think of you as a fancy bar kind of dude.”

“I’m not,” he just replied, walking over and stopping in front of you.

“I’m guessing you’re here because you liked the show?” you said, a sly grin appearing on your face.You opened your mouth to say another joke, but Aiazawa grabbed the back of your hair and pulled it harshly towards him.

“You’re a fucking brat, you know that?” he growled against your face. You bit your lower lip and tried to take another drag of your cigarette, only for him to slap it away with his free hands. “You think you’re so fucking funny with your song,” he said, your eyes setting of his again. The hunger you had seen while you were singing on the stage were back there.

“But I am hot for teacher,” you whispered against his lips with an innocent voice.

That was enough for Aizawa to push you down, making you fall on your knees. He unzipped his pants in front of your face and you couldn’t help but lick your lips in anticipation. For the past couple of months, riling him up so he showed his more dominant side with you. Without the need to be ordered to, you opened your mouth and he quickly killed it with his cock, already half hard from your previous exchange.

Never letting go of your hair, he let you bob your head up and down his length, your hands roaming up his thighs as you did so.

“So many hours spent taming you and you still don’t know your place,” he grunted, tugging your hair, eliciting a moan for you. “Maybe it’s because you’re enjoying this too much. But you couldn’t take any more, could you?” he asked, pushing himself just the tiniest bit down your throat. You took him with a groan and nodded at his words, the implication of his words marking your thighs press against each other. Aizawa smirked at your affirmative answer.

Suddenly, you felt him tug even harder at your hair, pulling you closer to him. Your throat made way for his cock, your nose almost grazing his crotch. He started thrusting inside your mouth at a rapid pace, deep grunts coming out of his mouth. Your hands immediately went to hold onto his pants, trying to ground yourself as he fucked your mouth.

“How am I going to fucking tame you if you’re enjoying this?” he spat, looking down at you. Your eyes quickly filled with tears from the abuse to your throat, but at the same time you couldn’t help the moans from coming out. Having him use you like that on an empty alley seemed like something taken out of your fantasies, as you’ve always used the back room or the men’s bathroom of the underground bar you had met. You could see his teeth as grinding as his hips kept moving.

Drool started dripping from your mouth and falling on your thighs only covered by the fishnet he had broken the last time he had taken you in a bathroom stall after a show. The memory of his pressing your head against the door of the stall as he fucked you from the back plus the view of the hot, disheveled teacher as he lost himself inside your mouth made you moan needily.

The vibrations of your voice made him groan and he quickened the pace. Soon enough he was releasing inside your mouth, the hold he had on your hair tightening even more. Aizawa pulled himself off your mouth and a bit of his cum fell on your tank top as you panted to get some air. He held your cheek in his hand, and you looked at him with a soft smile as he cleaned the corners of your mouth with his thumb. You knew your makeup was probably a bit smudgy and your lipstick was surely gone, but he still smiled back, even if it was just a small twitch of his lip. 

Aizawa helped you stand up and watched you as you fixed your hair and checked your clothes, trying to clean off the stain on your tank top.

“I have to go inside now,” he said, his face back to his normal, apathetic self. You nodded, and fixed your jacket once more before leaning forward and placing a small kiss on his face.

“You know where to find me, teacher,” you winked at him, before turning on your heel and walking away.

[pumpkinpaix]

Sending all the good vibes your way!! ✨✨ Wangxian + laundromat prompt, but only if you’re feeling it!

happy birthday sarah~~ (*´▽`*)

(crossposted to ao3)

—

Someone has taken Lan Wangji’s laundry out of the dryer and dumped it all on the counter in a haphazard heap, even though he started heading down as soon as he received the notification on his phone. He frowns. The clothes are still warm, and the room is empty but for the steady whirs and thumps of the machines. And—it’s fine, it’s just that he always comes promptly when his clothes are done to avoid this exact situation. He likes being the only one to touch his clothes, to know where they’ve been and how they’ve been handled. It hasn’t even been two minutes.

As it is, they’re now on the counter beside another heap of clothes, these ones cold, wrinkly, and probably still a bit damp. He suspects the owner overloaded the dryer, actually. Lan Wangji sighs, lifting his clothes into his basket just as he hears the door bang open and raucous footsteps running down.

“Oh, Lan Zhan, it’s you!” Wei Wuxian says cheerfully, bounding his way over to the counter.

Lan Wangji takes a moment to control his traitorous racing heart, like he always does, before turning to face him. “Mn.”

“Did your laundry just finish?” he asks, grabbing the pile of wrinkly clothes in both arms like a gremlin, instead of loading them into a basket like a human being.

“You’ve dropped a sock,” Lan Wangji points out. “Two so—three socks,” he corrects as more fall to the floor.

“Ahahah, Er-gege, won’t you pick them up for me?” Wei Wuxian asks, probably pouting if his tone of voice is to be trusted. Lan Wangji can’t actually see his face around the mountain of clothing in his arms. “I can’t reach.”

Lan Wangji acquiesces because he’s weak. “Next time, bring a basket,” he suggests.

“Jiang Cheng’s hamper was full,” Wei Wuxian says, shrugging dangerously. Another sock falls to the floor. Lan Wangji picks it up and puts it back on top of the pile.

“Next time,” Lan Wangji repeats.

“Yes, yes, next time!” Wei Wuxian says. “Thanks, Lan Zhan! See you around!” And then he’s gone in a teetering whirlwind.

Lan Wangji takes another breath to steady himself and picks up his basket.

–

It takes a few moments for Lan Wangji to realize something is wrong. He pours the fresh laundry onto his bed to fold it and grabs a shirt, then another, and then catches a glimpse of unexpected color in the pile.

He blinks and sets down the shirt to reach for the corner of red sticking out amidst all the white.

He finds himself holding a pair of bright red briefs that definitely do not belong to him.

Were they in the dryer before he loaded in his clothes earlier? He thought he had checked, but perhaps not thoroughly enough. He sets them aside to bring back down to the laundry room later, and continues folding.

He finds another pair of briefs, these ones patterned in… lily pads? He puts them on top of the red ones.

It’s when he finds the third pair (a deep violet) that he finally stops folding and starts digging through the pile, discovering, to his increasing horrified bewilderment, that no fewer than twenty-three pairs of briefs and one pair of boxers have made their way into his clothing.

He also appears to be missing all of his underwear.

This doesn’t make any sense. This doesn’t make any sense! He stares at the pile of offending underwear with a sinking heart. He knows exactly who they belong to—it’s obvious enough from the aesthetics on display, and when he gingerly picks one of them up, he discovers “wwx” written in fat black marker on the inside of the waistband.

Wei Wuxian writes his initials on his underwear?? Why??

Lan Wangji stands helplessly amidst his unfolded laundry, Wei Wuxian’s underwear, and his own messy feelings.

–

Lan Wangji knocks sharply on the door to the suite that Wei Wuxian shares with Jiang Cheng and Nie Huaisang, stack of neatly folded underwear in one hand, ears hot and embarrassed. The hallway is blessedly empty, but he still feels ready to crawl out of his skin.

There’s the sound of what sounds like a rapid argument and brief scuffle before the door is wrenched open.

“Oh, Lan Zhan?” Wei Wuxian says, hair mussed and clothes askew.

“Did you… just have a fight over who would open the door?” Lan Wangji asks in lieu of a greeting, definitely not looking at Wei Wuxian’s exposed collarbone.

“Yeah, and he lost,” Jiang Cheng calls out from inside the room.

“You and Huaisang ganged up on me!” Wei Wuxian protests. “But since I’m honorable, I opened the door anyways.”

“Aren’t you glad? Turns out it was for you in the first place,” Huaisang says with a sly bent that Lan Wangji doesn’t appreciate.

“How do you know that?” Wei Wuxian demands. “Maybe he’s here for you guys!”

There’s a disbelieving, ringing silence that follows.

Lan Wangji clears his throat. “I came to return these to you,” he says, trying very hard to meet Wei Wuxian’s eyes as he offers the pile of underwear.

“Return—wait, what?” Wei Wuxian stares at the tidy stack. “What the fuck? Is that—is that my underwear? Is that all of my underw—hold on—wait—”

“It was mixed into my laundry,” Lan Wangji explains. “I came to see if you had mine.”

“Uhh—” Wei Wuxian glances over his shoulder, and Lan Wangji can see that he’s thrown his laundry in a pile on his unmade bed without touching it. “Y-yours? Why would I have—are you missing yours?”

“Mn,” Lan Wangji says, offering the underwear again because he really, really does not want to be holding it any longer.

Wei Wuxian unfortunately doesn’t take them, instead dashing back inside to start digging through his pile of clothing.

“You don’t have to do it now,” Lan Wangji says, starting to panic a little because frankly, he’d prefer not to be present for this. “I can come back later if you find—”

“What the fuck?” Wei Wuxian demands, pulling out a pair of white boxer briefs, and Lan Wangji sort of wants to die, actually, thanks. “Wait, are there more?”

“Really, you don’t have to right now,” Lan Wangji says, a little desperately, though he’s hoping it doesn’t show in his voice.

“Wow, Wei Wuxian, did you steal all of Hanguang-jun’s underwear?” Jiang Cheng remarks snidely. “You know that’s not what people mean when they talk about trying to get into someone’s pants—”

 “Jiang Cheng!” Wei Wuxian snaps, sounding genuinely angry which… well, it hurts. A little. Lan Wangji isn’t going to dwell on it.

“What?” Jiang Cheng retorts unrepentantly.

“You can’t—apologize to Lan Zhan!”

“For what?” Jiang Cheng demands. “It’s not like I was saying anything about his honor.”

“For fuck’s sake—I’m going to—Lan Zhan, let’s talk outside,” Wei Wuxian says, coming back out and slamming the door behind him, muffling Nie Huaisang’s cackling.

The hallway is silent.

Lan Wangji offers him the stack of underwear for the third time.

Wei Wuxian takes it, looking a little dejected.

“Sorry,” he says.

“You have nothing to apologize for,” Lan Wangji replies automatically.

“You can’t listen to anything Jiang Cheng says, okay? He just likes to rile people up.”

“He likes to rile you up,” Lan Wangji corrects.

Wei Wuxian rolls his eyes, a small smile sneaking its way back onto his face. “Yeah, you’re right. Everyone else is just collateral damage. Still. Sorry.”

“It’s all right,” Lan Wangji says. “I’ll come back later to get my clothes.”

“How did you know they were mine?” Wei Wuxian asks.

Lan Wangji resolutely does not say, I know what you like to wear. “Your initials are on all the waistbands.”

“Oh, right!” Wei Wuxian says laughing.

“Why?” Lan Wangji asks before he can stop himself.

“Jiang Cheng got mad that I kept borrowing his and marked them all saying I wouldn’t have any excuses in the future.” Wei Wuxian brightens. “Joke’s on him though! He forgot this one was originally his.” He points at the one patterned with cute cartoon lotus root slices.

Lan Wangji isn’t sure he wanted to know that, but they are very cute and he’s trying very, very hard not to think about Wei Wuxian wearing them. It’s a losing battle.

“Anyways, thanks,” Wei Wuxian says. “I’ll come by your room with your clothes in a few minutes. There’s no need for you to come back up here.” He reaches behind himself for the door handle.

It’s locked.

Wei Wuxian rattles it incredulously.

It really is locked.

“What the fuck!” he shouts. “Jiang Cheng! Huaisang!!”

“You aren’t allowed back in,” Nie Huaisang informs him with irritating cheer. “Not until you take care of this situation.”

“I need to come in to get Lan Zhan’s clothes! How the fuck am I supposed to resolve this situation from out here?”

“We’re taking drastic measures,” Jiang Cheng cuts in. “Obviously.”

“Wait, are you the one who switched our—Jiang Cheng! Let me in! I’m going to strangle you!”

“You’re not allowed back in until you get a goddamn date with Lan Wangji,” Jiang Cheng says imperiously.

There’s a full five seconds of absolute silence. Lan Wangji thinks his heart has leapt up into his throat.

“Excuse me?!” Wei Wuxian demands, voice at least two octaves higher than usual, tinged with an uncharacteristic alarm.

“You heard the man,” Nie Huaisang says with the enthusiastic energy of a sports coach. “Get a date, and you can come back in.”

“You can’t be serious,” Wei Wuxian says. He rattles the door handle harder, as if this will change anything.

“If,” Lan Wangji hears himself say. His throat is dry. “If that’s all it takes, that’s fine. I’ll do it.”

“What? Do what—a date? No, don’t let them bully you, it’s fine, I’ll just break in through the window,” Wei Wuxian says waving his hands. “The latches are broken.”

Lan Wangji pauses. “We’re on the third floor.”

“Yeah, that’s fine, I’ve climbed higher.” He perks up. “Wanna watch?”

Lan Wangji can think of almost nothing he’d like less than watching Wei Wuxian literally risk his life to avoid going on a date with him.

“No, thank you,” he says politely to cover for his wounded pride.

“Oh, okay.” Wei Wuxian actually seems to deflate very slightly, which is—huh. “That’s fine. But—oh, but here, you’ll have to take these back.” Wei Wuxian holds out the stack of underwear, not quite looking at Lan Wangji directly. “I can’t climb while holding them. Just uh, take them back to your room? And I’ll break in and bring you your clothes in a few minutes and we’ll swap.”

“It’s dangerous,” Lan Wangji says.

“If you try to break in, I will push you off the building and break both your legs,” Jiang Cheng threatens helpfully.

Lan Wangji opens his mouth, but Wei Wuxian rolls his eyes. “Ignore him, he wouldn’t dare. Here.” He all but shoves the underwear back into Lan Wangji’s hands. “I’ll be quick.”

Lan Wangji catches him by the elbow before he can take two steps. “Wei Ying,” he says, because—because.

Wei Wuxian flinches, but doesn’t yank himself away. “Lan Zhan,” he says nervously.

“I would rather go on a date with you than have you risk your life over some underwear,” Lan Wangji says, which—well, it’s not exactly what he meant to say, but it is true.

Wei Wuxian looks away, but Lan Wangji catches the flashbulb flicker of disappointment on his features, and wait, wait—

There’s a scream of frustrated rage from behind the door.

“LAN WANGJI, FOR HEAVEN’S SAKE JUST ASK HIM.”

“Don’t bully Lan Zhan!” Wei Wuxian says automatically.

“IT’S NOT BULLYING IF IT’S FOR HIS OWN GOOD!”

And Lan Wangji might be bad at using his words, and he might be bad at confronting his own feelings, and he might be really, genuinely terrible at reading social cues, but at this point—maybe—

“Wei Ying,” he says, fingers tightening around the crook of his elbow. “Please go on a date with me.”

“Lan Zhan, really, you don’t have to listen to them—”

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji repeats, forcing the words out past the terrifying anxiety. “I want to.”

Wei Wuxian finally looks at him, really looks. “You want to?” he echoes.

Lan Wangji nods because he doesn’t think he’s physically capable of saying it again.

“Oh.”

“So?” Lan Wangji prompts after a moment, because he’s not sure he can continue to take this.

Wei Wuxian blinks, and then suddenly looks very, very intense. “Okay, hear me out,” he says, which usually doesn’t bode well. “What if you go back to your room, I break in anyways, and then I come down with your clothes, and we make out in your bed for an hour?”

Lan Wangji feels like he’s had all the breath punched out of him.

There’s a disgusted, wheezing gurgle from behind the door. It opens just wide enough for a toothbrush to be flung violently outside before slamming shut again and locking with a resounding click.

“Jiang Cheng!” Wei Wuxian protests, but he’s grinning now, so wide his eyes are crinkled into little crescent moons. “You said I could come back in if I got a date!”

“I fucking hate you! Don’t bother coming back tonight! Fuck this! The things I do for you! Fuck!” There’s the sound of another door slamming.

“Congratulations,” Nie Huaisang says drily. The door opens again, and a box of condoms comes bouncing out. Slam. Lock. “Don’t forget to use protection.”

Lan Wangji’s face is burning, but Wei Wuxian laughs as he bends down to pick them up without a hint of shame, and Wei Wuxian smiles at him like that when he links their pinkies together, and well. Lan Wangji could be convinced to forgive them.

—

* jiang cheng and nie huaisang have been FULLY planning this for like, two months, including but not limited to: stalking lwj’s laundry schedule, timing how long it takes for him to get from his room to the laundry room, pestering wwx to do laundry on the exact day that they know lwj is going to be washing his clothes, hiding in the laundry room to leap out and perform the swap in an absolute mad frenzy so they could escape before lwj saw them at the scene of the crime—

* there’s a lot of chaotic dumbass energy in this scenario ok

(prompt list || other ficlets || ko-fi)

[jawritter]

Your Dean...

Request: Heyy! I'm sorry to be a bother. I was wondering if you can do a one-shot where the reader is prone to severe panic attacks and her husband Dean is the only one who knows how to calm her down? She gets a really bad attack but Dean for some reason ain't there, and no one is able to help her but eventually, he comes back and takes care of her. Sorry if this is a lot haha.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Warnings: Trigger Warning... Anxiety, Panic Attack, Angst, Some fluff. That’s about it I think.

Word Count: 1447

A/N: As always all mistakes are mine! Please don’t copy my work! Feedback his golden! I hope you all enjoy this one!!

Want more? Check out my Masterlist!!

****MASTERLIST******

It doesn’t start out hard and in your face, not always… 

Usually, it’s a slow build over a course of days, sometimes hours, depending on what brought it on. 

Not this time… 

This time it felt like it hit you out of nowhere, and you didn’t even see it coming, not until it had already started to take hold of you.

The feeling like you’re being watched, paranoid over every little thing. That spine-tingling feeling that someone is following you, or watching you, judging you, and you know for a fact that no one is there. 

The way your mind overplays things, making them out to be worse than what they are. Constantly playing over and over again like a broken record things that normal people wouldn’t even pay attention to, but you, it drives you crazy. 

Every little mistake on a constant repeat in front of your mind’s eye, not letting you let it go…

Like this morning when you were in the gas station for a supply run. Dean would be home today, and he needed beer when he got home from a hunt because he liked to have it, and you knew it. 

So as a good girlfriend you always try to be, your OCD says you must have beer at the bunker by the time Dean got home.

They had the counters cluttered, you set your purse down on the counter, in a hurry to get home before the storm hit and the rain started, and in your hurry, you knocked over a small display of candy bars onto the floor. 

There was a line of people behind you… 

They saw your clumsy moment… 

That was all it took…

Your mind hyper-focused on that one moment, playing it over and over again. It wasn’t your fault really. They shouldn’t have had all that shit stacked up on the counter, but your mind wouldn’t let it go. 

It just kept playing the way people stared at you as you fumbled and tried to pick up the candy that had fallen over. 

Even though they weren’t really staring at you, your mind made you think that they were, because that’s how anxiety works. It takes a situation that’s small and just makes it seem like this unforgivable, insurmountable thing. 

Everyone that was in there had probably forgotten all about you and the candy display by the time they got to their cars.

You though, you could feel judgment that wasn’t there. 

You know the signs, you dealt with anxiety all your life. 

You know what’s coming….

You need to get home to Dean… He’s your distraction… Your grounding… Your safe space… He knows how to pull you out of your head before it goes too far…

Your Dean…

When you finally made it home and walk through the doors of the bunker Dean still wasn't home…

You slip a level deeper into your spiral, this time you don’t even notice it, your mind still hyper-focused on what happened in the gas station. Your subconscious now mixing with the gut-wrenching questions on top of your own humiliations…

Where’s Dean? 

He and Sam should have been home an hour ago? 

Has something happened? 

Are they hurt? 

Did they get in a wreck?

Should you go look for them?

Taking a deep breath you shove it down and try to rationalize it…

They just ran into traffic or stopped for lunch. They’ll be home soon…

So you put away the supplies and go take a shower, trying to relax yourself and stave off what you know is coming.

Your heart rate feels higher than normal. Your hyper-focused state doesn’t allow you to see that it’s just stress and you’re doing it to yourself.

“Oh God, something is wrong with me. I’m going to die. I won’t ever see Dean again…”

Your Dean…

Just that simple thought causes your hands to shake and your chest to tighten around your lungs. 

“There was so much I wanted to do, and now I won’t get to because I’m dying..”

“I wanted to see Dean one more time. Let him hold me one more time. See his smile. Feel his warmth… But my heart rate is up, and I’m going to die before he gets here… Now I won’t get to see him again…" 

Your Dean… 

You just wanted to see your Dean…

Your heart is now pounding in your ears as you try to dry yourself off and make your way to the bedroom you shared with Dean… 

You feel a little dizzy. 

“Oh, God… Is this it…” 

“How will Dean find me?”

“On the floor in the hallway. On the floor of our bedroom… In our bed? Would he think you were just sleeping… Leaving your dead body there for hours?”

“Will he burn your body? Give you a hunter’s funeral?”. 

“Will he do something stupid to try and get you back?”

Your chest grew tighter and tighter as your mind continued to reel.  Your breaths felt like they were becoming harder and harder to take as you slid down the wall not three feet away from the door of your shared room.

Everything started to sound like it was underwater. Your world started swimming around you. Your vision is blurring as you start to lose consciousness. 

You could hear a roaring sound like someone was yelling, but you couldn’t be sure everything sounded so far away…

Out of nowhere thick, strong arms wrapped around your shaking form and Dean’s cologne invaded your scenes…

Were you hallucinating? 

Did you die? 

Is this your Heaven… Dean shouldn’t be here… He should be alive…

"Y/N, sweetheart, breathe, you got to breathe for me okay? Breathe with me baby.”

You heard Dean take a deep breath, and you desperately wanted to do what he was telling you to do, but you couldn’t make your body do what your brain said you need to do. 

Dean’s large hand came to the side of your face, making you look at him. His piercing green eyes invaded your vision, making you focus on him.

“Y/N/N, come on sweetheart, focus on me. It’s not real, whatever happened to you is not real. I’m real. I’m right here with you. You need to concentrate. I need you to breathe, baby girl.”

