#i am dangling on to not losing my mind by my fingernails at this point

[adlibitur]

not to be old me on main again but

[ssahotchhner]

reckless endangerment

the reader can't let go of the trauma of aaron being kidnapped and tortured six months ago.

pairing: hotch x reader

warnings: kidnapping, torture, smut, dom!hotch

masterlist

questions, comments, concerns

It was stupid to jump on the helicopter that contained at least two terrorists as it took off that roof in Manhattan. Even stupider that you had done it alone, Aaron’s voice screaming for you from behind. You weren’t sure he would forgive you for this if you survived so you supposed it was a good thing you weren’t planning on surviving.

Why did you jump on the helicopter, you may ask, and that would be a reasonable question. Perhaps it was your hero complex finally getting the better of you, knowing the helicopter was planning on flying straight into the Empire State Building, loaded with explosives. Or perhaps it was because these terrorists were part of a group that had tortured Aaron for hours a few months ago when he was on assignment in Pakistan and you had always believed fully in revenge. Aaron did not, he was much better than you.

“Hold your fire!” Aaron had yelled when it was clear you weren’t getting off that helicopter, “Federal agent on board!”

“With all due respect, sir, but you said that helicopter was headed for the Empire State Building where there are thousands of tourists and--”

“I said hold your fire.” Aaron snarls at the leader of the SWAT team. He knows he’s being ridiculous, letting emotion cloud his judgement, but how can he let them blow up a helicopter that you’re on? And why the fuck had you jumped on it in the first place?

The SWAT agent glared at him, “That helicopter gets within a hundred yards of the building, I’m ordering my men to shoot it down.” And then he walked away.

“Hotch!” Morgan yells, the rest of the team not far behind him, “What the hell did she do that for?”

“Your guess is as good as mine.” He responded. He was furious with you, so much so he couldn’t think straight.

JJ steps closer, the panic evident on her face, “She’s not responding on radio.”

He looks at the rest of the team, all of them one step away from absolutely losing their minds over the fact that one of their own had gone on a suicide mission without consulting any of them, and then he looks back to the helicopter that’s getting smaller and smaller by the second.

***

SIX MONTHS AGO

You take a sip from your glass, “I miss you.” You say to your computer screen.

On that screen, SSA Aaron Hotchner smiles back at you, “I know. I’ll be home before you know it.”

“When you get back,” You say slowly, “Can we… Can we tell them? About us?”

By them, he knew you meant the team. He gets quiet, the smile falling off his face, “Are you sure that’s what you want?”

“Hotch, they’re like our family. I feel terrible keeping things from them. It was fun in the beginning, but I don’t want to hide it anymore.”

He swallows, but then nods, “Okay.”

“Really?”

He smiles, “Yeah, of course. I don’t like hiding you either.”

You’re about to tell him you love him when there are suddenly men in the tent, “Aaron?” He looks around and scrambles for his gun, but he’s too late. One of the men hits him in the side of the head with a blunt object and he’s out, “Aaron!” You yell and then the feed cuts out.

***

It was surprisingly easy to disarm them, you supposed because you had surprised them. You easily knocked the gun away from the one who wasn’t piloting, ducked some of his punches before kicking him square in the chest, causing him to fall down. He hit his head on a hard metal handle on the way down, knocking himself unconscious. The Empire State Building was looming closer and closer and you knew if you didn’t stop it, SWAT would shoot down the helicopter. It would lead to less deaths than crashing directly into the building would, but people would still die from fallen debris. You wouldn’t let that happen. You pointed your gun at the man in the cockpit.

***

“Garcia, is her body cam on?”

“No, sir, but I can turn it on.”

Seconds later, the team was viewing the inside of the helicopter. You had knocked one of the men unconscious and handcuffed him to a handle, but you still had to get control of the helicopter.

“Can you hack the helicopter, Garcia?”

He hears the frantic typing of the technical analyst, but she huffs on the other end, “Not under these time constraints no, by the time I get in it’ll be too late.”

“Agent Hotchner, the snipers have locked in on the target.”

“Just give her another minute.”

“We don’t have another minute.”

He sighs, “She’s about to take control of the cockpit.”

“Does she know how to fly a chopper?”

“She’ll figure it out. Stand down, I won’t say it again.” Hotch’s radio goes silent after that.

***

You waste no time getting the team together and forty minutes later you’re sitting in the conference room, styrofoam cup of coffee warming your hands.

“You were video calling Hotch? At 10 PM?” Reid asks. From anyone else, it would sound accusatory, but you knew he was just genuinely curious.

“10 PM here is 7AM for him. I caught him right before he started his day, wanted to ask him about a case.”

Spencer frowns, “What case?”

Your mouth falls open as you try to fumble for something, but it’s already too late. “I knew it.” Rossi says quietly.

You grind your teeth together, “I’m sorry, is dissecting my love life more important to you guys than finding Hotch after he’s been kidnapped by a terrorist group?” You stand, squashing the empty styrofoam cup in your hand and toss it in the waste bin as you walk out of the room.

Moments later, Spencer’s standing next to you and you immediately feel guilty, “I didn’t mean to pry,” He says, “Honestly, the two of you being romantically involved was the last thing I would have guessed.”

The corners of your lips turn up just slightly, “I didn’t mean to snap in there, I know you meant nothing by it, I just… Right before he was taken we talked about telling you all. Together. Once he got back.” You sniff, “Part of me feels like all of you figuring it out without him here is the universe saying he’s going to die out there. I know that’s silly, but…”

“It’s not silly at all. When you’ve witnessed something traumatic, like a loved one being taken away in front of you with no way for you to help, your brain looks for anything to rationalize it. Even the universe predicting the outcome.”

Spencer's voice throwing out facts was actually fairly soothing, “Thank you, Dr. Reid.”

“Come on.” He squeezes your shoulder, “Let’s bring Hotch home.”

***

“Slowly put your hands up and back away from the controls,” You say, flexing your fingers on the gun, “Now!” You say when he doesn’t move. You’re running out of time. Finally, he slowly raises his hands, but at the last second turns and lunges for you. The helicopter tips as you fall over, your gun misfires at the ceiling before tumbling out of the chopper, and you’re free falling until your face slams on the floor and your hands grab the outside edge of the helicopter so hard you’re sure you ripped out your fingernails. Dangling, you grunt as you scramble to hook your feet on something. The pilot, already assuming you’re dead, had gone back to the cockpit.

Finally, you haul yourself back inside and run to him, ripping him out of his seat. He’s bigger than you, though, and quickly overpowers you. His hands wrap around your throat as you’re pinned to the floor and you’re choking, suffocating. All you can think is at least you’ll die before the chopper goes up in flames. And then, in a last ditch effort that’s more involuntary reaction than conscious choice, you’re able to knee him in the groin. His hands immediately leave your throat and instead of taking the moment to catch your breath, you kick him off you and he rolls to the open door. You reach for him, but you’re too late, he falls.

You wanted revenge, but you didn’t want to kill anyone. But you had no time to think about that now. You cough a few times and then stumble over to the cockpit. For the first time since you jumped on the helicopter, you turn your radio back on.

“I don’t suppose one of you knows how to fly a chopper?”

***

When you reenter the conference room everyone’s watching the last few seconds of the video call. They look at you apologetically and you nod in acknowledgement. You have to close your eyes at the sound of your own screams.

“Who was he working to take down while he was there?” Morgan asked.

“The leader of the Kashmir Jehad Force, his name was Syed Khan.” You said.

JJ frowned, “He told you all of this? Wasn’t it classified?”

You nodded, “Hotch asked to bring me on a few weeks ago when they were stuck. I was debriefed, but then they had a break before I could get on the plane. They finished the operation a few days ago, Hotch was supposed to come home in the next couple of days.”

“So Khan is dead?” Rossi asked.

You nod, “No one was supposed to know it was the US Government who did it. They wanted it to look like an accident. They shouldn’t have known Hotch was there.”

“Are you thinking there’s a double agent?” Emily asked.

You shrug, “It’s either that or Hotch was sloppy. Which one would you bet on?” The room is silent. “Exactly.” You say quietly.

***

They don’t have time to be relieved about the fact that you single handedly re-hijacked the chopper because now you need to figure out how to safely land it and you’re a football field length away from the Empire State Building. Reid jumps into action, apparently having read a lot about helicopters when he was younger.

“I’m assuming he had it on autopilot, the button will be glowing green on your left, turn it off and then get ready to steer.”

You sigh, “Spencer, I am so happy to hear your voice.” You flip off the switch like he said and the helicopter immediately starts beeping at you and plummets. You try and remain calm and pull it up and then turn the helicopter in the opposite direction from the building and sigh. “You know how to land this thing, right Reid?”

“Yeah, I’ll walk you through it.”

Hotch has to walk away from the conversation because he’s so caught up in feeling relieved that you’re alive and absolutely furious with you for doing what you did. He thinks he knows why you did it. You had been absolutely torn up when he had been taken while in Pakistan and you had been on edge this whole case knowing the terrorists you were after had been a part of the group that had tortured him.

***

When Hotch wakes up, he’s chained to the ceiling by his wrists, shirtless. He can feel a migraine blooming from his temple where he was hit, but he knows the real pain hasn’t even begun yet. He can hear talking from the corner of the room and before they can see that he’s awake, he begins detaching himself. He pictures your face, smiling at him on your first date. The way you smile sleepily at him when he kisses you first thing in the morning. The way you scrunch up your forehead just a little when you’re thinking really hard. The first time you told him you loved him. And then he’s with you and no one can touch him, no one can hurt him.

***

“Do you know where they would keep him?” Strauss is sitting in the conference room now, looking at you, “You were debriefed, is it enough for a profile?”

You sighed deeply, eyes darting back and forth as you tried to recall all the information you know, “I know most of the profile for Kahn, but we never focused on the group as a whole because we wanted to find him alone when we neutralized him.” You tap your fingers on the table, “I have no idea what a group without Kahn would function like, even knowing what I knew before, the fact that Kahn is gone would change the whole profile. We don’t know who took over.”

“And what do you know about the group?”

“Um,” You blinked a few times, you were having a hard time focusing, “They were all followers, none of them would have been capable of leading. Whoever is in control now was outside of the group.”

“Maybe our double agent?” Emily says.

You nod, “That would make sense.”

Strauss frowns, “You think there’s a double agent?”

“There’s no way the group would have known Hotch was responsible if they didn’t have insider information.” You say.

“What you’re proposing is that a terrorist somehow infiltrated a Top Secret US Operation, waited for us to kill a terrorist leader, then took over that same terrorist group and kidnapped the leader of our operation.” Strauss said and waited for someone to say something, “Does that not sound ridiculous to anyone else?”

“Do you have any other ideas?” You ask sharply.

“Yes, that Agent Hotchner left something behind at the scene that pointed the remaining group in his direction.”

You’re shaking your head, “If you’re so certain that’s the case, then check their old stronghold. If it’s a new guy, they would have abandoned it, which I’m certain they did. But be my guest, waste our time and your men.” You storm out of the conference room for a second time.

***

You find yourself in Aaron’s office and you tilt your head to the side, stretching out a kink in your neck before sitting on the couch. You look around the office, well decorated with plaques commemorating his work in the bureau. When you get up and walk around to his side of the desk, you notice a small gold frame that hadn’t been there before. In it is a small picture of the both of you sitting on the beach at sunset. When had he put this here? When had he decided that it was worth the risk of your coworkers noticing that new frame? Seeing you propped on his desk like that?

And then you were crying and you couldn’t stop it and you just wanted to hold him. “Looks like you just outed your relationship to Erin.” You looked up to see Rossi standing in the doorway and wiped your tears, sniffling.

“Not like she can say anything considering you both make it a habit of checking in at the same hotel every weekend.” You snap, and then sigh instantly, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, kiddo.” He says and walks over to put a hand on your shoulder, “You miss him.”

“A few hours ago we were talking about what we were going to do when he gets back, and now he’s gone.”

“He’s coming back, Y/N. We’ll find him.”

***

You had been right about the former stronghold being abandoned. All signs now pointed to a double agent. You tried to think of everything Aaron had told you about the team that would be a part of the operation, but you kept coming up empty. When a list was brought out with pictures of each you went over it again, every conversation you had had with Aaron since he left.

And then… there was one interaction, one interruption that you and Aaron had both dismissed at the time.

A man walks up behind Aaron while he’s talking to you, debriefing you back when they thought you’d be flying in. At the look on your face, Hotch had turned around to face him, “Can I help you with something?”

The man had simply shook his head and left, but you could have sworn for the rest of the call, he had lingered. Listening. Aaron had explained to you that most of those involved in the operation hadn’t known the full details of the plan up until they had left, in order to prevent situations like the one they were in now.

There were times when Aaron was talking to you on the phone and he told you he felt like someone had been watching him, but you both dismissed it as paranoia. And when the pictures and names were presented to you again, you pointed to the man you were sure you saw on that one video call. “What do we know about him?” You asked.

And the look of dread on Erin’s face when you pointed him out told you everything you needed to know. Garcia did what she always did and soon they knew every detail of his life. He was a textbook narcissist and sociopath. Incredibly charming, everyone loved him, he could convince almost anyone to follow him. He had an FBI background and rumor had it, he thought he was to be the one to lead this operation until Aaron showed up.

“So he takes over an entire terrorist organization just to take out Hotch?” Morgan asks, “We have to be missing something.”

You’re getting impatient, “Well let’s figure it out on the jet.”

“This team is not going to Pakistan.” Erin says firmly, “We will inform an extraction team that’s already on the ground when we figure out where they’re holding him.” You’re already rolling your eyes and preparing a retort and she notes that and continues, “If you can’t compartmentalize your emotions, Agent, I will have you removed from the case.”

You hold yourself back from yelling that you need to be the one who brings him home, because you know how ridiculous it sounds and you being stubborn isn’t helping Aaron. “Fine.” You say, “Here’s what I can tell you.”

***

You’re on top of him, straddling his hips, giggling as your hair falls in your face. He reaches up to push it away and you grind your hips against his. “Hotchner.” You say, “You have to wake up.” He frowns. It’s not your voice.

And before he can stop it, your face swims away and it’s replaced by SSA Scott Carter. It takes him a few moments to realize that Carter isn’t here to help him and that he was probably behind this whole thing. “Carter?” He manages.

Carter smiles, “Ah, the darling of the BAU finally awakens. What were you dreaming about, Hotchner? Sounded juicy. Was it about your girlfriend?” His head shot up at that. If you were in danger, he’d kill this son of a bitch. “Oh, I hit a nerve.” He smirks, “Did you tell her you weren’t planning on coming home this week? That you had some loose strings to tie up?”

Hotch blinked, his brain was still fuzzy from what he assumed was a concussion, “You… You’re the one stealing the military weapons and selling them to the terrorist organizations.” He hadn’t told you he was planning on staying a few more days to figure out who was transporting the weapons, he had still been hoping to figure it out before his flight was scheduled to leave, but Carter had been his prime suspect. Apparently, Carter had figured out he was on to him. It was why he was able to get Khan’s men to drag him from his tent this morning.

Carter gives him a slow clap, “You know, for a profiler, I’m disappointed you hadn’t figured it out sooner, Hotchner. Really, I’m very torn up about it. I have half a mind to fly to Quantico after you’re dead and demand your position.”

Aaron laughs, “You’re out of your mind if you think my team won’t figure this out in a quarter of the time it took me to.”

“What did you tell them, Hotchner?”

“I haven’t been in contact with my team in weeks.”

“Oh, but your girlfriend. Did you think I’d forget she’s a federal agent in the BAU as well?”

“She doesn’t know anything, the mission was classified, you know that.”

“You never mentioned your suspicions of a lucrative weapons trading operation?”

“No.”

Carter hums and takes out a knife, “I don’t believe you.”

Hotch doesn’t flinch, “Then go ahead and carve me up, Carter. You won’t be the first.”

***

With Reid’s help, after working through the night you were able to narrow down the possible holding sights to three places and Strauss ordered three separate teams to check each place. Now the only thing left to do was wait.

You’re sitting alone in Hotch’s office when Penelope, JJ, and Emily all walk in, JJ holding a tea for you. You give her a small smile of thanks as you take it, “You guys don’t have to sit with me, I’m okay.”

“Did you think we were going to just let you gloss over the fact you never told us you were dating Hotch?” Penelope said.

You manage a genuine smile and look down at your tea, “We weren’t sure when or how to tell you guys. Or if it would make things weird.”

JJ shrugs, “We’re already family and families are weird.”

“Not the point,” Penelope interjects, “We need all the details now, who made the first move?”

“He did, actually,” You smile recalling the memory, “He asked me if he could call me outside of work hours and I said sure, he could always call me to discuss a case. Then he got really red and I asked him if there was something else he would want to call me about. And he cleared his throat and asked if he could call me to ask me out to dinner sometime and I laughed and said yes.”

Emily shakes her head, “Hard to imagine that man getting flustered over anything.”

You laugh, “Yeah, he gets really awkward around women he likes romantically, it’s kind of endearing.” You clear your throat, “Thank you guys for trying to distract me.”

JJ nods, “They’re going to find him. Alive.”

You nod, “Yeah. I just wish it was my face he was seeing first.”

***

You had somehow managed to fall asleep at some point, head in JJ’s lap with her fingers gently combing through your hair.

“Guys.” Spencer’s voice jolts you from sleep, “They found him.”

All of you jump up, but you’re the first one out of the room, trailing Spencer, “He’s okay?”

“He’s injured, but yeah, he’s gonna be fine.”

Your legs almost give out, but JJ and Emily come on either side to grab your arms as you walk into the conference room.

“They’re airlifting him to the hospital, he was stabbed a couple of times but they were shallow, some burns, looks like he was waterboarded as well,” Erin Strauss smiles, “But he’s fine. They’ll transfer him to DC first thing in the morning.”

“What about Carter?” You ask.

“It turns out he was stealing weapons from the military and selling them to terrorist organizations and Hotch was onto him. That’s why he took him. Not because of Khan. He wanted to know how much Hotch knew and if he had told you anything.”

You shake your head, “I didn’t know anything about that.”

Strauss nodded, “Carter has people here. Hotch didn’t mention it to you on purpose. So that they wouldn’t take you if something happened.”

You close your eyes. That man, always trying to protect you. Always being the hero. You could have found him hours ago if he had just told you. But that was the man you had fallen in love with.

***

You insisted on being on the roof of the DC hospital when the chopper landed and you charmed all the nurses into allowing you into every room he was wheeled in until he was settled. They had sedated him for the long flight and it seemed he would wake at any moment. You slid your small, cold hand, into his large, warm one and waited.

“I know that ice cold hand,” He said slowly. His voice was gravely and it brought tears to your eyes to see that he was trying to smile. “Oh, hey, don’t cry.” He reaches his hand up to stroke your cheek and you turn your head into his hand to kiss his palm, sniffling.

“I’m very happy to see you.” You manage, choking down your sobs, “I didn’t think I was going to see you again.” His smile grows, “It’s not funny!”

“It’s very funny, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you cry over anything and certainly not me.” You glare at him through your tears and he chuckles, “Ah, there she is, tough guy. I know the only thing holding you back from punching me in the shoulder is that I’m injured.”

“Oh, I’ll still do it if you don’t shut that pretty mouth of yours.”

He smirks, “Promise?”

And finally you break into laughter and lean over him to kiss his mouth, “You should’ve told me about Carter.” You say, “You could have at least told me you were in danger.”

“And what, have you worried from an ocean away when it might have been nothing? I needed more evidence.”

You bite your lip, “I’ve never been so scared in my whole life, watching you get taken like that.”

“I came home.” He says softly, “I’m okay, I promise.”

You swallow, “Did they get Carter?” He nods, “And what about the guys that took you in?”

“Sweetheart, that’s a whole terrorist organization, no they didn’t get them.”

“They kidnapped a federal agent!” You say indignantly.

“And the federal agent is alive.”

“But—!”

He puts a finger over your mouth to quiet you, “Don’t make me argue with you like your unit chief right now. I just want to be your boyfriend.”

You sigh, “Okay,” Leaning over him, you rest your head on his chest and he begins stroking your hair. Having not slept at all since Hotch had been taken, you fall asleep like that. Finally at peace.

***

You hadn’t really been able to let it go, even when Hotch was better and back to work, he could tell you were harboring real anger about his kidnappers.

And on that morning, the morning you jumped on the god forsaken helicopter, when the BAU was asked to come to New York to investigate a possible terrorist threat, he debated telling you not to come. The government had suspicions that they were here to take revenge for Khan and he knew you’d be upset with being benched.

“Hotch, I’m fine. I’m not angry.” You had said when he pulled you into his office after debriefing the rest of the team.

“If you even hint at taking impulsive, reckless risks I will suspend you immediately, understood?”

You sigh, “I hate when you use your boss man voice with me.”

“Y/N—” He starts impatiently.

“Yeah, yeah, fine, understood. No being reckless. Got it.”

His eyes scan your face to see if you’re lying, “Good.” He says finally and presses a kiss to your forehead, “Let’s go then.”

He should have known you were lying. It was only the previous night you had woken him up tossing and turning from a nightmare. When he had finally gotten you awake you practically flung yourself at him, arms twining themselves around his neck as you caught your breath, “I thought you were gone again.” You had said breathlessly. And he had wordlessly held you to him, running his fingers through your hair until you were asleep again. It hadn’t been the first time he had had to comfort you. You had had far more nightmares about him being taken than he had about himself being tortured. Truth be told, he had been through far worse than being kidnapped and tortured for 24 hours. He knew it made you feel weak, the nightmares, when you weren’t even the one who had been tortured so he never brought them up. Never made you talk about them. But they worried him all the same. You relived the trauma again over and over, nearly every night. How were you expected to let the anger go when you were still living through it?

He should have known, but he let you out in the field anyway. Would that not put in question his ability to lead? His ability to lead with you on the same team?

He can barely see through his anger as he turns back to where Reid is instructing you to land. When you successfully land and jump out of the chopper, the rest of the team gathers around you to hug you, but Hotch stays back, watching.

When you notice, you walk over to him, “Hotch, I’m sorry, I know I shouldn’t have--”

“You’re suspended for at least a month, if not more.” He starts, “You’re lucky I don’t remove you from this team all together.”

You frown, “Aaron, I was able to detain one of the suspects, now we can learn more about the group--”

“By doing what you did you put yourself and hundreds of civilians at risk. We could have shot down the chopper, but because you jumped onboard I had to instruct them to stand down. Which, by the way, I had to do several times because they were more than willing to kill you to get that chopper down, do you have any idea the damage you caused? What could have happened if you didn’t get control of that chopper when you did?”

“I… Baby, I’m sorry--” You reach your hand out to put on his arm, but he pulls away.

“Don’t talk like that, I’m not your boyfriend right now, I’m your unit chief. Now give me your badge and gun.”

You know you can’t blame him, he had warned you he would do this and you had disobeyed him intentionally. But still, your hands shake as you hand over your gun and badge. You don’t say anything else as you leave the roof, heading down all the way to ground level to get a taxi back to the hotel. And then you wait. You lay on your back and wait for the sound of the door opening and when it does hours later, you push yourself up and sit cross legged on the bed.