Dean was real. He was there… You weren’t imagining it… Your Dean was there… He was home…

You take a deep breath with him this time, your lungs burned in protest, but you did it; counting to five in your head before letting it go. Then again… Every breath becomes easier…

“That’s it, baby…That’s my girl… I gotcha just breathe,"  Dean’s deep voice vibrated through your body as he held it to his thick chest, his hands making a trail up and down your spine, calming you, grounding you like only your Dean could.

Slowly your world came back into focus after a long time of just sitting the hallway in Dean’s lap as he brought you back down from your panic attack. Probably the worst one you’ve had in a while. 

Dean whispered comforting words to you until he was sure you were completely out of it before standing up with you in his arms like you weighed nothing at all, bringing you into your shared bedroom, and laying you down on his bed. Sliding in behind you, and wrapping his arms you, pulling you back to his chest, your head laying right over his heart. The sound of its steady rhythm helps to calm your own racing heart.

"That was the worst one I’ve seen you have since the night we got married, baby girl. What happened? Do you want to talk about it?” Dean asks as he plays with your hair, placing little butterfly kisses on your face, letting you know he was there, and that he loved you.

You thought back to that moment in the store when it all started to happen. When you knocked the candy display off the counter, but that really wasn’t what triggered it. You could see that now.

You’d been in your head for days, and you knew it. This hunt was a long one, and time away from Dean always was stressful, making your anxiety levels higher than normal.

“I really don’t know Dean… Guess I was just missing you… Got all in my own head… Blew little things out of proportion. You know me,” you tell him, and you nuzzle yourself into his neck, breathing him in and letting him feel all of you and wash it all away like only he could. 

Your Dean… 

Dean placed a chaste kiss to the top of your head and tucked the covers around the two of you tighter. Exhaustion was pulling at you, and he knew how much a panic attack on that level took it out of you.

“I’m right here sweet girl. I’m not going anywhere. I’m safe, you’re safe, I’ve got you, baby girl. I’ll always be here." 

Dean started humming slightly, and everything faded to black as consciousness gave way to a peaceful sleep. 

The first one in days. 

Your Dean… Your world. He was home. You were safe. He was safe. Everything was right again…

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

Tag List: 

@deanwanddamons​​ @imabitch4jensen​​ @rvgrsbrns​​ @bi-danvers0​​ @onethirstyunicorn​​ @i-love-superhero​​ @akshi8278​ @alanegaming​ @magssteenkamp​ @lemondropirwin​ @squirrelnotsam​ @hobby27​ @spnbaby-67​ @mrsjenniferwinchester​ @defenderrosetyler​ @screechingartisancashbailiff​

[loveylangdon]

Satisfied pt. 4

a/n: I am sooo sorry for such a late post ive learned when I give myself a deadline it rarely goes my way. I hope you guys enjoy. somewhat undedited please bear with me ive been sick for a couple of days and sick brain doesn't agree with me This doesn’t feel like my best work but feedback is always welcome thank yall soo much XX

masterlist in bio

Word count: 2.5k

*not my gif credit to owner*

“Connor fucking Brashier open this god damn door” you yelled leaning against it pounding your fist on the white wood.

This was bullshit, utter bullshit.

You talked to Brian 2 days ago about everything.

How it happened and how it didn’t change the way anyone felt about anything. You were drunk and Brian was probably a little more emotionally involved than you were, you were hurt to find out he wasn’t as gone as you were. He seemed to remember everything.

It sent you into a frenzy how could he consciously have taken advantage of your inhibited state, it felt like a betrayal. In actuality, both of you had foggy brains you just a bit more than him. Still, he knew how you felt about Shawn, why would he go and mess up a good thing.

That's where you both fucked up, you going to the first person connected to Shawn wanting to feel closer to him when the real reason Shawn didn’t fly home was that he flew to Amsterdam to meet up and sleep with some girl who lives there.

Brian thought he liked you, he liked the idea of what Shawn had with you. Someone who would wait around and answer every beck and call. You felt used and taken advantage of when Brian apologized profusely and started crying in front of you. You knew you guys should just blame it on the alcohol. Involving emotions was too real and too much.  Involving a one-sided emotion would only end up with someone getting hurt and a worse situation.

Coming to a consensus you were both drunk, drunk beyond relief and he was tipsy enough to not think clearly put two of those people in a room, both of them needy and horny and you wake up the next morning having slept with one of your best friends.

While you and Brian talked about it you still felt gross, he knew you missed Shawn, he knew you were drunk and Brian took his chance thinking maybe you would want him instead. A school crush gone wrong he said. He also talked to Shawn or stopped honestly once he found out Shawn wasn’t talking to you ‘it takes two and it wasn’t just you, I did more of the work if anything’ he spoke out making you cringe. But like the adults, you both are you talked it through and got over it.

Here you were locked in Connor Brashier’s bedroom with the one and only Shawn Mendes after tweedle dee and tweedle dumb thought this was the only way to get you and Shawn talking again. Connor stuck by his “Talk to Brian first and then Shawn” bullshit and here you were trapped.

“Connor fucking Brashier open this god damn door I swear to god blue eyes you won’t look so cute when I get my hands on you” you yelled leaning against it pounding your fist on the white wood harder in hopes he would actually listen and unlock you and Shawn from the confinements of his room.

Shawn started chuckling looking over your shoulder at him he laid down on Connors bed arm draping over his eyes as he let out a sigh.

“He’s not coming back to open the door, They left” He spoke out towards you

Your eyes getting big “What?!” You asked surprised, your voice getting higher

“Yah Connor told me him and Brian had plans later tonight I assumed it was all of us just us two tagging along. Guess they really did have plans that didn’t involve us.” He turns onto his side and looks at you still leaning against the door.

Huffing you put your back to it and cross your arms over your chest “Okay Mendes this is where the gym comes in handy use your big ass arms and break the door” you speak seriously at him as his eyes get wide and he goes into a belly laugh “What? What's funny” you ask

“I am not breaking Tiny’s door” he chuckles looking at you

Raising your eyebrow up at him “What your muscles aren’t strong enough or you aren’t paying him enough to replace a piece of wood” you fire at him annoyed and wanting to get out of this tense atmosphere

Hurt flashed across his face “Why do you do that always taking a dig at me no matter what we’re talking about” he rolls back onto his back looking up at Connors ceiling going quiet. Leaving you both to your thoughts and confused mindset.

“Maybe if you kept your dick in your pants we wouldn’t even be in this situation” you mumbled under your breath rolling your eyes looking at the floor.

“Excuse me?” Shawn asked offended, hurt evident in his voice as he stood from the bed clearly having heard your comment.

“What,” you asked innocence in your voice “Did I lie?” You shoot at him hoping the more upset the more he would want out. While he actually had the strength to get you guys out he seemed unfazed by being confined within the 4 walls.

“How- What the actual fuck y/n are you serious right now?” He asks looking at you arms crossed over his own chest

“I mean obviously Connor and Brian locked us in here to talk so lets do it” you shrug and look up at him challenging him. You can see the defeat and mix of emotions in his eyes

“We’re not talking about where my dick has been” he huffs at you jaw clenched

“What why not too many girls to remember” you start “or do you only remember the pretty ones?” Raising your hand to hold your chin between your thumb and index finger you continue ”oh or the ones who take your phone and follow themselves on Instagram while you go down on them in a stall” You fire at him snapping your thumb 3 times for emphases. getting heated “You know what you probably only remember the ones that blew you in public huh, those real keepers a girl who will get on her knees for you at your convince”

You can see his jaw clench “This isn’t about me and you know it” he shoots at you while his neck is starting to turn a shade of pink and you can see his veins becoming prominent as it pulses in his neck

“Oh yeah right sorry, its about me being drunk and sleeping with one person who knew I was in love with you right” you shoot at him standing up straight his eyes going soft as you say the L word but you continue anyway “he knew but decided to sleep with me anyways while I couldn’t even fucking stand straight but its my fault right, because I couldn’t keep my legs closed when all I thought about was you” you yell at him fire coming out of your ears “yah I forgot you misogynistic asshole who doesn’t even have the decency to tell me when he’s slept with another girl but expects me to be the virgin fucking Mary when he leaves without a phone call” you scream at him and feel the tears in your eyes you turn quickly and push at the doorknob again with your entire body, back facing Shawn.

“y/n” Shawn starts

“Save it I don’t care” you whimper out pushing against the door again hoping with the rush of adrenaline was enough to give you super strength “I just want out” you growl in a low tone

You feel Shawn behind you and you move out of the way and wipe your eyes with your hand. moving around Shawn and through Connors room looking for the trophy he talks about but hates so much. Grabbing it from the top shelf of his you move back to the door and bump shoulders with Shawn who looks down at you confused.

Using the platform of the trophy you hit it against the doorknob where it's connected to the wood hoping the force and your rush of adrenaline would be enough to damage its hold and break you free from the confinements of your love confession and Shawns lack of.

“Woah Woah what are you doing you’re gonna break the trophy” Shawn comes over and pries the gold statue from your hands as you try to hold onto it surprise and shock clear in his voice as he tries to soothe you out of whatever brain fog seems to have its hold on you

“Fuck off Shawn I want out” you try to push him away with your shoulder still holding onto the trophy but he’s stronger and gently pries your fingers off holding the gold thing above your head.

“Breaking Connors shit isn’t going to help anything” he looks you in the eyes holding your gaze so you know he’s serious and you feel a wave of emotions wash over you. “They wanted us to talk things out not break shit” he huffs placing the trophy out of your reach you can tell he’s no longer angry at your attacks against him and he looks at you with soft eyes.

Emotions are surfacing and you can feel it. The room is thick with emotion and tension. You’re not so sure if Connor and Brian wanted you to talk things out or shut up and fuck each other. Seeing how this could have gone both ways you chuckle and curse Connor because knowing him he wanted the ladder so he can stop hearing you both complain.

You turn back to the door and start lightly kicking it gauging shawns reaction and turn your head to see his head in his hands chuckling lightly

“you’re going to be the death of me” he speaks out lowly and groans

“Maybe if you kicked this door down you could have a higher life expectancy,” you say knocking on the door lightly with your hand. You don't hear a response from him and you turn around slowly.

He's looking at you with the softest expression ever and suddenly you feel like crying again.

He takes a deep breath and he’s about to speak before he can you cut him off

“don’t” you look at him with pleading eyes and you see him furrow his eyebrows

“I-” you see him shake his head confusion Clear on his features

You sigh “Don’t get serious on me Mendes I don’t want to start crying and it's not going to change anything I get it.” You give him a soft smile “I slept with your best friend I would hate me too don’t need to apologize for something you’re going to hold against me forever.” You shrug your shoulders and look away from him picking at your nails “Don’t act like we can get past this because at first I thought we could and then you reacted the way you did and I knew we wouldn’t be able too.” You look at him and tilt your head so it's resting on your shoulder softly “We won’t get past this you can apologize and I can apologize and we can both accept that we’re sorry for doing what we did or how we reacted but in reality, you aren’t. You’re not sorry and I'm not gonna sit here and hear you say those words and not mean them. And quite frankly I don’t want this new image you have of me to overtake the good one, you’re going to resent me or Brian and I already know it's going to be me so don’t make it any harder for both of us. Just don’t apologize for it okay I get it” you shrug again biting your lip. you feel tears welling up in your eyes and you sigh looking at the ceiling

He can apologize all he wants but he’s never truly going to forgive you and you know if anything or any type of relationship was to ensue after this he was going to use Brian against you any chance he got because he was guilty of the same thing. Is guilty of doing the exact same thing sleeping with another person. That's what hurt the most, not that he was mad at you for sleeping with Brian that he was mad at himself for doing it more than you have and you never calling him out for it. The guilt was eating at him and you saw it.  

You heard him take a deep breath

“I can never resent you” you hear him get up and walk over to you cautiously

You look at him but not up at him and see that he’s right in front of you, you feel him wrap his arms around you cautiously and pull you into his chest you don’t know you’re crying until you feel the wet blotches on his shirt and he’s repeatedly telling you how sorry he is in your ear. You feel his heartbeat and his arms tightly around you his head on top of yours and know that this is home.

---- 

a/n: sorry again for the late upload I've been dealing with a lot and this story isn’t feeling like its flowing idk. Thank you all for the kind words feedback is greatly appreciated masterlist can be found in bio xx 

some of the tags weren't working im sorry 

Tag list: @anyasthoughts @haileyofthefandoms @winterin127 @ucanttakemyyouth @turtoix @learning-howto-be-myselfx3 @shawn-youth @unsolvedhearts @shawn-youth @mariamuses @crowdedimagines @lovablefangirl @sixwyrxstuff @ivegotparticulartaste @shawnandconnor @dreamersseeincolor

[the-awkward-outlaw]

Second Chances - Ch. 31

May the Wind Be At Your Back 

Warnings: I guarantee you will cry (I sobbed writing this), swearing, blood, gore. 

Word count: ~10,700 (sorry it’s long!) 

Masterlist

Read on AO3

The next morning, you wake to an empty tent. You rub the tiredness from your eyes and get out, finding Arthur setting down the percolator to make coffee. He smiles and stands up when he sees you, folding you in his arms. He’s changed from his blue shirt to his black one with the red vest and green shotgun coat. He must know you love seeing him in it. The scent of leather and pine envelopes you. 

“Reckon we oughta make a quick breakfast and head out,” Arthur says, letting you go. You nod and join him by the fire, pulling out a can of peaches. He adds a small loaf of bread and some salted, dried beef to the mix. As you eat, you make easy talk. It feels more normal than you expected it to be, but that in itself is a comfort. 

Arthur douses the fire while you fold down the tent and pack it into Artemis’s saddlebag. She’s standing particularly close to Rannoch, has been since you made camp. Arthur walks over, smiling. 

“Think she missed him,” he says, rubbing Rannoch’s neck and feeding him a sugarcube. 

You pat her fondly. “Well, I’m sure he missed her too. When I was at Charlotte’s and he was loose in her pasture, he used to watch the trail as if waiting for her to show up. Was kind of sad, really.” 

Arthur smiles down at you and loops an arm behind you, bending down for a brief kiss. “Well, they won’t ever be parted again.” 

He lets you go and you mount up, heading slowly to Beaver Hollow. It’s clear Arthur doesn’t want to go back again either, not that you blame him. You can only imagine the rage he must feel towards Dutch for being abandoned. You’re angry about it too. If things have digressed to the point that Dutch no longer sees Arthur as someone worth having around after everything he’s done for the gang, then it’s hard to say how he will feel about you coming back. 

It’s midday by the time you and Arthur arrive. The camp is even more empty and quiet than before you left. The wagon that sheltered Mary-Beth and Karen is gone. As you and Arthur walk towards your shared tent, there seems to be fewer people. It appears that Mary-Beth, Karen, Uncle, and Charles are gone. You already know Charles left; Arthur explained how he stayed to help the Wapiti. You’re surprised about the others though. 

Your eyes drift over to Dutch’s tent, where he sits inside. Micah’s at the table, which isn’t unusual. He’s never far from Dutch anymore. However, two new figures sit beside the tent, looking out of place. One of them is rather thin and lanky, his face too long under his blond hair. When you see the other, your heart drops. You recognize the flabby, long face, the drooping jowls, the dull eyes hidden underneath moppy brown hair. He’s one of the men who attacked you. 

You latch onto Arthur’s arm, your eyes glued to the man, who hasn’t seen you so far. Arthur stops and looks down at you. 

“What is it?” 

“Him,” you whisper. “He-he gave me this.” Your hand reaches up to touch your face where the cut is. Arthur glares across the clearing at them.

“That son of a bitch, what’s he doin’ here?” Arthur growls. He’s about to stomp over to him when you grip his arm harder. 

“Don’t, Arthur. It’s not wise to kill him here. Let’s find out what he’s doing here in the first place.” 

Arthur raises his lip in disgust but agrees. He gently instructs you to stay in the tent, away from the man, while he goes and talks with Dutch. You sit on the cot and watch him leave, but when he’s far enough away, you get up and follow him, skirting along the sides of the mountain towards the cavern’s mouth where Dutch’s tent sits. Arthur throws the strangers a foul look and then stands at the opening of the tent. 

“Well at least you ain’t run off,” Dutch growls from inside. “Pearson left, old Uncle, the traitors. Both gone, took some of the girls with them. But I see you brought your girl back.” You hear the venom in his voice as he talks about you. “Micah brought in a couple of friends of his to help with some things. Anyways, Pearson and Uncle told young Tilly they were runnin’ to save themselves.” 

“So it goes,” Arthur says. 

“They are goddamn cowards, Arthur. Cowards. After all the time we spent, just to run off.” Dutch saunters out of the tent. 

“Well, I guess they don’t wanna die, Dutch.” 

“Ain’t nobody gonna…” Dutch grabs Arthur’s shoulder and guides him around the tent to where you’re standing. You quickly dart to the back of the tent that stares down into the mouth of the cave. The stench of decay floods your nose, choking you and an overwhelming feeling of being trapped envelops you. You force down the desire to run as you listen and peak around the tent. 

“This is a tough time,” Dutch continues. “But we, our community, we will survive. They will not crush us.” 

“I hope so,” Arthur pauses and looks out at the camp. “But if we let Jack and the women free then maybe we can-” 

Dutch cuts him off. “There ain’t no freedom for no one in this country no more, Arthur. One more big score, we got enough money to leave. All this turmoil has the army and the Pinkertons spinning. We take a boat and slip away.” 

“I don’t know what you’re saying, Dutch, but it sounds like I heard it all before.”

“Just one more train-” 

“Yeah, there’s always a goddamn train!” Arthur’s voice raises loudly. 

“Arthur! This is different.” Dutch puts his hand on Arthur’s shoulder. “We know this is full of cash. Army payroll. Money and supplies to repair the bridge that you blew. This is all going to plan. We rob Uncle Sam and we leave. What do you think?” 

“It sounds wonderful, Dutch. However, I think it should be just us. None of Micah’s friends. You know, Y/N said one of them fellers is the one who attacked her on the road a week back. She said he was told to try and kill her. Now I know what you think of her lately, Dutch, but that don’t change the fact that she’s gonna be my wife soon and I don’t want those men around.” 

Dutch gives him a hard look. “We need their help, Arthur. With how many folks have left, we need their gun power. Now as soon as we have the money from the train, I’ll send them off. Does that suit you?” 

Arthur sighs heavily. “I suppose. But if I end up putting a bullet in his head-” 

“That ain’t gonna happen. Perhaps Y/N is mistaken and he’s not the same man. Even if he is, he’d be a damn fool to touch her here. Like I said, they won’t be here much longer, so just keep your head.” 

“Fine, but…” Arthur gestures to the camp. “You know the women and the children, and John and his family, I’m afraid I have to insist. We gotta let ‘em go, because if the Pinkertons find us again, they will kill everyone.” 

“John? Insist?” Dutch says quietly. 

“Yes,” Arthur says resolutely. “Insist.” 

Dutch pauses and takes in a deep breath. When he speaks, his voice is higher than usual, giving you a sense of unease. Has Arthur stepped an invisible line? 

“Of course, pal. Whatever you think is best. I will see to it. Now, we gonna rob a train?” 

“Sure,” Arthur growls. 

Dutch pats him on the arm and starts walking away. Arthur follows him and you take the opportunity to slip out of the cavern and towards your own tent, sitting down on the cot as if you’ve been there all along. 

Dutch approaches the fire where most of the remaining gang have settled. “Alright everyone, we have work to do. We are gonna borrow a little money from Uncle Sam and be out of his hair once and for all.” 

Dutch walks over to the horses. The way his shoulders move and the speed of his step, you can tell he’s angry. Arthur beckons for you to come to him, so you do, avoiding the gaze of the strangers. Despite trying to not see him, you can’t help but keep an eye on him. The one who cut you and you lock eyes. You can tell he’s trying to act like he doesn’t recognize you, but his eyes give him away. He says nothing however as he and the other stranger mount onto their horses. 

“Let’s go, gentlemen!” Dutch hollers from the back of the Count, ignoring the fact that you and Sadie are among the group going along for the robbery. He leads the gang south, past Butcher’s Creek and towards Lemoyne

You wish Arthur was riding next to you, still feeling nervous about the strangers. He’s riding up near Dutch though, probably trying to ease him into complacency about letting you and the other women and Jack go. Sadie gallops beside you, her horse sweating as heavily as Rannoch in the humid heat. 

As you’re approaching the border of Lemoyne, Dutch calls out behind him that the train is due in Saint Denis in an hour. Arthur automatically questions the wisdom of robbing a train in the middle of the city. Dutch explains the gang won’t be robbing them there, just hopping aboard and hiding until it gets closer to the bridge Arthur and John destroyed. Micah adds in; he must have had a hand in planning this robbery. How could he not, with how close he’s kept himself to Dutch. 

Dutch orders John to grab the remaining dynamite left and Arthur volunteers to go with him. You almost go with him but realize that to do so would be a mistake. You’re sure you’re not back in Dutch’s good graces for leaving, not that you’ve been in them recently anyways. It’s clear he hasn’t liked your relationship with Arthur since he proposed to you, convinced you’ve been trying to take Arthur away from him. You watch John and Arthur ride off into a woodland as the gang continues south. 

As you’re riding along, you realize how much things have changed with how Dutch runs things. On previous jobs, Dutch never let any of the gang leave in groups of more than four, even if the whole gang was involved in the job. Now there’s only one group, being more conspicuous than ever. 

When the group reaches the train tracks just outside Saint Denis, Dutch stops in order to wait for Arthur and John. Only a few minutes pass before they regroup. Arthur glances at you and then takes his spot beside you, nodding to you in order to reassure you. You nod in return. After this is done, you and he will be abandoning the gang, heading off to begin your new lives. With any luck, things will go smoothly. Of course, you’re not too optimistic when it comes to luck, not with the way things have been going.

Dutch throws the cigar he’d been smoking while waiting and leads the gang into the farms lying on the outskirts of the city. 

“One last time, gentlemen!” he calls out. “I got us a riverboat, it’ll be waiting for us at Annesburg. We’ll head up to New York or Chicago and get a real boat from there out to the tropics. It will be paradise.”

“It’s all coming together, Dutch,” Micah simpers at him. “Just like we planned.” 