“Hi.” You say softly when he walks in.

He spares you a glance before heading to the bathroom without a word. You sigh and fall back on the bed. When you hear the shower running you decide to undress yourself and head in.

He sighs when he realizes you’ve joined him, but doesn’t object when you wrap your arms around his waist and press your face to his back, “I’m sorry.” You murmur.

“You keep saying that, but I know if you were given the opportunity to do it all again, you’d make the same decision.”

You pause at that, “You’re right, I don’t regret what I did, but I’m sorry I had to disobey you to do it.”

He turns in your arms and looks down into your eyes, “Do you not see the problem with that? You did what you did out of revenge. You let your emotions get the best of you, you broke the number one rule of being in the BAU.”

“Those men were prepared to die at all costs, I just didn’t want them to get off that easy. I want them to pay for what they did to you, and this way, at least one of them will. Would you not have done the same? Did you not murder Foyet after he had given himself up because he had killed your wife and threatened your son?”

“Don’t.” He warns.

You scoff, “You have this God complex sometimes, Aaron, and it’s so frustrating. You can do whatever you want because you always have a reason and from your standpoint you’re always right. But whenever one of your toy soldiers falls out of line, it’s a different story--”

“What I did with Foyet did not put myself or civilians at risk.” He says firmly.

“You went in alone.” You said, “You didn’t wait for backup.”

He looks down and shakes his head, “You cannot compare what you did today to the things I’ve done because I would never endanger hundreds of innocent people just for some petty revenge.”

He thinks your eyes water, but it’s difficult to tell in the shower, “It wasn’t petty, Aaron. Not to me.”

He sighs and bends his forehead to yours, bringing both hands up to cradle your face, “Honey, I’m fine. You have to let it go.”

You close your eyes at his touch and lean up just slightly to capture his mouth with yours and as he sighs into your mouth you pull away, just slightly, “If it was me… If I was the one who was kidnapped and tortured in a country thousands of miles away, what would you have done?”

He swallows, and searches your face, “There wouldn’t have been a single protocol that I wouldn’t have broken to get you home safe.”

You nod, “I’m sorry. I understand why you’re upset, I put others in danger. It won’t happen again.”

He kisses you hard on the mouth, “You’re still suspended.”

You hum and he pushes you against the shower wall, his hand coming up to rest on your throat, “Are you going to punish me?” You asked breathlessly.

“Maybe.” He leans down and scrapes his teeth against your neck, hand tightening around your throat just slightly in warning when you squirmed. “I’m still angry with you.” He says, his eyes looking up to meet yours, tightening his grip on your throat again.

You can barely breathe through his grip, “For disobeying you?”

“No.” He says roughly, “For nearly getting yourself killed.”

You manage to swallow, “And that would have upset you?”

The desire immediately fizzles out of his eyes and he drops his hand, “Of course it would, how could you ask that?”

“I didn’t mean anything by it, I just…” You shrug, “I don’t know, forget it.”

“No,” He puts his hands on your shoulders to keep you from leaving, “Do you really think I wouldn’t have been upset if you died?”

“Aaron,” You say slowly, “You are the love of my life. But Haley was yours. And that’s okay, I don’t expect anything else, but it’s just a fact of our relationship that I love you more than you love me.”

He stares at you blankly for another moment, and then looks away to turn the shower off. He leaves you standing there, wet and naked as he climbs out of the shower and towels himself off silently.

“Aaron.” You say after he’s been silent for so long, stepping out of the shower and wrapping your own towel around yourself.

“You think there can only be one?”

You blink, “What?”

“A person can have more than one love of their life, you think you just get one and done?”

You frown, walking over to the bed and lowering yourself onto it, “Yes, that’s the whole concept.”

He scoffs at you, “I forget how young you are, you think you know everything there is to know about relationships, you have no idea.”

“Don’t patronize me.”

“Me?” He raises his eyebrows, “Don’t patronize you, you’re the one who just tried to convince me you know more about my feelings, about who I love than I do. That’s quite patronizing, wouldn’t you say?”

You look down at your hands, “I didn’t say anything that wasn’t true.”

He sighs and walks over to you, crouching in front of you, “Haley was the love of my life, that’s true. But in my head,” He swallows, “There’s the me from before Haley, and there’s the me from after Haley. And you,” He brushes his index finger over the tip of your nose, “Were the person who made the me after Haley believe I deserved love again. You are just as much the love of my life as she is and I have no idea where I’d be right now if I hadn’t met you.”

You finally give him a little bit of a smile, “Probably even more insufferably miserable than you are now.”

He chuckles and you relish in the sound, bringing your fingers up to lightly stroke his cheek, “I’m sorry. For everything today, being reckless, bringing up Haley… I’m sorry, I was out of line.”

“It’s okay,” He says softly, “But you pull a stunt like that again, I’ll fire you.”

“Yes sir.” You say, smirking as you lean in to kiss him, twining your arms around the back of his head. Gently, you tug and pull him back on the bed, on top of you and you feel him smile into your mouth.

Since you’re already naked from the shower, he can’t stop his hands from wandering across your soft skin. His hand grips your thigh, lifting up your leg and allowing him to squeeze your ass. You gasp into his mouth just the way he likes and he bites down on your lower lip. “Aaron,” You whine.

“Did you want something, sweet girl?” He whispers in your ear as his hand slides between your legs.

It’s not fair, he knows when he works you up like this it’s nearly impossible to get a coherent word out of you. You manage only to moan his name again as he slowly, torturously, rubs over you again. “Come on, baby, use your words.” He teases and you can hear the smile in his voice. Bastard.

He runs a single finger down your folds, “Should I make you come with my fingers?” He slowly dips a finger inside you, eating up your reaction as your mouth falls open and a moan claws its way up your throat. “Or,” He pulls his finger out and you glare at him, “I could do it with my mouth.” Your eyes roll back when he licks you and you physically ache at his touch. But then he stops, “Or maybe,” He crawls back up to kiss your mouth and you can taste yourself on his tongue, “I won’t let you come at all since you’ve been such a bad girl.”

“Please,” You whine, “Please, I’ll be good. I promise.”

When he pulls back to look at you, his pupils are blown out and you feel such a rush seeing your effect on him. “We’ll see.” He says softly and without warning thrusts into you. Your back arches against the mattress as you curse. When your eyes meet his, he has a look of such confident satisfaction it nearly makes you come undone right there. “I think,” He pulls out slowly, “I’ll take my time with you tonight.” He reaches up a hand and wraps it around your throat again, “Is this okay?” He says softly, breaking his role for the first time.

You nod, “Please.” You say again, knowing how he loves when you beg. He scans your face once and then he grins again, tightening his hand around your throat until you’re gasping. “Good girl,” He whispers in your ear and slowly pushes into you again, gently biting your ear.

“Baby,” You manage with what little air you’re able to take in. He immediately stops, taking his hands off you, but you shake your head and pull his hand back to your throat, “Harder.”

He sighs and shakes his head, “Fuck,” He curses, wrapping both hands around your throat, “You’re gonna kill me one day.”

And you smirk as he pushes down on your windpipe before slamming his hips into you at full force, you’re rapidly approaching climax, but Aaron can tell. You don’t know how he can tell, but he immediately slows his hips and takes his hands off your throat. You gasp at the sudden release and cough a little bit, “I didn’t tell you you could come.”

“I didn’t,” You say breathlessly, your heart hammering against your ribcage.

“You almost did, and you would have if I didn’t stop.”

“I’m sorry.”

He looks at you and tilts his head to the side as he watches you, “Turn around.” He says calmly.

You hide your smile as you do what you’re told, turning on your knees, letting your forearms and face fall to the pillow. He roughly pulls at your waist, repositioning you and pulling your ass up even farther. He runs a hand over your ass, “Look at you, so pretty for me.” He says softly before pulling back his hand and smacking it hard against your ass. You moan into your pillow and then he’s inside you, a fistful of your hair in his fist.

“Are you gonna be good for me?” He asks breathlessly.

“Yes.”

He slams into you roughly making you yelp, “And you’ll never disobey me again?”

You swallow, “Never.”

He releases your hair and leans over you, sweetly kissing your shoulder and you can feel his smile against your skin, “That’s my sweet girl.” He reaches his arm around your front and begins to massage your clit as he thrusts into you. “Come for me, baby.” He says and speeds up his movements. It’s all the permission you need and you’re immediately unraveling. It takes everything in you not to collapse onto your stomach until he’s also climaxing, brought to his edge by the pulsing of your walls. He swears and collapses fully onto your back, your knees giving way under his weight.

You both lay there like that, him resting on your back in silence for a few moments, catching your breath. Then, Aaron sits up quickly, hands searching your skin, “I’m sorry, baby, did I hurt you?”

“No.” You say, but he presses kisses all over your skin anyway, immediately entering aftercare mode.

You sigh sleepily and pull him to you, wanting to snuggle with him. He obliges, wrapping his arms around you and nuzzling into your neck. “I love you.” He murmurs into your skin, “So much.”

You hum, “I love you. Thank you for not firing me.”

“If you ever end up getting yourself killed I’ll never forgive you.”

You chuckle and kiss his temple, “Noted.”

[elsanna-shenanigans]

June Contest Submission #21: Dashing

Words: ca. 5,500 Setting: 18th Century Caribbean/ Non-Canon   Lemon: lime CW: Mild Nudity/ Swearing/ Incest/ NO Lemons/ Small Limes/Violence

A/N: 

Bold/Italic indicates that a character is writing. 

Italic(with no Bold)  indicates a character’s inner thoughts. 

This story is a work of fiction and is not intended to represent a shred of historical accuracy in any way. 

Dashing

Dearest mother, 

is this truly where you envisioned my life to carry me?  Did you foresee that your dutiful daughter, Elsa, would be crated onto a ship bound for worlds unknown when you married her to Lord Hans Westergaard of the Dutch West India Trading Company? Did you not wish to keep your only daughter close, say on the same continent? I apologize, I should not start a letter so drearily. Conceal, don’t feel. It has been weeks at sea and I am fatigued. Before I forget, I must thank you for the wonderful parting gift. A book of dashing swashbucklers to distract from the otherwise ceaseless monotony of blue only occasionally broken by a thin veil between Heaven and Poseidon. We have entered a bit of unfortunate weather and the ship rolls like a devil. The thunder grows ever louder, and sometimes it sounds as if it’s right on top—

The wooden crate that was the captain’s quarters flipped on its side. Tables, chairs, and a lady found themselves tumbling across the lacquered walls of the gilded box before falling back to the polished floor now stained with spilled ink and a smattering of blood. 

Elsa held her head as she shook off the ringing in her ears. The doors to the cabin burst open where a panicked, and soaked, Hans Westergaard stood with arms outstretched between the paneled glass and his heart beating to the drone of endless rain.

“Hans..? What was—” 

“Pirates!! Hurry, hide yourself! They are already boarding!”  

Pirates? Attacking in the middle of a storm?

Elsa’s thoughts were cut short by the screams of men slicing through the roar of thunder and canons. Hans had locked the door behind him, leaving the fear to bubble within her corset. She frantically ran to the closet, but her hands had begun to shake as she fumbled with the latch. 

Another loud *THOOM* rocked the cabin, but this time it was against the locked door. 

Elsa finally got the latch open and threw herself inside amongst the forest of silk and linen. From within her sanctuary, all she could do was listen and pray. 

 *THOOM* 

Glass and wood crashed. 

Heels of heavy boots knocked.

*knock*

*knock*

The shrill of Elsa’s breath. 

She held her quivering lips and tried to force the air back into her lungs. 

The *knock* of boots grew. It trickled, slowly, until the canals of her ears were flooded. So close that she felt as if she would overflow with the anxiety and trapped air. 

Then silence. 

God, please protect me. Or send someone to protect me. Please, send anyone! Send Mr. Crusoe if you have to!

She was hit with a blinding light…

and a hand around her throat. 

NO!! Get your filthy hands off me!

She screamed in her mind for her voice was clutched in the coarse grip around her neck. She fought with all her pampered might, her arms striking in all directions until they too were held in place by a second firm shackle. 

Finally, Elsa managed to force her voice through the death grip. 

“Get…. your brutish hands… OFF ME!!” 

Blackness began to overtake her vision. The brute had her lifted against the back of the closet, her feet dangled in the air and the force around her neck tightened. 

Her ears were once again flooded, but with the sound of her own heartbeat as the blood in her veins struggled to course. Until a most unexpected sound washed everything else into non-existence. 

“Elsa…?” 

….

That voice… a woman’s voice? I am being manhandled by a woman? And how does she know my name? 

Elsa forced the darkness in her eyes to recede. The grip loosened and she fell to the closet floor. All she could see through the blur of burst veins was a wide, feathered hat, impossibly maroon hair, braided and beaded and rather filthy, and two verdant gems staring with a wide-eyed familiarity. 

I know those eyes… 

…..

“Anna…?” 

Her attacker backed away, seemingly unsure of what she was looking at. 

They stood within that broken, gilded box of a captain’s cabin. Alone with the sounds of swords and gunfire lost amongst the storm of surprise and uncertainty surrounding them. 

Elsa could not bear it any longer. 

“What happened to your hair?” 

And years of separation vanished. 

“My HAIR?! It’s been ten years and the first thing you do is judge my hair?!? Not, ‘oh hey, Anna, you look good for a dead girl’ or ‘oh my darling little sister, it’s been so long. I’ve missed you terribly?’. Either of those things would have been more normal!” 

Elsa picked herself up and gently caressed the rapidly forming bruise around her neck.

“Nothing about this is normal! You tried to strangle me!”

“Oh relax. I was just trying to stop you from screaming and then knock you out.” 

“Ah, I see. I am most relieved to hear that your plan was to simply render me unconscious.”

Anna’s head jerked back in a motion of mild disgust. 

“Why are you talking like that? You didn’t use to sound so hoity-toity.” 

Elsa looked rather indignant at the accusation as she mumbled “It’s not ‘hoity-toity’. Its grace and sophistication”. 

“Well, you’re not in a graceful or sophisticated situation so come on.”  

Anna grabbed her slender arm and she had almost forgotten that the hulking brute who was upon her moments before was the same lithe girl pulling her out into the rain as easily as a toddler dragging her teddy. The rain had washed the image of her sister away and all that was left was a pirate. 

And her fear. 

The ship rocked, lulled by the sudden absence of violence. Elsa found herself before a horde of men. Each one a more frightening image than the last and each one fit into her imaginary brute far better than the frame of her sister. 

So much for Mr. Crusoe…

An immensely rotund man stepped forward with a sneer in his mouth and a hunger in his eye. Elsa had no idea someone got so large living on a ship. “Oi Cap’n! You found a bit o’ treasure there!” 

His grubby hand reached for Elsa’s bosom in the most indelicate manner before a blade came between his dirty fingernail and the lace of her corset. 

“You know the rules, Bob,” Anna said with a voice commanding Poseidon’s wrath. “You touch her and you lose a finger.” 

Bob had the look of a scolded schoolboy as Anna dragged Elsa to the edge of the ship. “Aw cap’n… you always get the blonde ones!” 

Anna spun around in a fury, leaving Elsa to stand perilously on the thin plank that formed a makeshift bridge. She panicked as she fought for her balance in her heels and voluminous dress that was gaining pounds of water every second. 

“You shut your hole or I will shove Pete’s peg leg so far down your throat that you’ll be a three-legged barstool on Tortuga with a sign that says ‘reserved for Whale-Butt Willie’. Do I make myself CLEAR?” 

*Silence* as the men all looked at each other in submission. 

“Aye, cap’n…” 

Elsa swung her arms in vain to save herself from falling when Anna decided to skip the plank altogether, lifted her like a commoner’s bride, and leaped across the gap between ships. She was carried to a new gilded box, although this one noticeably less gilded but with significantly richer contents. 

“Let go of me, Anna! I am not a child, I am your older sis—” 

Elsa landed on her butt as Anna crossed her arms. 

“No, you’re not. Because your little sister died ten years ago. Now be quiet while I think of what to do with you.”

Elsa did her best to wring the rain out of her skirt, channeling the fear and anger building from her situation. 

“What to do with me? You mean like the other ‘blondes’? Tell me, Anna, what exactly do you plan to do with me?” 

“Elsa, don’t.”

“Not only do you slay men, but you bed women as well? Do you mean to have your way with me?” The anger was rapidly overtaking her fear as she glared at her little sister who still stood with her arms crossed, looking away.

“What? Gross, you’re my sister!” 

“I don’t claim to know the depravities you pirates get up to. And you just said that I am not your sister. How am I to interpret that other than to treat you as you appear. A pirate who’s kidnapped me.” 

Elsa’s gaze turned hard as thoughts filled her head of all the women Anna had grabbed by the neck and forced her will upon. 

“…How could you, Anna?”

Anna’s shoulders visibly stiffened. 

“I said, don’t.” 

But Elsa did anyway. 

“How could you do that to those women? You have your way with them and then what? Sell them into slavery? Is that my fate? You call yourself a woman while forcing—” 

*SLAP*

Elsa stood, speechless, as a red brand formed across her cheek. The pain was nothing compared to the shock that came from her sister’s palm now embedded into her skin.  

“Don’t you DARE judge me! You have been out here for all of five minutes. I have been on these waters since I was twelve FUCKING YEARS OLD! You don’t think I have had to put up with some shit?! You stand there in that ivory tower and judge my life when you don’t know the first thing about it!” 

Anna’s chest was heaving in rage while she stood pointing an accusatory finger. Elsa remained motionless and silent, still trying to process the sensation across her cheek and the words being said. 

Anna’s breathing started to calm. She crossed her arms again and turned so that she didn’t have to look at the bright red memento left behind by her hand. 

“I…I don’t force them. I never force them. Don’t assume you know what life has been like for me. I could never do those things. I would never. My ship has rules, and those rules include being god-damned respectful so you better be god-damned respectful of me.”

Elsa’s fingers spread across her cheek, matching tip-for-tip against the first contact she has had with her sister since they were children. Her voice was low, almost a whisper. 

“You’re right. I don’t know what your life has been like. I don’t know what drove you to run away, but I have a pretty good idea seeing as how I lived it in your stead. Perhaps… I sound so much like mother because…

… I was left behind.”

Anna felt the words land across her cheek as assuredly as Elsa felt her palm. She refused to turn and look at her sister. The shame of the truth was staring at her from across her own cabin and she would not bear it. She quietly stormed toward the door. 

“Anna…? Where are you going?” 

Still refusing to turn, Anna simply said “someone needs to pilot the ship” and walked into the rain. 

I sat alone, looking out my window for years wondering if she would ever return to me, and now that she has she slaps me and holds me captive so that she can decide my fate?

Storm be damned, Elsa launched herself through the doors and turned toward the banister that led to the helm above. Her adrenaline-fueled legs carried her halfway up the stairs before she saw Anna at the wheel, staring at her in absolute shock. 

Their eyes met and time seemed to slow to a fraction. Elsa felt the sound of Anna’s name on her breath as she began to release it into the howling wind. She didn’t feel the rain, or hear the shouting, or see the pully flying through the air as it slammed into her skull. All she knew was that she was about to yell out her sister’s name after she failed to do so ten years ago from her window as she watched Anna leave her behind. 

 \\///////////////////////////////

I’ve had the most wondrous dream. My ship was besieged by pirates! But I was not afraid for I was confronted by a most dashing figure. He was rough around the edges but with the kindest green eyes, like a crystal spring dusted with scattered sundrops through the canopy. He held me with such strength as he kissed me most tenderly. I can still taste the spicy sweetness on his lips; rum and coconut. 

There he is now! The hat is missing but there is no mistaking those piercing eyes. And that hair, such an unthinkable maroon color. Yes, my dashing pirate. 

\\///////////////////////////////

“Hey, you’re alive!” 

As her vision cleared, Elsa lay with her back in the sand and stared wide-eyed and mouth ajar at the woman leaning above her. 

“I… where…? ……..Anna?” 

Anna leaned in close to inspect for signs of a concussion or any other injury. So close that Elsa caught a familiar scent from her sister’s lips.

Rum and coconut…

“Well, you look alive at least so that’s something.”

Elsa slowly sat up, fighting back a sudden pain in her temple. She reached for the side of her head and found a swath of fabric wrapped around. 

“What happened?” 

“You got knocked overboard. It was pretty awesome actually. You flew clear over the railing.” 

“How did I get here?” 

Anna placed her index finger under her bottom lip while she began to sort through her memories. 

“Let’s see, first, mother married you to a slaver. Then I think I cut his head off but it’s hard to remember which dead dutchman was him. Then—” 

“Anna! I meant how did I end up on this beach?” 

“Oh! Be more specific, jeez. The storm carried us for a while and we washed up here.” 

“You… jumped in after me?” 

Anna’s face turned solemn but determined. She stood, clearly uncomfortable with the words she was about to say. 

“Of course. I wasn’t going to leave you behind again.” 

And despite the fact that she managed to get the words out, she still walked away in that same manner trying to keep the unsettling shame at arm’s length. 

As Elsa watched her sister stroll up the beach toward the tree line, the reality of her predicament suddenly dawned on her. 

“Wait, Anna! Are you telling me that we are stranded on a deserted island?!” 

While keeping her stride, Anna replied with a simple “yup”. 

Elsa scrambled off the sand after her, with a newfound panic quickly settling in. 

“What are we going to do? How are we going to survive?! We are going to starve to death. No, we will die of thirst first. Or perhaps cannibals will eat us—” 

“Oh for Christ’s sake, chill out! There’s no such thing as cannibals on these islands. Seriously, you read too many books. Relax, this isn’t the first deserted island I’ve been stuck on.”

As they made their way off the beach Elsa saw swaths of blue cloth tied around branches and an array of wide leaves that formed a surprisingly well constructed little bungalow complete with a floor, walls of fabric to keep the bugs out, and a watertight roof. 

“You’ve already made a house. How long was I unconscious?”

“Only since last night,” Anna said with a casual shrug. 

“You constructed all this in a single morning?” Elsa’s jaw had dropped. “Where did you get this material…” 

As she examined the blue strips of fabric and the makeshift netting her eyes grew wide and wider as she inspected herself to find that she was clad in nothing but her shift dress undergarment. 

“That’s my dress!” 

“Ya, you had enough fabric in that thing I could’ve made a whole other house! And the boning from the corset was a real help getting things sturdy.” 

“You undressed me!” 

“So? We’re sisters last I checked.” 

Elsa’s modesty couldn’t help but notice that Anna was equally in a state of undress unfit for a lady. She wore a pair of simple slacks that ended at the middle of her calves and tied around a low waist with a piece of rope. Her shirt, or lack thereof, was missing a few buttons, a few sleeves, and several inches too short. Her bare ankles mocked Elsa’s sensibilities and were only eager to point out that Elsa’s ankles were also parading around the sand in nothing more than her pale skin. 

“Last I checked, you told me that my sister had died. So who are you to take off my dress?” she said hoping that she wasn’t blushing. 

Anna sat in her makeshift hovel with a sudden onset of melancholy. 

“…You’re right. I’m sorry. The sister that you knew may have died, but perhaps I was hoping… considering that I saved you and all, that you could be… this Anna’s sister.”