“I hope that’s okay with you John, and you Arthur. Or do you insist on something different?” He puts a particular emphasis on the word that makes you even more nervous. 

“Sounds about as good now as every time I heard it before,” John says. 

“Abigail must be real excited, all packed up the way she is,” Micah retorts. “I can just see her and Y/N and the other girls in little grass skirts.”

Dread fills your stomach. While today’s been your first day back in camp, you did notice Abigail had packed her things up. How long has Micah known about them leaving? Does he know about you and Arthur as well? And if he does, is he planning on stopping you, or worse? Questions begin running through your mind until John cuts them off. 

“Don’t talk to me, you son of a bitch.” 

“That’s enough, boys,” Dutch commands. “Let’s keep it down for now, don’t want to be attracting any attention.” 

“Any more attention, you mean,” you say before you get the chance to stop yourself. You haven’t been back in this shit-hole of a city since Hosea died, and you wouldn’t be surprised if your face, along with everyone who was involved, is plastered on a wanted poster in every corner of the city. You hate being back here, too much bad has happened. 

“Just take it nice and easy, fellers,” Dutch says, but his voice portrays that he’s irritated with your comment. 

“Ah, Saint Denis. Good to be back. Happy memories, huh John?” Micah says. 

“Will you shut up, Micah?” Arthur snaps. 

“Enough!” Dutch says. “Quiet, all of you.” 

The gang falls silent as you trot in single file down the main street of the city. This all feels wrong. There’s so many of you riding along like this, the first person who’s seen you must already be reporting your suspicious activities. You just pray that no one else dies. Well, maybe Micah or the strangers, but no one else. 

Dutch pulls to a stop at the trolley station just across the street from the railroad tracks. He hops off and addresses Sadie along with the blond stranger, who he calls Cleet. He instructs them to board half way along the train, and then he tells John, Arthur and you to board at the back. The rest will be riding along with him as they tail the train on horseback. The gang nods their heads and approach the tracks.

After a few seconds, the distant rumble and bell from the train echo, signaling its approach. You sniff a little and stand close to Arthur, glaring down the tracks. The train chugs down the track, going far too fast. The horn bellows and the train passes the group without stopping. Has the engineer been tipped off about a possible robbery in the city? Arthur looks as confused as you do as he looks down the passing cars. 

“Should I just sneak on now?” he asks Dutch in a gruff voice. 

“Goddammit,” Dutch says. “Everybody mount up. We’ll do this on horseback.” 

“We still going through with this?” John asks. 

“Of course we are.” 

The gang quickly get on their horses. You give Rannoch a reassuring pat before kicking him hard into a gallop, joining the others as they trail the train. It hasn’t slowed down at all, in fact it seems to have sped up even more now that it’s leaving the city. John calls back at you and Arthur, stating you can jump onto a flat car from the side. 

Just as the train’s passing the farms outside the city, you and Arthur ride alongside the last car, which happens to be a flatbed. You’ve never jumped onto a train like this, which makes you nervous. Despite your anxiety, you position your feet on the saddle and leap towards the car with as much strength as your legs can muster. Surprisingly, you feel your shoulder slam onto the flatbed. Arthur lands beside you with a heavy thud. He pulls you to your feet and slides the rifle from his shoulder. In your overthinking of how to jump onto the train, you’d forgotten to grab one of your own. Your pistol and sawed-off will have to do. 

Just as John’s slamming down on the flatbed, guards come out of the boxcar ahead and begin shooting. You and Arthur take cover behind some of the cargo, returning fire. The men go down quickly, allowing you and the other two to head up. The next car is another flatbed, and the one after is another boxcar. You watch as Sadie jumps onto the boxcar. Cleet, the blond stranger, leaps on and Sadie offers her arm to pull him up. More men are coming out of the boxcar and you fire at them, continuing to move up. John keeps hollering to push up. 

Just as you’re climbing up to the top of the boxcar after Arthur, you hear him yell, “This is crazy.” 

“You feel like ditching?” John responds.

“Of course not. We gotta get this done.” 

As you’re straightening up from climbing up the ladder, a man climbs up on the other end. He’s barely put his hands on the roof when a bullet slams into his forehead. Arthur reloads his rifle as you whip out your revolver again. You and Arthur hop onto the next car and then drop down to another flatbed, followed by John. 

“Where the hell is Dutch and Micah?” Arthur roars, shooting more guards. 

“I don’t see ‘em!” John answers. 

“Who knows, this might have been their goddamn plan all along,” you say as you shoot a guard on the roof of the next car. 

As you and Arthur run through the cars, a guard at the end pops out and fires quickly. You’d seen him before Arthur so you push him as hard as you can into the wall. The bullet glides above your arm, missing you and Arthur’s chest by inches. You raise your revolver and shoot the guard in the neck. 

Arthur hardly has any time to say anything before two more guards barrel in your direction, raising their rifles. As you and Arthur take them down; John calls up. 

“Just like the old days huh, Arthur?” 

“This ain’t nothin’ like the old days,” Arthur growls, heading up with you. 

There’s nearly half a dozen men ahead, so you pull out your sawed-off and fire, causing the head of one of the men to explode. You and Arthur push up, taking down more men with John’s help. 

One guard is left standing in the doorway of the next car. Arthur shoots him in the chest and he stumbles back. As he lands on the floor, he fires again but his bullet strikes a lantern hanging from the ceiling. Bits of burning glass and metal fall onto his body, the fire spreading quickly since the hot oil from the lantern splattered onto him and the floor. The fire spreads to some of the cargo and a crate suddenly explodes, making the car completely impassable. 

John runs to the side of the flatbed you’re all on and waves towards the back of the train. “Come on, we can’t get through!” 

Micah, Dutch and the mop-headed stranger gallop up to the side of the car. John hops behind Micah. Dutch yells at Arthur to jump onto his horse, but Arthur ignores him and leaps onto the stranger’s horse, allowing you to take Dutch’s mount. 

You’re nervous once again about jumping, but you kick off the car as hard as you can, landing on the Count’s narrow hind quarters. You fold your arms around Dutch’s waist as he gallops ahead, passing the burning car to the next flatbed. Sadie and Cleet are already waiting on it. You carefully position your legs and leap onto the flatbed. A heavy thud tells you Arthur’s landed. 

As Arthur gets up, he points to the burning car and yells to John. “Uncouple that carriage before it blows us all up!” 

John runs to where the cars are connected. You look down, trying to catch your breath and see in an open crate the components of a gatling gun. You call Arthur’s attention, but he’s staring out at a cliff the train’s passing. You follow his gaze and see a man standing on top of it. He looks behind him and hollers something, waving his arm. 

“Shit, I think that was a lookout,” Arthur says. “They must have known the train was gonna get hit.” 

“Come on, Arthur,” you say. “Let’s get this going.” 

You lift up the heavy tripod that holds the gun up and slam it onto the ground, spreading the three legs as Arthur grabs the barrel, the chamber and the pin. He puts the gun together quickly. 

“Get behind me,” he tells you, taking position behind the gun. Just as you stand behind him, John gets the burning car uncoupled. The three of you watch as the car slows down and then explodes after the cars behind it crash into it, causing whatever was inside to blow. 

After watching the cars derail, Bill hops onto the flatbed after Dutch tells him to go stop the train. As you turn to watch him, a guard on top of the boxcar ahead appears. He aims his gun and shoots, the bullet striking John in the shoulder. Before you or Arthur can do anything, he stumbles back and falls off the flatbed. 

“John!” Arthur screams. 

The guard shoots again, causing you all to flinch. You and the others aim at him, but it’s Arthur’s bullet that takes him down. 

Dutch, galloping alongside the train, calls to Arthur. “I’ll get John, you protect that money.” He and Micah fall back, turning down the tracks. 

“Man the gun, Arthur, I’ll go stop the train!” Bill calls.

“No! Whatever you do, do not stop the train!” Arthur yells back. “You secure up ahead, but keep us moving. I’ll deal with that patrol when they come through.” 

He finishes putting the gatling gun together and then turns to you. “Go with them, see if you can find that money.” 

You nod and approach Sadie when you hear the gatling gun begin firing. The patrol has arrived. You and the others take cover behind the cargo on the flatbed, firing at the horsemen. Your revolver does little at this distance, so you run over to Arthur and tug on his rifle, removing it from his back and hiding behind him as you reload it. 

“Take cover!” he yells at you. Quickly, you slide back behind the crate again, taking down two riders with the rifle. Of course, Arthur does a much more thorough job with his gun. 

“You sure you can handle that gun?” Cleet shoots at Arthur, “‘Cause I can take over if you want.” 

“Just shut up and kill these bastards,” you snap. 

“Hey, we all gotta work together on this.” 

“And that’s what we’re doing, now just shut the hell up and shoot!” 

Arthur continues firing at the riders, but they just seem to keep coming. 

“How the hell I get saddled up with you two girls?” Cleet snarls. 

“Watch your goddamn mouth!” Sadie says. 

The next several moments are filled with you and the others shooting the patrol, Arthur taking down the majority. It seems like every moment or two, Cleet says something to antagonize you or Sadie. It takes all your willpower to not point your rifle at him and you tell him so.

“I ain’t afraid of you, woman.”

“You should be!” Arthur hollers over the gunfire. “She’s already got your friend tagged for murder. Hope you ain’t close to him.” 

Cleet says something that’s drowned out by the engine’s horn as it approaches a short tunnel. Your car is temporarily covered in cool, damp darkness before bursting back out into the hot sunlight. The few riders remaining suddenly scamper off, probably figuring it’s a lost cause at this point. 

“Get off the gun, we need to go for the money,” Cleet says. You and the others follow him over two more boxcars and then another flatbed. The last car before the engine is another box but Cleet says it should have the money inside it. Arthur runs up to it and slides a stick of dynamite in the door handle. He lights it and you all take cover behind some crates and barrels. The metal door is blown free with a loud shriek of wrenching metal. Just as the smoke clears, the train enters a long and dark tunnel. Arthur pulls out his lantern as he runs up to the doorway. 

The train exits the tunnel just as Arthur comes out, snuffing his lantern. “We got somethin’!” He goes back inside and then exits again, tossing a large burlap sack to Cleet. He throws another at Sadie and one more at you. The heavy weight of coins and stacks of bills inside the sack pounds against your chest as you catch it. 

Just as you’re setting down the sack to catch another, Bill climbs down from the car. 

“Morgan! The driver’s dead, we gotta get off this train, it ain’t stoppin’!” 

“Let’s go, then!” Sadie says, grabbing her sack and throwing it over the side of the train and leaping off. Cleet and Bill do the same. Arthur comes out of the carriage, hauling another large bag. Slightly breathless, he gestures for you to jump. You heave the sack onto your shoulder and toss it onto the grass, painfully aware of the quickly approaching chasm with the broken bridge. You breathe out and jump, your feet landing painfully on the grass and your knees buckling, slamming you down. Arthur grunts loudly as he lands.

You and the others get up and watch as the train barrels down the tracks, falling down the broken bridge and crashing into the canyon below. The engine breaks apart, crushed under the weight of the cars and then the canyon finally falls silent. 

“Jesus,” Bill says quietly. Arthur agrees and tells you and the others to move. You go back to where you’d dropped your sack, heaving it onto your shoulder just as Dutch, Micah and the stranger trot up, followed by everyone else’s horses. The trotting is oddly quiet after having heard the loud chugging of the train and the screeching of shredding metal. However, as you and the others walk up to Dutch, John is nowhere in sight. 

“Where’s John?” Arthur asks. 

“I tried,” Dutch says heavily. “I tried.” 

“He didn’t make it. That patrol killed him. We had to run.” Micah says. Something about the way he says this feels off to you.

Arthur puts down his sack and looks down, his face hard. You can feel his grief rolling off of him, but when he looks up, he almost seems disbelieving. 

“Come on,” Dutch orders. “Let’s go, before another patrol turns up.” 

You take Arthur’s free hand in yours after he lifts up his sack again. He only responds with a gentle squeeze. The two of you throw your sacks over your horses. He sighs heavily as he mounts up on Artemis. You understand why. The two of you only came back in order to save John and his family, and now he’s dead. You just hope Abigail has enough sense to leave with her son for good. 

Arthur kicks Artemis into a gallop, Rannoch rushing to keep up, as the gang begins heading back to Beaver Hollow. You’re glad that you and Arthur are only returning to pack your belongings and then, when things are quiet, you’ll disappear with Arthur, taking one of the sacks of money you’ve just stolen.

The gang rolls pass O’Creagh’s Run. You glance to Hamish’s cabin, spotting Buell standing in the small paddock beside it. He lifts his head from grazing as your horses thunder by. 

As the gang approaches the hills marking that you’re close to Beaver Hollow, a horse comes over the rise and a shrill voice calls out. 

“They came and took Abigail!” 

Dutch stops his horse at the head of the group as Tilly rides over with Jack in front of her. 

“We hid, but they took her!”  

“Who did?” Arthur demands, walking his horse to stand next to the Count. 

“Agent Milton and his men took her to Van Horn to be put on a boat and tried for murder.” 

“I am sorry to hear that,” Dutch says with no warmth in his voice.

“We gotta let her go,” Micah says. “John’s um, well sorry son.” He looks pointedly at Jack with a ghost of a smile on his lips. “Without John, she’s just bait. Got a bunch of money, Dutch, she’s just a girl. They won’t do nothing to her, but me, Cleet and Joe know we need to keep riding on this one, Dutch.” 

Cleet and the other stranger Joe nod behind Micah. 

“So we just gonna let this boy be made an orphan?” Arthur says. 

“It ain’t like that!” Dutch shoots, waving his arm at Arthur. 

“What is it like?” 

“I wanna live, cowpoke!” Micah sneers. “Dutch, it’s just a girl.” 

Dutch pauses and then nods. “You’re right.”

“Dutch!” Arthur yells, dismounting and standing near Dutch’s leg. His eyes beg him to see reason. 

“It pains me to say it, Arthur, but Micah is right.” 

“Dutch!”

“Now come on boys,” Dutch says, taking a tighter hold of his horse’s reins. He kicks the Count into a gallop and Arthur is forced to take a quick step back to avoid being trampled. He glares at Dutch’s shrinking form as everyone except for you and Sadie follow him. 

“Well I guess that’s that then,” Arthur growls. He looks over at Tilly, who looks confused and scared. “All them goddamn years.” 

“Come on, Arthur,” Sadie says heavily. “Let’s go get her. Us three is all we need.” 

He nods and glances at you before addressing Tilly. He heaves the sack of money from Artemis and throws it over Tilly’s horse. 

“Take this,” he says heavily. “Take Jack and wait at Copperhead Landing for Abigail and Mrs. Adler.”

“Thank you, Arthur,” she says a bit breathlessly. 

“You’re a good girl,” he says. “You live a good life now you hear?” 

“And you too, Arthur. I’ll miss…” 

“Me too, sweetheart. Me too.” His eyes flick down momentarily. You feel like crying as he smiles at her and then turns to Jack. “Be brave, son, I’m gonna go get your mama.” He takes Jack’s hands in his and looks him hard in the eyes as he says this. Finally, he lets them go and turns to you and Sadie. “Mrs. Adler, Ms. Y/L/N, ride with me.” 

He kicks Artemis into a run and you and Sadie follow. You glance behind and raise a hand in farewell to Tilly, painfully aware that you’ll probably never see her again. Your heart grows heavy at the thought of how much your family has fallen apart. You swallow tears at the thought that you didn’t even have a chance to say good-bye to Mary-Beth, Pearson or even old Uncle, useless as he was. 

As you and the other two ride, Sadie and Arthur discuss the best way to get into Van Horn since it’s been overrun by Pinkertons. It’s decided you’ll go in on the south end near the lighthouse. 

“Those goddamn bastards,” Arthur growls. “Now he don’t care if he orphans his friend’s child so long as he gets rich? All his goddamn talk all them years. Seems like it was always a lie, or he went crazy. Goddamn this mess.” 

“Sure,” you say. “Guess he began to believe he was God or something.”

“The Dutch we know now is not the Dutch who put a blanket on my shoulders in the snow all them weeks ago,” Sadie adds. 

Arthur sighs. “I’m sorry you both got dragged into this, into us.” 

“Listen, if you hadn’t shown up at my house that night, I’d be dead.”

“As would I, Arthur. I don’t think I would have lasted much longer if you hadn’t found me when you did. Even this bullshit beats dead.” 

“I thought I could find a way to get John, Abigail and Jack out of this mess,” Arthur says. “To try and give them a life. Seems like I left it too late.”

“Let’s just get Abigail, they could still have a chance,” you say. 

Arthur sighs again. “John, Hosea, Mac, Davey, Jenny, Sean, Lenny. We have to put an end to this! And Eagle Flies. Another angry fool he used, just like he did with the rest of us. No one else is dying for Dutch’s crazy dreams. ” 

“Like I said, Arthur,” Sadie growls. “We don’t need them. We’re gonna make this right.” 

The three of you run on to Van Horn. Once the lighthouse comes into view, you dismount and send the horses off. Sadie asks Arthur to take point in the lighthouse with his scoped rifle and keep watch while you and she run up to the boathouse where Abigail’s likely to be held. He clearly doesn’t like you two doing the most dangerous part of the job, but he agrees when you tell him he’s the better shot and that  you and Sadie are the faster runners.

As he runs over to the lighthouse, you and Sadie take cover behind a broken wagon. You look over the edge, counting at least a dozen Pinkertons standing at different spots on the street. The way they’re glancing at each other and the points of the road, it seems Micah was right about one thing: they’re holding Abigail as bait. 

You check your rifle quickly and then the Pinkerton standing closest to you and Sadie is suddenly thrown back, blood gushing from his head. The Pinkerton standing closest to him yells out, pointing his gun in your direction. You raise your rifle and shoot him. 

“Come on!” Sadie yells, moving forward as more Pinkertons fall from Arthur’s shots. You skirt around a crumbling brick building close to the river since it is harder for the Pinkertons to shoot you from this spot. You and Sadie continue shooting at them, moving up considerably fast, thanks to Arthur’s keen aim. 

Within moments, you’re running up the deck towards the boathouse. Sadie slams the butt of her rifle into a Pinkerton’s face and then goes to the door. You’re suddenly slammed into the ground by a heavy weight and realize a Pinkerton must have been hiding and grabbed you when you passed him. He’s suddenly wrenched off you as Arthur’s bullet rips through him. You stand up and find Sadie gone. She must already be in the boathouse, so you run inside it. 

As soon as you step in, you know something’s wrong. Abigail’s tied to a chair, her mouth covered by a thick bandana. A Pinkerton is tying Sadie up and your vision suddenly flashes white as something hard slams into your head. You fall back and the breath is knocked from your lungs as you land. You blink and your vision clears, showing Milton standing above you. 

“Ah, Ms. Y/L/N, I had a feeling I’d be running into you. By the way, I failed to send my congratulations for your wedding announcement.” 

You’re about to ask him how the hell he knows about that when you’re rolled roughly onto your stomach and tied up and gagged by another Pinkerton. He picks you up and throws you into the corner of the room near Sadie. She looks at you, but there’s no fear in her eyes. You doubt you can say the same about yourself. 

Milton walks around the room slowly. “Alright, men, now we wait. I doubt these two ladies were alone, I wouldn’t be surprised if one of the men comes charging in, guns blazing. Prepare yourselves.” 

He slides into a storeroom behind the counter, which blocks your view of him.

Gunfire suddenly echoes from outside. Arthur must know you and Sadie are in trouble and is advancing. You wish you could yell for him to run the other direction. You and Sadie can find another way easy enough to save yourselves and Abigail. Of course, you know better than anyone that’s the last thing Arthur would do. 

The door slams open, revealing Arthur, bathed in sunlight. He pulls the hammer of his pistol, which he’s already unholstered, and shoots the two Pinkertons waiting by Abigail. They fall heavily and Arthur marches in, pulling out his knife to free Abigail. 

“Okay, ladies,” he says as he removes Abigail’s gag and begins cutting the bonds around her right wrist. “Let’s get out of here.” 

You try yelling through your gag, but the click of a hammer comes from behind Arthur. He stops and straightens up. 

“Calm down, Mr. Morgan,” Milton says. 

Arthur clenches his jaw and lifts his hands, turning to face Milton. 

“Game’s over, Mr. Morgan. I was honestly hoping you’d be the one to come to the rescue. I had a feeling Dutch wouldn’t fall for the trap, he isn’t that foolish. But I’ve heard about your… habit of swooping in to the rescue.” 

“Then I guess I’ll be dead soon, and you with me, Mr. Milton.” 

“Oh you’ll be dead, but I’m gonna be just fine. We offered you a deal, Mr. Morgan, you should have taken it.” 

“I’m a fool, Mr. Milton, like you said.”

“Sure, but not all you boys have quite so many scruples. Old Micah Bell-”

“Micah?” Arthur cuts him off. “You mean Molly.” 

“Molly O’Shea? We sweated her a couple of times, never spoke a word so we had to let her go. But Micah Bell, we picked him up quite some time ago. Just before Dutch’s famous failed attempt to rob the Blackwater ferry. I’m sure you’ll be surprised to hear he wasn’t completely compliant until you and the others came back from the Caribbean. He was particularly stubborn about the bank job in Saint Denis, but he’s been a good boy ever since we picked him up from the boat.”

You can hear Arthur breathing harder. Micah Bell, the goddamn rat. Now you understand why he started spouting that there must be one when the gang moved up to Beaver Hollow, he was trying to point the focus from his own ass. Worse, he’s been playing the gang for fools the entire time. He’s responsible for Jenny and the Callendar boys and Hosea and Lenny’s deaths. Rage burns in your chest and you strain against your binds. 

Arthur bends down as though personally struck by this news. “Okay,” he says. Suddenly he launches himself at Milton, grappling for the gun in his hands. The two men struggle for a moment, but Arthur has a poor grip on the gun and Milton begins overpowering him. You scream his name through the gag as the barrel lines up with his head. The sound of a gun fires, making your heart stop and a body thuds. You crane your neck, trying to see who’s left standing. 

Abigail lowers the gun she’d taken from one of the dead Pinkertons. You hadn’t even noticed her freeing herself. Arthur must have cut the ropes enough so she could do so. She raises a lip and throws the revolver at the body. “Horrible man.” She picks up Arthur’s knife and cuts you and Sadie free, then approaches the wall. 

“Now come on, all of you.” Arthur’s hand reaches up and takes the knife before he stands up as you untie your feet. You stand up and clutch him, pulling him close. 

“God, Arthur, I thought he got you.” 

His breathing is heavy but he pats your back. “I know, darlin’, I know. But come on, we got work to do.” 

He pulls himself free from your grip and the four of you run out of the boathouse. As you’re running down the deck with the others, shots ring out. You look to the path and find a patrol of Pinkertons running up on horseback. One aims at you and shoots, ripping the hat from your head. You flinch and aim, but he’s already falling from Arthur’s bullet. 

Sadie whistles loudly and the horses come running down the path as you and the others continue trading gunfire. You notice the sack of money you put on Rannoch’s back is gone. It probably fell off at some point, but you can’t worry about that now. 

“Where’s Jack?” Abigail yells as she runs towards the horses. 

“Tilly’s got him, he’s safe,” you respond, shooting again. She breathes a sigh of relief as Arthur tells her to hop onto his horse. Sadie mounts up and Arthur climbs up behind you on Rannoch. You kick Rannoch into a gallop, following Sadie and Abigail out  of Van Horn, pursued by the Pinkerton’s. They seem to come out at you at every turn in the trail, but Arthur’s more than a match for them. 

The group gallops up towards Annesburg, but the path gets blocked by a troop of Pinkertons. They even flank you from the train tracks, forcing you to take the trail heading west. You run along with Sadie and Abigail for several moments, Arthur gripping your waist almost painfully as he shoots. You shoot as much as you can as well, but the fighting is hotter than you’ve ever experienced and you have to carefully guide Rannoch down the twisting trail. Finally, as the road heads in the direction of the river, the Pinkertons finally seem to stop appearing. 

Abigail speaks up from the front of the group. “Bastards grabbed me outside camp. I was with Tilly and Jack, it happened so fast I couldn’t do anything.”

“It’s alright, Jack and Tilly are fine.” 

Arthur suddenly squeezes your waist. “Ladies, we need to stop. Stop!” 

Abigail and Sadie do so, looking back at him. You pull Rannoch to a halt and Arthur lets go of you. 

“What is it?” you ask. 

He dismounts as Sadie says, “Arthur, there’s no time.” 

He puts a hand up to her. He takes off his hat and then goes to Abigail, puts his hat in his saddle bag and then lifts his arms to signal he wants to bring her down. 

She looks at him almost as though worried. “What happened to John? Where’s John?”

“I don’t… I think…” Arthur stumbles. He gestures to her again and she humors him, sliding off Artemis’s back and letting him catch her. 

“Arthur?” she says.

“He, um, he got killed or he got captured.” 

“No!” Abigail cries out.”

“I’m really sorry, Abigail,” Arthur says as Sadie dismounts and hugs her as she begins to cry. “I was on the train and I didn’t see it.”

He pauses as Abigail continues to cry. You dismount and walk to his side.

“Listen,” he says, “we got Jack, he’s safe. Mrs. Adler will take you to him, but John… I want you to know this: he loved you. He loved you and Jack, he did.” 

She looks away as she sobs as though torn between wanting to believe it and not being able to.  

“He wasn’t perfect, but he did. Now you gotta go get that boy.”

She looks at him and her head twitches in a slight nod. Arthur looks to Sadie and puts a hand on her shoulder. “Now go on, get outta here.”

“Arthur, what are you doing?” Sadie says as she climbs onto her horse. 

“I gotta go have a little chat with Dutch, try one last time to turn his head to reason.”

He walks over to Abigail to pick her up, but as she’s still distraught over John, she cries out, “Oh Arthur!” 

“Don’t you ‘oh Arthur’ me. I’ll be fine.” He picks her up and places her on the horse behind Sadie. “Y/N will go with you and take you to Jack-”

“No I’m not,” you say, staring hard at him. “I’m not letting you go back there alone to get shot by Micah, not when you’re going to point out how much of a rat bastard he is. He ain’t gonna like it.” 

“Y/N-”

“Don’t, Arthur! You asked me to be your wife and I agreed, that means that where you go, I go, remember? And I just got you back, I’m not going to lose you again. Not like this.” 

“Dutch won’t kill me-”

“He already left you to die, Arthur! I’m not banking on that chance. Now I’m going with you, whether you like it or not. We’re in this together and we’ll get out together or we’ll die together.” 

He stops and looks at you, his mouth pulled down in a frown. “Okay,” he finally says. He looks back up at Sadie and Abigail. “You’re good women, good people. The best. You go get that boy. They’ll be time for good-byes later.” 

He starts to turn away when Abigail speaks up. “Since you’re headed back there, Arthur, take this.” She breaks a chain necklace she’d been wearing and removes the key hanging from it. “I don’t need it anymore. There’s a chest in them caves. Dutch’s chest. With all our money.” She tells him where to find it in the cavern at Beaver Hollow and then pauses as a fresh wave of tears comes.

“Why, Abigail Roberts,” he takes the key from her as she starts to cry. For some reason, the emotions hit you and you have to wipe your cheek.

“I always been a good thief.”  

“That you was. Now go on, get outta here.” He pockets the key and then turns to you. As Sadie rides off, he helps you onto Rannoch and then he climbs onto Artemis. He pauses a moment, almost as though the weight of everything has finally hit him. He pulls his hat out of his saddlebag and puts it on, his face set. He glances at you and then kicks Artemis into a run. 

Rannoch follows obediently, but you say nothing. The heaviness of what’s about to happen rushes through you and it feels like everything you’ve done comes to you. You remember your parents, the things they said, your grandmother, watching Rain being born and then dying. The day you found out your grandmother passed. 

Just as you’re passing Butcher’s Creek, you remember finding out your father paid James to marry you, the cruelties he put you through. Murdering him and then your parents. The loneliness of the year you spent alone. Arthur finally finding you and how you created a family with the gang, only to watch it fall apart. You wonder what it all means and if it could have been stopped. 

Artemis runs down the path heading to Beaver Hollow. Arthur hasn’t said anything the entire ride, but you feel he’s in the same mindframe as you, wondering if it could have been different, what everything he’s done really comes down to. 

Rannoch slows to a trot and you see the few remaining gang members milling about, packing up as quickly as they can. Cleet and Joe are still here, unlike what Dutch said, not that you’re surprised. 

As you and Arthur dismount, you hear Micah bark across the clearing. “Get them bags packed up quick, Miss Grimshaw. Hurry up, we ain’t got long!” 

“We’re doing our best!” Grimshaw snaps. 

“We got plenty of time, Micah,” Arthur growls, walking slowly into the clearing. Micah looks at him, almost as though surprised to see him. You follow, glaring at him, your hand on the butt of your revolver in its holster. “We all need to have a little chat.” 

 “Cowpoke, you’re back. Hooray.”

Arthur ignores this and glares at Dutch, who’s doing his duty by standing in his tent. “I just saw Agent Milton, Dutch. Abigail shot him. She’s okay, not that you care. You rats.” He glowers at Micah and his friends. “Seems old Micah was pretty close with Milton.”

“What the hell you talking about?” Micah demands. 

“You talked. Been talkin’ to Milton for some time.” 

“That’s a goddamn lie.”

“Milton told me.” 

“And you believe him, cowpoke?”

Arthur narrows his eyes and shakes his head. “It all makes sense now.” 

“No, it damn well doesn’t,” Micah hisses. 

Suddenly he and Arthur whip out their pistols and point them at each other. Cleet and Joe point theirs at Arthur and you point yours at Joe. Dutch doesn’t move from his tent, just stares between the two groups.   

“Dutch, think, just think!” Arthur says without taking his eyes from Micah. 

“Dutch,” Micah simpers, “be practical now.”

Your finger traces the hammer just as another voice calls out Dutch’s name. The group looks and down the path walks John, clutching his shoulder and limping along. 

“You left me. You left me to die!” he screams. 

“My boy,” Dutch says, finally taking a few steps away from his tent. “I didn’t have a choice. John, I didn’t have a-” 

“You left me!”

Dutch glares at him. You wonder now how genuine Dutch was being when he said he tried to help John. You’ve no doubt that he abandoned him just as he did with Arthur. 

“All of you,” Arthur demands. “You pick your side now, because this is over.” He glances at Dutch and shakes his head as John stands beside him and pulls out his gun. “All them years, Dutch, all the things we sacrificed. For this snake?”

“Be quiet, cowpoke.” 

“No!” Grimshaw says, walking up to your side, holding a shotgun. She cocks it. “You be quiet, Mr. Bell. Put down your gun.” 

Javier rushes in suddenly, calling out, “There’s Pinkertons coming fast.” 

Grimshaw looks to him, distracted and Micah takes his chance, shooting her. His bullet strikes her in the stomach and she cries out.

“Susan!” you say, dropping to her side as she cries out again. You look up again, pointing your revolver at Micah, your other hand on Susan’s shoulder. 

“Now!” Dutch yells out, whipping out both pistols and pointing them both at Micah and Arthur. “Who amongst you is with me and who is betraying me?” 

He walks between yours and Micah’s group. Bill now also points his gun at Arthur while Javier, looking confused, points his pistol up in the air. John and Arthur back up towards the cavern. You stand up slowly, realizing Grimshaw’s dead. You can’t think about that now as you back up to Arthur’s side, still pointing your revolver. 

“Bill, Javier, think!” Arthur pleads. “Think for yourselves.”

“He’s lying,” Micah says. “He’s lying!”  

Just as it seems like Dutch is about to pull the trigger, a voice echoes down the pathway. “Put your guns down!” Shots ring out suddenly as men dart between the trees.

“Goddamn it, move!” Arthur shouts, grabbing you roughly and shoving you behind a table. He tips it to act as a barricade as John takes cover behind Dutch’s tent. 

“This is Agent Ross with the Pinkerton Detective Agency. Put your guns down!” 

“Everyone get into cover!” Dutch hollers. He and the others disappear from your view as you, Arthur and John open fire upon the Pinkertons. The fading light makes it more difficult, but you keep shooting. More and more Pinkertons seem to arrive. 

“Dutch, we gotta move!” Micah yells. “There all yours, Morgan!” 

“Come on, we need to get out of here!” John screams at you both. Without hesitating, you and Arthur follow him into the cavern. You ignore the pungent stench of decay and the sight of the cage you’d been kept in when you were a captive here. Arthur runs behind you, shooting the few Pinkertons who run into the cave. 

As you and the others run deeper, Ross’s voice echoes through the cavern. “Mr. Morgan, Mr. Marston, Ms. Y/L/N, stop! You’re trapped. Surrender and we will take you alive.” 

You and the others ignore him, heading to the back of the cave. You see the wagon where Abigail said Dutch’s chest is hidden under. You’re tempted to stop and grab it, but a shot rings through, the bullet whizzing past your elbow. 

“Come on!” John says, climbing up a ladder to a ledge. “Those bastards left me for dead.” 

“Seems that’s what they do now.” Arthur says as he pushes you to the ladder. You climb up as quickly as you can and you run down a ledge after John, climbing up another ladder and over a bundle of rickety boards to another ladder. There’s light flooding in from the top of it, signalling you’re almost out as you hear the Pinkertons hollering from down below.

“Stay with me, Arthur!” you yell.

“I’m here,” he replies. “Micah was the rat, John. Milton told me.” 

John reaches the last ladder. “We should have killed him months ago.”

You reach the top of the ladder as you hear Ross snarl from the ground below, stating he doesn’t care if you all end up dead. Arthur climbs up and then leads you and John down the slope of the hillside. He whistles for Artemis and the other horses, and then looks to John, panting hard. 

“Abigail, she’s safe. So’s Jack. They’re with Sadie at Copperhead landing.”

John grabs Arthur’s hand. “Thank you, brother.” He looks over at you. “Thank you. Both of you.” 

Just as he begins to let go of Arthur’s hand to run to the horses, Arthur stops him. 

“I want you to not look back on any of this, okay?” 

“You’re co-” John’s suddenly cut off by another round of shots in your direction. Glancing briefly, you see Micah leading the charge, his pistols aiming at you. You and the others run and mount up, kicking them into a gallop as Dutch sends a bullet your way. 

“After all these years, boys!” Dutch calls. “I took you in! Y/N, you’d be dead without me!” 

“Arthur saved me!” you call back. He replies by shooting again, but the bullet slams into a tree trunk. 

“Pinkertons!” John cries out. Ahead, more men on horseback come down towards you. Arthur and John open fire and the path is clear again. 

You weave down the trails as the darkness deepens, making it even harder to spot your quarries. Micah and Dutch still follow, continuing to holler up, but their taunts go ignored. Pinkertons keep coming from every turn in the trail again, guiding where you and the others go. The horses climb out of Roanoke Valley into the Grizzlies East, grunting and sweating as they’re kicked to go faster. 

The path ahead gets blocked again by a wall of horses and Pinkertons, forcing the three of you off the trail and up the foot of a small mountain. Just as you leave the cover of the trees, Rannoch grunts and he takes an odd step. Before you even have the chance to wonder what’s wrong with him, he collapses just as Artemis rears up and falls. John’s horse suddenly crashes to the ground. 

When Rannoch lands, he pins your knee between the saddle and the ground. Your shoulders slam down, knocking the wind out of you. Because of the continuing gunfire, you quickly sit up and shoot the arriving Pinkertons. They go down and the gunfire pauses, but you know it’s temporary. 

You try pulling your leg out from under Rannoch, but it’s pinned and he’s not moving. You pat his neck as hard as you can, crying out his name. Not another horse, you think, not another one. But no matter how hard you smack him or how loud you cry his name, he doesn’t move. 

As the realization that Rannoch is dead hits you, your eyes find Arthur. He’s dropping to his knees beside Artemis’s head. She’s grunting and struggling to breath, her legs twitching. He pats her neck gently, trying to calm her. 

“Come on, Arthur!” John says, rushing over to you to try and help pull you free. “Brother, let’s go!” 

“Gimme a minute,” Arthur says. He pats Artemis’s neck again and she nickers softly. He bends low and says in her ear, “Thank you.” 

“Arthur!” John calls again. “Help me get her!” 

Arthur finally looks up at you. Even from where you’re sitting, you can see the tears in his eyes. He gets up and runs over to you and John, lifting Rannoch’s body up as John grabs your shoulders and pulls you out. When you’re free, you start to stand up, but struggle due to the pain in your knee. Arthur takes your arm and drapes it across his shoulders, then wraps an arm around your waist. 

“Come on, let’s go,” John says. 

“What-what about the money?” you ask. Without the money you stole from the train, you and Arthur will struggle to start a  new life. In order to escape, you have to have money. 

Arthur nods a little. “Abigail gave me the key to Dutch’s chest.” 

“I head down there, I’m a dead man, no question,” John says. “I got a family. I care about them more.” 

“Ah, maybe you’re right but…”

“You want the money? Go get it, but I’m going to my family.” 

Arthur looks at you. By his eyes, you can tell he’d rather help John. He silently asks the question and you nod. At this point, you’d be surprised if any of you make it out of here alive. The least you can do now is try and get John back to his family. They need him more than you need money. 

Arthur puts his hat back on. “We’re coming with you. Gonna get you out of this bullshit if it’s the last thing I do.” He pauses and looks at you. “Can you walk, sweetheart?” 

You nod and let go of him, putting weight on your knee. It twinges angrily but you ignore it. With the adrenaline still pumping in your blood, you’ll be able to keep you going. 

“Thank you, both of you,” John says, running up the hillside. You and Arthur chase after him, trying to ignore the pain in your knee. 

Shots begin ringing out again, plummeting into the rockbed as you continue to run alongside the bend of the mountain. There’s a small break in the cliffs of the mountain, forming a gorge and you run through it, climbing up the next hillside just as the Pinkertons show up. 

You and the others take cover behind some boulders. Arthur’s behind the shortest one and he stands up to get a better aim at some of the Pinkertons. He takes down four of them and then is suddenly thrown backwards, grunting in pain. 

“Arthur!” 

He starts sitting up and then cries out in pain. Staying hunched over, you run over to him and see blood seeping from just above his left hip.

“Oh God, Arthur!” you cry out.

“It’s fine, I’m fine.” He pushes you away and stands up, despite the bulletwound. He puts his free hand over it and shoots again, taking down another Pinkerton. You begin reloading when white hot pain skids across your upper left arm and shoulder as a bullet grazes you, causing you to drop your sawed-off. 

“Come on, we need to get out of here!” Arthur roars as John takes down the last visible Pinkerton. John runs up the hillside to a ledge that levels out. You chase him, clutching your bleeding arm, and Arthur hobbles after you. He only takes a few steps towards the ledge when he stops, clearly in tremendous pain. 

“Come on, Arthur, let’s go!” John calls back. You stop, wincing from the pain in your arm and knee. 

“You go,” Arthur grunts, clutching his hip. 

“Keep pushing, Arthur.” 

“No. No, I think I’ve pushed what I can for now. Now go on, take Y/N and go, I’ll hold them off and then when the bleeding stops, I’ll follow you.” 

“Arthur!” you cry out. “Where you go, I go! I’m not leaving you.” 

“Don’t, Y/N! Please, I don’t wanna split up either, but I ain’t letting you die.” 

“We’ll die together.” 

Arthur looks up at John. “You gotta take her. Even if you have to pick her up and run, do it.” 

He pauses and takes off his hat before gazing at you again. “Sweetheart, you gotta go. Please. I… I’ll never forgive myself if you die with me. Now come here.” 

“Arthur-” you start, your voice shaking. He grabs you by the shoulder and puts his hat on your head. 

“I’ll see you again, darlin’, alright? Maybe in a few days, or maybe in the next life. I promise, I’ll find you. But please, please for me. Go with John. It would mean a lot to me.” 

Your heart breaks as you realize you haven’t got a choice. It becomes painfully obvious that he doesn’t plan on leaving this mountain alive, and there’s nothing either of you can do about it. You sob and nod your head. He smiles at you. 

“I love you, Y/N. You’re a good girl. You saved my life, least I can do is return the favor.” 

He pulls you close and kisses you hard. 

“I’ll always love you, Arthur. No matter what happens, I won’t stop loving you.” 

“I know, sweetheart. I wish it could be different, but this is the way it is.” 

He lets you go and looks at John. “Now get her out of here, John. There ain’t no more time for talk.” He removes his satchel and throws it to John. “Now go.” 

From the other side of the mountain, shots begin ringing out again, warning of the approaching Pinkertons yet again. 

“Arthur…” John says. 

“Go to your family, John and save mine while you’re at it.” 

“Arthur!” you call out. You can’t leave him now, not after he’s called you his family. 

“Come on, keep pushing, Arthur. We’re almost out-” 

“Get her out of here and be a goddamn man!” Arthur roars, clutching his hip again. Despite his wound, he starts climbing up to the top of the mountain. 

John pauses and gazes at him, torn as you. “You’re my brother,” he finally says. 

“I know.” 

“Arthur. No. No! Arthur!” You’re about to take a step to him when John grabs your right arm, dragging you along. You continue to cry out his name, tears streaming down your face. 

“Come on, Y/N, you heard him. We gotta go!” 

“Arthur!” 

John growls and suddenly picks you up, throwing you over his uninjured shoulder. You begin screaming at him, throwing as many insults as you can and poudning his back and sides, but he ignores you. 

“This would be a lot easier if you would just shut up and run with me, Y/N!” 

“Fuck you, John Marston! Put me down!” 

He stops and throws you down, your injured arm slamming onto the ground, making you cry out.

“I got a family, Y/N! I don’t know about you, but I want to see Jack grow up! Now I thought you and Arthur promised to help me. So help me, goddamnit!” 

You begin sobbing, folding your arms around yourself. John’s patience is waning, you can feel it. When you look up at him, you see the sky through the trees beginning to lighten as dawn approaches. He glares down at you. 

“You gonna help me or what?” 

You clench your jaw and get up painfully to your feet. “Alright, let’s go, John. Arthur and I made a promise. Guess all I can do is try to keep it.” 

John nods, his face relaxing. “Thank you, Y/N. Now come on.” 

He begins running through the forest again, heading south. You limp after him, your knee, arm and lungs burning from the night’s activities. You just hope you have the strength to make it. 

You seem to run for a lifetime, pain shooting through every inch of your body. It’s nothing compared to the agony of your heart. All you want to do is fall to the ground and lie still, let nature grow over your body, but you keep pushing with John’s encouragement. You both burst through the trees, the river greeting you as it glitters with the light of the glowing horizon. You stop for a moment to try and catch your breath. After a moment, you straighten up to see the rising sun, bathing everything in gold. It truly is stunning.

[bloodontheredrose]

My Brutally Honest Opinion on the new BTS album...

*Please note this is just a personal opinion.

I decided to post it because I wanna see if there are armys out there with the same opinions or it might be just me, having this kind of feelings about the 7 album.

* It took me a while to process it so here it is.

I honestly believe "Persona" had more potential to get a Grammy than this one. That's why is depressing Persona never got a nomination. I'm gonna explain it.

My biggest problem with this album is the boring, empty, blunt production when the boys wrote some of the best lyrics and songs of their careers.

SHADOW: is one of my favorite tracks. Nothing much to say about it. It's Yoongi. Dark, real and raw. It also sampled a past song, so the production it's automatically a success.

BLACK SWAN: I loved the concept. It took some time for the song to grow on me. Powerful lyrics but something was wrong with the melody. The first times I listened to it, I couldn't remember it. I couldn't recall the chorus. I personally think that when a song doesn't leave a trace in your mind the first time you hear it, it's not a powerful song. Because it's forgettable.

FILTER: It perfectly describes Jimin. A Libra King. Jimin the people pleaser. The song is fun, it makes you move but I heard it before. Nothing deep. Nothing original about it. It's a mix of Ed Sheeran, Camila Cabello... drunk latino vibe. Another song that grew on me with time.