Elsa came over, her heart suddenly heavy as she watched this brutish pirate transform into the girl she last saw ten years ago. She sat down next to Anna, their exposed freckled shoulders barely a hairsbreadth away. 

“Anna… why did you run away?”

Anna looked down, twiddling her thumbs. 

“I… I was betrothed to Duke Weasleton.”

Elsa tried to recall but confusion had clouded her memory. 

“Weasleton? But he was so old. And didn’t he—” 

“Die? Yes, he did die. After I left a letter opener in his eye socket.” 

“Oh my God, Anna!

“Mother was going to disown me and sell me to a brothel. No way was I going to let that happen so I ran. Pretended I was a boy and stowed away on the first ship bound for the Caribbean.” 

Without giving Elsa any time to dwell on her history, Anna changed the subject. 

“I thought you were destined for the cloister?”

Taking the cue, Elsa obliged her sister’s request. 

“I was, but after you left… I became mother’s only method for climbing the social ladder. You know I was never comfortable at social gatherings. Mother basically told me to smile, and not say anything or do anything. Conceal, don’t feel. Eventually, I caught the eye of one of the ‘princes’ of the West India Trading Company. I think you and I have spoken more words in the last few minutes than he and I spoke during our entire marriage, which admittedly was only just before we set sail.”

“You’re welcome.” 

“I’m sorry?” 

“For cutting your husband’s head off. Let’s have a toast!” 

Anna reached behind her and pulled out from regions unknown a massive coconut. She reached around her other side and pulled out from different parts unknown a large knife. With the coconut in one hand and the knife in the other, she dexterously spun the coconut in her palm while slashing with the knife in precise timing to cleanly create a neat opening off the top of the husky surface. 

“How did you do that?”

“Lots of practice. You should have seen the gash on my hand the first time I tried.” 

“I’m glad I didn’t.” 

Anna gave her sister the newly opened coconut and proceeded to open her own in the same fashion. With her own drink now ready, she motioned to Elsa’s coconut. 

“To dead husbands and forgotten mothers!”

Elsa, a bit hesitant, found herself suddenly distracted. The scent of the freshly opened coconut combined with the stare of those green emeralds triggered a flutter she did not understand. She mentally shook the feeling away, concussion no doubt, and lightly knocked her coconut against the other. 

“And to new sisters!” 

\\///////////////////////////////

I have been stranded on an island with an unexpected companion. I don’t know how long it’s been. Time seems to pass differently here. 

A moment ago, I found myself watching her for what seemed like hours. She was squatting on the beach, her elbows propped on her knees with her hands between them while she stared most intently at the sand below. I noticed that she was watching a crab enter to and fro from its burrow. At one point the crab came out of the hole and started scurrying about with its claws in the air like a little dance. Then Anna raised her own hands into the air, made little clamping motions, and started to scuttle across the sand after her newfound companion. It was absolutely absurd, this grown woman scurrying like a crab on the sand. 

I can’t seem to reconcile this image of my sister who is just as boisterous, playful as ever, with this other woman. She hunted a wild boar, which she carried over her shoulders, seemingly with no effort, through the forest, barefoot, without a shred of decency. I could see the muscles of her arms tense under the weight. The freckled skin of her stomach has seen far more sun than any woman ought to. The heat and exertion caused beads of sweat to travel down her neck and across her collar bone… 

It is a sight that I have neither seen nor read in my entire life and yet it is here and churning with the image of my sister scuttling across the beach. How do I reconcile such a thing? 

And to make matters worse, she does not conduct herself as a lady should at all. As we explored the island, we hiked through rather rugged terrain. The ground was painful and I took quite a stumble. She had the gall to reach out and assist me as if she was a gentleman! I took the hand, grateful for the assistance nonetheless and she continued to aid me through our trek. As we scaled a wet rock, she lifted me as easily as the dead boar, and as I soared through the air, our arms glistening from the water and sweat, I couldn’t help but look up into those eyes. I thought I knew those eyes but… sometimes they stare at me in such a way… 

How do I navigate these torrential feelings as they spin around my thoughts like the whirlpool of Odysseus? How can a single person be your oldest, dearest friend and yet also someone who you’ve just met… and who makes your heart skip a beat when you reach out and take her hand…and look into her eyes…?

“Wat’cha doin?” 

Startled, Elsa nearly jumped out of her skin and sent the paper in her hand flying into the air where she hastily grabbed them to whisk away from her sister’s prying eyes. Anna had magically appeared behind Elsa as she sat on the beach. 

A shudder trembled across Elsa’s skin as she felt the linen fabric of Anna’s shirt press against her bare shoulder blades. Two freckled arms wrapped around her shoulders and embraced her in a close but casual fashion. Yet Elsa did not receive such affection casually. She bolted up and spun to look at her younger sister who knelt in the sand with her head cocked like a confused fox. 

“Really, Anna, why do you not act like a lady!” 

Her response to this was to lean back, causing her shirt to stretch against her chest, and bend one knee over the other as she gave a taunting eyebrow raise to Elsa. 

“I am perfectly capable of acting ‘like a lady’. In fact, It’s one of my favorite things to do.”

Elsa looked away at the sight sprawled out on the sand, basking in the sun and taunting her with wiggling eyebrows. 

“Oh really?”

“You didn’t see my closet of dresses in my cabin. I can pull off quite a figure if I want to.” 

“When does a pirate have need of dresses?” 

Anna grew a mischievous smile. She rose from the sand and slowly sauntered over to where Elsa was standing.

“It’s one of my favorite cons. I go into one of the big cities, Port Royal or Havanna, I insert myself into the circles of aristocratic socialites whose husbands are either too preoccupied or too deceased to notice. I mingle, I dance…” 

She reached out with her hand and placed a single pad of the tip of her middle finger on the edge of Elsa’s shoulder so lightly that Elsa barely felt it and yet a new shudder rocked her entire body. 

“Maybe I enter the service of a… very respectable woman…”

The fingertip slowly danced across Elsa’s shoulder. It skipped over the sleeve and made its meandering way toward the base of her neck. All the while, Anna stepped around to once again place herself against the rapidly stiffening back of her sister. That single middle finger now moved in short, deliberate strokes, up and down, gradually undulating pressure against Elsa’s neck. 

Her head couldn’t help but lean to the side, coaxing the finger to lengthen its stride, where she unwittingly leaned into the soft whisper of Anna’s voice against her ear. 

“As I…delicately pull at the laces that bind such a… woman of standing, releasing her from her monotonous life of apathy, I let my voice carry between the edge of my lips and the arch of her ear… 

‘What more will you have of me, my lady…’”  

“I would have you devour me.”

“What?”

“What?” Elsa’s entire body and mind froze. 

I didn’t… I couldn’t! Did I just…? 

“Did you just—”

“I just—  I… jest! Yes, I jest, obviously. Really, Anna, you think I don’t know how to tease you back. I may be socially inept but I can surely tease my sister!”

Elsa broke free from her sister’s thrall, clutching the papers against her thundering chest. She shuffled down the beach, her legs as rigid as wooden pillars kicking up sand in their wake. Anna watched the pitiful sight stumble over a piece of driftwood, only to pick herself back up and continue on as if nothing had happened.

\\///////////////////////////////

Conceal, don’t feel. I must conceal for I can not possibly feel what I am feeling. I can not. I do not. I love my sister because she is my sister. I have missed this connection for so long… my mind is just confused. The heat, the concussion, the sheer insanity of this place. I should find Anna. Make sure that she didn’t take what I said as anything other than sisterly teasing.

As if on cue, Anna came bounding down the beach, arm swinging wildly to get Elsa’s attention. 

“Els! Come look what I found!” 

She grabbed Elsa’s arm and started pulling her back toward the way she came. Elsa kept pace this time and her arm relaxed into the grip that led it down the moonlit beach. They made their way over rocks and turned a corner into a small cove. Anna stopped and spread her arms out with a beaming smile of excitement. 

“I don’t understand”, was all Elsa could think to say.  

To Elsa’s horror, Anna lifted her shirt over her thick, maroon locks and threw it on the rocks. She now stood half-naked in the silver rays of the night sky. 

Oh, dear God in Heaven and all that is good and decent in this world and the next…

“Just watch!”

Anna looked out on the water, as black as night with only the moonbeams cascading across the surface. Then in one swift motion, she dove in. 

And Elsa’s eyes became filled with magic. 

The water bloomed into a burst of color. Waves of blue light rippled across the surface, radiating out from the body that had penetrated it. Anna stood in the shallow water, surrounded by the light of heaven trapped within the waves of a starlight sea. 

“What magic is this…?” 

“Isn’t it awesome! They are like, tiny little animals that glow at night. Have you ever seen anything so beautiful?!” 

“Never…” 

“Well, don’t be shy Els. Dive in! They don’t bite or anything.” 

Elsa hesitated. She looked at Anna, then at the black water below her, then at the mystical blue speckles dotting the surface around Anna’s waist, like a dress sewn by fairies that twinkled in the starlight. She placed one timid toe on the surface of the water and gasped in shock as spirals of blue light erupted from her touch. She looked once more to her sister who gave her the most reassuring smile in the entire world. 

And she dove in. 

Elsa soared through the azure sky, her loose hair flowing behind her as she came up from the surface near where stars in the sea met the stars that studded the pale skin of her sister’s body. 

I can’t. I don’t! I won’t…

They stood inches apart, wading in the night sky like star-crossed constellations desperate to reach out and touch only to be perpetually far apart for eternity. 

I mustn’t……..

She felt Anna peering deep into her soul. Did she wonder what was going on behind her eyes, as blue and brilliant as the luminescence surrounding their bodies? Could she sense the howling winds? Could she feel the thundering heartbeat through the water? 

Would she feel it? 

I… Oh to hell with it!!

The raging storm crashed against the surface. Hard and heavy and full of unbridled desire and longing. All at once, Elsa had released the torrent within her, letting the swells of her passion wash over her sister’s lips, her skin, her entire body, and soul. The magic had struck like lightning. 

And then it was gone. 

Anna pushed her sister away. That chasm of the cosmos restored. 

“Elsa, what the hell are you—?”

“I am going to ask you a question, and I want you to answer me truthfully.” Elsa stood her ground in the heavens that would deny her. 

“When you look at me, what do you see?” 

“I don’t understand Elsa…” 

“Do you see that girl, looking from her bedroom window? Her hand on the glass. Too afraid to go outside, too afraid to call out your name. Because when I look at you I see this girl. I see her laughing and playing and rolling around in the mud. But I also see this woman. Strong and kind. She makes me laugh, makes me inspired! I tremble when faced with the perils of the entire world, and yet she stands on top like it’s her domain! Tell me that I am insane. Tell me that all you see is that girl in the window and then I can be rid of these feelings that plague me for this impossible woman who can not be both sister and lover! Please—!!”

“YES, that is ALL I see!”

Anna was trembling. She still looked deep into her sister, locked by the pleading gaze no matter how much she wanted to turn away. 

“That girl… that big sister who I left behind. When I look at you that is all I see.”

Elsa’s breathing finally started to slow. The words that she pleaded to hear had broken through the clouds of her heart and the calm would soon take over. The acceptance of what she already knew to be the way of the universe would come. Once back to civilization, she could resume her life. Banish the madness and— 

“I saw her… every day. Everywhere. She was there when I joined a crew. She stood by me as I learned to man the wheel. I would not have survived a single day out here without her by my side.” 

Elsa’s breathing had slowed to the point of imperception. 

“…I saw her in the women that I knew. In…the women that I loved…It sounds so wrong but when you’re a young woman who relied on the faded memory of a long-lost sister for your support you can’t help but find that sister in any amount of affection you find! I had long accepted that it was my madness and I would take that madness wherever I go. And now that madness has taken a hold of you. When you came back into my life, I thought I could bury it, but instead, I passed it on to you.”

Each woman now turned away from the other, no longer able to meet each other’s solemn gaze. 

“When we get off this island, I will go back to my ship and I will bring you to Curaçao and we will go our separate ways.”

Elsa simply nodded. 

“I would still like to write you… if I can?” Anna’s voice had lost her usual commanding confidence. 

“I would like that…” Elsa’s voice could barely carry itself over the narrow strip of water between them. 

Anna slowly made her way across the water to the rocks where her discarded shirt lay. She buttoned the few remaining buttons over her chest when she heard the whisper of the water moving behind her. 

Her dress clung to her body, revealed in the glow. Their eyes met for the first time once more and an inexplicable force dragged Anna back into the water and in the embrace of the siren below. Elsa’s hand caressed Anna’s cheek. Her finger traced lines down Anna’s neck. The span of cosmos between them receded until the storm that had once rocked both their celestial cores had dissipated and all that was left was their lips crossing the horizon. And Elsa felt her sister’s name on her breath once more as she finally released it to the wind. 

 “Would one night of madness be too much to ask?” 

[noramelll]

The Fault (And the Favour)

This is a fan story for @chronicintrovert​  ‘s book called Solitaire! I’ve read it so many times and practically studied this book while writing this. Anyway I thought it would be really interesting if there was a nick and charlie POV for the last few chapters of solitaire because i always LOVED to entertain that thought but after talking it over with a couple other heartstopper fans i just had to put that shit on paper. anyway, this will have MAJOR spoilers for Solitaire, also a trigger warning here for Suicide and eating disorder mentions! Stay safe and i hope you enjoy :)))

NICK 

It’s quarter past six in the morning when I get a phone call. The ringtone is loud, piercing through the peaceful silence of my room, and I’m jolted awake by the sound. 

When I pick up my phone and realise it’s charlie calling me, I get a flush of relief and anxiety in my chest at once. For one, it isn’t Tori who’s calling me. The last time she called me was when Charlie was sent into the mental hospital. Something about Tori’s anxious tone always gave me an unpleasant shiver down my spine. So when it isn’t Tori who’s calling, my shoulders relax and I release a breath of air.

But then again, Charlie’s calling me at 6 am. That either means something’s on his mind and he hasn’t got any sleep, or he woke up ridiculously early for some bizarre reason.

I answer his call. “Charlie? It’s 6:15, what-”

“Nick.”

It’s Charlie. That’s his voice, that’s him. But it’s the ‘him’  I’m way too familiar with. Panicked, distressed, on the verge of tears. I’ve seen this side of him too much for my liking: while he recovered from his eating disorder, while we ate dinner together, while he told me about the things he thinks about.

 I’m here for him. I always will be.

But god does it scare the shit out of me whenever he speaks with a tremor in his voice like that. 

“Char? Char, what’s wrong?”

He doesn’t answer. On the other end, I can already picture what he’s doing- putting a hand up to his face, rubbing his eyes aggressively, biting his fingernails anxiously, his eyebrows crinkled as he tries to figure out what to say.

But this time he knows. I can tell he knows what he wants to say. It’s on the tip of his tongue.

“Charlie, seriously, what’s going on?”

“It’s Tori.”

A chill goes down my spine. Not only do I notice the pure fear in his voice, but I pick up the sound of rustling in the background and doors opening and closing. “It’s Tori, Nick. She- She took off an hour ago, Becky just called me.”

“What?” I sit up in my bed, my feet are dangling over the edge and I’m prepared to pull on my shoes as soon as possible. “Where is she going?”

“To-To school.” His voice is shaking tremendously now. I can almost feel his hands trembling as his footsteps echo through my phone.

“To school… why is she going to school, the bloody sun hasn’t even come up yet-”

Charlie’s voice becomes more frantic, he’s panicking harder and the desperation in his voice makes it hard to listen to him. “Nick, she’s going to school because of Solitaire. Their- Their final operation is today. She’s going to try and stop it.”

It’s like something clicks in my head. Tori, Charlie’s sarcastic, monotone older sister, who once couldn’t care about anything other than her brother, Tumblr and watching movies, was slowly being driven mad by solitaire and their ‘operations’. The solitaire meetup party. The happenings at The Clay music festival that was hacked by solitaire. Then at Dinner on Monday, it was as if she had completely changed. Talking in sentences that made us extremely concerned. “Solitaire is going on, yet no one cares.” “It’s all fake. Everyone is faking. Why does no one care about anything?”

Holy shit. 

“Is she fucking insane? What the hell is she trying to do, get herself killed?”

“I don’t know, Nick, she’s alone and she’s going to do something bad and I can’t sit here and fucking wait until I’ve found out that my sister is dead, I-I have to do something, fuck-”

My shoes are already slipped onto my feet and I’ve grabbed my keys. “I’ll be there in 5 minutes.”

CHARLIE

I’m on the front porch before Nick lets me know that he’s coming soon. I didn’t change out of my Pj’s and it doesn’t matter. My sister ran off to try and stop this insanity of a ‘prank’- if it can even be called that-  and seeing how their last operation left, it’ll be lucky if she makes it out of there in one piece.

It’s my fucking fault. I’m sure of it this time. I do this a lot: pinpoint the blame on me, feel guilty, cry. It’s a routine that I try to get out of, but right now that doesn’t matter either because I’m completely sure that if I hadn't said something or listened to Tori she wouldn’t be off in the dark trying to stop a bunch of lunatics trying to accomplish god knows what.

I remember one night, when Tori was visiting me in hospital, she mentioned to me about how she noticed that I had gotten worse over time and that she didn’t say anything because she thought she was just imagining it. So she stayed out of my way. She admitted that she’ll always regret that.

That’s how I feel now, and it’s horrible and I feel fucking helpless and just as soon as I get that twisting feeling in my stomach I see Nick’s car pull up to the curb and before I realise it I’m already in his car, and my arms are around his shoulders and I’m trying to breathe but it’s so hard and I can’t do anything-

“Char, breathe. Deep breaths. Look at me.”

Nick’s hand is on my cheek but I don’t even feel it because I’m trying to remember why I’m so fucking anxious in the first place, I forget where I am and I forget who I am. I can’t feel my hands.

It’s my fault. It’s my fucking fault.

“Charlie, I’m right here, look at me.” He’s tilting my head up, and nick is looking at me. He’s filled with so much concern, but this calm tone helps me think again. I’m breathing. Nick’s hand is wet. I think I’ve been crying.

“Hey, you’re alright. It’s okay. Everything is going to be okay-”

“But Tori- fucking hell, she’s going after them, and it’s all my fault-”

“Hey, hey, don’t say that. None of this was your fault.” Nick has taken my other hand from his shoulders and into his, squeezing hard. The feeling in my hand returns. “Don’t blame yourself, okay?”

I try to believe him. I’m really trying, and for a while I do, and I buckle into my seat, his hand not leaving mine. He strokes my hand with his thumb while we whirl past the houses covered in the pitch black. It’s so quiet. I wonder what the world would be like if it was always like this

The silence is painful, it’s heavy and tense. I’m still bouncing my leg up and down, so I curl up into the car seat instead.

I can feel nick peering a glace at me every two seconds, without realising it’s making me slightly more anxious so I turn on my phone instead, to see if there are any updates on solitaire’s blog: any clue as to what the hell they’re planning.

And when we’re about a minute away from Higgs School, I see a Facebook post from Lucas Ryan.

‘Solitaire is burning down Higgs’

I’m staring at it. I’ve recoiled my hand away from Nick, touching the screen with shaky fingers. I’m rereading it. I’m trying to make sense of it. Holy shit. There can’t be any way.

“Oh my fucking god.”

My head snaps up to the school across the road from mine, burning down in a fiery blaze of glory, lighting up the whole neighbourhood with an orange glaze.

I’m already out of the car. Nick is out of the car. We’re both running onto the oval, snow crunching under our feet. I didn’t wear any shoes, but that isn’t important, because my sister could be in a fucking burning building. I don’t feel the cold as I’m running across the oval.

Nick isn’t too far behind me, at one point he’s taken my hand again as we rush towards two dark figures on the oval. 

When we get closer I realise it’s Lucas and Becky, and they spot me. they’re rushing over to me and rambling loudly about how they’re sorry and that Tori didn’t come out with them and that they got separated but I stop listening after that because my vision has become kind of hazy, and I’m trying to grapple the fact that Tori is still in there.

Victoria is still in there.

My feet are itching to move. Off of the freezing snow and into the flames. But Nick notices how my eyes keep darting over to the door because his grip on my hand has become intensely tight. 

“Don’t even think about it. We can’t do anything, Charlie.”

So I don’t do anything. I stand there as the flames engulf the burning building, I’m losing feeling in my hands and feet again. I have to move. I have to get in there, I have to save my sister. 

Then Nick gasps and Becky shrieks and I follow their gaze towards the concrete roof of the art conservatory.

Among the blazing orange and yellow fire, a small figure stands on the roof of the building. 

It’s Tori, and her hair is flowing through the cold wind and she’s looking down to the ground below her.

And she’s nearing the edge of the roof.

Without realising I’m dragging nick along with me as I run at full speed toward the roof. My heart starts racing even faster to the speed of fucking lighting when she moves her feet over the edge and by that point I’m already screaming out to her.

“DON’T!”

I’m waving my arms at her frantically. I’m running as fast as I can to the roof. She’s staring down at nick and I. I’m shouting and screaming up to her, to please, don't do it, and I'm so sorry for not listening to you. You felt the same way when I did the same as you and I’m sorry for not being there for you, you were always there for me and I owe so much back to you.

Then there’s another person who appears out of nowhere above her. Tori snaps from her gaze down below to look up, and I can’t make out who she’s talking to. The person is holding a hand down to Tori, and I’m praying to god that she just takes this person’s hand and step away from the ledge before my beating heart bursts out of my chest.

Suddenly Nick is standing in front of me and hoisting me onto his back. He’s clutching my legs as I try and scream louder, harder for Tori to hear me. She shines her torch up at the hand, and I catch a glimpse of Michael Holden. Any bad feelings I once had towards Michael melts away while I silently beg and beg that she just takes his hand anyway. 

Micheal jumps down onto the roof and stands next to her. They’re standing completely still. they must be lost in a desperate conversation, with the sound of crackling wood. People must have gathered around near us, because now there are many yells of joy and despair around me. But I can’t tear my eyes away because I’m watching intently, so closely, watching just to see if Tori’s feet move away from the edge. Please just step away.

And then Michael Holden and Victoria kiss. In the middle of a raging school fire at the brink of dawn. 

But I’m taking that as a win because her feet move away from the edge when Michael pulls her into a hug. 

“Thank fuck.” I hear nick from below me. The crowd around us bursts into a cheer. But I’m not joining them, and neither has Becky (who is now on Lucas’ shoulders) because we’re still waving up at Tori, yelling her name. My arms are so sore and I realise now that I’m not wearing a long-sleeved top but that also doesn’t matter right now, because my sister is up there and shes now looking down at me, and she’s safe, and I’m smiling so hard while sobbing, because she’s safe.

After the fire brigade arrives and rescues Tori and Michael off of the concrete roof, and as soon as she gets down to the oval I climb down off of Nick’s back and rush towards Tori. She’s looking at me in a way I’ve never seen before. I’ve never seen her like this before. But that’s okay, because she’s alive, and she’s here, and I’m now holding her so tight I’m worried that she’ll break.

“Fuck, Tori- never do that again, that was- holy shit-” I’m trying to string together a coherent sentence to tell her I was so scared, I’m so sorry, I can’t lose you, I’m sorry that I didn’t do anything. I’m sobbing extremely hard, to the point of embarrassment, but Tori’s crying too, and there’s this odd feeling of comfort I get while holding my sister who just nearly committed suicide on a burning building. 