MY TIME: I was convinced this song was dedicated to JK's secret hookup with all that " I can't call ya", " I can't touch ya" in English. It's a sex song until you read the lyrics. Weirdly, it bored the hell out of me the first time I heard it to the point I wanted to skip it. It gave me The Weeknd vibes and despite the meaningful, sad message it failed to make me feel emotional. Up until, like I said, I read the translation.

LOUDER THAN BOMBS: The moment at least 10 people tweeted, including Troye Sivan, that they worked on it...my expectations went crazy high. It delivered. It caught me from the first second but it was not as good as I expected it to be. Way too short and it would've been easy to make it longer by giving V and Jin a proper number of lines. Just saying.

ON: is the biggest disappointment on this album for me. Specifically because it's the lead single. I loved the lyrics, I loved the concept but once again, just like JK's solo, I couldn't connect with it. It was as forgettable as Black Swan and it took 2 days for me to remember the chorus. A failure if I were to compare it with their past singles like " Fake Love" " Idol" etc. A thing that makes you forget the vibe of the song the first time you hear it, it's actually Jk's beautiful bridge. Somehow it breaks the vibe of the song and I think they could've easily avoid it to make the song more catchy.

UGH!: The rap line always gets it right. And they did. It's the best song on the album because the song delivered both lyrically and sonically...

Zero O'clock: I expected a Truth Untold when I heard it's the vocal line doing it. It didn't happen. It bored me the first time I heard it and it grew on me the second time I listened to it and looked up the lyrics.

INNER CHILD: It made me cry the first time I heard it and I cried harder the moment I read the lyrics. It's the only solo on the album that actually delivers. It's personal, it's emotional, it's Tae...

FRIENDS: A private, fun song. It perfectly describes them. I felt like an intruder while reading the lyrics in English but I disliked the sound the first time I heard it. Not my type and I think it's harder for people who don't know V or Jimin to connect with it.

MOON: I honestly think Jin is underrated so I expected more from his solo. It's a beautiful song he dedicated to the armys but I really wanted him to take off the insecure, " I'm world wide handsome" mask. I know he's more than that and I wish that will come out also in his songs. Wished he would've went as deep and personal as Kookie and Tae did honestly.

RESPECT: It gave me nice vibes. Like driving in a car with the sun in front of you. It brought back old memories. It's a chill song. Though... Despite belonging to two of the best writers and producers in the group it doesn't say much lyrically. All you hear for half of the song is Yoongi's sexy Daegu dialect " What is respect, dude?"

WE ARE BULLETPROOF: THE ETERNAL: It disappointed me at first because after all the previous slower, ballade songs I wanted this one to go higher like the first bulletproof did and maybe be the next Dionysus. It didn't happen. It's more the Mykrokosmos of the new album and I accept it since it shows how BTS changed, closing an emotional circle. It's the song that gave me goosebumps reading the translation because it reminded me they're about to go to military service and in the future retire. So it hit hard. It felt like this song was screaming "this is the last album you get as 7" right in my face. I can't quite listen to it without this thought coming up. Even tho it might not be true. It's excruciating.

EGO: When it came out as a trailer after Shadow I didn't quite enjoy it. I wanted Hobi to go in a different, darker direction. But it completes the album and is the perfect song with its vibe to close it.

ON feat. SIA:

*insert "what was the reason" gif*

I don't wanna say they robbed Sia because maybe the guys told her what she was supposed to sing and she sang it the way she sang it. It was horrible af. It sounded awful. The more I hear it, the more it annoys me. She tried too hard to sound like them or get into their vibe. Which makes me think she has no idea who they are. She sounds like a twelve year old who recorded herself singing the chorus over the original song. I didn't even recognize her voice at first. I remember the team at the conference before the release how they were rambling about Sia bringing different colors to the song and the song being different from the original. Uhhhh... Where? It sounds exactly the same and at times you don't even notice her. This colab was wasted, Sia's voice was wasted and it wouldn't have been that hard to give her a proper verse. Whatever...

In all honesty I think the album, despite its emotional baggage, is too weak to go to the Grammys. It's an album dedicated to the armys. It's already hard to understand the guys in Korean. If you are not a fan and the songs don't catch you at the first listen, if they don't tell you much despite the language is 100 times harder to reach these other people. I thought Persona was that kind of album. I remember how I felt when I heard " Singularity", " Pied Piper" " The Truth Untold" for the first time. No songs on the new album delivered that kind of feeling for me. It might be just me so...

I just wanna say I am thankful for BTS and their music but it's ok to have conversations about things we don't like I guess.

IF YOU DISAGREE PLEASE BE RESPECTFUL.

I 💜 YOU!

[wittyy-name]

June’s Fifth Patreon Exclusive Oneshot is Now Available

As part of the Special Offer I hosted in June, every patron of the $35 tier got to give me a prompt for a oneshot. These oneshots will then be patreon exclusive and available for all patrons for $3 and up. I’m behind, but still chugging these out.

Prompt: a klance au taking place in the Pacific Rim Uprising universe, loosely based on the dynamic of Nate and Jake. Based on several scenes the prompter had brainstormed with a friend.

————————-

Klance - Pacific Rim Uprising au - 9,108 words It’s been ten years since the war with the Kaiju and since the rift was closed. It’s been six years since Shiro, champion of the people and hero of the war, went missing. It’s been five years since Keith was kicked out of the jaeger training program. 

Now with Shiro’s reemergence, Keith finds himself returning to the Shatterdome and the program. Now, apparently with the honorary title of Ranger and a new recruit in tow: Pidge Holt, who had built and operated her own single person jaeger and had helped Keith rescue Shiro. 

Now Keith is suddenly expected to be a role model for a new wave of cadets and do so with none other than Lance McClain, his old rival, co-pilot, and crush. They didn’t exactly end on good terms, and Keith is definitely not eager to drift with him, especially when his crush is still going strong. They butt heads more than ever, and Keith doesn’t have much hope.

But sometimes, life can surprise you.

————————-

If you want access to this oneshot, many others like it, drabbles, early access to chapters, outlines, and other rewards, please check out my Patreon!

Reblogs appreciated! Excerpt Below…

Patreon | Ko-fi | Twitter | Ao3 | Instagram

[ Excerpt... ]

Keith hikes his bag higher up on his shoulder, crossing his arms over his chest as he scowls down that scant inch height that he’s gained. “What do you want, Lance?”

The playfulness eases back, replaced by something harder, sharper. He lifts a brow, lips pursing. “It’s Ranger McClain now.”

Keith’s scowl deepens, something traitorous fluttering in his chest. “I’m not calling you that.”

Lance holds out his hands in a vague gesture, adding a casual shrug that somehow still manages to be smug. “Sorry, Keithy boy. This is a military base. That’s how it works.” Then that smirk is back, mischievous and vengeful. “Or should I say: Ranger Shirogane.”

Keith rolls his eyes, but before he can open his mouth to snark back, Pidge beats him to it.

“Did he just say Shirogane?” She asks, taking a step to his side, glancing between them, eyes wide and awed. “As in Takashi Shirogane? Pilot of the Black Lion. Hero of… basically everything? The one who closed the Rift? That Shirogane?”

Keith grits his teeth. Lance just grins. “Yup,” he says, enjoying Keith’s frustration. “Keith here is his baby brother.”

“So that’s why you want to stay with him so bad. That’s why they made you a Ranger. You’re a Shirogane—“

“Don’t call me that,” he snaps, gaze sharp as he turns it on Pidge. For her credit, she doesn’t flinch, but she does frown, straightening slightly under his glare. He takes a deep breath and turns back to Lance. Patience yields focus. “That’s not my name anymore.”

Another one of those frustrating eyebrow raises. “Since when?”

“Since I changed it back to my birth name,” he grumbles, waving a vague hand toward Pidge. “To avoid— that.”

Pidge has the decency to look sheepish, mumbling a half hearted, “Sorry.”

“Keith!” Suddenly a body is colliding into him, knocking the air from his lungs, silvery white hair in his face. He doesn’t have time to hug her back, but she doesn’t seem to mind. She steps back, hands still on his arms, grinning at him, all gorgeous and ethereal— and really, it’s no surprise that Lance fell for her. “It’s so good to see you again!”

He offers a small smile. Because despite his mixed feelings where she’s concerned, he always did like Allura. And she was always a good pilot partner for Shiro. “Hey, Allura.”

Her gaze shifts. “And you must be Pidge! I heard you build a whole single pilot jaeger by yourself.”

Pidge’s chest puffs up with pride, eyes alight. “Sure did.”

“Wonderful!” And then the two of them are launched deep into conversation. Babbling about jaegers and parts. Keith can keep up with it, of course, but he’s distracted.

Distracted by Lance, standing off to the side, arms still crossed a small, displeased frown on his lips.

Keith doesn’t know what that’s about, but he’s always been a jealous one. Even when he had no reason to be jealous. Keith, after all, isn’t into women, and Lance is an idiot.

He moves forward again, shoving past Lance, making sure to hit his shoulder hard enough to make him stumble, to make him voice that ridiculous squawk of protest.

“Watch it, Keith!”

He then glances over his shoulder as he walks away, offering that small, competitive smirk that always riled Lance up. “It’s Ranger Kogane now.”

p.p1 {margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 15.0px Helvetica; color: #000000} p.p2 {margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 15.0px Helvetica; color: #000000; min-height: 18.0px}

[solangelover]

Could you do something where Nico and Will are out in the forest during capture the flag and someone walks in on/by them pleaseeeeeee?????

Solangelo Week 2k19: Day 6 – “Secret Powers / Super Powers” @solangeloweek​

A/N:I’m soooo sorry how long it took me to write this! Just the typical business oflife plus trying to decide what I wanted to do with it. Here we are with somecool powers! (This ended up so much longer than expected)

Read on AO3 or FF.Net or Wattpad

“Will, this is the perfectopportunity.”

“But it’s not really tested!It could be dangerous!”

Capture the Flag was coming upand Will and Nico were both on the Red Team. Will recently unlocked some newlight-controlling powers that he, ironically, was working on controlling. Hefirst discovered it when he was really excited to take Nico out on a date. Hestood on the doorstep of Cabin 13 actually glowing, his freckles twinklinglike stars. Nico looked at him with awe for a total of 5 seconds before collapsingto the ground in laughter. Later that night, when Nico kissed Will goodnight,light shot out of Will’s hands like flashlights because of his surprise anddelight. Nico was once again doubled over in laughter as Will freaked out abouthow do you turn this damn thing off??

Needless to say, Will had beentraining with his powers whenever he could. He discovered that he couldconcentrate light in his hands and kind of throw it like a ball. If he concentratedhard enough, he could hold its shape until it hit something, at which pointWill released it and it became something like a flash grenade. He found his newpower cool not only because it could actually be used in a fight, but alsobecause it never really hurt people, only temporarily blinded them. He hadn’treally hit someone with his “ball of sunshine” as Nico dubbed it, afraid itwould be scorching hot or something.

“Okay, but what if I caught it?”Nico had posed his latest theory of how to utilize Will’s powers earlier thatday while training.

“Does ‘hot as the sun’ meannothing to you?” Will rolled his eyes as he shot individual rays out of hisfingertips. They were both taking a break on the side of the arena.

Nico hummed in thought. “But,like, if I had padding or something. Something so I wouldn’t touch it directly…you can catch your own light balls, right?”

“Well, I can hold it, so Iassume I can also catch it if it’s still in ball form.” Will turned aquestioning eye towards his boyfriend. “But it’s my own powers, so that makessense.”

Nico sat there for another 30seconds before suddenly standing up and moving to the other side of their trainingsection, near the wall. “Shine some light over here, to my right.”

He gave no other instructionor hint as to what he was doing, so Will did as he was told. He held his righthand out and shot a beam of light towards Nico, who stared at the ray for a fewmore seconds. Then, Nico swirled his arms around and gathered the shadows castby the wall, motioning upwards to create his own separate wall of shadows. Nico’sshadow-manipulation was improving every day, going as far as creating darknessout of nothing, but that required a lot of energy and concentration.

Nico pulled his shadow wallaway from the arena wall and towards Will, almost like he was trying to pushWill’s light back. He then ducked behind his wall, then popped his head backaround to look at Will.

“It’s blocking the light!” heshouted. “Your light can’t penetrate my shadows!”

Will was a little confused asto what Nico was trying to accomplish, but he guessed that was kind ofinteresting. He decided to test its limits. Will put both of his hands together,palms out, and pulsed harder, emitting a stronger, brighter ray of light. Theforce of it had Nico looking away for a moment, though his shadow wall stillheld. He condensed his wall, and it was honestly more than a little scary tosee a thick rectangle of pitch-blackness just hovering there. Nico againchecked behind his wall and looked back at Will with excitement in his eyes. “It’sgood!”

Will let his light go, hisarms feeling a bit tired after the training they had done beforehand. Nicodecided to jump into his shadow wall and pop out right next to Will. Lazylittle show-off.

“That was so cool! So, myshadows are stronger than your light beams,” he said with a mix of child-likewonder and smugness. Will didn’t know if it was cute or annoying.

“Yeah, and…?”

“So, I’m thinking,” Nico drewout as he plopped down once more on the ground. “If I can hold your light in ashadow, like wrap it up or something, it’d be concealed and way more useful.Also, if we used our powers together, it’d probably look pretty cool.” Nicoalways gestured with his hands when he was excited, sometimes accidentallystirring up the shadows around him in a way that seemed terrifying, but Willfound endearing.

“I don’t know if that’ll work…you mean like covering one of my light balls in shadows? How would that work?”

“Basically, it’s like theflash grenade thing that it already does, but stealthy. No one would see itcoming and then BAM light bomb.” Nico was grinning like a maniac at this point.Will was beginning to warm up to the idea as well when the dinner horn wentoff.

Will held his hand out toNico, who immediately grabbed it and pulled himself up. He was already frowningwhen Will said, “Guess we’ll have to try it next time.”

Then, of course, Capture the Flagwas announced, and Nico was determined to do the “dark flash” (Will wasimmediately against the name).

That evening, when strategywas set and the starting conch sounded, Will and Nico broke off to the rightside. Not many people knew about Will’s powers, but they knew that the two ofthem had great chemistry in battle as well as outside of it. The couple eitherproved to be an insistent distraction to the other team or no help at allbecause they were making out. Will preferred the latter, but Nico was on amission today.

“Okay, we’re far enough away fromthe other side still. Here,” he gathered a layer of shadows over his palms. “Makea small ball and put it here.”

Will cupped his hands togetherand concentrated. A soft glow emitted from his hands before it pulled togetherin the center, making a golf ball-sized ball of light. He moved his hands aboveNico’s, looking up at his eyes to be sure before gently dropping the ball ontothe shadow layer. The shadows stirred a bit, but otherwise remained fullyintact. As Nico showed no signs of pain, Will was pleased with how theirexperiment was going so far.

“Okay, now let’s see if this partworks.” Nico carefully brought his hands up around the ball, essentially layinghis shadows over it like he was covering it with a blanket. “Focus on holdingthat ball shape, even if you can’t see it,” Nico reminded as the light of theball was smothered by the darkness. Will nodded, watching as Nico held hisshadows in place and now held the ball in his hand. It would be almost indiscerniblein the darkness of the night if it weren’t for the contrast of Nico’s palehand.

“Woah,” Will breathed. Hecouldn’t believe this was actually working, though he didn’t know what to dowith it now.

Apparently, Nico did. The onlywarning he gave Will was a crooked grin before he chucked the ball as far as hecould towards enemy territory. “Release it now!”

Will was honestly so caughtoff guard that he would’ve released his control on it anyway. He had no idea whereit was, until there was a sudden burst of light about 30 yards to their front-left.Nico probably transported it with the shadows, whether purposefully oraccidentally out of excitement. He heard a few yells of surprise, before “Solace!”rang out, sounding like Cecil but an octave higher. He was one of the fewpeople who knew how Will and Nico were practicing using his new power.

Will was turning towards Nicoto comment, when suddenly hands were on the collar of his shirt, tugging himdown to meet Nico’s lips. The kiss was quick, Nico pulling back to exclaim, “Ohmy gods, that was so awesome. Your powers make you, like, 20 times hotter.”

Will couldn’t help the smilethat stretched his lips wide. “Are you saying I wasn’t hot before?” he saidlowly as he wound his hands around Nico’s waist.

Nico gazed up at him with redcheeks and smiling eyes. “Oh, you were. You can imagine how difficult my lifeis now with your new levels of hot.”

Will hummed. “Let me make iteasier.” He surged down to capture Nico’s lips once more, kissing with as muchheat as he could muster. Nico groaned into his mouth, and Will was lost. Suddenly,he was pressing Nico up against a tree, nearly lifting him up so that he couldkiss him better. Nico’s arms were looped around Will’s neck, simultaneouslypulling himself up and pulling Will down towards him.

Will forgot about the game,about his powers, about anything except Nico. Nico and his tender lips, softhair, muscular arms. His sweet voice, his tiny smile, his deep brown eyes. Willwas lost and had no desire to be found.

Of course, with both of theireyes closed, neither noticed that Will was glowing like a firefly in the night.They were too caught up in each other, without a care in the world.

“Get a room!” The arrow thatstuck with a thunk into the tree near their heads did catch theirattention. Will whirled around to see that Lou Ellen and a few Hermes kids hadsurrounded them.

“Louuuuu,” Will whined likethe child he was. “Can’t you see we’re in the middle of something?”

Lou Ellen snorted. “Uh, yeah,Will. Everyone can see that.” The other kids snickered, including the onedirectly behind Will.

He turned around to see Nicoshaking with suppressed laughter. He pouted at his boyfriend, “What?” Thatsimple question broke Nico, who burst out into giggles. His face was red, fromthe kissing or the laughter, Will wasn’t sure. The longer Nico laughed, themore confused Will became. “What is it?” Will asked again.

Nico kept laughing, butanswered, “Will… look down.”

And he did. And he was afreaking beacon. Will flushed in embarrassment, which made it worsebecause his cheeks were almost glowing red now. Because that’s exactlyhow his stupid powers worked.

Nico got his laughter under controljust enough to reach out and cup Will’s cherry red cheek. “Don’t worry, we canstill get out of this one,” he winked. Will already knew this was going to be adisaster.

Lou Ellen scoffed, signaling herteammates to move in and capture the lovebirds. “Yeah right, di Angelo. Justlet us tie you up so we can leave you idiots alone again. I don’t need to seeyou suck face anymore than I already do.”

Nico didn’t deign that with areply as he covertly pulled together a mass of shadows. He gave Will ameaningful look, which Will assumed meant do the light thing. He knew hehad to do it quickly, so he focused a lot of light into one spot right in frontof Nico.

“Wrap it and throw!” heshouted, and Nico did as he was told. Unfortunately, Will kind of forgot thathe had to hold his light together, so Nico ended up just throwing a bunch ofshadows at the other campers while Will blinded everyone in the vicinity,including himself.

Chiron decided that usingnewfound powers in a Capture the Flag match was a hazard from then on.

[spideychelleforever]

When Spider-MJ Survived the Snap But Peter Didn’t, p.3

It took hours until apparently every single drop of water in MJ’s body had finally left her body in the form of tears. Nat ordered her to drink water and eat some chocolate, because her body just couldn’t take this much in such a short amount of time, she warned. But even after hydrating herself and getting a little boost from the sensation of chocolate, MJ was still just a wreck on the couch under some covers.

Steve was busy ripping himself to pieces for bringing MJ to the cabin, Scott could only sadly listen as Steve explained the situation to him, and Nat was eating again as they eventually put in a call to Bruce. They all agreed to leave MJ at the compound, with FRIDAY on standby to watch over her and provide for her.

After a few hours of watching old reruns of Family Matters, MJ switched off the TV, nimbly curling up, until she got the urge to get on her phone. Sucking in a deep breath, she scrolled to the album on her phone she so rarely visited these days, an album called, “My loser ❤️💘”

In the album were the photos from happier days. When MJ could hear Peter laugh, see him smile, and be with him, even just for a while. She tried to remember his high, soft voice, how awkward and stupid he would be, and how he was the ultimate sweetheart to her, even though he probably never reciprocated her feelings for him. It was a terrible truth, she figured, but it was even more terrible that he lost his life, she thought.

Eventually Bruce was on board, and soon Tony, Nebula, Rocket, Rhodey, Clint, and Thor. The last Avengers trying to save the fallen.

[[MORE]]

When the time came for their first test run, Clint returned from the Quantum Realm with his eyes more alive than they’d been the entire time since he rejoined them. MJ considered things. How if even someone as distraught and hellbent on revenge as Clint could actually bear to have hope... maybe she could too.

But just as quickly, she was devoured by the new status quo - the irreparable mourning, the heartache, the longing to see Peter again.

They strategized on when and where to find the Stones. When Nat pointed out that in 2012, there were three Stones in New York, MJ immediately volunteered for it without thinking. She didn’t know why at first. The sad truth was, she didn’t think they’d survive their mission, even if they had successfully engineered time travel, so it should’ve made no difference which team she joined.

But then, something clicked in her memory. Something pretty obvious in hindsight, but stupid nonetheless.

If she went back to New York in 2012... there might, might just be a chance that she could...

***

She arrived in the alley with Steve, Tony, Scott, and Bruce. As Bruce went for the Sanctum Santorum and Steve prepared to infiltrate Stark Tower, MJ went with Tony and the shrunken Scott to hide around the perimeter of the tower until the battle had ended.

“You ready, Jones?” Tony turned to MJ. “Remember, just watch my six while I sneak in. You’re more observant than anyone on this team so I know you’ll watch my ass better than I ever could.”

MJ mused that it was hardly difficult for her to keep tabs on Tony. If she could covertly sneak glances all day at the boy she had a ginormous crush on, watching a billionaire in his suit would be easy.

Then it hit her; that Tony didn’t want to put too much pressure on her. She’d always had some mixed feelings about Tony, but right now? She had a rush of something like gratitude, even if the voice in the back of her head griped that he didn’t trust her with a bigger role than guard duty.

Now, that same voice reminded her why she wanted to come to New York in 2012.

“I see something,” MJ lied.