She looks up at me, and my heart slowly starts to slow down as she smiles up at me. A genuine smile? I can’t tell. But I smile back anyway, a smile that I hope tells her everything that I can’t put into words, and I pull her into another hug and release a shaky breath.

Tori understands anyway. 

It’ll take a while for me to understand her, but she took that risk for me before.

I’ll return the favour.

[dreamwritesimagines]

Once A Year 16- Unexpected [Billy Russo x Reader]

A.N: Thank you so much for your patience my loves! Here’s the finale! <3 Your messages make my day, please keep them coming! <3

Summary: Sometimes, fairytales end differently.

Characters: Billy Russo x Reader, Frank Castle x Karen Page

Warning: Explicit language, abuse, violence, dysfunctional relationships, cheating, murder. As usual, I don’t condone any of the messed up stuff happening on the show or in this story.

Word Count: 2862

Due to the linking issue, the previous chapters are on my masterlist<3

You really hated funerals.

Except for this one. This one, somehow, gave you a rush of relief. He was gone, locked away in a coffin, never to leave, never to find you ever again.

“Aldrich Killian was a successful businessman.” The priest said “But more than that, he was compassionate.”

Right. Keep talking about shit you don’t know, buddy.

You kept your eyes on the coffin, barely paying attention to the speech, or the way Carter looked almost frozen, blinking so hard as if trying not to cry.

Closed casket funeral.

Happens when you leave a corpse for almost a month.

Fits you, asshole, you thought, And hey, who could’ve thought those crime shows were right, huh? The killer always attends the funeral.

“He was taken from us by a cruel twist of fate,” the priest said and you tried to keep your expression stable.

Not exactly true, is it Aldrich? I took your life. I ended you. I made you suffer, just like I promised myself back then.

And there’s nothing you can do about it.

Your phone buzzed in your purse but you ignored it, still staring at the coffin.

“In times like these, it may be hard not to lose faith.” he said, “But we all know that those who were responsible for it will face justice.

It had been almost too easy to frame Billy’s ex boss Rawlins. Now it wasn’t only Billy and Frank but also the police were looking for him, and you were almost proud of yourself for coming up with that idea. Two birds with one stone.

Or better yet, two bodies with one bullet.

Ah well.

Carter took a shaky breath beside you, and you stole a look at him, then squeezed his arm in a supporting manner.

“And it is important to keep in mind that Aldrich Carter will be remembered.”

No he won’t be. I made sure of that.

Finally, they started to lower the casket into the grave and you pursed your lips to make sure you weren’t smiling, and soon enough, people started to go back to their cars. You checked your phone, then looked up at Carter.

“Hey,”

“Thank you for coming,” he muttered, “I know it must’ve been hard for you.”

You smiled slightly, “I’m here for you Carter, not him.”

Liar liar…

“To think that the last thing I told him was….” Carter trailed off, then shook his head, “Anyway. I know he was a terrible person, his death doesn’t change or excuse what he did to you.”

You shrugged slightly, then started walking beside him slowly.

“So um- how have you been?”

“I’m good,” you nodded, “I’ve been pretty busy lately.”

“Yeah, I heard you sold the gallery.” Carter said “I thought you liked that place.”

“I did. I do. It’s just-“ you heaved a sigh, “I think a clean slate will be good for me.”

“So what will you do now?”

“Early retirement.” You joked, making him smile, “I don’t know. I’m going away for a while actually. I’m- I think I’ll make a home for myself somewhere.”

“I thought New York was home for you.”

“I don’t really think home is an actual place for me anymore.”

He hmmed, “Billy then?” he asked, “I assume he’s coming with you?”

You nodded again as you reached your car, “Yeah. He is.”

Carter thought for a moment, “Are you happy, Y/N?”

You didn’t even stop to think, your answer was natural and for the first time in your life, sincere.

“Yeah,” you said, “I am. Weird, huh?”

Carter tried to smile, “Nah not weird, just good.”

“And you?”

“Ah, you know,” Carter shrugged, “I’m just…trying to be.”

“Carter,” you told him, “I need you to listen to me. You’re the nicest guy I’ve ever met. Don’t let what happened with me keep you back, okay?” you cleared your throat, “It was selfish of me to drag you into that. None of it was your fault, and I betrayed your love and your trust. Don’t let me change you. Please, please don’t make me turn you into….me.”

He thought for a moment, then shot you a mischievous look, “You turned out just fine,” he said, then pulled you closer to hug you tight, and you patted his back before you pulled back.

“I’ll see you around Y/N.”

No you won’t.

“See you around, Charming.” You said softly, then got into your car and drove away.

                                               * * *

The road to airport was almost peaceful. You checked your wristwatch, then looked around and made your way to the café Billy had told you they were in.

“Hey babe,” Billy stood up to peck you on the lips and you winked at him, then sat down next to Karen who sat across Frank and Curtis drummed his fingernails on the table.

“Hey guys.”

“Today is just sad,” Karen mumbled, resting her chin on her fist and you grinned,

“Nah, it’s okay. You guys are among the very few people who will have my new number, it’s not like we will lose contact.”

“It’s beyond me how you’re willing to move away with this asshole.” Frank pointed at Billy, who punched at his arm,

“Don’t make her see sense until it’s too late, brother.”

“I know right? It surprised me too.” You grinned at Billy who shook his head slightly, “Anyways, you guys are totally invited.”

“I’ve never been to Tahiti,” Karen wondered out loud and Curtis nodded,

“Me neither.”

“See? One more reason to visit.”

“I mean I could use a vacation,” Frank stated and you motioned between them,

“There you go,” you said and turned to Curtis, “You too, you know? I can’t handle him alone, I need help.” 

“I know, I know...”

You checked your watch, “Bill.”

“Yeah, I know, it’s almost time.” He downed his coffee, then stood up, Frank and Curtis following him suit. You turned to Karen.

“Plane tickets on me.” You smiled before you pulled her into a hug, and she chuckled in your grip.

“Deal.”

“Don’t be a stranger, yeah?” Frank said as soon as you pulled back and cocked his head in Billy’s direction “Keep my boy out of danger, he’s an idiot.”

You let out a small laugh and nodded after hugging Curtis, “Don’t upset blondie over there and we have a deal. Oh, speaking of-“ you reached into your bag, “Karen?”

“Hm?”

“Catch.” You tossed her your car keys and she caught them mid-air, then shot you a quizzical look.

“What-?”

“I’ll mail you the papers when I land, consider it my thanks for putting up with my bullshit,” you clicked your tongue, “I may or may not have checked you out while Frank wasn’t looking too.”

“Hey!”

“She’s hot man, and I’m a sucker for pencil skirts!” You defended yourself and Karen gawked at you,

“Y/N, you can’t just give me your car-“

“Yeah I can, I’m rich.” You said, making Billy chuckle and shake his head fondly, “Take care, okay?”  

Billy threw a hand over your shoulder, then pulled you closer as you started walking to the private hangar. You entwined your fingers with his and he pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

“You okay?” he asked, “The funeral….?”

“Yeah,” you said as you heaved a sigh, “I just- um… I don’t feel guilty. Is that normal?”

“Our normal.” Billy said, “Others are expendable, remember?”

You nodded slowly as your phone buzzed in your hand, making you stop walking and you checked the screen.

Dad

You hesitated for a moment, then declined the call and put it back into your bag.

“Skittles?”

You let out a breath, then shook your head,

“Just-“ you swallowed thickly, looking around, “I never want to come back to….this. Any of this. Promise me I won’t have to.”

He seemed to understand what you meant, because he pulled you closer, his hands cradling your head before he kissed you.

“Never.” He whispered, “Let’s go home.”

                               *A MONTH LATER*

You were one hundred percent positive that you would never get tired of Tahiti. The scent of the ocean, the fresh air, the faint sound of waves hitting the shore as you dangled your legs over the wooden porch railing you were sitting on, eyes closed, with a warm cup of coffee in your hands.

This was what happiness felt like.

This was what home felt like.

It almost felt surreal.

Your eyes opened as a pair of arms wrapped around your waist and you smiled softly, looking up so that Billy could press a kiss on your forehead.

“Morning.”

“Hey,” his voice was raspy, still laced with sleep, “Why aren’t you in bed? It’s early.”

“I like watching the sunrise.” You said, “It’s… calm.”

“Well, I had a less calm activity in mind when I woke up.” He mumbled into your shoulder, making you giggle.

“Oh is that so?”  

“Mm hm,” he kissed your shoulder as you ran your fingers through his hair, which was longer than before. He let out a noise of content, making you smile.

“I still think I will wake up someday.” He mumbled and you frowned, then swung your legs over the railing and turned around so that you could face him.

“Hm?”

“This…everything.” Billy ran his fingertips down your bare arms, waking goosebumps. “All of this. It feels too good to be true.”

You shook your head, “Bill, it’s not a dream.” You said softly, “It’s our happy ending.”

“Guys like me don’t get happy endings, Skits.”

“Girls like me do.” You shrugged, “You got lucky Russo. Deal with it.”

He chuckled, “Sometimes before I fall asleep I think I will wake up next morning and…not find you there.”

“Hey,” you cupped his cheek so that his dark eyes would find yours, “Never going to happen. You’ve been stuck with me ever since I stole your candy, remember? Sorry to let you know, it’s the rest of your life.”

Billy nodded, as if trying to convince himself and keep the bad thoughts at bay, “It is, right?”

“I mean,” you trailed off playfully, “Not like I have a vintage marquise diamond rose gold band ring, which you could find downtown on the fifth street right across that restaurant we ate last night.”

That finally made him chuckle, “You would think you didn’t reject me when I asked you to marry me.”

“Um, you didn’t ask me to marry you dickhead, you said and I quote, You know I will marry you right? Which in all honesty is a terrible-“

“I also asked you on our first night here.”

“Okay, pillow talk proposals don’t count, everyone knows orgasms mess up with your mind- also to repeat, no ring Russo. Beyoncé taught me better.”

He nodded solemnly, “Third time is the charm.”

You couldn’t control your expression anymore so you burst into a laughter, shoving him slightly, “So, what did you have in mind again, when you woke up?”

He grinned at you, then lifted you up bridal style, making you let out a squeal and carried you back inside, both of you laughing like crazy.

                                          * * *

Time just flew by when you were happy.

It was so strange, normally –especially when you were in New York- every single thing you were going to do was planned, and each and every hour until you went to bed you had something. But now, it was as if you were free.

Now to think of it, you were.

“Okay, keep your eyes closed,” you said, still walking him until you reached the door of the empty shop. You had just finished dinner at a local restaurant, and you had basically dragged him outside afterwards, your heart beating in your ears. You unlocked the door, switched the lights on and turned to him, “Ta daa!”

Billy opened his eyes, then looked around before he turned to you with a quizzical look in his eyes.

“An empty shop?”

“My new gallery!” you couldn’t help to rock back and forth on the balls of your feet like an excited child, “I bought it!”

“Wait, really?” Billy raised his brows, “It’s uh… cozy.”

“I know, it’s smaller than the last one, but hear me out,” you licked your lips, “So I was walking downtown the other day, and it just occurred to me, what if I get this gallery to…to support the local artists? I made some research, and um- before, it was all about like general profit, and how much it’d push me up, and my bank account, that’s why I kept dealing with all those pretentious assholes, but now I don’t have to. I can actually use it to help people, and to support art, and- isn’t it amazing?” you finished, your voice going a pitch higher and that seemed to make Billy smile and nod.

“Wow, look at you babe.”

“I already talked to some street artists, and I think- Billy, it’s going to change their lives. I will be a part of that, I can make a difference here!”

Billy’s smile widened and he pulled you by the hand to get you closer before he tilted your chin up to kiss your lips.

“What do you think?” you asked, “Be honest. Brutally honest.”

“I think it’s a pretty good idea.”

“You’re not just saying that to get laid tonight?”

“You and I both know I’m getting laid tonight regardless.” He stated, making you giggle and steal a kiss, “But no, Skits it’s a really good idea.”

“And it won’t be as heavy as before, I can make my own rules here.”

“Mm hm. Once a boss, always a boss.”

“Yeah, keep that in mind buddy.” You grinned and let out a breath, “I’m excited!”

“I can see that,” Billy smacked your butt, making your jaw drop and shove him slightly,

“It’s a place of business, Russo!” You exclaimed as he chuckled and you pulled him by the hand outside, then locked the door.

You couldn’t stop talking about your new project all the way home. You had never even thought you could actually use your degree to help artists, it was all about money before, as your parents had drilled into your head, but now it was like a new horizon for you. You felt so energetic, so awake, and contrary to New York, you weren’t going to work to death.

It was just going to be perfect.

“So then I talked to him, and he says he had never even thought about being paid for his art which is insane, like I think he can get to places if he has a little push, and the gallery is close to the beach, so more tourists when you think about it.” You said as Billy pulled over in front of the house, then turned to you.

“You’re actually glowing, you know that?” he asked you with a fond smile, “Jesus, you’re even prettier when you’re happy.”

“I’m going to change lives!”

“Not a first for you Skits, you changed mine.”

You awwed, then leaned in to kiss him, “Come on, let’s get inside.”

“You go ahead babe, I’ll be there in five,” he pulled out his phone “I gotta call Frank, he said there was something he needed to talk to me.”

“Oh?”

“I’m sure it’s nothing,” he said and you nodded.

“Well, I’ll go inside and hop into the shower, and you’re welcome to join.”

Billy grinned, “I’ll be there in two minutes, I’m sure Frank can talk fast when he wants to.”

“That’s brotherhood for you,” you scoffed a laugh, then pecked him on the lips, “I love you. Don’t be late.”

You pushed open the car door, then went to unlock the front door and got inside. Humming a song, you made your way to the living room, switched the lights on and gasped, the fear hitting you with its full force.

Rawlins. Billy’s former boss, the man whom you heard was referred as dangerous and psycho by both Billy and Frank was standing right in front of your living room, pointing a gun at you.

“Hi.” He tilted his head, “Y/N, right? Russo’s girl?”

You could feel the whole room spinning, the panic making your mind work in full force. Your phone was in your bag, there was no way you could reach the door before a bullet hit you, and-

Billy was outside.

Oh God, he was outside.

“What do you want?”

He shot you a look, “You’re pretty,” he commented, “I can see why he wanted to settle down with you. But you see, framing me for a murder you committed made my life pretty difficult.”

“I-“

He tsk tsked, “And Russo…. Well. I’d say he’s had enough of this peace don’t you think? Working with Castle behind my back, and then pulling this shit? That’s not gonna fly. Maybe seeing your brains on the wall will make him remember that there are some lines he shouldn’t cross.”

Your heart was beating so fast that you thought it resonated through the room, as you heard footsteps and the front door opening,

“Skittles?” Billy called out and you opened your mouth to scream, to tell him to run away, to do anything- but before you could take a breath, Rawlins raised the gun and pulled the trigger.

There was a loud noise, louder than your heart.

Then, darkness.

                                    The End.

     Special thanks to: @theskytraveler @iblogabout-stuff @marauderskeeper  @asongofmarvelanddc @mellxander1993 @papercloudx @noisyinfluencerstrawberry @superwolfchild-fan  @anxietysucks @finnickfoxes @luminex3 @rhabakoli @fictionalthrill  @redrxbel  @maelloute @we-are-all-wild-things @evilturtlemonkey @xinyourdreamsx @demoncrypt1066 @go-crybaby @i-am-always-famished @delicatelilyflower  @mamaraptor  @rmwest9 @writeyourmindaway  @becs-bunker @bubbleself @flaboyance @binbonsadoration @propertyofpoeandbucky @alwaysadreamingoptimist  @lisa-stilinski @denimandcabernet @tofadavidson @seriouslynogood @mixed-imagination @broken-pieces @lettersofwrittencollective @binbons-is-theloml @thinemineours @cutie-bug  @random-quartz  @malik-payne @gollyderek @ariminiria @lucielandss @tofadavidson and lovely anons! <3 You’re awesome! 

[jenomark]

Hi there! I am obsessed with your blog. Could you please write a reaction for 127/WayV members (the ones you do smut for) with a fleshlight- maybe a bit more sub leaning for NCT? Who'd be the one to want you to use it on him, and who'd send you videos (with consent of course), etc. Again, I love love your blog, and thanks for considering!

Taeil: He loved to be surprised when he was watching television, or playing a game on his phone. You approached him with the fleshlight and his eyes grew wide. “Now?” he asked. You slid your hands underneath the waistband of his sweatpants and felt his cock. The kiss you left on his mouth made him want more when you pulled away. You slipped your own fingers inside of the fleshlight to tease Taeil. “Is that what you want?” he asked. You shook your head no and tugged at the strings on his pants. Getting the hint, Taeil brought them down his waist and took his cock in his hands. He jerked himself off so he would get hard. “That’s it,” you praised him. “Work hard for me.” When he was good and ready, you fucked his cock with the toy, bringing it up and down his shaft.

Johnny: He texted you to ask if you missed him. You texted back with a bunch of emoji’s, their eyes as hearts. Johnny looked down and smiled, wondering how he could love someone more. He propped his phone against a hotel pillow and pressed record. Everything was ready: the fleshlight, the lube, and his hard cock just waiting to fuck. He moved his body slightly to the left to get a better angle, and then thrusted his cock into the fleshlight as if it were your pussy. “Think of me like this.” Johnny said, his eyes gazing into the camera. He fucked the toy fast and hard. He was always able to hold out longer than most. “Think of me when you masturbate tonight. I want you to come with me.”

Taeyong: “I want you.” Taeyong said. He was tied up and unable to touch you. You placed a blindfold over his eyes so he couldn’t see what you were doing to him. He was naked, his cock waiting for any hole you would give it. You straddled him and stroked his cheek. “How badly do you want me?” you asked. You reached down to stroke his cock, and Taeyong’s answer came out as a sob. “Maybe, I’ll gag you.” you suggested. The threat was empty and he knew it, but he stayed quiet just for you. You backed up a little and got the fleshlight ready. The anticipation was killing him. His body seemed to shudder every time a wisp of air came his way. “Easy, baby.” you said, touching his chest. At the same time, you brought the toy down onto his cock. “I need you to stay in one piece until I’m through with you.”

Yuta: As he fucked himself with the fleshlight, you laid on your back, your head dangling off the mattress, and your mouth on his balls. The toy sat nestled between your tits. Yuta was good at controlling his bodies reaction to all of the stimulation. Though you hit his favorite spots, he remained calm, thrusting himself into the toy with much patience. You licked and sucked him, bringing your hands around his body and holding onto his ass. “I want your cum on my tits.” you said. Yuta slowed down his thrusting and grabbed your tit, feeling your nipple between his fingers. You were so wet and couldn’t wait for him to fuck you as good as he was fucking the fleshlight. Before he felt he was going to come, he removed the toy with a squelch, and poised his cock over your tits. “Lick me.” he moaned. Your mouth went to his balls just in time for his load to spurt onto your chest.

Kun: You caught him using the fleshlight by himself. He had it stuck between two pillows and was fucking it when you walked in. When he saw you, he pulled his cock out and tried to explain. “Kun, it’s okay, “ you said. “Don’t stop because I’m here.” Your words tried to register in Kun’s brain. You crossed the room and took a seat, crossing your legs and motioning with your hand for him to continue. Kun took the fleshlight and held it in front of his cock. “Do you think of me when you fuck it?” you asked. Kun began to move with ease, pushing the head of his cock into the toy and letting his face wash with relief. “I do.” he said. You watched him fuck the fleshlight, but you wouldn’t let him come until your mouth was around him.

Doyoung: He didn’t love being away from you, didn’t love going back to his hotel room at night and not finding you there. Tour always made him horny. The way his body ached from the dancing, and how energetic he felt afterwards, made him want to fuck. He put you on video chat without warning you. The time zones were different. It was daytime and you were on your way to work, people walking beside you on the city street. “Morning, darling.” he said. Doyoung revealed his cock deep inside of the fleshlight. You blushed, hiding your phone from the public, but you didn’t look away. “Is this what you do without me?” you asked. Doyoung brought his hips up to fuck the toy. Then, he brought his phone closer so you could see his cock sliding in and out.

Ten: You were lying on your bed, your pussy dripping with arousal. Ten fucked you, pushing your body up the mattress with each thrust. He held onto your legs, pulling them forward slightly so your ass was almost hanging over the edge. There were no words spoken, just harsh grunts and deep sighs. Ten placed the fleshlight on top of you, lining it up with your pussy. You watched him take his cock out of you and move it to the toy. You held it in place as he fucked it’s hole, his eyes making contact with yours. “Harder.” you said. You began to moan in place of the fleshlight, hoping your boyfriend would understand how much you missed him inside of you. When he decided you had enough, he brought his cock back down to you and fucked you right.

Jaehyun: He clenched his jaw, but he didn’t speak a word. You loved to make Jaehyun greedy for it. You knew he wanted to flip you over and fuck you from behind until you couldn’t hold yourself up anymore. You could see how badly he needed you from the way he looked at you with the fleshlight in your hand. “Is there a problem?” you asked. Jaehyun shook his head no. You would never get him to break. You took his cock and touched his head using two of your fingers. When his jaw unclenched, you let the toy do all the work. Watching Jaehyun’s cock poke against the silicone at the top of the toy as you fucked him with it mesmerized you. Your own pussy seemed to clench every time you stroked him with it. “Is there a problem?” he asked, the smug look on his face making you ditch the toy and climb on top of him.

WinWin: The whimpering turned you on. He wouldn’t thrust unless you granted him permission, and you weren’t going to do that so easily. WinWin’s cock stilled inside the fleshlight. He was breathing heavily, concentrating only on not moving. You touched his abs, scraping your fingernails down his skin. The sound that came from his lips pleased you. You took his cock out of the fleshlight and watched as he frowned. “Do you want it?” you asked. WinWin nodded his head frantically. You made him lay down and keep his hands by his side. You took a little lube on your fingers and wet the inside of the toy, making sure he saw you getting it ready for him. The first inch of his cock went inside, and you thought he would lose his mind.”Easy, now,” you told him. “I want you to fuck this until you’re exhausted, and it’s too early yet.”

Jungwoo: He had never used a fleshlight before. You wouldn’t let him fuck you until he felt it snug around his cock, the toy designed to make him release his cum inside of it. Jungwoo hesitated, but when he felt it slide halfway down his cock, he realized just how great it was going to be. “This feels…” he tried to say. “Keep going. I want you to feel everything.” you said. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from him. It was interesting watching him fuck himself like that, his body nearly convulsing, and a hint of a smile always threatening his lips. He looked so delicate sitting against the wall, his hands working vigorously to give his cock what it wanted. “Do it for me, Jungwoo,” you said. “Don’t stop until your cum is dripping down that beautiful cock.”

Lucas: What started out as a solo thing turned into him wishing you were there to feel him inside of you. He looked down at the fleshlight attached to his cock. It felt good to fuck something, but nothing could compare to your warmth. Lucas picked up his phone and video called you from his chest up. When he saw you, a big smile broke out onto his face. “Baby.” you cooed, feeling happiness spread in your chest. “What are you doing?” Lucas felt embarrassed about showing you, but the lower he brought the camera, the more excited both of you got. “This is waiting for you.” he said. He brought the toy up and down his cock. You hid your face in your hands for a second before watching intently. “Keep me company,” he said. “I want you to see what you’re missing.”

Mark: “Finger it, Mark.” you said. Mark looked down at the soft, fleshy toy in your hands. His fingertips touched the outer lips, circling around the hole until you felt satisfied. When he pushed his two fingers inside, you brought the fleshlight back and started fucking them like it was his cock. Mark’s real cock was hard and pointing upwards, dripping with pre-cum. You wanted him to wait for it, to beg for it until he made a mess. “You’re making me wet, Mark.” you said. Abruptly, you pulled the toy away from Mark, took his cock, and brought it past your lips to get it wetter. Mark opened his mouth to moan, but nothing came out. His face looked euphoric as you used the fleshlight to fuck him. “Let me hear you, baby, let it all go.” you said.

Xiaojun: You sat on the edge of your bed, the fleshlight in your hands and angled toward Xiaojun. He stood, looking down at you, his cock just inches from your face. You cocked your head to the side and looked up at him. “Do you deserve it?” you asked. Xiaojun kneeled in front of you. He kissed the opening of the toy, using his tongue to caress it. You wanted to tongue fuck him with it, but he pulled away too fast. “Answer me.” you said. The yes was just waiting to pour out of his mouth, its eagerness turning you on. “Stand.” you said. Xiaojun stood and brought his hands behind his head when you took his cock. You watched him as you let his tip inside. “Please.” he begged. You brought it down his cock and delighted at the way his body shivered. 

Hendery: The thought of masturbating together excited him. You sat on one end of the bed, a thick dildo inside of your pussy. Hendery was at the other, a fleshlight hugging his cock tightly. Both of you moved at the same time, experimenting with who would come first, and how well you could get yourself off. “I miss you.” he said. You watched him fuck the toy. You knew you could do it better, but it was still thrilling to see him pleasure himself. “Do you?” you asked. “You seem to be enjoying that pussy.” Hendery smiled and slowed down, his face showing its smug reaction to your jealousy .His eyes were on the way the cock thrusted into your wetness. Instead of slowing like him, you fucked yourself faster. “Come with me,” you told him. “I’ll clean you up. I miss your taste.”

[lilith-lovett]

Found Families - Home is Where the Hart is - Chapter Six

Another chapter, sorry this took so long I have just recently finished my exams and was enjoying some long awaited rest and relaxation but I hope you enjoy this chapter. I never realised how dark this chapter was until re-reading it but I promise it will get better, it take a little while but Logan will find his happiness soon. 

Masterlist

Summary: Logan faces off against Brandon and Patton reflects on what he had learned.

Word count: 3528

Warnings: Child abuse, bullying, violence, threats of violence, abuse of authority, physical abuse, emotional abuse, anxiety, self deprecation, hints at depression, past homophobic parents. (If there is any I have missed please let me know).

“Give it back!” Logan said his voice, a low growl as he leapt forward in attempt to rescue his headphones from Brandon’s grasp but they were just out of his reach. His gift, the headphones Patton had trusted him with were being dirtied by Brandon’s touch as he traced the curve with his fingertips, raising it over his head once again when Logan made a second grab for them, keeping them just out of his reach in a mocking gesture.

“Nah, I think I’ll hold onto them. Don’t want them to get broken now do we?” Brandon sneered raking his chewed fingernails across the plastic agonisingly slow, marking the formerly spotless black with his claws. Logan winced at the scraping sound and at the sight of the steadily forming white scratches. “Oh dear, what would Mr Hart think?”.

“Do not dare bring him into this!” Logan snapped and yet again several took a step back, bracing themselves for the impact, fearful of his wrath but Brandon hardly batted an eye as he continued to taunt Logan. Dangling it above his head just barely outside of Logan’s reach, haphazardly tossing it between his open hands toying with him.

“What will he think when he sees his gift to you broken into pieces. Will he even want you any-more?” Brandon said beginning to bend the plastic, Logan powerless to do anything against him. What would Patton think? He had trusted Logan and he had betrayed that trust by allowing it to be taken. Would be stop visiting? Would Logan be all alone again.

“From your actions it is evident that you are jealous,” Logan stated taking another step towards Brandon, a step closer to reclaiming his precious gift.

“Ha, me jealous of what you. Don’t make me laugh!” Brandon scoffed a maniacal laugh bursting from his chest, doubling over, clutching his stomach as his shoulders shook from the exaggerated laughter. “Why would I ever be jealous of you?”.

“Perhaps since I am receiving interest while you have been rejected by a total of four families since you arrived and it is a wildly known fact you are now far less likely to be adopted,” Logan said immediately regretting his words, wishing he could slap his hand over his treacherous mouth and retract his response.

Brandon’s nostrils flared in anger, his face flush a violent red and his eyes burned with murderous intent. He tossed aside the headphones with a sickening crack as they struck the ground, going instead to seize Logan by his collar. Logan’s heart pounded within his chest, his stomach dropped and in that moment his mind had gone blank, all logical and rational thinking had been figuratively thrown out of the window the instant he was trapped in Brandon’s iron grip. The others laughed and jeered as he squirmed in his hold, a fruitless endeavour to get away, calling out a variety of punishments for them to inflict on him. Logan’s fear was presumably visible as Brandon’s formerly bared, snarling teeth vanished, replaced with a sinister smirk in amusement.

“Now that’s more like it,” Brandon said but his grip on Logan didn’t loosen as he looked down on his frightened expression. “But you must be punished for your words Logan. Boys what should he do to him first?.

The room erupted into chatter as different punishments were announced ranging from beating him senseless to locking him beneath the floorboard and leaving him their for the night. Both options made his blood turn to ice and throat seize up at the mere thought but their fun was soon interrupted by a pair of thundering footfalls rapidly advancing towards the dormitory. The boys froze for a moment before scuttling to their bedsides like mice, out of fear of Madame Claire’s violent temper and cruel punishments for the most minuscule of errors. As did Brandon who immediately released Logan allowing him to tumble to the ground only granting him a few crucial moments to reach his bedside but at the cost of abandoning his headphones which still lay in the centre of the room. Seconds later the door flew open to reveal Madame Claire dressed in an inappropriate nigh garment, a scowl on her face and the intent to kill burning behind her eyes.  

“What an earth is all that racket!” Madame Claire barked glaring expectantly at each of them clearly searching for some kind of explanation, an excuse to inflict her power over them.

No one responded at first, except for a few pointed looks in Logan’s direction making it abundantly clear they were hoping for him to take the fall but he had no intention of doing so. So he kept his expression blank, unreadable essentially disappearing into the growing blackness however internally praying that she wouldn’t notice the headphones. Knowing she would doubtlessly confiscate them if she found out they belonged to him so he kept quiet but her pointed glare followed the eyes of the others directly onto him and with that a twisted grin stretched across her lips, teeth bared, ready to go in for the kill. And he was her helpless victim.

“Ah Mr Baxter, why am I not surprised it is you causing all this commotion?” She said cocking her hip, placing her hands on her waist. Logan bit his tongue, restraining himself from correcting her and defending himself. Well aware that if he attempted to speak the truth it would only result in a chiding for lying and a beating from both Brandon and his mindless cronies and Madame Claire. “ I thought after last time you would have learnt your lesson but it seems like you need another punishment,”.

Laughter could be heard, muffled by hands and sleeves alike as Madame Claire approached him. Slowly. Stealthily. Like a predator stalking its prey. The back of Logan’s legs struck his bed frame and he withheld a wince as pain shot through his calf muscles extending to his hamstrings, settling in his lower back. He had nowhere to run. No way to escape. He was trapped. Trapped in a room full of people who would love to see him hurt. It was illogical of him to believe he could break free of his mould his parents put him in, that now he was far away from them that things would be different, that he would finally feel safe. So, he didn’t run or try and fight. He stood, eyes closed, awaiting the arrival of the first strike. But…it never came.

Logan cracked one eye open and his heart squeezed from within his chest as he saw his headphones an inch away from Madame Claire’s high heel. It was as if time had slowed, watching the world in slow motion. Unable to move, to breathe, to do anything but watch. Madame Claire stumbled over them, muttering a curse underneath her breath. She bent to inspect the item obstructing her pathway and Logan’s stomach dropped and she took the headphones into hands running her manicured claws deathly slow, taunting him as she held them out in front of her almost daring him to reach out and grab them but he remained routed on the spot.

“Oh Logan, Mr Hart brought you a gift. How thoughtful of him,” Madame Claire said bringing the headphones up to Logan eyes level, dangling them in front of his nose. “He must have placed a lot of trust in you giving you such as gift. Would you like it back?”

Logan nodded as the others giggled and mocked him from hidden behind Madame Claire’s back. He prayed and prayed and prayed Madame Claire was feeling merciful, much preferring a punishment to the removal of his gift and Madame Claire was right. Patton had placed a lot of trust in him by gifting him something which had formerly been the possession of one of his children - who he regularly spoke extremely highly of - and losing it after barely a day Patton would inevitably see he had chosen wrong and pick another child who wasn’t so much…trouble.

“Of course you do, here take it,” She said extending the headphones out towards Logan who hesitated at first waiting for her to immediately snatch them back but she made no move to instead remaining, arm out stretched, the headphones balanced on her index finger. Logan with a shaky hand reached out to take them, a sense of…something fluttering within his chest…until…it was destroyed in an instant.

Madame Claire drop the headphone, the plastic striking the hardwood floor with an echoing sound and she brought her heel down upon them snapping it into halves with a sickening snap reverberating against his skull, replaying again and again.

“NO!” Logan cried out unable to restrain the undignified noise from erupting from his throat, dropping to his knees collecting the broken pieces, pulling them into his arms so she couldn’t cause any more damage holding the pieces and himself together the best he could.  

All restraint had been figuratively thrown out of the window as the boys huddled around Madame Claire, pointing and jeering at Logan’s pitiful figure curled up on the floor in a heap of broken plastic and tears desperately wanting to be shed but he refused to be seen as weak in front of his oppressors. So, he instead fought against urge to crawl into a small, dark room allowing a frightening scowl to stretch across his face but their mindless cackling like a pack of howling hyenas didn’t cease until Madame Claire silenced them with a single look.

“Allow this to be a lesson to you, Now, all of you in bed this instant!” Madame Claire ordered as the rest scurried to their bedsides before turning her attention once again onto Logan who was still knelt on the floor cradling the broken pieces close to his chest. “And you, I do not want to hear another peep out of you for the remainder of the week or I will make sure you never see Mr Hart again. Do I make myself clear,”.

“Yes Madame,” Logan said. An automatic response fell from his lips with ease but his eyes remained fixated on the floor, fighting against the mounting panic building within his chest and the trembling of his fingertips. His mind reeling presumably from shock, he’d expected to be dragged to Madame Claire’s office for a punishment or it wouldn’t be unheard of for her to punish him with everyone watching for added humiliation. Was she merely prolonging the inevitable or did she have some other motive in mind?

With that answer Madame Claire left as the other scrambled into their beds, without a second thought towards Logan. To frightened of the consequences to taunt him any further tonight, Logan did the same. Gathering the broken headphones into his arms, standing on unsteady legs and climbing into his bed the headphones clutch close to his chest but he did not sleep. Not until he ensured every single person in that dormitory was deep in their REM sleep cycle before he snuck out of bed, well-practised in moving around after lights out without disturbing his room-mates. Logan pulled out the small trunk which held the majority of his minimal personal belongings, removing the tape he often used to repair his glasses praying the damage was not too severe. He matched up the two halves thankfully it had been a clean break and easily fixable at least he could thank Madame Claire for not entirely destroying his gift but the thought remained in the back of his mind as he secured the tape around the headphones.

What would Patton think?

As much as Logan hated to admit it Madame Claire was right, Patton had placed a lot of trust in him by presenting him with a gift after only a day of knowing him and in that day not only had Logan been extremely rude to him but he had also had a…moment which Patton had been forced to deal with. This would be the deciding factor, he had presumably heard all about Logan’s past by now and most likely would not be returning as had promised and Logan couldn’t fault him for doing so. Perhaps he would return for the headphones. Would Patton get mad that Logan was careless enough to allow them to get broken? Would he allow Logan to explain what happened? Would he even believe him?

Logan’s mind was awash with what ifs. Potential scenarios for his meeting with Patton tomorrow. Thoughts he was aware were only cognitive distortions but didn’t prevent the intrusive thoughts from worming their way into his usually composed head. Logan placed the newly mended headphones over his ears and the world became silent, the added weight was pleasant and grounding for him and he was thankful that the damage did not harm its function. He climbed into to bed, pulling the covers up and over his head further detaching himself from the physical world and into his own one of silence and a black nothingness. Hoping his dreams would be the same.

Logan could worry about everything else in the morning but for now all he wanted to do was fade into the great black nothingness.

The remainder of the car journey to Emile’s parents house to collect Dee was relatively quiet apart from the soft music playing from the speakers. Patton noticed his appearance in his side mirror; his eyes were red, rubbed raw, tear tracks stained his pale cheeks and the corners of his lips were turned downwards to emotionally exhausted to muster the smallest of smiles. In an attempt to make himself somewhat presentable and to avoid the inevitable questioning he dabbed at his eyes gently with a pastel blue handkerchief - decorated with puppies and kittens - which managed to bring down some of the redness and remove the remaining tears. He pinched the apples of his cheeks to return some of their usual pink glow and then focused in on his smile. Patton stretched his lips upwards into what resembled a smile, experimenting with different sizes, teeth or no teeth, trying to capture his normal warmth until Emile noticed. Emile took a hand off of the wheel which typically Patton would have chided him for but he remained silent as he took both of Patton’s hands in his own, telling him it was okay not to be okay and even though he didn’t fully believe him Patton still smiled grateful for Emile’s unwavering support.

They arrived a short while later at Emile’s parents house, Dee the instant Patton walked through the door through himself into Patton’s arms burying his sticky face into Patton chest, brightening his mood slightly. If Emile’s parents had noticed his less than chipper mood they didn’t mention it, instead offering him a selection of freshly baked cookies. Despite his less than favourable morning he was never one to turn down cookies and took one but Emile urged him to take another as it was a ‘second cookie kind of day’ using Patton’s own words against him. They ended up leaving with a box full of home-made chocolate-chip cookies for Roman and Virgil. Once Dee was strapped into his car-seat which Patton checked twice over to soothe his worries they set off in silence except for the soft tinkle of the radio and Dee’s adorable babbling along to the lyrics which didn’t fail to bring a smile to Patton’s face.

Immediately after they arrived home Patton collapsed onto the couch with Dee curled up in his arms while Emile went through into the kitchen presumably to make himself a cup of coffee before he needed to return to work. Patton was exhausted. Most likely from his rather emotional morning, he didn’t even have any energy left to cry all he could do was wrap his arms around Dee’s tiny frame and bury his face into his unruly curls. Patton felt a nudge on his shoulder, glancing up he saw Emile with a steaming mug in one hand and a bottle of water in the other.

“Drink up, you’re probably dehydrated,” Emile said giving the water to Patton who took a long drink as instructed, slumping back into the couch cushions as Emile settled himself beside Patton taking a sip of his own drink.

“Emile, you should be getting back to work now,” Patton said the mist previously clouding his mind had faded, now more grounded in the familiarity of his own home.

“It’s fine, they’ll survive without me,” Emile replied nonchalantly loosening the pale blue tie which hung around his neck.

“You don’t have to worry about me any-more, your job is more important,” Patton exclaimed. He already felt bad enough dragging Emile away during his lunch break to deal with Patton’s problems he didn’t want to force Emile to stay any longer than he already had despite the thoughts still running amok in his mind.

“Patton…I…” Emile started.

“No,” Patton interrupted placing a comforting hand on Emile’s knee. “Emile you have to go back, I will be fine. I will go back there tomorrow, I’ll see Logan again and someday I’ll bring him home with me but today was just a hard day and I’ll be okay,”. Patton could tell Emile was sceptical, it was in his nature being a therapist but then his gaze softened and the building tension dissipated from his shoulders he knew he had won.

“Okay, okay I’ll go but please Patty…take care of yourself,” Emile’s voice dropped to a whisper but still loud enough for Patton to hear. The hopelessness in Emile’s voice made Patton’s heart clench. He and Emile were similar in that respect that they both gained their happiness from seeing happiness in others. Both felt so deeply the emotions of those around them, it was both a blessing and a curse.

“I will…I promise. Now get back to work mister you have an extremely important job to get back to,” Patton teased guiding Emile by his shoulders towards the door, practically pushing him out of the door as he waved from the doorway before returning to his spot on the couch, having to manoeuvre himself slightly around Dee’s sleeping form, caressing his curls and leaning back breathing in the familiar scent of his beloved home.

Lavender and freshly baked goods.

As a child, Patton had always envisioned what his future home would look like. Back then it leant more on the fanciful side as a young boy. A brightly coloured cottage in an enchanted forest, where he would be a caretaker for all of the mystical creatures which dwelled within the forest and while he never completely lost his flare for the imaginary - especially with a child as wildly creative as Roman - it did fade over time as he grew up and was forced to face reality head on without the guidance of his parents. After he was kicked out, he allowed all of his hopes and dreams of ever owning the house of his dreams to fade into fantasy never believing he would ever escape that deep, dark place but here he was. Patton could hardly believe how far he’d come from living with Emile’s parents, to his first mould infested apartment, to the family home he had always dreamed of owning and and beginning his family in.

Now that dream was a reality, no matter how difficult the road was or the road ahead will be. Patton knew with his family by his side he could conquer anything life through his way, like a knight from one of Roman’s grand tales. It was his sworn duty to protect his family and that included Logan, the quest would be a challenging one but worth it in the end when he finally got to give Logan the life he deserved.

Tag List: 

@i-do-not-dislike-fudge @poems-art-darkness-n-more @alex-cain

@amber1594 @darkrainbow333 @unofficialweatherguru @lovingcreatorstrawberry @mason-does-a-thing @callboxkat 

@tacohippy56900 

[moonlightheretic]

The Heretic Chapter 5-Crywolf

A chapter from my Solavellan fic. The full series is on AO3.

Sand and water flew up like dusty spirits uncoiling behind us. The wind gnawed at my dry lips. The horse underneath me strained to keep the speed I demanded. Running and disappearing had become the main part of my life. City to city, town to town, I never stopped. I felt like a coward. Life next to the lake proceeded joyfully. Winter made little distinction here. The ground remained unfrozen and untouched by snow. The birds still sang gleefully as if it was summer. An orchestra of crickets, entangled in the long weeds, announced our entrance. The peace of the moment absorbed me and I briefly dropped my guard. If it wasn’t for the sudden jolt of the mare leaping over a fallen log I would have dozed off. As we neared a resting point I slowed into a trot. The skin underneath my fingernails tingled. A reminder of what I carried with me. A virus. I dismounted and walked into a clearing. I was tired. The mare was trained to ground tie. Something felt off, the crickets stopped cheering and the birds fell quiet. I was being followed.