“Wait! What is it?!” Scott asked in alarm over the comms, while Tony whizzed around to MJ in a similar state.

“Hang back, I’ll check it out,” MJ curtly muttered as she quickly webbed off - to Queens.

****

“That was FREAKING EPIC!!!”

The small, curly haired eleven-year-old boy with an already dazzling smile and glasses and baby fat turned to grin at his heavier set best friend.

“I know! Oh, I hope they make a movie about Iron Man fighting the aliens! With the Avengers! What if we were in it?!” The curly-haired boy excitedly jumped up and down, oblivious to what had just knocked at Earth’s door. All Peter Parker cared about was the fun his hero just had - the same hero who had helped him fight off the rogue robots two whole years ago, or whatever they were. He even complimented him - “nice work, kid!” Little Peter didn’t stop excitedly babbling the entire day. Today he got to see him fly by, too. How lucky was he?!

MJ finally arrived across the street from her destination. There it was - the same apartment complex she held so dear to her heart. It wasn’t like she was back in the 50’s, so it didn’t look strange to her or anything. It looked perfectly normal. Plants were on windowsills, people were walking in and out, two boys were already playing outside-

And that made her freeze. Because even when he was several years younger, younger now than he had been when they first met in middle school, she recognized Peter Benjamin Parker playing with Ned Leeds.

She watched in awe. The sheer impossibility of what she was seeing seemed to really hit her. She’d told herself a long time ago she’d never see Peter again. There’d be pictures and videos but she wouldn’t-she wasn’t supposed to see him alive again. She gaped seeing his bright, smiling face, the furthest from his sorrowful, pained dying expression.

MJ watched him as he turned his back to her. She was just about to pull her mask off for a better breathing experience when Peter stopped in place - and turned to directly look at her.

She froze as she heard him excitedly yell at Ned “LOOK LOOK ITS A SUPERHERO!!!!”

MJ’s brain nearly collapsed. How - HOW?!

Ned turned to look too. “OH MY GOD DUDE!!!”

Both kids were now whooping and waving hi at the masked hero on the roof across the street, screaming hi and trying to get her to come over. Realizing she shouldn’t draw attention to herself any more and that screaming kids is a good way to draw attention, she sighed, and webbed over to them.

“WOW!” Peter’s little face was wide and awed. “You’re amazing, miss!!! Are you like a Spider-Woman?”

MJ didn’t know what to say to the little boy.

Like, did she tell him to never go to the research facility with the radioactive spiders? Did she tell him to come with her? Did she tell him that one day he would die a horrible, prolonged, painful death at the hands of a monster who was behind the alien invasion he saw today as a little eleven year old boy? That he was breaking her heart with every breath he took, completely oblivious of the fact that he would take his last breath in six years time, far away from home? That his best friend and his aunt would also die the same day?

“Is everything okay?” Peter suddenly asked, his face turning thoughtful and concerned. “You seem upset?”

MJ fretted. It was... it was getting harder to breathe, and... Bruce did say nothing they did would change their time, right? So.. so..

“Oh hold on, I’ll call my aunt May-“

“No,” MJ stopped him. “It’s okay, I-just a second.”

And she took off her mask, and looked down at the two boys as placidly as she could.

“Wowwwwww,” Peter gasped as he looked up at her in pure awe.

MJ tilted her head a little in confusion at him. “Um, well, so, I’m sorry for spying on you guys, I was... helping the Avengers scout the perimeter,” she lied. “And yeah, sometimes the mask gets kinda hot for me.”

“I think Peter thinks you’re really hot, too,” Ned giggled. Peter shot a sudden, venomous look at his best friend. “Dude!!!”

Now that- that took MJ by surprise. “I’m sorry?”

And Peter’s cheeks turned pink to answer her confusion. “No! Girls are icky! I just like your hair Miss, and you’re-you’re really pretty!” He spluttered.

“He wants to know how old you are!” Ned guffawed. That did the trick, and Peter began shoving him in annoyance. And MJ did something she hadn’t done in... god knows how long.

She laughed.

She couldn’t control it either, but finally, a laugh erupted from her body as she watched the young Peter and Ned argue and shove each other.

Finally, the bickering subsided, and they turned back to the tall, beautiful superhero. “Do you have to get back to patrol, Miss?” Peter asked.

“I probably do,” MJ smiled. Again, another rare occurrence, and she knew exactly why it was happening. “You two should probably go back inside too. All the alien radiation and stuff.”

“Oh no, I don’t wanna grow an extra arm!” Ned laughed. “Come on, Peter!”

“Aww, but I wanna stay with you!” Peter whined - and took MJ by surprise again by taking her much larger hand with his smaller ones. “Do you wanna get ice cream?”

MJ didn’t have time to gape because she heard another familiar voice. “Peter, Ned, come inside!”

Peter whined, “Aww, but Aunt May!”

“Come on, kiddo, listen to your aunt!” This time, a male voice was the source.

“Oh, okay, Uncle Ben,” Peter pouted. He looked back up at MJ. “Sorry, Miss, I don’t wanna go, but I have to.”

“It’s okay,” MJ nodded. “You two be safe.”

“We will!” Peter smiled. “Say hi to Iron Man for me!!” He waved at her as he and Ned turned to go back up the steps to Peter’s apartment complex. Ned went in first, but Peter turned back one last time, his cheeks turning pink again as he waved to MJ.

MJ put her mask back on, unable to process what had just happened. She webbed herself back up to higher ground and began making her way back to Stark Tower.

She’d seen a young boy, happy and innocent, playing with his best friend and admiring superheroes, and going to lunch with his aunt and uncle. That boy would grow up to be a superhero, an Avenger, who devoted his life to protecting and helping the innocent. Who never lost his trademark niceness even despite all the stress and trauma of losing his uncle and the perils of being a superhero. Who never failed to ask MJ how her day was despite having a million and one things to worry about himself. Who never stopped caring about her, regardless of whether or not he ever liked her back.

MJ stopped on one roof as something else hit her. Peter never stopped caring about anyone, not just her. He had a heart big enough to love everyone and help everyone.

So she needed to as well.

She looked out at the city, a chunk of it smoking from the invasion. She looked back towards Queens, then up to where the portal had been, and finally back to Stark Tower.

This time, she ran across the rooftop and jumped as high as she could before webbing her way onward. She didn’t let herself plummet anymore than needed. She didn’t just web her way up. She rose.

Her friends needed her. Peter needed her. And she needed herself, too. She needed the strength of the girl who led the AcDec team, who became a superhero alongside Peter, who defied his wishes to follow him into space, who fought against the madman who took Peter from her.

Finally, after five years of eating her feelings, sleeping way too much, crying over photos in her phone, raging at herself for something that wasn’t her fault, it had happened.

Finally, for the first time, she believed that the Avengers would succeed in bringing back their lost friends and half the universe.

Michelle Jones was back.

And finally, for the first time in five years... she was alive.

[peter-man-parker]

Stressed Out

Pairing: Tom Holland x Reader

Word count: 2.3k

Summary: Tom always knew that you love him, sometimes he just couldn’t understand why?

Warning: Angst, fluff, mention of insecurities, like one swear word.

A/N: Was originally written for @sunshinehollandd writing challenge from like ages ago sorry; however, I procrastinate too much to get it out on time so yeah. Thank you for all of your support! Let me know what you think. The photos are not mine so credit to owners, but the mood board is mine. Please Enjoy!

Tom loves his job, he always has and hopes he always will. Although, sometimes his line of work can be quite stressful on him. He’s always worried that he won’t get a part that he really wants, or he’ll forget his lines and mess up the take, or even that he’ll spoil something that’s extremely important and risk losing his job. But even with all the worry and hardships in Tom’s life he absolutely loves what he does.

Tom loves being able to travel to foreign countries to film. He loves to meet new people and idols. But one of his favorite parts of being an actor is all the amazing fans he gets to see who look up to him. Tom’s main goal has always been to make others happy, no matter how he felt or how hard it would be for him to do so.

There’s only one thing that he loves more than his job, and that’s his family, more specifically you. You and Tom have been together for just over three years and it has been the most magnificent time of your life. Tom is one of the most kind, sweet, caring, and compassionate people you have even met and had the surreal pleasure to love and call your own.

He’s always putting you first and making sure you’re okay before he stops to take care of himself.

During the first year of your relationship, you had to cancel on a date because the you both had gotten sick. And the entire time Tom had insisted on going out to get you soup and medicine to make sure you were okay instead of him resting when he was just as sick - if not more - than you were.

“Tommy please come back to bed” you whine. You and Tom have both come down with the flu and were terribly sick. You were running fevers and sneezing all the time, and let’s not mention how incredibly weak and cold the two of you were mixed with an upset stomach.

The whole time that the two of you were sick all you wanted to do was lay in bed and cuddle, but Tom had other plans.

“You know I can’t do that love, not when I know that you’re lying here sick. I’ll be back in little while.” He said. Tom had just finished putting his coat on and placed a lazy kiss on your temple.

“I’m gonna go and get you some medicine and soup to help you feel better, try and rest while I’m gone okay?”

“But Tommy, you’re sick too remember? If you don’t rest you’ll only get worse, and I can’t have that.” You pout. In all reality Tom was more sick than you were, he had a much higher fever and absolutely couldn’t stop coughing; you even had to help him to bed last night because he could barely move on his own.

However, you knew that there was no negotiating with Tom when it came to taking care of you. So you just accepted the fact that he was going to take care of you even if it killed him, and when you got better a few days later, Tom had only gotten worse and you spent the whole time taking care of him and you definitely weren’t complaining about his sick, cuddly state as he was feeling miserable.

And this isn’t necessarily a bad thing, it’s really sweet actually, but sometime it completely drains Tom - mentally and physically. He loses all sense of motivation and all he wants to do is lay in bed. These are the days when his insecurities tend to get the best of him. Days like these don’t happened too often, but when they do, they hit him hard. These are the days when Tom needs you the most, to help save him from overthinking and drowning in his own thoughts.

And today was one of those days. Tom had been gone for almost three months for the filming of Far From Home. Usually when Tom come home from a long trip he wouldn’t leave your side for at least the first week. He was always wanting to be near you. Just to hold you in his arms and cuddle and not let you go anytime soon.

This time wasn’t much different. The first night Tommy had come home, you had the perfect welcome home date planned. You had ordered his favorite takeout and set up a blanket fort in the living-room with all of his favorite movies for a much needed, and well deserved lazy date night filled with laughter, love, and lots of cuddles.

You wish the night had gone as planned. You were so excited to see your amazing boyfriend. This night was suppose to be perfect, but as soon as Tom stepped through the door you knew something was off. You tried to forget about it at first and not worry about it. Maybe he was just tired of being away for so long. However, the longer the night went on, the harder it was to ignore. You owed it to Tommy to comfort him whenever he needed it, and it was clear that right now, he needed it.

When Tom walked into your shared London flat, it was apparent that he wasn’t himself. Tom is always a very positive, happy person, but today he was anxious, and upset, maybe even a little insecure.

It pained you to see him like this. You could see the sadness written all over his face. The sorrow in his eyes that screamed at you to notice them and ask him what’s wrong. They begged for your comfort, and longed for your sweet touch that always made Tom feel better. The kindness that could wash away any worry, stress, or doubt that Tom felt.

“Hey baby” you say with a voice that’s just above a whisper. You could feel the whole room flood with tension as he entered the apartment. You weren’t even sure if he heard you, that was until you hear his long and exhausted sigh as he slips his shoes off and makes his way over to you.

Tom immediately plops down on the couch next to you. Within an instance his arms are wrapped around your waist tightly. It’s almost like he’s afraid he’ll lose you. The entire time Tom was away he was constantly filled with guilt. He was constantly afraid that you’d leave him for someone better.

In Tom’s mind, when he got stressed, he focused more on work and felt that he was ignoring his girlfriend. Tom was constantly afraid that he was a terrible boyfriend who didn’t deserve someone as wonderful as you in his life. His thoughts would run wild with scenarios of you leaving him for some else. Someone who could treat you better, and not leave you for months at a time.

When Tom reaches you, his head becomes buried in your neck as he lets out a breath of warm air that sends shivers straight down your spine.

“Tommy bub, please talk to me. What’s wrong? Remember you can always tell me anything.” Tom’s entire body starts to shake while you hold him in your arms. He’s trying to hold back the tears, trying not to fall apart in front of you. He know that he can talk to you about anything.

“We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to okay? But I’m here for you if you need me.” And with that Tom breaks down into sobs and he holds onto you for dear life. His breathing because heavy and uneven as he cries into you.

He knows that you won’t make fun of him for this. He knows that you truly do care about him in every way. This is why he fell in love with you in the first place. He was captivated by your compassion and generosity. He was blinded by your caring heart and kind personality.

After comforting Tom, he slowly starts to calm down. His eyes remain red, puffy and swollen. His cheeks are tear stain and his face is full of sorrow. Once his breathing come back to normal he lifts his head and looks you directly in the eyes. You can see the pain and sadness that occupy them as he finally opens up to you.

“I don’t deserve you, at all.” He says in a rushed voice. At first you didn’t understand him. You remain quiet and allow his to continue.

“(Y/N) you are so kind, and generous. You are beautiful and loving and so accepting and understanding. I don’t know how you could possibly love me…”

“Tommy, what do you mean.” Your eyes fill with concern while he keeps taking.

“I’m saying that you don’t deserve some loser like me. All I do is leave you waiting around for months on end till I get back for a week maybe a month tops then leave again and you don’t deserve that. You deserve someone who can always be there with you and show you how much they love you. You deserve someone who’s not me and I’m sorry I’ve been such a shitty boyfriend...you deserved better.” Tom stands up with his head down, staring at the floor.

He won’t dare look you in the eyes. He knows if he does he’ll be done for. He won’t be able to give you the life you deserve. He knows if he looks at you he’ll start crying again and beg you to take him back. But it’s too late now, the damage has been done and he can’t take back what he’s said.

“I’ve been thinking about this the whole time I’ve been gone. And I love you (Y/N) I really do. I love you so much and you don’t even know.” Tom takes a deep breath as he steps away from you.

“My mother always told me that if you love something, you should let it go, and this is it. I’m only going to be holding you back (Y/N) from living your best life, from someone who can treat you better than I even could. So I’m so sorry for how I’ve treated you and how are relationship has gone. And I’m sorry if I’ve ever hurt you...it was never my intention. I’ll be staying with-”

You shoot up from your seat and take a step towards Tom. You finally realize what’s happening. Tom believes that he was/is a terrible boyfriend and thinks you can do so much better so now he’s trying to break up with you.

“Whoa whoa whoa Tommy slow down for a second okay. Just hear you out. YOU are an AMAZING BOYFRIEND…-” you take another step closer.

“But (Y/N) I..-”

“No Tom listen, please.” Your voice is calm and sweet as you speak. It makes Tom’s heart skip a beat entirely. One of your hands find his and interlock together, while the only softly guides his face upward so he’s now looking at you.

“Please don’t ever say anything like that ever again. You Thomas, mean everything to me. You always have and always will. You have been the best boyfriend I have ever had and I hope that someday you will get to become the best husband. But please don’t say that I’d be better off with someone else, or that I’d be happier with someone who could always be here for me. Because you are the one I want Tommy. You are the only person I want to love and spend the rest of my life with. And no, I know that you sometime have to leave for long periods of time for work, but I knew that before we got together and I’m okay with that. You are following your dreams and making so many people happy and I couldn’t be anymore proud of you. So please don’t try and leave me saying that I deserve better, because you are better Tom you’re the best one there is and you’re all mine. I love you Tommy.” Both of you have broken down into full sobs at this point. Your arms snake around one another as you hold each other.

“I love you too (Y/N) please forgive for acting very rashly. I guess I didn’t really think this through. But thank you for staying with me. Thank you for putting up with me and my insecurities. Most importantly, thank you for loving me.”

Tom pulls you into as soft, gentle kiss full of love and compassion with a hint of forgiveness. This is the first kiss you two have shared since Tom has returned. You almost forgot how soft and savory his lips are, but tonight isn’t about passion and lust. Tonight is about taking care of one another and being the best you can for not only each other, but for yourselves also.

When you and Tom finally pull apart, you sit on the couch and pull him down with you. His head lays in your lap whilst your finger begin to entangle in Tom’s mess of brown curls. He always did love when you played with his hair. He was able to drown out the entire world and it would only be you and him frozen in time forever.

The room was quite, you had though Tom has fallen asleep, until he mutters a quick “will you sing to me?” While he looks at you with his adorable puppy dog eyes that you just couldn’t say no to.

“Of course I will bubs, anything for you.” So of course you start singing to him in a soft gentle voice. Not anything special, just random songs that Tom loves to play for you when the two of you are on long drives in his car.

You stop singing, half expecting the room to go silent, except it didn’t. The was quickly filled with the sound of Tom’s light snores that put a smile on your face. You lean down and press a quick kiss on his cheek as you whisper a soft “I love you” before finally drifting off you sleep yourself, dreaming of your future with your amazing Tommy.

[scribeofmorpheus]

His Girl Tuesday {Part 1}

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Tuesday Adams x  Billy Hargrove

[Prologue] [Series Masterlist] [Main masterlist] [AO3]

Series Warnings: This series will contain NSFW, Language, Drug use, horror themes, potentially gore and the occasional racist depictions (because it’s the 80′s people)

Words: 3k

Part One: Infectuous

The plastic bottle pressed between Tuesday's palms shook slightly. The trapped water inside, sloshing against the flimsy material that was pressed inwards -deforming with rounded indentations on contact with her fingers.

Tuesday felt numb to everything. The rapid pounding of her heart beneath her breast reduced to nothing more than a distant thrumming of white noise. The shake in her limbs transformed into a tingle of discomfort that refused to subside. But most notable of all was the outward silence.

There she sat, in a crowded, bustling mall. A dizzying panorama of people laughing, talking, arguing, chewing, stomping, and yet, everything was so distant. It was as though someone had turned the dial on her piece of junk television set and now static was the only thing blaring through the dust-covered speakers. Leaving only one voice to speak up inside her cranium. One confounded voice.

She needed to find her way out of this maze, she needed to return to the now.

"One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi..." she counted idly by within the safety of her private thoughts. Savouring that one truth that still held true. Unless…

Tuesday pried her eyes away from the air bubbles trickling to the surface of the water bottle, placing her attentions on the group of kids across from them in the arcade, "She can't read minds can she?" 

Steve drummed his fingers on his thighs, lips pursed in a half show of amusement and concern, "No," he replied. "At least, if she can, she hasn't told me about it. I don't typically ask too many questions. It makes it easier to hold onto my marbles."

Feeling redundant, Tuesday rotated the lid until it popped off and rolled away, devouring the contents of the plastic bottle as if she'd been tittering on the precipice of unquenchable thirst. It hadn’t helped. The liquid, though refreshing, didn’t freeze up her mind. She yearned for her action potentials to stop racing across her wired synapses so she could stop hearing the singular overlapping sound of her own voice inside her head. The voice kept multiplying into a cacophony, overlapping over itself again and again.

Steve ignored the meandering rivulet of water making its way from her mouth to the space between her breasts –moving awkwardly in his seat.

Tuesday wiped the cool liquid from her chin and the underside of her jaw using the side of her shirt -overalls half peeled off at the waist.

This was turning into the kind of day where Billy's proximity was sorely missed. His dominant nature made him an overwhelming persona to be around. It was demanding and dark, a crack in the universe that led to a solitary grotto away from everything.

Some days Tuesday felt as if she was viewing her entire life through neon coloured glasses accompanied by that electric hum that was always present, even in the dark recesses of her mind. Billy was her sedative. He kept her in a state of euphoria, an enticing escape from her woes.

There were two things that sent her over the edge, into that euphoric bliss she craved. One of them was Billy. The other was the smell of his cigarettes. Lucky Strike was his go-to brand, he always had a burning fag in his mouth at one time or another. It's bitter and oaky scents mixed into a heady blend when it diffused together with his musky aftershave. It was an intoxicating mix. A cheap odour that she'd grown accustomed to. And now she found herself scanning the crowd for puffs of smoke, looking desperately for that distinguishable red dot on a filmy white packet.

"Look, I don't mean to be pushy but..." Steve leaned closer. "What are you planning on telling your boss? About the freak accident you narrowly avoided? Heck, what are you planning on telling anyone, period?"

She almost didn't hear him, his gentle nature was a rarity to her, it didn’t demand to be seen, instead, it whispered. "Do you have a smoke?" she asked, her nails scratching at the mystery bruise on her arm.

Steve's eyes skittered about before he said, "Uhhh, n-no. I'm trying to lay off."

She hissed as she scratched at her scalp, ankles springing with pent up energy underneath the table. "Shit."

"Listen, I know all this can be overwhelming, believe me. But you have to promise to keep this a secret. She may have superpowers but she's just a kid, and all she wants is to have the same kinda life as any other regular kid," there was compassion in his words. The way his tone fluctuated from a serious whisper to a soft muttering informed Tuesday that Steve actually cared for those kids.

She wanted to listen, wanted to be wholly attentive, but she just kept searching for a white stream of cigarette smoke. Her mind drifted away again as he continued his plea: "And it's not just her life that would be affected either. I mean, Dustin, Mike, Will, Max, they're great kids and--"

"Wait, Max?" she careened her head. "As in Hargrove?"

"Y-yeah. You know her?"

"In passing. Why isn’t she here?"

"Sick with the flue apparently."

Tuesday's mouth stayed agape until she caught sight of a man with a moustache sucking in the air through the cotton filter of a cigarette bud by a clothing store. "Excuse me a minute."

She dashed from the table with a near-jog. Butting into the strange man's conversation to ask if she could bum a smoke. When she returned, she had a fully lit cigarette strategically placed under her nostrils so she could be bombarded by the smell. It wasn't Lucky Star, but it was a close alternative.

After a satisfied inhale, she turned to Steve, fully present this time.

"Well?" He pressed after she spent a whole minute just staring blankly at his face.

"Well what?"

"What are you going to tell your boss really happened?"

"Jack?"

He was confused by that, "I guess.”