Obviously. Yet there had been no attack since the standoff on the ice-covered lake. It put me on constant edge and fully alert. Another night vigilant and another, nodding off? Not acceptable. They were tiring me out, waiting until I was incapable of fending off an ambush. I could not completely lose them. They would eventually catch up and follow me, no matter how well I covered my tracks. Actually seeing them rather than just knowing they were tracking me, hurt more than I imagined. The worst of it was, these men were familiar. They weren't just any agents, but the Inquisition's finest. Sister Nightingale's handy work. Another knife in the gut, but the remorse for her betrayal would come later when alone and such thoughts consume me. No, I would not be afforded the luxury of masked men. She wanted me to stare into their faces as I slaughtered them, most likely to win my hesitation and use it to her advantage in this fight. Out of all of them, one stood out. He held his weapons slightly higher than the others and his eyes glistened with tears. His eyebrows appeared as though they were mere smudges above his eyes. Vinreal, Leliana's top agent, only second to Charter. I understood the choice she made between them. "What about your mother?" I asked in a small voice. "She, nor I can let your betrayal stand without being challenged." I shook my head. "She will never see you again." "It doesn't matter, she will know I died honorably, fighting for what's right!" Hooded men surrounded me. The Inquisition insignia proudly glimmered from their armor. My eyes gave a wide sweep, I counted eleven. "Eleven?" I scoffed. "If any of you make it out of this, tell Leliana she should have sent the army!" No, they wouldn't survive. It was either I or them. If one got away it would mean I was dead or captured. "She did," One spat. "Is this how you should conduct yourselves in the presence of your Inquisitor? How shameful!" I taunted. The 11 men gave no response. I glared into their emotionless faces. So resolute in their rage, so confident in my betrayal it burned in their eyes. I slowly pulled the noir glove off of my throbbing hand, I had been down this road before and I would need both hands fully functional. "I will give you one chance," I lifted the blades from my back, "Leave me or I will kill all of you." The men rushed me all at once and I started to swing, propelling a fatal rhythm and gaining momentum. Every nerve alive and screaming to move, reflexes charged to the maximum. The lighting runes in the blades sizzling as they sliced through flesh and bone. These men had families. I knew their names, favorite meal, their hometown and their undeniable loyalty to the Inquisition. Yet, I cut through them like they meant nothing. Just another enemy to knockdown. Just another body slumped over, another lying dead in my shadow, another bleeding from the throat, and another drowning in their own blood. The distinct sound of leather ripping pierced the air and I felt the cold sting of metal slashing into my skin.  My shoulder now bled like a river, it would have to be ignored. I twisted to avoid another puncture only to come face to face with another attacker. I kicked him, using him as leverage for my back flip. I released a flurry of poisoned knives and watched four men go down. I parried an incoming blow. Vinreal and I remained deadlocked neither of us willing to relinquish the pressure. Blades screeching against one another, runes cackling and sputtering sparks as they mixed into the enemy's, creating a violet and blue smoke that warped the air around us. We grunted as both of us tried to throw our weight into the other, trying to gain an advantage by unbalancing the other. Sweat streamed down our faces, mixed with blood, not of our own. Vinreal was strong, and at least a head taller than me, I could feel him pushing my body backward with my heels skidding in the soil. It was the betrayal in his own blade that saved me from fatality. A sudden movement caught my attention-, in the grooved reflection revealed two men; disappearing into a cloud of stealth in a matter of seconds. They're flanking me. I swiveled on my right foot, releasing my hold on his weapons and the young man fell forward from his own force. Before he could reach the dirt I kicked him in the stomach sending him airborne. The two men appeared on either side, entrapping me and thrust their knives into my absence as I hit the ground and rolled away. I used this chance to deploy poison to the knives and the steel hissed in reaction. "Final chance!" My hoarse voice rang out. Of course, they didn't listen. We circled each other and I counted to keep track of them, trying to control the battlefield as much as possible. 'Two....three...' One was missing--- black spots dangled in my eyes and a searing pain in the back of my head nearly incapacitated me. Chest heaving, my body twirled and stabbed the attacker through the neck, both knives crossed in his jugular. Blood spattered into my eyes and I tasted iron. The other men closed in and lashed out, I dodged but took damage to my left arm. I was starting to tire, my mind dulling to the situation around me. They saw their advantage and took it. Ignoring the pain, my legs moved on their own and I impaled their hearts with poison. Slashing and slicing, I cut them all down until I was the last one standing. Vinreal hadn't even protested in pain. I cried out in anger, seeing the Inquisition's soldiers lying lifeless before me. These were my men and I had slain them. What would their families think of me now? Knees shaking, I withheld my urge to vomit. I felt sick.  Leliana had trained them well. I bent down and picked up my glove, and fitted my hand inside, too ready to be done with my actions and move on. But, I should have known better than to drop my guard because plan B greeted me. They rose, emerging from lying flat in the tall weeds, bows ready with arrows, all aimed at me. They barely made a noise, not even a rustle, like ghosts. Archers, their silhouettes inked black against the sun, they had been concealed the entire time. I was completely surrounded. There were too many to count. Flashes of blue struck the men circled around me. The archers were turned into, what looked like, life-size chess pieces. All ill-willed intentions now chronicled in stone. I tasted blood on the tip of my tongue. The grip on the bloody daggers only strengthened. There was to be no relief.  Footsteps, just light enough to be noticed for someone with a trained ear. I turned around cautiously, weapons still poised for combat. He emerged from behind the men in stone, strolling past as if they were no more than mere garden ornaments to be admired. "Inquisitor." A smile pulled at his lips. He briefly dipped his head down in respect for my position or rather what was left of it. "You were difficult to find." I would rather have had more assassins. "Dread wolf." I spit out. His smile faltered like a small flame in the wind. "Isn't that how I should address you? Or would you prefer that we continue with this lie, Solas?" I drew out the last few syllables of his name. "I am Solas, and was always so, but I am also much more, Inquisitor." He answered humbly. "You killed my men." "They would've killed you." I twirled the metal in my hands. "Leave me before I end you." Each word squeezed through gritted teeth. He sauntered closer, free of any concern for the weapons and intentions I may act out. He approached in measured steps and in a demeanor that read as relaxed. Oddly enough, his gaze was centered on my gloved hand. "You won't. We both know you won't because you cannot," he stopped a few paces before me, "I am not here to hurt you, Vhenan. Discard your knives. Please." He gestured to the bent grass under my feet. The wind buzzed in my ears as I hurled towards him, my arms spinning in lethal ringlets. A glint of blue and I collided with the ground. I lay there shivering as if I had been shocked. Adrenaline still trying to compel movement from my limbs.  My wounds screamed and the ache in my head intensified. "Your effort is futile, your knives will bring you no benefit. I am not your enemy do not try again." Solas spoke sternly.  His shadow enveloped my still figure as he loomed over. "So you say, but you have blurred the lines." "I see that I have a double agent. I was going to tell you of my true identity." The blue flash came again followed by my body's freedom. I weakly pushed myself up and sat back on my heels. Solas crouched down to my eye level. Movement on the horizon caught my eye. The silhouettes suggested a caravan of merchants, assisted by guards. If I could possibly get their attention...I wasn't strong enough to fight him alone. Solas sensed the idea forming in my head. He had seen the caravan too. He motioned his head in their vicinity, "You want to drag innocents into this? That is unlike you Lavellan," Solas maintained eye contact, "Go ahead,-" he nodded, "-Cry wolf, Inquisitor and I'll turn those people into statues," The elf challenged with a frightening tone. "I no longer know you," I responded, mortified. “You are a monster.” The muscle in his long neck twitched in response. "The Solas I loved...was gentle, valued the lives of others and he wouldn't kill anyone without justification." It was an attempt to reach him. Perhaps, if there was even a tiny thread left of his old self, I could tug it into the light. "I am still here," he whispered, "but I am called to a purpose that will reshape the world. Even if I must tear this world apart in the process. Sacrifices may be necessary." His shoulders slumped. "I must right the wrongs I've committed." "I held the sky together with my bare hands Solas...I can't let you destroy the world I worked so hard to save. Two wrongs cannot make a right." Solas looked over me, his mind ticking. "You are pale. Inquisitor, you are losing too much blood." I winced when he put his hands on my injuries. His pupils flashed and I felt the flesh knit back together. "Thank you," I muttered lowly. The power he had was unnerving. It was still unknown to me of what he was capable of. I was not bold enough to move any further and let him reach for my gloved fingers. His stoic expression exchanged for one of concern. The rough leather was gently pulled from my palm and the air tingled at my fingertips. The anchor's glow bloomed around us, tinting everything with its hue. It rejoiced in its newfound freedom from the smothering glove. He tossed the glove behind him in subtle disgust, I noted, I needed that.  The involuntary flinch from his proximity did not go unnoticed. His hand covered mine barely reducing the light emanating from its source. Solas's long fingers caressed the burning skin. It had been years since I had felt his touch. My heart leaped and old memories threatened to resurface. "Had I not followed Leliana's spies, perhaps I would still be searching. Or you would be..." He trailed off grimly. "You've been looking for me?" He stared into my hand as if looking through it, at something else entirely. "You were never meant to bear the anchor. I'm sorry...I am so sorry it has caused you so much turmoil." There was no shred of anything to suggest his words were insincere and regret knotted his eyebrows. "I know that you do not trust me. It's understandable and well deserved. Let me relieve you of this burden, Inquisitor." I backed away, shaking in rage and pain. To my surprise he let me go. "Please, I can save you. Take my hand." He reached out gently and I recoiled as if I had been slapped. "No. No! I won't give it to you!" I snarled. "Then it will overpower you and you ... will not survive." He clasped his hands behind his back and watched me with profound worry. "I can handle it. This pain is nothing compared to the consequences of giving it to you!" "You have limitations, Inquisitor. Learn to accept them." He stated a matter of fact. "You cannot sustain it. The anchor was not intended for you!" I glanced at my fallen daggers and then met his unyielding eyes. "If that is what it takes to save this world! I will gladly take this anchor to the grave before I ever let you have it! Traitor!" "Your noble integrity has always amazed me but, you are being foolish. You think the pain unbearable now? It will grow worse and it is…a slow death." He paced back and forth, "You resist change...you will always resist. As mankind has done for centuries. You would prefer to toil and struggle, even when-" Solas shook his head in frustration. "You sound like Corypheus." Fury was a barely adequate word to describe it. Eyes flashing, teeth barred, "We are nothing alike! He was a corrupted magister with a paper crown on his head and a nefarious mind filled with filthy aspirations!  I stand before you as Solas, my mind is clear and my goal is salvation for us all.”

"He aimed to restore Tevinter to its former sovereignty. You want to restore the elven times of old and in the process rip this world to pieces. I see no difference." It struck me fast; the wind knocked out of my lungs. Knees buckling under me and as the green light intensified, I couldn't stop the guttural scream that left my lips. The anchor felt like it could explode, the blood in the veins actually boiling. I could only hold on to it in some pathetic attempt to keep it together. "Please!" Solas gasped desperately. He came forward and grabbed my hand from my own clutches. Using all my strength I pushed him away and attempted to stand only to end back up on the ground rather ungracefully. Eyes wide, Solas watched helplessly as I resisted my body's compulsions. "Ma Vhenan," He whispered, "it's already progressed into this state." I rolled on to my back hugging the hand to my chest as I struggled to regain composure, but they were just fractured attempts to keep my head above the waters of insanity. The pain subsided moments later, though it felt much longer. "You don't need to suffer so much, Vhenan I want to help you because I..." I scoffed, "Childbirth was worse." A smirk replaced my face's aching contortion and I wiped the tears from my cheeks.  "This is nothing." "Moon'Hwa-" "Don't!" "When I left-", "When you left? You didn't leave. You left your spies to run rampant in my fortress. You were just too cowardly to remain yourself!" "She wasn't supposed to happen...none of this was supposed to happen!" He gestured around him. "I don't want to hear your bullshit excuses, Solas!" "I didn't know!" His hands closed around my face. "I only found out recently, I promise you!" "You abandoned the Inquisition! You abandoned...me...us." my voice wavered. Panic was etched into his features. His eyes searched my face as I held my breath, trying not to drown in the sea of emotions that threatened to overcome me.  The episode from the anchor still fresh and affecting my mind. "I know and you are correct. I couldn't let you distract me from my purpose. I wanted to stay so badly...but I could not." "Her eyes belong to you Solas. I see you every time I look at her and it hurts so much."  For a moment the future of Thedas and the Dread Wolf dispersed from my thoughts and I could only focus on the ache and longing in my heart. There was sorrow in his voice. "You have hidden her from me Moon'Hwa." He rested his head against my forehead and his thumbs stroking my temples. "Do I have the right to ask why?" My eyes closed to shut out his caring ones. "When I found out who you were...I was afraid of what you would do about her. I thought there was a possibility of you...of you," my voice shook, I could not even say the words. "I would never hurt her! I wouldn't dream of it!" He spoke firmly and his fingers pressed into my face. "She is the most wonderful little being I have ever seen."  My eyes opened at this. "She wanders the fade when she dreams, Vhenan." He smiled, "I met her there. She does not know who I am." I was speechless. "You are raising her alone, I am so sorry.”

"Solas..."

"Spirits watch over her. They tell me her stories." "Your friends?" "Yes." Solas rested his hands on my shoulders. "That's why you need to stay alive...even for a little while. Our daughter needs her mother." "She has yet lived life. You want to end the world she will grow in. Solas, you have already cut her wings." "I do not make this choice easily, Moon'Hwa, but I have confidence that she will thrive in the world that I will build for her." I leaned my head into his armored chest. "I've thought about it so much; if I ever saw you again, what should I do? Say?" His palm flattened in between my shoulder blades. "I wanted to scream at you, hit you.... sometimes I just wanted to kiss you." My voice broke, "I wondered if you ever thought about me...or what you left behind." His voice was at my ear and he held me close, "do not be mistaken Vhenan, my feelings for you were always true. I never discarded you from my heart." I wrapped my arms around his neck and embraced him tightly. I could feel his face nuzzle into my neck just like old times, his larger frame sinking into my embrace. My left arm reached into the air. "I am sorry Solas." "Wh-" The fade rift ruptured into the clear air above us.  It's force rippling in the sky like a pebble thrown in a pond.  Undulating in air. I untangled myself from him as the rift disabled any movement or magic from him.  Glove and Weapons found and sheathed, I didn't look back.

[xheykyjx]

Requested by @kickmeknj

——

Comebacks are stressful for everyone. Not just Stray Kids, either; oh no, they’re also stressful for managers, makeup noonas, photographers, everyone.

Minho’s problems are his problems and only his. He’s not going to put any more pressure on anyone else, not right now.

They have nearly a week before their weigh-ins, the ones that always happen before comebacks to make sure that everyone is both healthy and attractive. Even without a scale, Minho knows he has some weight to lose. The mirror tells him.

It isn’t a big deal, not at all. He minimizes the amount he eats so that he’s ingesting (at most) 300 calories a day, and at least 100 of those are made up of protein. It’s foolproof. Mostly.

——

It’s been three days since Minho has started this diet, and he already feels like shit. There’s this constant cramp that sits low in his stomach, and while Minho doesn’t normally mind being hungry, this is almost unbearable. It just doesn’t stop. But he has more self control than that, he knows not to eat.

Four days in and Minho wants to shove his head through a fucking wall. His stomach cramps constantly and he has no clue why. This has never happened to him before. Even drinking water makes his mouth fill with an alarming amount of saliva.

Dance practices are brutal. He screws up all the time and it’s humiliating.

Today is one of those days.

“Minho!” The choreographer is sharp and angry. Minho can see his members sneaking glances at him through the mirror, and he digs his fingernails into his palms. His stomach flares hot and hard, and it makes his throat squeeze.

Fuck, am I gonna be sick?

Minho is scared. He’s never felt this bad before. Maybe he should eat. Another twist from his stomach that almost has him collapsing confirms that thought.

“You have a comeback coming up! Is this a joke to you?” While the choreographer berates him, Minho ignores the hate that builds within him to overcome the shame, ignores the looks that his members give him in the mirror.

Minho should have more self control than this, but he’s fucking hungry. It’s not worth it to be screamed at.

Minho lasts two more days on the diet. Two more days of agony that consist of long nights spent in the bathroom, holding his stomach as it cramps and growls angrily. But he can’t do this anymore.

“We should go out to eat!” Jisung says. “I want Chinese food!”

“If we go out, we’re getting chicken.” Seungmin tells him. Jisung tries to protest, but Seungmin pins him with a look that could send anyone cowering. Jisung promptly shuts up.

“Yeah, let’s do chicken,” Minho speaks up. If he’s finally going to eat, then by God is it going to be something good. He’s fucking hungry.

Chan looks at him with a knowing glint in his eye. “Minho-ah,” he starts, but he’s already getting to his feet. The movement makes his stomach clench tightly and he barely holds back a moan.

“I’m going to get my jacket,” he says weakly. His legs feel like jello, and he barely keeps himself together as he leaves the room. God, he can’t wait to eat.

——

Minho regrets eating.

Well, not eating so much as overeating.

After that time during BTS’s tour, he should know not to overindulge himself, but he just couldn’t help it. The chicken was so good.

Alas, Minho’s stomach doesn’t agree so much.

The mixture of two Cokes, a huge plate of fires and five chicken wings has his stomach in turmoil. He’s curled up on his bed, curtain pulled shut for some privacy. His stomach is so loud, gurgling mightily and cramping harshly.

Minho squeezes his eyes shut and presses his palms against his belly. It’s huge, now, so round and bloated. A faint nausea swims in his chest, and he swallows.

I don’t want to be sick.

His stomach tightens into a cramp just beneath his navel and he bites his lip to keep himself from moaning. Slowly, he turns onto his back and pushes his shirt up, then begins to rub his distended abdomen.

The motion forces up a sudden belch that tastes like chicken and ranch, and Minho groans in relief. He presses on his tummy, tries to burp again. He’s so desperate for relief at this point that he’s even willing to ask for belly rubs.

Minho burps again, and it brings something hot and bitter up his throat. Minho panics.

“Fuck,” he whispers, sitting straight up. He tries to swallow, but it’s no use. He’s going to puke.

Minho lurches from his bed and struggles past the curtain. He stumbles to the bathroom, throat nearly closed as he struggles not to vomit.

He collapses in front of the toilet, mouth hanging open. He tries to burp again, to get something going, but it’s weak and strained and doesn’t do shit. The nausea is full-blown now, and Minho just wants it to stop. He sobs dryly over the toilet bowl and closes his eyes tightly.

“Minho?”

Someone begins to rub his back. “Are you sick?”

Ah. It’s Chan.

“Hyung,” Minho sobs. Chan coos at him.

“Ah, Minho,” he whispers. “You shouldn’t do things like this to yourself. It’s not good for you.”

“I know,” Minho moans. His stomach cramps up again with a loud gurgle and he groans.

“I need to throw up,” he whispers. “I can’t do it, hyung.”

Chan rubs up and down along his spine as he speaks, and it feels like heaven on earth. Minho practically keens; he loves back rubs.

“Let me try something,” Chan tells him. Before Minho can reply, Chan presses his fingers into Minho’s belly, eliciting a thick belch and a ropy strand of saliva that dangles from his lower lip.

“Shit,” Minho chokes, nausea working its way up his throat now. “Channie—“

Minho pukes before he can finish. Vomit barrels up his throat and into the toilet forcefully, and his back curls with the force of his heave. Chan removes his hand from his stomach.

“There we go,” Chan whispers. “It’s okay, Minho, just get it all up.”

Minho gags hard and closes his eyes. He forces himself to burp again, and it brings up a mouthful of vomit. The taste of it alone makes him retch so hard that he starts to puke again.

“Christ,” Chan whispers behind him. “You really ate a lot, huh?” Minho moans in response, head hanging in the toilet bowl. Chan reaches round him to flush it.

“Are you finished?” He asks. “For now, at least?”

Minho takes a moment to asses himself. His stomach still hurts like blue fuck and he’s still nauseous, but it isn’t as persistent and worrisome as it was before. He nods hesitantly.

“Let’s get you back to bed, then.” With Chan’s help, Minho finds himself in a fresh shirt and curled up against his leader’s side in bed.

“Wake me up if you need something,” Chan tells him. Minho nods against his shoulder, suddenly sleepy.

His last thought before drifting off is that he’s never going to do this again. Ever.

[junkpoetic]

Five

    To my surprise my computer was still in the booth where I was sitting. I grabbed my bag from beneath the table and packed everything up. I contemplated going back to the hotel, but it was still early and in truth I did not feel like feeling much of anything more, the day was heavy enough. So naturally, I ordered a tequila soda. The three I had earlier in the day had long since worn off. This one tasted different than the prior three, maybe because it was a different bartender, or maybe it just tasted better with Juno. Halfway through my drink, she reappeared. She said that she didn’t think I would return and that she contemplated leaving but she didn’t want to abandon my things. She hadn’t had another drink since I left, she was smoking cigarettes on the rooftop of the bar because you could see the marathon runners from there.

    “Taste this.” I handed her my glass.

    “Why?” She laughed.

    “It tastes weird.” I replied.

    “Not the greatest sales pitch.” She sipped it anyway.

    I looked at her awaiting a response.

    “What is it?” She asked?

    “Tequila soda…”

    “No, you did it wrong.” She laughed.

    “How?”

    “Whatever tequila they used is trash, you have to get the good stuff, or something at least one hundred percent agave.” She explained.

    In my forty-five years I had never learned to order a tequila. Needless to say; the next five drinks tasted much better. By the end of the evening my head was spinning like a top.

     I returned to the hotel and passed Madeline in the hallways on the way back to my room. I smiled at the fact that Elliot probably just inherited an orgasm. In all honesty if I knew I was dying, it would be preferred to live out my days with bottomless orgasms, but I don’t want to get to far ahead of myself. I know nothing when it comes to facing mortality. I am just a guy who is a bit lost and trying to write my way found. For me the world has become a wasteland and my sneakers are completely saturated. Learning that Elliot’s duration is dwindling was a staggering blow. I used to believe in things, but I don’t really believe in things anymore.

    Right then and there, right when I was in the middle of drowning in my own fuckery, there was a knock on my door. I assumed it was Elliot, but it wasn’t. It was the Goddess of Light herself, the Queen of youth, or whatever you want to call her. She was there in the flesh standing in the hotel hallway in blue jeans and a white t-shirt clad in a leather jacket smiling. If her teeth could talk, they’d be screaming my name right then and there. I could hear music in my head, symphonies, simply by looking at her. I kept asking myself the same question over and over in my head. How the fuck did she find me?

    She took me by the hand, and I followed her. We walked down several flights of stairs to the basement. I felt like I was in a dream, she knew exactly where she was going. I felt secure with how sure she was of herself. My head was still spinning, and time felt like someone had pressed fast forward on the VCR until suddenly everything stopped, and I was fucking her against the dryer in the hotel laundry room. Her fingernails dug into the back of my skull as I thrusted into her. She clung to me so as not to lose total control… as if she was saving something for later. I lost my mind. The animal in me took over as she let me devour her. Who knew the Goddess of Light could be so damn dark? To be honest, I think I blacked out. All I remember is her tight grip like she was holding on for dear life and how warm she was and all I could smell was Downy. She closed her eyes as she climaxed, she was in another world, my world. In that moment. She was my prey. I had never felt so unhinged in my life.

    The October air felt frigid when it hit our sweaty bodies. It was still early so we went back to the bar around the corner. She ordered us shots of tequila and we took them before going up to the rooftop. The lights of the city gleamed. It was such a different feel than the day before it. I had so many questions I wanted to ask her, but I preferred to keep them that way. Answers ruin every God damn thing. This morning when I woke, Elliot was still immortal, and now… God the sweet October breeze…    

The faint sound of the music buzzing from the bar below was the only sound we could really hear other than one another exhaling cigarette smoke into the black brisk air. She sat on the edge of the building and dangled her feet off the ledge as she peered down at the street below. I went down and bought a bottle of French Malbec from the bar and returned with two glasses before she even noticed I was gone. I filled two rocks glasses with red and joined her on the ledge. There is such a feeling of freedom to dangling. The feeling that there is nothing holding you is much too exhilarating to be terrifying.

We finished the entire bottle of wine over such conversations that if our cups could hear, they’d either cringe or die laughing. She opened up about her life and how she felt lost at times. I told her about my struggles too. The night in its entirety was a flicker. A meteor creating friction against particles of dust only visible for one God damn beautiful moment. I felt like dust igniting that night.

We lost track of time. Eventually the lights that lit the night dimmed and faded to black. By the time we decided to exit the roof top someone had locked the door. Juno made a joke about jumping, I contemplated it for a moment before laughing about it. Then she kissed me again. I could feel her nipples erect through her white cotton t-shirt as she pressed her body into mine. I peeled her blue jeans down her cold thighs and kneeled down to taste her. I could still hear the faded sound of music along with her breathing heavily. We climaxed again before we laid down in a bed of our own fabric on the rooftop. The sky was so clear we traced constellations with our fingertips against it. She traced Aquarius and Pegasus and laughed at the fact that I could only find the Big Dipper and Orion’s Belt.

The clarity that evening was intense. I felt more alive than ever after such an intense and exhausting day. The runner who won the marathon ran it in just over two hours. The Red Sox blew out the Blue Jays, so Elliot won his bet. I found it peculiar, gambling knowing you’re not going to be alive much longer but at the same time I could die before him. We’re all running our own God damn marathons and we’re all going to die trying to cross some sort of finish line.

We fell asleep slowly that night to the quiet hum of Boston. The autumn chill was a bit intense but at some point in the evening we either became numb to it or immune to it… if there’s a difference. I had a dream that night, there on the roof, I can’t remember it entirely which is weird because the dream was so vivid from what I remember. The things I could see were so damn clear and there was so much color and absolutely zero hurt. I like to think of it as a sign of things to come. A sign of purity and all things swimming into view.

The next morning, we woke to the sound pigeons make. What an awful drone. Thankfully the cleaning crew for the bar was there so all we had to do was knock loud enough and the came to our rescue. I would be lying if I said it didn’t feel good to be stuck. For one night, I could be lost and feel complete in the wild and in one night Juno Rafferty changed my God damn life.

When I got to the hotel, Elliot was eating breakfast in the lobby. In front of him was a bagel, a bowl of corn flakes, two glasses of water, a glass of orange juice, and a cup of coffee. He joked made a joke about his illness which oddly made me feel better about the fact that he was dying and then I joined him for coffee. I had so many questions I wanted to ask him, but again I preferred the questions to the answers. He looked much better than he did the day before for obvious reason, but there was something else different that I could not pinpoint. Maybe there was freedom in the relief of someone else knowing of his illness. Either way, it was a new and shiny morning and the day held promise. He made a point in telling me he still had a marathon to finish, although I thought he was joking. He wasn’t.

His mentality was refreshing. It made me feel more alive. So much so that I came clean about my life. He wasn’t the only one holding back a secret. My whole life, I was always afraid of appearing weak but in the last twenty-four hours I discovered that everyone is weak in their own way. We are dying slowly but if there is anything I learned from Elliot, it’s that that’s no reason not to live. I explained that Carol had left me for someone else and that I wasn’t as good as I appeared. He gave me a hug and told that he was proud of me. He was proud to call me friend, no matter what. The world needs more Elliot’s.

Later that day, he demanded we go to the spot where the ambulance took him away. He demanded that we walk the rest of the marathon. He demanded that I walk it with him. So that’s what we did. We walked fifteen miles to the finish line. It took us a little over seven hours. We made sure to hydrate and stopped bars along the way. I think we went to three bars and hit them for all they were worth. By the time we reached the finish line, we couldn’t feel much, and we couldn’t stop laughing. It was a good God damn day.

In truth seeing Elliot’s outlook on dying made me feel better about living. I don’t know why I was so afraid to share with him the fact that Carol left. It’s not really flaw that I fear, it’s appearing week and needing help I have always had a problem with for no reason at all. In truth, I prefer questions because answers scare me to death. Answers can be so terminal. I asked Elliot how long the doctors gave him to live, and he said he’d rather not know. I completely understand that now. I don’t want to know either. The funny thing is, looking at him… he is so alive.

[lifeflowingon]

| QUICKSILVER | 13 |

• SUMMARY: After a student is gruesomely murdered on campus, Baek Haeju finds herself trying to extract information from the only person who might know the truth. But is secretive English major Min Yoongi just a witness? Or is he the culprit?

• WARNINGS: Death, murders, sex.

• WORDS: 4224.

"I'm burning and I'm blacking my lungs.

Boy, you know it feels good with fire back on your tongue.

If you talk, you better walk, you better back your shit up.

With more than good hooks while you're all under the gun."

London Beckoned Songs About Money Written by Machines | Panic! At The Disco

"You know, Haeju, I don't have all the time in the world..."

"Hold on, Jihye... OUCH!"

Haeju hits her ankle as she runs into her drawer, her laptop lying on the bed as she approaches it. Her sister is smiling right at her, looking happy and healthy. After months of no contact, they are finally able to talk via webcam, just because Jihye insisted.

"How's Chaerin?" asks Jihye, frowning in concern.

"She's doing better, still shaken," says Haeju, rubbing her eyes. "I spent the day with her yesterday... she is more talkative, but she still doesn't want to talk about that night."

"Poor thing," says Jihye, drinking from her coffee mug. "Okay, let's talk about that email you sent me."

Haeju swallows uneasily, bracing herself for the lecture. It seemed like a good idea to email Jihye at the time, she was so desperate to tell the truth to someone. She's not so sure about it anymore.

"How dare you send me that email?" mocks Jihye, adjusting the webcam. "I've been reading it over and over... Who knew? My innocent little sister, dating two guys at the same time... while trying to figure out a murder..."

"I'm just dating one of them now,' says Haeju, lying flat on her stomach as she fixes her bangs.

"Good, Jungkook is the nicest guy," says Jihye, glancing at her fingernails. "Although I don't approve of this mess he's gotten you in. I can't believe he's now a journalist, I used to clean his face after eating ice cream and-"

"I chose Yoongi." Haeju looks away from the screen, embarrassed, and Jihye lets out an exasperated sigh.

"This kid is going to end up fucking with your head," says Jihye sternly as Haeju decides to look at the computer again. "Sorry for the cussing, little sister, but seriously. From what I got reading your email... Yoongi equals trouble."

"I... I know," admits Haeju. "But I love him."

Jihye's eyes widen at Haeju's words, and her lips are parted in shock. "Love? Like... love love? Not infatuation... but love?"

"Yes!" says Haeju. "I... tried so hard not to fall for him, but I love him, Jihye. And I don't know what to do anymore."

And Haeju thinks of the past few days, the stolen kisses in secluded locations, Yoongi's texts, his fingers sliding over her body, his laughter... She loves everything about Yoongi, and it shouldn't be like this. Because it will end, she knows it.

"What if he is a murderer?" says Jihye in a low tone. "Or what if he's covering up for someone? Haeju, you were always the pragmatic one!"

Haeju sighs and fumbles with the keyboard, avoiding Jihye's face. Jihye goes on and on about the many virtues of Jungkook, of how this is all their parents' faults for getting divorced, that Haeju isn't thinking straight.

"Shut up!" Haeju finally yells, fixing her bangs again.

"Is that a tattoo?" gasps Jihye. "Baek Haeju, is that a tattoo?"

"Okay, I just wanted advice," says Haeju angrily, pulling up her sleeve. "But you're obviously judging me, so..."

"No, I only want you to be happy," says Jihye serenely. Haeju watches as a shirtless guy walks by in the background, and realizes that it must be Jihye's new boyfriend. Jihye is oblivious to this, and continues to address Haeju.

"Tell Jungkook you won't help him," insists Jihye. "Get out of this mess while you still can."

Haeju touches the screen and winces helplessly, trying to fight back tears. Her initiation will happen sometime today, Yoongi asked her to meet at the library. There is no turning back now, not with Acuity, and certainly not with her feelings for Yoongi.

"I can't," Haeju whispers. "It's too late."

xxxx

"In a few minutes, huh. And you said you're taking your camera with you, right?"

Haeju nods, and Jungkook is looking out the window, his jaw clenched. They haven't talked much during the week because Jungkook is as distant as ever, but Jimin is growing impatient and Haeju knows that deadline is approaching. Haeju readjusts the strap of her bag, the bag feeling heavy with her camera and change of clothes. Yoongi said that "it wouldn't hurt" to bring some extra clothes, the hint making Haeju even more nervous.

"Will you tell me everything?" asks Jungkook, glancing at her. His eyes are full of hurt, and he hesitates before moving closer to her.

"Yes," lies Haeju. Because she has made a decision in her mind. She won't tell them the true purpose of Acuity; she'll make up something. Haeju cares too much about Yoongi to destroy him, and that's why she will also tell him the truth tonight.

She doesn't even care about Yangmi anymore. She really doesn't. Or Yon. Haeju wants to be selfish for once, and be happy. And maybe if she is completely honest with Yoongi and asks for forgiveness, maybe it will happen. Maybe.

"Am I losing you?" asks Jungkook wretchedly. "As a friend?"

"No, I've been busy... working for you," says Haeju, reminding him of their deal. "I'm sorry. I should have known that things would be awkward if we didn't work out."

"You decided that," says Jungkook, his tone now cold and once again distant. "You're the one who said that we're not meant to be. I beg to differ."

Jungkook grabs Haeju gently by the collar of her denim jacket, and looks into her eyes. She can feel the heat in the tiny space, and she's glad that there is no one in the newsroom but them. Jungkook leans in, and Haeju's eyes flutter, confused.

"Detective Cha says that all leads point to Yoongi," says Jungkook quietly. "At least in Yangmi's death. He is surely involved in Yon's as well. This is why I need to know about Acuity tonight."

"And you will," breathes Haeju.

"Jungkook, what-"

Anya is standing there, her arms holding several books and files. Her eyes travel from Haeju to Jungkook and then back to Haeju, looking slightly shocked.

Haeju takes several steps back, blushing intensely, and Anya is still gaping at her.

"I'm ready," says Jungkook as Anya places the books and files on the desk. Jungkook then looks at Haeju; a side smile appearing on his lips. "Anya and I are writing this huge story about budget cuts. Research is needed."

"I have to leave anyway," mutters Haeju, and Anya is still glaring at her for some reason.

"You don't want to be late for your thing," winks Jungkook.

"Thing?" asks Anya curiously.

Haeju shrugs and walks out of the newsroom as her phone starts to vibrate. She flips it open and sees that it's a text from Yoongi, and she knows that it's time for her initiation.

She has never walked so fast in her life.

xxxx

Acuity certainly has a penchant for blindfolding people, because Haeju finds herself in the same situation she went through a week ago. She doesn't know where they're headed, she just got into the back of the hearse with some of the members of Acuity, and Tae blindfolded her.

Haeju is sure that it's been at least an hour since the ride started, and the silence is driving her insane. She wonders what happened to her bag, if Jiah is going through it or what, but Haeju knows that nothing incriminating is in there.

The hearse finally stops moving, and Haeju sighs with relief as Yoongi kills the engine. She hears doors opening, leaves crunching underneath feet, and soon she's pulled out of the hearse. They walk for a few minutes, still silent, and the scent of pine makes Haeju sneeze a few times.

"Sorry," she mumbles, but nobody says a thing.

"Ah, you're here." Namjoon's voice greets them warmly, and someone let go of Haeju's hand. Haeju stands helplessly as she listens to the others mutter; she hears zippers unzip, some giggles, and she can't stand the uncertainty anymore.

"Okay, Baek Haeju. Are you ready?" asks Chaeku, his tone businesslike.

"Yeah," says Haeju eagerly, and suddenly, she can finally see. They're in the middle of what seems to be a forest, or a really remote park. All of the members of Acuity are wearing black robes, and Chaeku hands her a gray one, his smile tentative. Haeju slips it on and Yoongi beckons her to join them around the fire, and she stands between Bongchol and Seokjin.

"Bringing the fair to the unfair," says Yoongi loudly, and everyone claps. "That is our mission. We are here today to welcome a new member, Baek Haeju. She will bid goodbye to her name and embrace a new one. Baek, please tell us your Acuity name."

"P-Paragon,"she stutters.

"Paragon," the group echoes solemnly.

"Paragon, do you promise to join Acuity's fight against unfairness?" asks Jiah coldly. "Do you promise to help Acuity in it's mission to stop bullying, no matter what?"

"Yes," says Haeju.

"Paragon, do you swear to never reveal the secrets of Acuity?" asks Bongchol, giving her a little smile.

"I swear," squeaks Haeju.

"Paragon, do you swear that you will never betray us?" asks Seokjin, and there is something in the way the fire reflects in her eyes, because Haeju is shivering uncontrollably.

"I won't ever betray you," gasps Haeju, feeling lightheaded. Yoongi moves from his position and walks over to Haeju, holding something that resembles a black rug.

"Are you fully aware of the responsibilities and risks in Acuity?" he asks.

A smirk is threatening to take over Yoongi's lips, and Haeju feels somewhat safe.

"I am," says Haeju, sounding braver than she feels.

xxxx

"It wasn't that bad."

"Sorry?" asks Yoongi, moving closer as a bottle of beer dangles from his fingertips. Everybody is laughing as Hoseok's marshmallow catches fire, and Seokjin starts dancing along to a pop song Bongchol started singing. Everybody has removed their robes just to reveal normal outfits, and Haeju's shiny new black robe is lying next to her.

"The induction... I expected something scarier," admits Haeju, holding on to her soda.

"We're not satanists, Haeju," chuckles Yoongi, slurring a little. "We just hack into the school's systems and mess with admissions. Hardly a horror movie subject. Did you expect us to feed you blood?"

"Something like it," blushes Haeju, and Yoongi leans in. Haeju pulls back, blushing furiously, remembering that most members in Acuity don't know about their relationship.

"Ah, fuck it," says Yoongi, dropping his beer and cupping Haeju's face, pulling her close to him. Yoongi kisses her fervently, and catcalls are heard in the background.

"I knew it!" says Namjoon triumphantly, and Haeju opens her eyes in shock, her heart beating extremely fast. Yoongi puts an arm around her shoulder and most of the Acuity members are giving them approving smiles. Except...

Tae looks pale, but... He already knew, right? Seokjin has his lips pursed as he opens another can of Coke, and Jiah crosses her arms, completely ignoring Hoseok's cheers.

"Hoseok is a genius, you know?" grins Yoongi. "He changed a dozen admission statuses last night, in like... five minutes. Amazing."

Haeju can't say a word because she's feeling guilty, again. Will this feeling ever go away?

"The cabin belongs to the Kims. Namjoon and Seokjin," mumbles Yoongi into her ear. "Isn't it beautiful?"

"Yeah..." says Haeju, tearing her eyes off those three who are looking at her in such strange ways.

"I'm going to get a book," says Seokjin crossly, walking away.

"He's just pissed off," says Namjoon, holding up the bottle of champagne he has been enthusiastically drinking from. "He can't drink, and that always gets him in a bad mood."

"Why?" asks Chaeku as Soojin starts biting his earlobe playfully.

"A little incident... in the past," winks Namjoon. "Let's just say Seokjin would be a great PSA for drinking and dr-"

"Namjoon! Can I have a sip?" blurts Tae, grabbing the bottle from Namjoon. "Thanks!"

Tae glances at Haeju from the corner of his eye, and then the guy looks at Hoseok, who is staring uneasily at his sneakers. There is definitely something going on, but Yoongi doesn't seem to notice; he's too busy toying with the collar of Haeju's jacket.

"Where's my bag?" asks Haeju.

"I'll get it," says Yoongi, kissing her on the cheek before standing up. Haeju watches him leave, and Jiah walks over, taking Yoongi's seat.

"You will have your first assignment on Monday," says Jiah, smiling a bit. "It will fun. I'll help you out since it's the first time you'll do something for us."

"That sounds good," says Haeju, returning the smile.

"Sorry for... not being too accepting of you," says Jiah quickly. "You were friends with Jeon Jungkook and trust me, we don't like that guy."

"So I've heard," says Haeju sarcastically.

"He's been trying to find out stuff about Acuity ever since he started working for the paper," sighs Jiah, drawing circles on the ground with the tip of her shoe. "He's pretty good at being nosy, and it just got worse after Yangmi's death. I don't know... I thought you were going to spy on us."

Haeju's stomach feels heavy, and she smiles nervously. "No... I. No."

"I know that now," says Jiah, patting her on the back. "Welcome to Acuity, Haeju."

Jiah smiles at her again before leaving, and when she joins the rest of the group, she kisses Hoseok in front of everyone. Haeju sighs sadly, knowing that whenever she tells the truth to Yoongi, more than one person will hate her.

"Here." Yoongi has returned, and he's handing Haeju her bag. Haeju looks through it, and grins when she finds her camera.

"We should take some pictures," suggests Haeju. "Have like... an Acuity album."

"Eh, I'm pretty sure that would compromise all of us," frowns Yoongi.

"No! Because we're just friends... hanging out," says Haeju, and to be honest, she intends to keep the photos to herself. To hang on to something in case things go terribly wrong.

Seokjin comes back, holding a book close to his chest, and he stares curiously at Yoongi and Haeju. But Seokjin says nothing, and he sits next to Bongchol, who hands him another soda.

"Guys!" calls Yoongi. "Look!"

Yoongi grabs Haeju's camera and takes a picture, almost blinding all of them.

"Goddamn it, Yoongi," chuckles Hoseok. "Ah, I want to take a picture!"

Hoseok's first victim is Seokjin, who awkwardly smiles at the camera while holding his drink. The polaroids are falling on the ground, and they're being collected by a very hyper Tae, who seems amazed at all the photos.

Soon enough, the only thing that people can listen to for miles is the laughter of young adults, followed by camera flashes and the promise of a night that will never end.

xxxx

"You can stay with Tae, if you want to," says Yoongi, looking down the hallway. The Kim's cabin is incredibly spacious, with plenty of rooms for everyone. Haeju didn't expect to stay overnight, but she guesses that that is the reason why Yoongi told her to bring clothes.

It's a night of taking chances, and Haeju knows it. It doesn't make it any easier, or less scary, but she's sure of this.

"No, I want to stay with you," she says softly.

"Ah, literally sleeping together, huh?" teases Yoongi.

"I want to," says Haeju, her voice breaking a little.

"Oh." Yoongi seems affronted and nervous by this, and he scratches his head pensively. "You... You want to... um, you do?"

Haeju looks at him, their eyes meeting, hoping that's enough for Yoongi to understand. She doesn't want to say it out loud.

"Here?" frowns Yoongi. "I always pictured this differently. You were usually getting out of a wedding dress and I looked like an idiot wearing a tie."

Haeju giggles at the mental image, wrapping her arms around Yoongi's neck. "That's sweet of you," she says sincerely. "But... I do want to spend the night with you. I love you and... I've been thinking about it."

"What about your vow?" whispers Yoongi as footsteps approach them.

"You guys can have the other master bedroom," says Seokjin, handing them towels. "Chaeku and Soojin already, um, marked their territory in the main master bedroom. How classy."

Haeju blushes and Seokjin gives her a sympathetic look. "Hey, sorry if I've been rude," says Seokjin bluntly. "I don't trust people easily. That's all."

"You're nice enough to let us stay here," says Haeju shyly.

"Yeah... well... someone has to fund some of Acuity's adventures," winks Seokjin. "This is nothing, really. Okay, Yoongi, you know where the other bedroom is. Make sure to behave."

Seokjin leaves them alone, the sound of his shoes scratching the floor mirroring Haeju's heartbeats, and Yoongi laughs.

"Okay, um... let me find Chaeku," says Yoongi, blushing. "Um, er... the bedroom is just... um... fucking hell, Baek, I can't talk."

"Upstairs?" suggests Haeju.

"Yes, that," says Yoongi, holding on to the towels. "Just wait for me, okay?"

They look at each other one last time, and Haeju walks away first, headed towards the stairs. She quickly finds the "other" master bedroom, her jaw dropping at the size of it. All this luxury shouldn't be allowed in a cabin, she's sure.

She puts the towels and her bag away, and Haeju sits on the edge of the bed. She toys with her purity ring, taking it off and then putting it back on, and wonders what changed.

She had always been so sure that she would wait until marriage, but it just seems right.

Or maybe she just wants this memory of Yoongi before everything goes to hell.

She waits for a few minutes, and soon Yoongi's footsteps are heard in the hallway, and Haeju can barely catch her breath. Is it supposed to be this nerve wracking?

"I had to see Chaeku naked," winces Yoongi as he closes the door behind him. "That was not cool."

"Why did you need to talk to him?" asks Haeju amusedly.

"Um..." Yoongi shows Haeju a shiny packet, and she realizes that it's a condom. He walks over to the nightstand, and places the condom on top of it, looking terrified. "Look, we really don't have to do this, Haeju. I'm fine with just doing the stuff we've been doing, okay? Just because we're in this nice place, it doesn't mean that-"

"Why are you so eager in talking yourself out of this?" asks Haeju, irritated. "I want to sleep with you, I do."

"Because... this is it," says Yoongi, and he sounds afraid. "Once this happens, it's like the ultimate commitment. After this, I will be a mess if you ever leave me."

Haeju stands up and walks over to him, quickly crushing her lips against his. Yoongi kisses her back, wrapping his arms around her as he pushes her to the bed, and they make out furiously. Their kiss is wet and heavy, and Haeju pulls on Yoongi's hair, wanting him to do more.

"Fuck," breathes Yoongi, taking off his jacket. He kisses Haeju again, but gentler this time. His hand slides under Haeju's shirt, and she jumps at his touch, realizing what's about to happen. But Haeju doesn't want to turn back. She wants this.

Yoongi patiently removes all of Haeju's clothing, and then he removes his own, less patient. Although Haeju has seen him naked before, she still feels embarrassed at the sight of his skin, and even more bewildered at the fact that she is able to touch him.

Haeju gasps as Yoongi gets on top of her, his lips torturing her neck, his fingers teasing her breasts. He's moving slowly and cautiously, as if afraid to hurt her. Haeju whimpers when she feels Yoongi's tongue on her nipples, digging her fingers into his scalp. Everything feels so good, her body is on fire, and she trembles in anticipation.

Yoongi's finger pushes inside of her, and after a few seconds he adds another one, and it hurts a little. But Haeju bites her lip soundlessly, enjoying the attention Yoongi is giving to the upper part of her body. She feels close to coming, and suddenly, Yoongi stops.

"Are you...?" Yoongi is asking for permission, and the lust in his voice is obvious.

"Yeah... yes," mumbles Haeju, and Yoongi reaches for the nightstand. Haeju lies on her back as she hears the packet being ripped open, and she gulps. It takes Yoongi a few seconds, and then he's back on top of her, kissing her cheek, neck, throat, lips. Haeju absentmindedly spreads her legs, wondering if she's doing this right.

"I'll go slow," says Yoongi, his voice barely audible. Haeju nods, knowing that Yoongi would never hurt her, and she moves her hands up and down his back.

She feels the pressure at once, and her body seems to break a little. A high gasp escapes her, and the pain makes her close her eyes for a moment. Yoongi is moving really, really slow, and Haeju holds her breath as her body adjusts to the intrusion.

"Haeju, I love you," says Yoongi, his body still.

"I love you too," smiles Haeju, opening her eyes. She's sure that Yoongi can see the tears, because guilt comes across his face, and she smiles wider, trying to assure him that it's okay.

Yoongi's thrusts are gentle and slow, and Haeju appreciates that. While it's not completely comfortable, it's not as bad as Chaerin made it sound. Haeju is actually feeling some sort of pleasure, even if it hurts a little.

They kiss, and Yoongi starts moving slightly faster, causing Haeju to dig her fingernails in his back. She has never felt so raw, so exposed... so loved. Haeju knows that she will never be able to love someone the way she loves Yoongi, because now, she's given him the thing she valued the most.

She feels Yoongi's teeth sinking on her collarbone, his tongue quickly caressing the spot. Haeju's fingernails dig deeper into his skin, and she wonders if she's hurting him, but part of her wants to leave a mark. She's his. She sure hopes so.

Haeju can feel something building up, and the air is not breathable anymore. Yoongi is panting into her mouth, his groans dying on her lips, and she holds on to him as things seem to slow down.

Yoongi kisses her lovingly, their bodies sweaty and, well, slightly sticky. This is nothing like Haeju had pictured or imagined; she had always thought it would be a painful ordeal. But she doesn't regret a thing.

Their physical connection is suddenly broken, and Haeju feels immediately sore. Yoongi pulls her close to him, holding her in his arms, and he presses his lips against her forehead.

"I would do anything for you," says Yoongi hoarsely. "I want you to know that. Anything."

Haeju can hear Yoongi's phone ringing somewhere in the room, but Yoongi isn't moving. "You should get that," says Haeju quietly.

"No, I want to stay here with you," says Yoongi, cuddling closer to her. But the phone keeps ringing insistently, and Haeju looks at Yoongi pleadingly.

"Fine," he teases, and gets out of bed, slowly disentangling himself from her. Haeju fixes her eyes on the ceiling, going through the speech she has already rehearsed many times.

Yoongi, there is something I need to tell you...

You know I love you, right?

Jungkook is still my friend and I...

Yoongi answers the phone as he clumsily grabs his boxers from the floor and attempts to get halfdressed.

"Hey, what's up?" he asks crossly. "I'm kind of busy."

Yoongi starts frowning as he holds on to phone, and then anger flashes in his eyes. He looks away from Haeju and turns his back on her, and Haeju swears Yoongi is shaking. But he's not saying a word; he's just listening to the other person on the line.

"Ah," he says finally. "I see. Thanks, Pica."

Yoongi hangs up, still not facing Haeju, and he throws the phone violently at the wall. Haeju sits on the bed, covering herself with the messy sheets, her eyes wide in fear.

"What's wrong?" she asks.

"Nothing," says Yoongi in the coldest tone he has ever used. He turns around and Haeju can't really read his expression as he walks back to the bed. Yoongi sits next to her, and Haeju realizes something. He's looking at her the same way he used to when they "hated" each other.

Oh no.