She looked back at the kids all hovered around a Mrs Pac-Man arcade game. "People survive near-death experiences in inexplicable and miraculous ways all the time. Perhaps my guardian angel finally awoke from its slumber. Maybe it was divine providence. Though sometimes it's best to leave things unexplained."

Steve nodded a thank you in gratitude, stress leaving his face with a deep exhale. "Thank you, Wednesday."

"Tuesday," she corrected like it was second nature. "Wednesday Adams was the nickname Tommy H. and Carol gave me in high school."

"Oh," regret was present in his eyes.

"Ingenious, I know," she chortled sarcastically. "Don't sweat it. We were all a little screwed up in high-school. It's no one’s fault I was a little weird too."

She noticed him push back his hair, an old habit she would have swooned over had they been sitting at the same table two years ago -before Billy.

“Doesn’t make it alright,” he said.

“C’est la vie.”

He fidgeted, "I always wondered…" he trailed off, unsure if he should be treading over these particular eggshells.

Tuesday recognised that look. "If my name is somehow a rip off of a popular 60's television show?" she finished his unspoken question for him.

He nodded.

"No," she blew the miniature logs of ash off the table. "At least, I don't think so. My dad says I found my way to him on a Tuesday morning. He was never one for television. I guess it was just another stroke of divine providence is all." she joked flatly before standing from the table. "I'm beat and I feel gross. I'm gonna head out. And don't worry. I'll keep your secret."

 Tuesday didn't have the energy to towel dry her long hair, the wetness of it made it look blacker than coal. Her head fell back onto her thinly stuffed pillow, the landing much harder than she intended. She could feel the moisture seep into the cotton pillowcase, but she was content with ignoring the coldness at her back so long as sleep came quick. And it did. She went out like a light.

***

Eyes filled with terror. A stench of copper and urine turning the air humid. Fear clung around opened sweat glands. A nauseating feeling upturning stomachs as Tuesday's vision was impaired by the spin of vertigo.

The unfamiliar room was a striking show of gestating entropy; shadows born from pale, sickly, yellow lights; dust covering every crack and crevice; the smell of gasoline and burning rubber ghosting off a rusted metal drum placed next to tattered and torn couches. This was a den. A derelict place of rest. And someone had claimed it as their own.

The lord of this domain sat on a leather chair, the whites of his eyes and the stained yellows of his teeth were the only thing visible about him. Tuesday stood under a circle of light that flickered out of beat.

"Who are you?" her voice came out distorted, a ringing echo that morphed into the voices of others –those she had heard whispered to her during the day.

He shifted closer to the light. No. It was more like the darkness had peeled itself back, like a cloud he could control hovering around his body. Even with the dark cloud pulled back, he was still enveloped in blackness. It was slick, wet. Like his body was drenched in tar.

That's when Tuesday realised that here, in this wretched place, he was darkness. From his aura, to the veins around his aqueous humors and the chipped off nail polish on his bitten down fingernails. He was void and Tuesday had unknowingly trespassed into his domain.

She was unwelcome here. The weathered concrete walls leaked of despair. Seeping out like a pustulous boil. It made her want to retch. But there was something else too. Something primordial and infectious rolling off his menacing presence. It snaked its way to her through the soles of her bare feet, veins turning black the higher up it climbed.

Tuesday was petrified in fear as this unwelcome sensation burned at her toes and her ankles and her knees and her stomach until finally, it blocked out all the light in her eyes. She looked down at a materialising pool of oil and what she saw made her scream –only no sound came out of her. Her eyes, they were gone, replaced only by orbs of blackness. She was like him now.

His body turned to air and mistified off the couch, materialising a second later behind her, the stench of stale beer and cigarettes trickling off his pierced tongue. "It feels good, doesn't it? Rage."

She swallowed but her throat remained parched.

"Do you know why you came to me? Why it was so easy for me to worm my way into your pretty little brain?" He dug a fingernail into her temple, the pulsating vein turning dark, spreading like a stain. "Someone tried to hurt you and you can't let such an injustice go unpunished. You can’t bear it for a moment longer."

He appeared a mere inch from her nose now, his eyelids carrying the same epicanthic fold as hers. "Are you going to lie down and take it, like some weak, powerless, frightened little girl who's too afraid to leave her pathetic life behind? Or are you going to give in and do the one thing you've been thinking about since that car nearly crushed you?"

His words were a cajole to join him in his darkness. A temptation to embrace her baser instincts. An awakening of a vehement desire. A violent urge.

Now she was grinning, as he was grinning, their faces mirrors of each other.

"Atta girl," he praised before turning into mist and tunnelling down to her chakras through her nasal cavity and throat. And then she was burning, a fire burning through her flesh.

She was infected now.

***

Tuesday's eyes flashed open, but her body remained relaxed. It was noon, the sun still high up. She washed her face, noticing a dark purple outline encircling her eyelids. Then she grabbed her car keys off the hook, dropping the note that that was stuck onto the pinboard, stepping on it with her dusty boots. It went unread.

 The sputtering sounds of her engine vibrated through the entire car. Tuesday set in in park, but kept the motor running. Sam and his brothers were welding off car door hinges, stripping it for parts. The red flashing signpost of their establishment blinked in the back, several bulbs blown: Carson Bros Metal Works and Junkyard.

One of Sam's brother's noticed her arrival, peeling back his welding helmet, "Yo, Sammy, we got a visitor."

Sam Carson was not the most refined specimen Hawkins had to offer, and that was about all Tuesday cared to noticed of him. His entire body stunk of sweat and burning, the tell-tale signs of leading a life that relied on scraping by. The smell stuck to him like flies over rot. All his foul persona was missing was that constant buzz that accompanied large house flies.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't the beguiling Tuesday Adams," he snorted with a pinch of his nose.

Tuesday bit down on her teeth until they sent trembles up to her cochlear nerve. "Can you even spell beguiling?"

"Yeah," he leered, thumbs in his back pocket. "I believe it goes: B-E-Blow me!" He mocked.

Tuesday narrowed her eyes and he bent his pelvis so he could look at her at the same level.

"Can you even see when you squint like that?" his brothers let out huffs of amused noises and Tuesday balled up her fists. He noticed her fingers strain under her shaking fist and he held up his hands as though he were innocent of whatever feelings of antagonism she held towards him. "Oh, hey now. Don't get your knickers in a twist. We're just making light." He propped his frame on top of a newly salvaged JTO. "What brings you to my place of business?"

"Jack brought over the car-jack yesterday, he said you told him you fixed it." It was a statement, but it implied something else.

"Jack? I don't know no Jack. You must have your wires crossed honey," he leaned further back with a smug smile on his heat blistered lips.

"Your botched up job nearly cost me my life," she was seething now. "I nearly got crushed!"

"Yeah, well," he pulled out a cigarette from his breast pocket, lighting it with a match. "I can't be held liable for any accidents that happen at other people’s businesses. It's not my fault your boss is a negligent cook. You get what you pay for, and he’s the one who wanted to play hardball. Take up your grievances with him."

Tuesday could feel that infectious rage swirl inside her, her breathing rising and rising the same time her knuckles turned white. She didn't come here to talk. In that moment, she knew exactly why she came here.

In a flash, her hand swung back as she planted her feet and powered her right hook into the unsuspecting Sam's cheek, his cigarette spitting out on contact. Her form was off, sacrificing technique for power and as a result, a cracking sound came off her proximal phalanges.

Sam was sent reeling into the dust, his brothers scattering to come to his aid and gang up on the very riled up Tuesday.

"You bitch!" He sucked on his split lip. "Are you fucking insane?"

He picked himself off the ground and in an instant of red, he struck Tuesday with a heavy open palm. She landed on the hood of the car, trading places with Sam, a gasp of air knocked out of her lungs. She massaged her jaw muscles and spun around to promptly kick him in the crotch. Her fists pressed to her cheeks.

Sam groaned, buckling to the floor again. One of his brothers rushed at her but was deterred from his path by a threatening Trans-Am almost ramming into him.

Billy got out of the car with flaring nostrils and a baseball bat.

"Get the fuck back," he growled as he strode over to her side. The bat pointed at each of the men lick a swinging pendulum. "Tuesday, get in the car."

She didn't listen to him, in fact, her focus was fixed solely on Sam. She made a motion to advance, to trade another blow and this time Billy snaked his arm around her waist and heaved her off the ground. Tuesday was dragged, kicking and screaming, into Billy's car. Face turning beat red from anger.

Billy walked back up to Sam after he locked Tuesday inside, he walked with his usual slow, swaggerful gait. He appeared to be extending a white flag when, without warning, his bat abruptly crashed onto Sam's knee, making him howl in pain.

Billy pulled him by the collar and threatened him, "The next time you lay hands on someone, you better pray it's someone I don't know." He pushed him back into the dirt and taunted his brothers, arms wide open. "Anyone else?"

They all took an instinctive step back when Billy motioned to step forward. He spat at the ground before climbing into his car and speeding Tuesday home.

 "The fuck were you thinking?" his voice was harsh as he grabbed a packet of frozen peas from the fridge.

Tuesday stared at her reflection in the television screen, the voice from her dream returning to taunt her: "Someone tried to hurt you and you can't let such an injustice go unpunished."

The cold press of peas to her face brought her back. She looked into Billy's eyes, so filled with anger and worry. Her right arm stiff from the tight bandage Billy had wound around her undoubtedly fractured hand.

"I- I don't know what came over me..."

He sighed, placing his forehead to her knee. "Something could have happened."

Tuesday was reminded of the harrowing image of the car hurtling towards her small frame, "Something nearly did."

“How did you learn to fight like that?”

“I was raised by a single dad…”

Billy didn't move and for a while, neither did she. They just sat there, stewing in their unpleasant emotions until they proverbially pruned.

Her eyes caught sight of the note that had been stamped with a dusty boot print, "Hey Champ. Won't be home for dinner. Don't wait up. Taking a double tonight. Love dad!"

Her chin quivered, barely. "How did you find me?"

Billy sat up, removing the bag of peas that turned soft. "I went over to the garage. Jack told me what happened. When no one answered the door I figured, if you were anything like me, you'd be itching for payback. I got lucky." He turned her head to examine the red palm mark. "It won't bruise."

Tuesday noticed he sported a new bruise beneath his shirt, she trailed a finger over it and he shivered, biting down hard. "How'd you get this?"

"Does it matter?"

"It does to me."

Billy held her gaze, and now she was reminded of their proximity. Of the cheap aftershave and cigarette smell that turned her limp. She pulled him close, savouring the feel of sedation. And then her lips found the sensitive stop of flesh behind his ear and he groaned, fingers digging into her back.

Without a word or look or a warning, Billy pulled her off the couch and carried her towards the bedroom where he proceeded to fuck her against her old, creaking dresser -the wood groaning and legs lifting from his fevered intensity. Their kisses all tongue and teeth and with no propriety -it was a primal instinct fuelled by heat and savagery. When he flipped her over and backed her into a wall, legs locked around his waist while he increased the power of his strokes, he noticed her hand had been kept over the bruise she had seen earlier. Her unintelligible whimpers fuelling him to go even deeper -harder. When he came, he had pulled out just in time. They leaned against the wall, ragged breathing, raspy voices and aching limbs. He watched his cum slide down the length of her inner thigh, waiting for it to reach the dip in her knee before he let her drag him to the bathroom.

That night, as he held her in his arms, he couldn't help but notice that the purple-bluish marks had almost faded into the yellowish-brown of a nearly healed bruise. Billy ignored the strangeness behind the colour change and focused on smoothing the raw skin of her cheek as she let out small breaths through lips agape.

***

Tuesday was drawn back into the dreamscape from before, but this time it wasn't drowning in darkness. The red and orange hues of the sunset covered the room in orange paint. The man from before looked less animalistic and spectral. He resembled a simple human now.

He held a bloody bat over his shoulder, the plasma smearing onto his wrist as he craned his neck to the side and side-stepped so she could see the fruits of his depraved labours. On the ground, a man in a security guard uniform lay barely breathing, incisors surrounded by splotches of blood around his face, no longer rooted in his mouth.

The nightmare-man turned to her, and with a mockingly high pitched tone, he screeched like a deranged parrot, "What are you? Some kind of ffrrreeeeeaaaaakkk?!"

His yellow teeth in full view through thinly pried lips.

And then she was forced awake.

***

Tuesday grumbled when she was conscious again, an epiphany dawning over her now that she was sober and in full possession of her bearings.

“Damn it,” she cursed as she realised she had left her car at the Carson’s Junkyard.

To be continued...

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[saintbellamys]

a beam in darkness: let it grow.

canon divergent season 6 finale one-shot in which Clarke gives up and Bellamy fights for her. cw: character death; suicidal ideation; depictions of violence

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The sound of a ship taking off made Bellamy’s blood run cold. The group of them crouching in the cramped metal crate froze, exchanging horrified looks.

Someone was going back to space. And there was a good chance that Clarke and the others were on that transport.

A sick feeling bloomed in the pit of Bellamy’s stomach. Clarke’s position was already so precarious – literally hinging on whether or not no one guessed she was an impersonator. And even if she pulled it off – when were they coming back? What if she got caught in the inevitable conflict up in space? And what about the others with her, if there were others? If they were all still alive?

He’d just gotten her back.

He wasn’t ready for this again. One on the ground, one in space.

That wasn’t how it was supposed to be.

He clenched his hands into fists, his nails digging into the soft skin of his palms. He wanted to scream. He wanted to rest. He didn’t want anyone else to die.

“Hey,” Echo’s voice rasped next to him. He looked up to see her crouching beside him, slowly lowering herself to sit hip-to-hip by him on the dirty floor.

“We’ll make it through this,” she reassured him, her hand rubbing his forearm. “We always do.”

“But it’s never all of us that make it, is it?” Bellamy replied bitterly, running a hand down his face.

“Clarke knows what she’s doing. She’s smart.” Echo’s voice was cool, neutral. Bellamy wasn’t sure if he detected any jealous undertones in her words or not.

Because she had reason to be. And Bellamy hated himself for it.

Right now was a really, really bad time to do this. But he had to.

He’d tried so hard to make it work. He felt like he owed it to a person who’d stuck by him for over three years now. With someone he’d known for over half a decade.

But the truth is, he’d only talked himself into finding love again because he thought he’d lost her forever. He thought he’d left her to go up in flames. He used to have nightmares of watching her turn to ashes, lost on the wind.

He’d never really forgiven himself for it. But it had been hard to live with alone.

Echo comforted him. He’d loved her, even. But never enough to erase the shadow that Clarke had left on his heart.

Bellamy wasn’t sure that he even deserved happiness anymore, but he realized that he was too selfish now to keep pushing it away.

And he couldn’t reach for that happiness if he was still with another person.

keep reading on ao3 or below the cut!

Even now, he still might never see Clarke again. But that wasn’t what mattered right now, not in this specific situation.

What mattered is that he couldn’t keep being unfair to Echo.

Bellamy’s jaw worked. He didn’t know what exactly he was going to say. He just knew that he had to say it.

“Echo,” he said suddenly, exhaustion breaking his voice. He kept his tone low enough so that the others couldn’t hear him over the din of chaos outside the walls.

He reached for her hand. “I know this isn’t a good time – at all – but there’s something you need to hear.” He took a deep breath, finding himself unable to meet her eye. “I can’t – I don’t think I can do this anymore.”

A beat passed, and he felt her hand withdraw from his.

“I know,” she said, her voice gravelly. “I’ve known for a while now.” A humorless laugh escaped her lips. “Something’s always been…not quite right with us, at the heart of things, hasn't it? Maybe we were only together by default. Trapped by time and space and limited options.”

Bellamy’s shoulders slumped in relief. He didn’t have it in him to fight.

“Besides,” Echo continued, looking away from him. “I’ve seen the way you look at her.”

Bellamy sniffed, suddenly uncomfortable again.

He didn’t know how to apologize for being in love with someone to the person he was supposed to be in love with.

“Echo, I’m-”

She put up a hand to stop him. “It’s okay, Bellamy. Your heart leads you wherever it leads you.” Echo shifted, tucking her hair back over her shoulder. “And I think we’ve all been through too much now to deny our hearts much of anything.”

Bellamy sighed. He didn’t feel like he should be let off the hook this easily, but he wasn’t going to try and make anything harder than it already was.

He reached over to her knee, squeezing it one last time.

. . .

“Josephine, Simone, hold your fire,” Russell commanded at Clarke’s side, alarmed at the sight of so many weapons being leveled at him.

Indra’s eyes darted across the scene in front of her.

“Abby, what are you doing?” Her eyes lingered on the gun Abby’s body was holding to Raven’s head.

“Abby is gone,” Simone said in a cool tone, narrowing her eyes. “This is my body now. Now lower your weapon, or I’ll put a bullet in this one’s brain.”

Clarke’s heart thudded wildly in her chest. There were so many layers of disaster going on here, and her mind was scrambling on how to get out of them.

“These bodies may be those of who you once knew,” Russell spoke up again, “But those people are no longer in them. They are lost to you.” He nodded to Simone. “This body now hosts the mind of my wife.” He nodded to Clarke. “And this, of my daughter. I know you might be angry about this, but please try to understand that we ultimately come here in peace.”

Clarke saw the disbelief and anger growing on the faces of the army in front of her. This was about to get really messy, really fast.

“It doesn’t look that way,” Indra spit out, raising her weapon higher.

Suddenly, Raven ripped her gag from her mouth with her manacled hands.

“Shoot her,” she commanded hollowly to Indra, angry tears running down her face.

Before anyone else could react, Indra did, following Raven’s order.

Bile rose in Clarke’s throat as she watched blood seep from the chest of her mother’s body, Simone wordlessly falling to the floor. Her eyes went glassy, blood leaking from her mouth. Indra was an efficient killer.

This was the second time Clarke had experienced the death of her mother today.

She bit down on her tongue so hard that she tasted coppery blood in her mouth.

Russell’s face flushed purple, the gun in his hand shaking as he remained standing behind Madi.

Too late, Clarke recognized the look on his face.

“You don’t play nice? Then neither will we,” he barked, slamming the button to open the door behind him and firing his pistol into the back of Madi’s head.

Clarke’s knees gave out from under her as she collapsed to the floor, her gun falling from her hand.

Maybe she was hallucinating again. So much of the last few weeks hadn’t been what they seemed.

Maybe this wasn’t real either.

Not real.

Not real.

Before anyone could move, Russell dragged Madi’s body backward, tossing her into the airlock and quickly pressing the button again.

Clarke screamed, lunging forward. Too late. Always too late.

Muffled in her ears were the sounds of others shouting, too. Clarke’s hands landed in the pool of blood on the floor – Abby’s mixed with Madi’s. Her mother's mixed with her child's. Another gunshot rang out somewhere above her.

Too late again.

Russell had pushed the button to open the outer door of the airlock before Niylah had shot him in the heart.

Madi’s body wasn’t on the other side of that door anymore.

There was no Madi’s body anymore.

Russell thudded to the ground next to her, his eyes motionless and unseeing.

Clarke, heaving, wished the same for herself.

By now, no one left on the ship thought that Clarke was still Josephine.

They laid down their arms.

“Clarke,” Raven sobbed, next to her. “Clarke, get up.” Clarke barely heard her for the ringing in her ears.

Raven’s hands pushed against her shoulders, up away from the ground. Shaking, Clarke stared down at her hands. Absolutely drenched in dark, inky blood.

The blood of the last of her family.

No, not the last, a faint, faltering whisper in her heart told her.

“Clarke, you’re in shock,” Niylah told her, suddenly there within the commotion around her. “You need to get up.”

From another side, Gaia shook her shoulder. Clarke felt teardrops falling on the rough fabric of her coat.

“We need to go back down there, Clarke.”

Clarke’s vision was going in and out of focus. She didn’t care what they did. She didn���t care about anything right now.

“Clarke, what was your plan for Sanctum after this?” Raven asked, her voice still thick with tears.

A sliver of irritation scraped at Clarke’s insides. What did Raven care what Clarke wanted to do? Raven hated Clarke’s decision-making. Raven blamed Clarke’s decision-making. Why was she asking now?

Clarke finally lifted her head, staring blankly up at the people standing around her.

She had nothing left to say.

Gaia, her cheeks shining with tear tracks, seemed to realize this first.

“I’ll fly us back down,” she said. “We need to take as many fighters down with us as we can if we want to make it through the affected citizens and get back to the others. The toxin should have evaporated by now, but that doesn’t mean people still won’t be under its influence.”

Motions blurred around Clarke as she found herself ushered back to the transport ship. She was surrounded on all sides with both members of the army and the people she’d just come up here with.

But not all of them.

“Float the other two bodies as well,” she thought she’d heard Indra say.

That was fine. She didn’t want to look at any more death. She knew there would be even more of it to see back on the ground.

Always so much death.

Even when she wasn’t commanding it, she couldn’t escape it.

She could escape it, it seemed, only by joining it.

She was glad she’d collected her pistol from the ground before she’d been sent back to the transport.

Clarke didn’t want any more of her people to die. But she couldn’t find anything left inside herself to try and fight.

There was no one else left, on earth or in space, that she truly belonged to.

Bellamy had Echo.

Spacekru had made it clear how little she mattered to them a long time ago. The condemnation, the betrayal – no matter how many times she’d fought to save them, she’d sacrificed to save them – it felt like they simply saw her now as an old, worn out doll. A broken one, only taken off the shelf and noticed when she could serve some kind of utilitarian purpose.

And maybe that really was all she was good for.

She’d failed so many others.

Hurt built up like pressure in her chest, in her stomach, in her eyes, in her brain. It was too much. This was all too much.

With a shuddering breath, she burst into tears, drawing the attention of everyone else in the transport.

She was too exhausted to feel embarrassment. Only pain.

She couldn’t get air into her lungs. She wheezed, sobs wracking her body violently. Everyone around her avoided her eyes.

They understood. But they didn’t move to offer her any comfort.

It didn’t matter. She wasn’t sure anyone could.

She felt the ship prepare to land.

She wasn’t going to fight anymore.

When everyone else began to disembark, Clarke didn’t move. No one said anything to her as they left her, slumped against the ship wall.

. . .

Bellamy thought he would explode with worry by the time the doors to their crate opened.

“Thought you’d be in here,” Gabriel shouted into the metal shipping container that held them all. Behind him stood Murphy and Emori, looking a little worse for wear.

“Sorry it took so long,” Emori’s voice rang out. “We couldn’t cross the courtyard until the crowd had…thinned itself out a little bit.”

“What happened? We heard a ship taking off,” Octavia asked frantically, leaping to her feet. Her nerves were shot, too.

“It’s back. They’re out there fighting against those affected by the toxin.” Octavia’s eyes widened. “They’re not aiming to kill,” Emori jumped in, seeing her face. “Just wound. To be honest, everyone already fighting each other knocked out a lot of the work.”

“Where’s Clarke?” Bellamy’s lips moved before his mind caught up with what he was saying.

Murphy ducked his head self-consciously. “We haven’t seen her. Or Madi. We know they both got on the ship, but after that, no idea.”

“They killed Abby,” Gabriel interrupted, looking at Bellamy. “She realized it just before they got on the ship. She still held her cover.”

A pang coursed through Bellamy’s chest. Another person that Clarke loved, lost.

He had to find her and Madi. Now.

“Go, Octavia said behind him suddenly. “Find them. We’ll be fine.” The others around her nodded. Bellamy met his sister’s gaze. He thought he recognized the girl who she used to be somewhere in those eyes. But he wasn’t sure if that was possible anymore.

He hoped it was.

He hoped they could get past this one day.

But for now, he had to find the rest of his family.

. . .

Bellamy skirted the courtyard, crouching and running from shadow to shadow.

He wasn’t there to fight.

He searched the crowd hungrily for Clarke’s wavy, silver-gold hair. She wasn’t anywhere.

Up the spiral stairs and near the stained glass, he recognized a familiar silhouette wavering in the shadows.

Raven.

Bellamy hoped that she would know something.

Circling the perimeter, he darted up the stairs, stopping only to sucker-punch one rogue fighter who’d come barreling toward him.

“Raven,” he hissed, slipping into the darkness beside her.

Raven jumped. “God, you scared me,” she muttered, slinging one arm around his neck in a quick hug.

Pulling back, Bellamy noticed the puffiness around her eyes. The red skin shining where she’d rubbed tears away.

His insides plummeted.

“Where are Clarke and Madi?” He asked urgently, shuffling from one foot to the other.

Raven’s dark eyes bored into his, something like a sickness in them.

“Madi’s dead, Bellamy.” Raven’s voice scratched in her throat. “Russell killed her. He shot her in the head and floated the body. Right in front of all of us.” Raven wiped a stray tear from the corner of her eye. “Abby’s gone too.”

Bellamy’s gut twisted, turmoil shooting through his veins. Madi was gone. Shot to death right in front of Clarke’s eyes.

But Raven hadn’t said anything about Clarke.

“Raven.”

Her eyes snapped back to his.

“Where is Clarke?”

Raven put her head in one of her hands. “She didn’t get up when the rest of us left the transport ship. I don’t think she had it in her.”

Bellamy’s sluggish heartbeat picked back up, racing toward a double-time pulse.

“She’s okay?”

Raven’s voice went flat. “She’s not hurt, Bellamy. But I don’t think she’s okay.”

“Then why didn’t anyone stay with her?” Bellamy ground out. “She shouldn’t be alone.” Not waiting for a response, he turned on his heel, racing inside.

Bellamy ran through the corridors, adrenaline pounding through every vein in his body.

You didn’t just leave someone alone after they’d watched their family die within hours of each other.

He slammed his fist into the button to open the transport bay doors, a frustrated growl bubbling up his throat as he willed it to go faster.

Finally, he saw the silver-golden head, tilted back against the wall of the transport.

It had the barrel of a gun held to it.

“Clarke,” he shouted, hurtling toward her. “STOP.”

Her eyes, swollen and soaking wet, opened, searching for him.

He fell to his knees next to her, ripping the gun from her hand, yanking the clip out of it and throwing both across the room.

He felt like he might be sick.

He knelt in front of her, grabbing her face with both of his hands. Not letting her turn her head away.

He’d spent a lot of time protecting Clarke from people pointing a gun at her.

He never thought that one day, that person would be herself.

Clarke grabbed both of his wrists, pulling them away from her. She fell forward onto her hands and knees, hyperventilating.

The scream that ripped from her throat and pierced the air ripped through him, too.

As tears welled in his eyes, he noticed that Clarke’s hands were coated with dried, black blood.

It wasn’t hers.

“Clarke,” he said again, his voice sticking in his throat.

Weeping, she turned her head toward him. She’d screamed so hard that blood vessels had broken in the whites of her eyes.

Bellamy pulled her into his chest, and this time she let him, her whole body shaking as she sobbed. He held her tight – maybe too tight – his heart slamming against his ribcage with terror.

Clarke had almost killed herself.

He wished that, in holding her like this, he could absorb pain that had become too much for just one body.

“I want to die,” she whimpered, her voice gasping, full of tears and not enough oxygen.

“Don’t say that,” Bellamy whispered into her hair, crying. “No. No. No. No,” her murmured over and over.

“I’ve done so many terrible things,” she cried. “And everyone I love – I keep losing them and losing them and I-” her voice trembled, cracking. “I don’t want to ruin things anymore. I don’t want to hurt anymore.”

“I’m not losing you again,” he choked out, his body shaking now too. “I need you, Clarke.” He repeated what he’d told her a few days ago, knowing that she probably didn’t hear him the first time. “Other people need you.”

“Those are lies,” she wheezed, pushing away from him. “You survived without me for 6 years. You and everyone else in space. Madi needed me. And Madi is gone,” she shuddered. “No one needs me anymore. No one wants me.”

“That’s not true,” Bellamy insisted, grabbing her upper arms. “Look at me, Clarke. Don’t think that a single hour of a single day went by up on the Ark where I wouldn’t have given anything to have you up there with me.” Clarke gazed back up at him, her eyes glazed with thick tears.

“And just because I survived doesn’t mean I didn’t need you. Doesn’t mean I didn’t want you.”

Clarke squinted up at him, a tremor in her chin. “You had Echo. You have Echo.” Clarke wrung her hands. “I don’t have anyone left.”

“Bullshit,” Bellamy spat out. “I don’t know if you noticed, Clarke, but Echo isn’t the one I abandoned everyone else for and literally brought back to life with my bare hands. Not to mention, she and I just ended things tonight.” Seeing tears stream down her face, his heart thumped sickeningly against his ribcage again. “Clarke,” he continued, softening his voice. “You called me on the radio every day for 6 years, then left me in the fighting pits to die. If someone isn’t needed or wanted anymore, it’s pretty obvious that it’s me.”

Clarke’s tears began to flow fast again. “And that was the worst mistake of my life. And I’m sorry.” She sucked in another gulp of hair, her lungs rattling. “So many mistakes. I don’t deserve to live anymore.”

“You can���t say that, Clarke,” Bellamy panicked. He reached for her hands, lacing his fingers through hers. “None of us is innocent. But you’ve savedus all so many times. Not just us, but hundreds of others. People you don’t even know.”

“And how many have I lost? How many have I gotten killed? How many have I killed?”

“It’s never been easy, Clarke. But you deserve to live. All of us do.”

Clarke bowed her head. “I just don’t want to anymore,” she whispered faintly. Slowly, she met his gaze. Staring listlessly back up at him. Confusion welled up in Bellamy. What was-?

Quick as lightning, Clarke ripped the knife that Bellamy had strapped to his belt from its holster.

She was fast, but Bellamy was faster.

“I won’t let you,” he shouted, knocking it out of her hand. Letting out a wail, Clarke scrambled on her hands and knees toward it, the handle spinning on the cold metal floor.

Grabbing her from behind, Bellamy wrapped his arms around her middle, pulling her back flush against him as she tried to break free, wriggling and clawing. After a moment, the fight seemed to leave her body like a puff of smoke, and she went limp in his arms.

She began to cry again, brokenly, as she tucked her face against his throat.

“Shh, shh,” he soothed. “I’m here, I’ve got you,” He murmured in her ear, his own tears still dripping down his nose.

“I know it’s hard, Clarke. I know.” He kissed the side of her head. He felt a little heartsick himself. “And I know that-” his voice cracked. “I know that you don’t want to go on right now, but I want you to, okay?” Bellamy lowered them down, leaning back against the wall as she sank down between his knees.

“I want you to. So can you try, for me?” After a long pause, Bellamy felt a slight nod of her head rustle against his sweater. Bellamy’s shoulders shook as he exhaled. “I know it’s selfish of me, but I want you here. So please, do it for me if you can’t do it for yourself. You’ve always been good at putting others before yourself,” he added, trying and failing to smile.

“You don’t have to save the world tonight, Clarke. We can just stay here. I think you’ve earned a time-out. I think you earned one a long time ago.”

Slowly, Clarke’s sobs grew quiet as she leaned against his chest. Bellamy stroked the waves of her short hair, keeping his touch-feather light. Hoping she would sleep.

When she finally dozed off, Bellamy let loose of the tears that were still welling in his eyes, crying more freely when he knew she wouldn’t see.

. . .

None of the rest of their people died that night. As the fighting finally subsided, Gabriel gathered them all, saying something that managed to broker tentative peace between those who believed and those who did not.

As a new leader, Gabriel offered the people from space a place in the compound, but none of them took it. They were too scarred by all that had happened there. So Gabriel sent them off into the woods, armed with essentials and an emergency supply of anti-toxin that would last them long enough for Raven to figure out the eclipse pattern. They were offered the shelter of Sanctum any time the rare occurrence might approach.

And so, loaded down with supplies, the people from space marched into the woods, ready to build yet another home for themselves amongst the trees.

Everyone except Octavia.

She’d elected to stay with Gabriel. To help him figure out how to keep peace in the new Sanctum. To help him know what not to do. She hoped that this could be her redemption song.

At the last minute, Echo chose to stay with her.

Bellamy had hugged Octavia goodbye wordlessly. He understood the decision she was making. In his heart, he knew they still needed to talk, but it wasn’t time yet. Besides, they would have days and months and years to come where they could talk. For the first time in forever, they weren’t separated by danger or insurmountable distance. There was finally time to heal.

Days after they’d begun to build shelter for themselves in the forest, Jordan and Diyoza stumbled out of the anomaly, shellshocked but unharmed. They did not speak of what had happened. Perhaps they would tell everyone what had happened someday. Perhaps they never would.

As they had set out into the forest, Bellamy, noticing Clarke lagging behind near the back of the group, slowed his pace, waiting until he was beside her to wrap her hand in his. She turned her eyes to his, hers still leaking sorrow and grief. It would take her time to heal, too. But at least she was here beside him, falling in step with him toward the future.

Something inside of Bellamy pulled at him, telling him to look back.

He did.

Octavia was still standing at the edge of the trees, her eyes trained on Clarke and her brother. A kind, knowing smile graced her lips. She gave him a gentle nod before finally turning to walk away.

. . .

They all stayed in tents as the group in the forest began to build more permanent dwellings.

Clarke knew she should try to help, but at first, she couldn’t bring herself to do anything but sit at the mouth of the tent, gazing with tired eyes as cabins began to materialize, bit by bit, in the clearing in front of her.

Most days, she felt like a ghost, invisible to everyone else in the camp. Everybody but one.

Bellamy never left her alone for too long.

When thoughts crowded her head, dark like storm clouds, Bellamy would stop by the tent, begging her childishly for a snack, for some advice, for a sip of water.

When her fingers, serving her darkest thoughts, reached for a knife, Bellamy gently took it from her, kissing her forehead silently.

They shared a tent.

Most nights, Clarke’s pillow was abandoned for the warmth of Bellamy’s chest.

Some days, she didn’t want to be here. Or anywhere.

But somehow, Bellamy would remind her of how much he wanted her to be.

And most days, that was enough.

. . .

After a few supply runs back to Sanctum, the cabins went up surprisingly fast. As everyone labored, Clarke mostly watched, often disappearing for an hour or two to gather medicinal plants from the forest that didn’t carry the anti-toxin.

Sometimes Raven offered to help her dry and sort what she’d brought back, but Clarke always politely made an excuse. She wasn’t sure she was ready to work on healing the rift that had come between them quite yet.

She never really thought about where she would live as everyone built the place up.

One of the barracks, maybe.

She would miss the warmth of Bellamy’s body beside hers as she slept each night.

“Do you wanna see the finished cabin?” Bellamy asked her one day, tucking a wildflower behind her ear.

“Sure. Give me the grand tour,” she said mildly, humoring him. She could tell he was actually quite proud of his handiwork.

She didn’t realize how much work Bellamy had put into the place until she saw it inside. Apparently he’d managed to swing a stove and oven from the compound that someone was going to throw out, and he’d gotten Raven to fix it back into working order for him. A roughly-hewn wooden table and chairs sat near it, and a low, wide bedframe was tucked into the corner, bedecked with two white pillows and a ragged-looking quilt. He’d even rigged up a bathroom complete with a small shower – the group had collectively decided they weren’t going to live without a plumbing system ever again, and had fashioned one with some old pipes given to them by the compound and a nearby well that they’d dug.

“One more thing,” he said, gently taking her hand and leading her out the back door.

Her hand felt empty nowadays if it wasn’t holding his.

He led her around to a tiny shack, built up against the back of the cabin, far away from the chimney. As he opened the slim, creaky door, Clarke saw that the inside of it was fitted with shelves, and that the shelves were lined with small wooden boxes.

“I thought you could use it as apothecary storage,” he said quietly, ducking his head in shyness.

Warmth in Clarke’s chest bloomed. She smiled up at him, leaning down to drop a quick kiss on his shoulder.

“You thought of something that even I didn’t,” she said gratefully, touched at the gesture. “Too bad it’s not big enough to sleep in, though.”

Bellamy took a step back from her, frowning. “Wait, what?” He tilted his head, hands resting on his hips.

“I mean, too bad I can’t sleep in here instead of the barracks,” Clarke clarified, squinting up into the cool winter sunlight.

Bellamy’s brow furrowed, his mouth opening silently then closing again. Wordlessly, he grabbed her hand, leading her back inside. As she approached the center of the room, he stepped behind her, placing his hands on her shoulders.

“This is your home too, Clarke,” he said gently, his lips grazing the curve of her ear. “I can’t believe you’d ever think anything else.”

The warmth that had blossomed in Clarke’s chest outside grew, trickling into her cheeks and spreading down to her fingertips.

She turned to face him, her chin tilted upward.

Lifting her hands to his neck, she tugged him down to her, pressing her lips to his. His soft, full lips instantly warmed to hers, and his hands ran down her sides, stopping to circle at her waist and pull her in closer.

Adrenaline thrummed through Clarke’s veins for a happy reason for the first time in a very, very long time.

When she pulled back to catch her breath, his lips chased hers, hungry, yearning to make up for years of lost time. He stole the breath from her that he’d breathed into her unresponsive lungs all those weeks ago, forcing life into her because he wasn’t ready to let her go.

Feeling her gasp into his mouth, he broke away, giving her air as his lips kissed across her cheek, beneath her jaw, down her neck.

Her heart threatened to burst through her ribcage.

“Bellamy,” she said suddenly, reaching down to hold his face in her hands and dragging him back up to her eye level.

“You’ve always been wanted,” she whispered, her heart in her throat. “Even when I didn’t know it. It was always going to be you.” Tears threatened to spill over as she thought of all that he’d said, all that he’d done for her, thinking that he might not matter to her the same way. “I’ve always needed you. I’ve always wanted you. Please never forget that.” She leaned forward, kissing the underside of his jaw.

“Clarke.” His deep voice rumbled in his chest against her, stopping her. It was his turn to hold her face in both hands, his soft brown eyes searching hers. “I love you. So much,” he confessed, the words falling from his lips like honey Clarke wanted to taste. “More than anything. I always thought you knew.”

Tears finally tipped from the corners of her eyes, rolling down her cheeks. Standing up on tiptoes, she kissed him again, smiling against his lips.

Maybe a part of her did always know.

Just, for the longest time, she never thought she’d ever get to hear it.

But now, she was finally home.

[forasecondtherewedwon]

Can you do #44 for Falice please? Thank you in advance I love your writing!

Aww thank you!! I’m always happy to write something for someone so polite! This one kinda turned into a mini-epic romance. Whoops.

44. “I don’t know why I’m crying.”

It was the most inane, lowbrow recommendation Alice Cooper had ever had themisfortune of receiving in her inbox. The higher ups (Hiram’s suited ‘experts’in the big city newspaper biz, guiding her paper with their little‘suggestions’ since Lodge had bought it from Hal) had decided that the best wayto charm small town readers and keep their own numbers in the black was tointroduce a little ‘neighbours helping neighbours’ type of column.

Once a week, in the Saturday edition, advice would be offered on problemswithin the Riverdale community; not big problems like serial killer husbands―ohno, nothing reeking so hideously of personal failure and the endlesspossibilities for suburbia’s disappointments―but tiny ones. My child’s havingtrouble making friends. My neighbour’s building a fence on my side of theproperty line. My husband’s not interested any more. How do I establish goodrapport with my kid’s teacher? How can I spice things up in the bedroom? How,how, how. Help, help, help.

Alice argued. She pleaded. She practically tore her hair out. Then, shesucked it up and posted a notice a week before the suits wanted the new columnto appear, soliciting the absurd troubles of friends and strangers alike. Thesuits told her she could hire someone to be the Register’s very own Dear Abby. Ha.As if she had the money. Dear Alice would have to do.

All week long, the responses flooded in, citizens eager to have theirproblems heard and addressed. Keen to be petted and praised and handled withpatience and benevolence. Alice had to talk herself down from keeping a largebottle of wine in her filing cabinet. There were too many secrets people wanted toconfess (which she didn’t want to hear). Too many attempts made to ask foradvice yet keep control themselves (which she didn’t want to negotiate). Toomany goddamn whiners in this fucking town!

Thursday night rolled around and Alice still hadn’t made a selection, letalone started on the thoughtful, thorough, and perky reply she would beexpected to provide. She locked the door of the Register office and stared at her tired face, reflected in theglass for her against the dark backdrop of the quiet-streeted night.

The phone rang and Alice strode with something less than a briskprofessionalism back to her desk to answer. Even though she didn’t want to bepolite. Even though it was long after public hours.

“Hello?”

“Am I too late to submit my question for the new advice column?”

Alice’s eyes narrowed.

“F.P., is that you? Are you screwing with me?” She pressed the phone harderto her ear.

“Hey! I’m looking for advice, Al. Just tell me, am I too late?”

She let her gaze sweep the deserted office a few times before answering withthe greatest reluctance.

“No.”

“Ok, well you write it down if you want, or just remember it. Whatever youwant,” he repeated. Alice frowned in confusion at his earnest tone.

“Fine, F.P., but―”

“Just don’t interrupt,” he requested. Alice wanted to snap back at him, buta heavy sigh traveled down the line and she stood still and silent instead.

“Go ahead,” she urged softly, really clutching the phone now.

“There’s this girl―woman,” hecorrected himself. “Boy, I bet you’ve heard a million like this.” His laugh,rough and pure, made Alice’s heart thump a little harder. “Anyway, I knew her acouple lifetimes ago, teenage romance, you know? It was a real mess―well, itwasn’t, I was―and I screwed it up sobadly that I drove this girl―woman―awayabout as far as you can drive a person away with both of you still living inthe same small town. But I’ll spare you the details of the youth of a mixed upkid too stubborn to pick up the phone or walk a mile to their spot on theriver―his and the girl’s.”

“Woman’s,” Alice gently corrected, feeling a tremble in her chin.

“Right,” F.P. agreed, with no rebuff for her intrusion. “So she getsmarried, and I get married, and we have kids that belong to other people andwe’re still not talking because,” Alice heard the sound of F.P. scratchingfingernails through his scruff, the way he did when he was nervous or justtongue-tied, “over the years, we’ve just gotten so goddamn good at it.Eventually, neither one of us is so very married anymore, but it’s been so longthat whatever we are now is defined by how hard we’ve shoved each other way,rather than the tenderer times we had as a pair of dumb kids. Stupid,” Alice’sbreath hitched as she heard him laugh weakly, “but head over heels in love in away everybody could see.”

His voice faded into nothing and the air hung between them, Alice standingalone in her office. F.P. wherever it was F.P. went these days since he’d quitthe gang for good. Alice sniffed.

“So, what’s your question?” Without really paying it much attention, sheplucked a pen from her desk and clicked it repeatedly, trying not to look downso the water wouldn’t dribble out of her eyes.

“I wanna know…” A deep, shaky inhale. “…if you think this woman could loveme again. If it is possible, in your professional, highly respected opinion,for this woman to love me again.”

Alice’s lips parted and a sob leapfrogged up her throat. The pen clattereddown on the desk, rolling to wedge under the keyboard.

“While you’re thinking…” F.P.’s low voice requested. Alice closed her eyesand let herself be soothed by it. “…why don’t you turn off your light? I betyour eyes are tired.”

Her fingers hovered over the switch.

“I should finish…” she said, hesitating.

“You’ve been working too late, Al,” he protested.

“I have nobody to go home to,” she confessed at a whisper.

“Just turn off the light.”

Alice obeyed, blinking as her gaze moved from the switch to the office’sfront window. Eyes on the dark she could now see clearly into, Alice hung upthe phone and walked, dreamlike, to the door. She flipped the lock and F.P.walked in.

“You never told me,” she accused without the usual bite she reservedspecifically for conversations with the man before her, the man now reachingout, now taking her hands in his.

F.P. swung his head into a tilt and gave her a look.

“Took you twenty years to ask to hear what I wanted to say.”

Alice looked down at her perfect nude heels, face scrunching like a bad ideatossed into a wastepaper basket. Her tears ran, free.

“I don’t know why I’m crying,” she admitted to F.P., looking up with a wetsmile and an unconvincing shrug.

He pulled her tightly into his arms and she cried hard and happily into hisneck.

“Because you’re still that girl,” he explained, rubbing her back.

“Mixed up?” she choked out sarcastically.

“No. Mine.”