"You would never lie to me, would you?" he asks calmly, and Haeju looks at him, searching for any hints that Yoongi might know something. But now he's looking at her with love in his eyes, so no, he can't possibly know anything yet.

Right?

"I..." Haeju falters as Yoongi rests his hand on her cheek. "No. I... I would never lie to you."

"Thought so," he smirks, and kisses her.

But for some reason, the kiss tastes bittersweet.

| masterlist |

[cayofeliz]

MONKEYING AROUND → VIYO

TAGGING → Cayo Feliz & Vivi White (@vivienified​)

TIMELINE → Saturday, October 7, 2017

SETTING → Walt Playground

SUMMARY → Cayo finds a sad Vivi after the homecoming dance and does his best to cheer her up.

After he’d danced with Kamille and seen Dean crowned king, Cayo was sure there was no way that his homecoming could keep getting better. After he’d gotten to watch Dean’s dance with his queen and congratulate him and hang out just a little longer, though, he decided there was no way the last few minutes of the dance could top what he’d already done, and he decided to head back home, feeling pretty pleased with himself. As he was passing the playground, though, he noticed the shadow of a figure on top of the monkey bars that looked all too familiar – and he came to a stop on the sidewalk nearby, calling out, “Vivi? Is that you?” He was pretty sure it was, so instead of waiting for a reply he just kept talking, asking, “What are you doing here?”

Vivi had left the dance pretty quickly after fighting with Wayland, but hadn't really wanted to go home either out of fear that one of the jumpy toddlers she was forced to call cottagemates would come in early and attempt to talk. So instead, Vivi chose to go to the playground and climb to the top of the monkey bars to be upset about things there. So Vivi had spent a good little while with her long legs dangling down one of the spaces between bars, trying to figure out if it had been something she'd done to make Wayland skip out on being there to support her in order to have sex with another girl, when she heard Cayo's voice calling out to her. Not really ready to exactly face anyone yet, Vivi focused on her fingernails in her lap instead of turning in the direction of the boy's voice. "Yeah it's me. Hey Cayo, don't mind me, I'm just...hanging out."

Cayo nodded his head at Vivi's statement; chilling at the playground seemed like a normal thing to do, although the fact that she wouldn't turn around and look at him was maybe... less normal. "Mind if I hang out with you? The monkey bars are... well, my second favorite now that I'm tall and my feet hit the ground, the slides are my favorite, but still!" he volunteered, walking around to the other side to start climbing up to where she was and noticing that her face was... significantly less cheerful than his. With a start, Cayo remembered that Bianca and Dean winning meant Vivi losing, and suddenly that very happy thing morphed into a guilty, worried thing as he asked, "Are you sad about losing? I wish everyone could have, you're all awesome," he said, wondering if she knew he'd voted for his football teammates and not her and if that was why she didn't seem stoked to see him.

Vivi didn't bother to try dissuading Cayo from coming to join her on the monkey bars, figuring that he'd catch on to her bad mood either way. Which he had. So finally Vivi looked down from her nails to Cayo's face and raised an eyebrow at his question. She had actually almost forgotten that she'd lost. Sure it had stung a little in the moment, but she'd only ran to cut in line at lunch, and in comparison to Wayland's betrayal even that sting meant nothing to her now. "I'm not sad about losing... homecoming queen anyway. I don't care about stuff like that. Wayland and I just kind of got into an argument tonight." Vivi turned her attention back to her nails then, trying her best to stay relatively neutral faced. "Did you have a good time at the dance?"

Cayo 's initial reaction was one of relief; Vivi was still sad, but it wasn't anything he'd contributed to that caused her sadness, at least. He hated making people unhappy more than he hated almost anything in the world... although seeing her unhappy was still totally crummy, even if it wasn't his fault. His brain finally caught up with her words, but he blinked in confusion for a few seconds, situating himself on the monkey bars facing Vivi as he tried to think of what to say. "Really?" he finally asked, wondering what could have possibly happened to make his cousin fight with his... well, not-cousin, but she sort of felt like she'd been part of the family sometimes with how close she was to Conrad and Izzie and Wayland especially. Just to be polite, he remembered to answer her question really quickly before trying to turn the focus back on her instead. "Nobody ruined my night like they ruined yours, what did he do?"

Vivi looped a finger around one of the bangles she was wearing and twisted it around awkwardly, trying to figure out how to answer Cayo's question without seeming like she was tattling on his cousin to him. "I'm glad your night wasn't ruined, but..uh.. Wayland kind of hooked up with someone during the dance instead of being around during the king and queen announcements. And that kind of sucked so we argued about it and well...here I am now." Vivi answered, trying her best not to get choked up on her words as she gave Cayo the weird, stilted, cliffnotes version of what went down. "It was pretty terrible actually, so sorry I'm not telling a better story."

Cayo swung his legs between the bars, never good at sitting still even though he really did want to listen to what Vivi was saying. Although the story kind of shocked him... he gaped at her for a second, then said, "Really? That's kinda a bad date move, he shouldn't have done that." Even if he hadn't missed the king and queen announcement, Cayo was pretty sure it was crummy to hook up with somebody else during a date. "At least it was just a friend date and not a date date, right? Then it would extra suck," Cayo reminded her, thinking that it was a hopeful and optimistic thought rather than one that might strike a sadder cord with Vivi. "I'm sorry you guys are fighting, but he probably deserves to feel a little bad," Cayo admitted, thinking that maybe him of all people wishing temporary unhappiness on Wayland might cheer her up.

Vivi laughed humorlessly. "It extra sucks either way, I don't think it makes much of a difference what kind of date it was. My feelings on the matter are still the same." Vivi paused for a second, realizing that she might have said a bit too much. But luckily Cayo had given her a pretty easily topic to switch too instead. "Youactually want someone to feel bad about something? Who are you and what have you done with Cayo?"

Cayo squinted at her in confusion, not sure what she meant by that. "What kind of feelings?" he asked, wondering if she just like... didn't want Wayland to like other girls more than her or something, or if it was just that he hadn't been there when she'd needed him that had Vivi totally ticked off. Cayo shrugged a shoulder, keeping his other arm firmly holding onto the monkey bars, as he said, "I don't want him to feel bad forever! It's just for a little while, until you don't feel bad anymore." He furrowed his brows, asking, "How long do you think you're going to be mad at him? Like, not saying to hurry up or anything, just... curious?"

Vivi took a deep breath and glanced at Cayo out of the corner of her eye. "Depends. How well can you keep a secret?" Vivi had gone for as long as she could remember being hypervigilant about making sure never to say anything that would imply that she felt anything other than the friendliest of feelings towards Wayland, but what had it gotten her other than ditched at a dance for another easier girl? "That's still very un-Cayolike. I'm surprised at you!" She laughed, genuinely this time as she had to remind herself not to bropunch his shoulder while they weren't on the ground. "I don't know? I've never been mad at Wayland before. We don't really fight like that, so I don't know how long I'm supposed to."

Cayo didn't even have to think about it; he may blurt out his own secrets all the time but he'd never been the type to let anybody else down, blabbing their private business made them sad. "I keep secrets buried like, deeper down than the world's rarest diamond is hiding, nothing you tell me is gonna get dug up no matter how many miners try to mine it, I promise." He wondered what secret she was carrying around, but he didn't think too hard on it, figuring it wasn't his business and she'd tell him if she wanted to tell him. "I'm full of surprises! I'm like, surprise guy," he lied, wiggling a little on the monkey bars, intending to create some kind of ominous effect but not succeeding since he didn't want to fall. "Well, if being mad makes you feel better about what he did, then do it. I'm sure nobody could blame you for it, and he's in college so it's not like people are even gonna notice that much and like, gossip about you guys sitting at different lunch tables and stuff."

Vivi giggled a little at Cayo's promise that he could keep a secret, then closed her eyes and held her breath for a few seconds before letting all the air come out to psych herself up to reveal a secret she'd never told a soul before in her whole life. "Well, I'm kind of in love with Wayland. And pretty much have been my whole life and I know he doesn't feel the same way or anything but he still shouldn't have fucked Sage while he was with me to drive that point so hard home." Vivi spit out, practically saying the words so fast that they may have just been just one. Opening her eyes, Vivi looked at Cayo worriedly wondering how he'd react to the information. He may not have actually been much of a surprise guy, but this was a pretty big secret to drop and the reaction could've been anything. "Being mad doesn't make me feel..better about what he did. I just don't knownhow else to feel. This sucks all the way through."

Cayo blinked at Vivi when she told her secret, although as soon as she said it it all kind of made sense. People liked people who made them happy, right? And he'd always known that Wayland and Vivi made each other happy, or at least they always had until tonight. He nodded slowly, not wanting to make her feel any downer than she already was, but he said, "That makes sense. I mean, it's not super obvious, I thought you guys were those best friends who were going to get married when you were thirty and realized you didn't like anyone else more than you like each other... but I did kinda figure you'd be my cousin for real someday and it would be Wayland's fault." Did that make her feel better? Worse? He wasn't sure, so he waited nervously to see what she'd say back, hoping he hadn't ruined her big secret-revealing moment.

Vivi blinked over at Cayo for a seond and wanted nothing more to scream at the top of her lungs at his statement. She'd been under the exact same impression as Cayo had been for years thanks to her crush and damn it if his words didn't make her ache at the idea of not actually ending up as part of the actual dwarf family. But instead of actually screaming, Viv threw herself off the top of the monkey bars. She landed on her feet despite her best dramatic efforts and looked up at Cayo. "We should go do something. C'mon!"

Cayo didn't speak girl all that well but he was pretty sure that was a universal signal for 'I don't want to talk about it anymore'. He didn't mind, though; he kind of felt honored that Vivi had talked to him about it at all, especially when it was something Wayland and Izzie and Conrad didn't already know. He grinned, sliding off the monkey bars as well, nearly getting stuck because he hadn't put his shoulders straight enough up over his head, and then he hit the ground, saying, "Cool, yeah! Wanna go teepee Wayland's cottage?"

Vivi burst out laughing at Cayo's suggestion and couldn't help but go over and hug the boy tightly. "I'm so glad it was you who found me." She chuckled as she pulled away. "I was going to just suggest that we get drunk and throw rocks at a wall but your idea is waaaay better. Let's go do that!"

Cayo grinned widely; he'd felt terrible for making Vivi feel bad with his 'least favorite cousin' answer a while back, and he hoped tonight proved to her that he cared about her just like she was part of the family. Even if it didn't, though, he was just glad to be an ear to listen to her and someone to get her to smile again when she'd been feeling so crummy. "Yes! I accidentally bought way too much toilet paper when it was my turn to go to the store, so I'm stocked -- and coach gave me a key to the football locker room and there's ALWAYS a ton in there, let's do it!"

[trikeonabike-blog]

Guile

Prologue

The night Castle Guile fell, so did its people. Fire rained down from Frari ships too fast to escape. The bombing left nothing of the capital. In one night, the five year war was put to an end though it did nothing to quell the anger of those that had lost so much in a senseless war. The Land of the North was ravaged by troops too blinded by rage and drunk on adrenaline to differentiate between solider and civilian.

Those living on foreign soil were no safer than those that had been caught in the bombing. Fear and anger combined to create a deadly atmosphere that poisoned minds. No one was safe. Blood darkened the streets as a people were wiped from the plane of existence. I can still remember the screams. Those don't go away no matter how many years pass.

My eyes adjust slowly- my brain even slower. I can't remember where I am. The only thing I can make out is a dimly lit room and a steady lurching. An airship? Why can't I remember? My head hurts. I place my hand above my right eye. A clanking sound reverberates throughout the room. In the next few seconds, I have concluded two things. Wherever I am, I am not here by choice as evident by the chain around my wrist. The thought is terrifying, but it is the second conclusion that truly stops my heart- my eye patch is missing.

Sweat drops form on my forehead and my hands start to shake. I have to find it. My heart feels as if it's trying to burst from my chest. I thrust my hands into the darkness hoping to feel its rough cloth. With every shake of the chain, my heart beats louder. I need to find it.

"So it seems you're finally awake."

I freeze. It is the only thing I can do. How did I not hear the door open? The light hits my back casting the woman's shadow before me. I shake my head allowing my hair to create a green veil between me and captor. Grateful for the light, I sweep my eyes across the floor until I spot the familiar black of my eye patch just a small distance from my right hand.

The silence in the small room is deafening. It's a trap; I know it. She's waiting to see what I do. Like a fool, I slowly reach toward the patch. Her heels resonate throughout the room. With each step, my heart stops, but I continue to reach forward. I've never seen my hand tremble so much.

CLANK. CLANK. CLANK. Just a little further. Like a child that fears a terrible storm, I squeeze my eyes shut as if it will suddenly make this person disappear. The sound stops. I can only hear my breath as it slowly escapes my lips in a sputtered exhale. I open my eyes slowly. The patch is still in front of me- a fingers length away. I reach forward gathering all my courage. Before I can lay a finger upon it, a small creature launches toward my trembling hand.

I reel my hand back before its needle like teeth can pierce my skin. It's a kitchi- a small rodent creature from the southern tip of Frari. In my twenty-four years of life, I have only seen two. Its eyes glare at me with such ferocity, I dare not try to reach for my eye patch again. In the dim lighting, its white coat seems to shine. I am awe struck. Once more, it bares its teeth before clutching the eye patch in its tiny paws and scampering past me.

"There's no need for this, dear," I turn to face the voice behind me. "I already know your little secret."

She is perched elegantly upon a box of what seems to be provisions. My eye patch dangles freely in her right hand; her left gently strokes the kitchi that sits upon her shoulder. It is only by the light streaming from the hallway that I finally gaze upon my captor. It feels as if I am in the presence of royalty.

The light from the hallway casts a shadow over her face. Her lavender hair creates a sharp contrast against the dim lighting and her ebony skin. Her eyes seem to gleam as she stares at me coldly. The left is the color of fresh grass while the right is the color of the golden sands of Liosha. They pierce through me as if they know all my secrets and given the smirk on her face, I bet they do.

She is dressed in a cream blouse with a navy blue vest and matching breeches. Her boots stop just below her knee and are plated in steel. Had it not been for my current surrounding, I would have assumed her to be military. A pirate- she must be.

The realization does nothing to ease my troubled mind. I know what she's after.

"How did you find out about me?" I ask. I no longer have to hide my face. My green hair parts as I stare straight into the darkness toward my captor. My question seems to surprise her, but only for a moment. Her smile widens as she slowly walks toward me. She is no doubt shorter than I, but her presence is intimidating.

I keep my face void of emotion, but I can feel my body tremble. My courage has left and I can only pray she does not know it. She stops but a foot away from where I sit and crouches down. Our eyes are now on the same level. I can feel them upon me- probing for any sign of weakness. Something soft and warm caresses my cheek and I cannot help but flinch. My reaction is met with a smile as she cups my chin in her hand. Her nails gently brush against my throat. With her free hand, she moves the remaining strands of hair aside, tucking it neatly behind my ear.

"You know, they really are quiet beautiful. Even with your pitiful attempts at hiding it, there is no mistaking the blood red eyes of a Guile."

"That wasn't an answer." My words are bold, but inside, my blood is frozen.

She smiles as if she's somehow pleased by my reaction. Her palm slowly moves from my chin towards my throat and finally rests on the nape of my neck. Her nails graze my skin as if they were playing an instrument. This is a test. I keep my eyes locked onto her's unwavering. Her grip tightens as she moves her face forward. My breathing slows as I try to keep the appearance of calm. Her lips linger near my ear. This level of intimacy is frightening and I close my eyes yet again. In the darkness, I can only make out the heat of her breath against my ear and the scent of the island that still remains in her hair.

"You are either brave or stupid," she whispers. Her words tickle and my body reacts with a shiver.  A chuckle escapes from her lips. She moves back to her crouching position, a smile on her face, "Either way, you've earned your answer. Though whether or not you'll like what you hear is an entirely different matter."

I let the gravity of her words sink in. Betrayed. It is the first word that pops into my head. It is a word I have tried to push away since I first heard the jangling of my chains. "Who was it?"

"I didn't ask her name-"

"WHO WAS IT?!"

I can hear my anger echo in the tiny dark room. My captor never loses composure as if she expected my outburst. It takes but a second to realize she did. She laid the bait and I fell for it. The room grows silent with every passing second. My fists clench with anticipation.

"It was the serving girl at the Bloated Corpse. I believe someone said her name was-"

"Tala." My voice comes out as nothing more than a whisper. My mind is flooded with memories of her. Her raven hair blowing in the wind. The scent of papau ale that would linger on her skin after a hard day's work. The way her brow would furrow when she was concentrating on a particularly difficult order. The sound of her laugh. How it reminded me of the island birds during mating season and how she hated when I mentioned that.

Very quickly my mind switches from the feel of her rough hands to the sight of them wrapped around various sailors' necks. Her laughter turns into guttural screams as she throws yet another bottle at me. The sting of my palms. The bruise on her cheek. Eyes that once looked at me as if I was her anchor filled with tears and something else. Fear? Disgust? Both?

"You don't seem too surprised."

I can barely pay attention to the words I'm hearing. My mind can only see Tala. The way her face looked when our eyes met last night. Her eyes filling with water. How the water glistened in her teal eye, reminding me of the waterfall we would hide behind on her days off. How a tear escaped the void of her imperial purple eye to run silently down her face like it had done so many nights before.

"No," I say, my voice shaking. "I'm not surprised."

The image of her lips mouthing "I'm sorry" dissipates from my mind as the room lurches unsteadily shaking me out of my head.

"What are those imbeciles doing?" my captor whispers. I had forgotten she was so close. She turns her head toward the direction of the hallways. Even in the dim lighting, I can see she is irritated.

"Are you going to kill me?" I ask hoping to take advantage of her irritation.

Her head turns slowly and a smile creeps across her face. This worries me. I search her face for some other indication of her thoughts. I am met with cold eyes that give nothing away. There is only the smile.

"Would I waste my time bringing you aboard my ship if I meant to kill you?"

That point had never crossed me. Her eyes continue to stare as search my brain for an answer. Perhaps she plans to enter me in the slave trade. I can only assume someone would pay well for a slave from a near extinct people, "Are you slavers?" She lets out a sigh and her eyelids lower as if she is somehow disappointed in my response. She places her hands on her knees as she raises from the crouching position. Her body becomes a large shadow as she turns her back and walks back to the provisions box.

"You lack imagination," she says. I can hear faint repetitive sounds as if she is tapping her fingernails against the box, "I'm going to tell you a story. You can tune it out if you want, but our journey is long and you should accept any entertainment while you can. One can get a little stir crazy in this room."

She turns around and begins to pace. Each step gives a metallic sound that echoes in the room. The kitchi has curled itself into a ball atop the provisions box. I can't tell if it has fallen asleep or not. I imagine it would be hard to sleep through the noise.

"Once upon a time," she stops placing a finger to her mouth. "No, let's not be silly."

She turns back toward me and the smile appears on her face once more, "How about, a long, long time ago, in a land far north?"

I gasp before I can stop myself. The smile on her face widens, "Ah. So you've heard this one before?"

"Good," she says turning away from me, "There was a story mother's told their children before bedtime. It was a sad story, but all children were told this story in this land. And even though it was just a story, their mother's told it as if it was true. The story was about a young boy and a goddess. The young boy was blind. As so many deemed imperfect by society, we was ostracized and left completely alone. The boy cried every night to an empty and cold world. And every night he was met with silence. No comforting words from a mother. No loving hands from a lover.

"One night, the boy's cry were met by a voice. It was gentle and kind. It said that it had been watching the boy. It wanted to help the boy. The voice said it would help the boy see. When the boy awoke, he saw light for the first time. The boy was ecstatic.

"That was until he noticed how alone he was. What was the use of eyes that worked if he had no one to look upon? The boy was upset with the voice. 'Why did you do this?!' he screamed at the sky to no answer.

"The boy began to cry. He cried until all light left the sky. 'I did not want you to be alone' a voice called out. A light unlike any came from the sky. In it was a beautiful goddess. She reached out to the boy. 'You are not alone. Come to me.' she told the boy. The boy walked into her embrace. It was warm like the sun. 'I will make a home for you,' she told the boy. And she did. She made the boy a castle grander than any this world had seen.

"But it was empty. This was not what the boy wanted. The boy cried and cried as he had done so many times before. Again the goddess came. 'What is wrong my child?' she asked. 'I am alone again,' the boy replied. 'Why won't you stay with me?' The goddess was unsettled. She could not stay with the boy, but she did not wish to see him cry anymore.

"The goddess came up with an idea. She filled the castle with riches beyond imagine and promised the boy she would visit every night. The boy was happy and soon years had passed. The boy had grown into a young man. Travelers had come to settle near the castle and the boy was no longer alone. A town soon grew from the castle and with it more people arrived. The boy was no longer alone. The goddess felt she had finally made the boy happy.

"One night, the young man called out to the goddess and she did not appear. This happened the following night and the night after. Eventually, the young man gave up on calling the goddess. The young man married and his wife became pregnant. The young man was thrilled beyond belief.

"But this would not be a sad story without tragedy. The man's wife became ill and fell into early labor. Both she and the child were lost. Once again, the man was left alone. He stayed in the room his wife had died and cried for three nights. On the fourth night, the goddess came to him.

"She held him in his arms and he was warm again. She held him until the sun began to rise. As she placed on the floor, the man called out to her. 'Why are you leaving me?' The goddess had no time to answer his question. She turned from him, ready to make her descent into the sky.

"It was then the man struck. He held the goddess in his arms. 'You told me you wouldn't leave me?!' he screamed. 'Why does everyone leave me?!' The goddess pushed away from the man. He felt her leave his arms. With the dagger he kept on his hip, he stabbed the goddess in the heart. 'You said you wouldn't leave me" he said.

"Everyone knows you cannot kill a goddess, but you can harm them. From the wound, her blood sprayed upon the eyes she had granted him staining them red-"

"I know the rest," I interrupt hoping to end this story soon. "The goddess gets angry and curses the man and his kingdom. Their eyes and that of their descendants will forever be stained red to show the world the betrayal of their foolish king."

"So you know your fairy tales-"

"Every child of Guile knows that story," I interrupt again. "As you said, it's a bedtime story mothers tell their children."

"You seem so adamant about interrupting me," she says turning once again to face me. "Is there some reason you don't want me to finish?"

I feel as if I fell for her bait once again. I should have kept quiet. She's smirking. The way the light casts on her face, it makes her smile more sinister. Or perhaps it is revealing the true nature of that smile. Something about that smirk angers me, but I know I shouldn't get angry. That's probably what she wants.

"No," I reply. "I was just finishing the story for you. It's an old cautionary tale to prevent children from clinging so heavily to those around them. There's not much else to it."

"We both know that's not entirely true."

"You can't possibly mean-"

"While the goddess was deeply hurt by the man's actions," she continues ignoring me. "she still cared very dearly for the man. The eyes weren't the only thing she left the man."

She stopped pacing. The room suddenly seemed smaller without the sound of her boots against the metal floor. Neither of us speak and a stifling silence fills the room. I can hear her rummaging around, but the lack of light prevents me from knowing what she exactly she's doing. I can only hear a faint clinking sound.

CLANG! The sound startles me and I tense up. To the left of me lay a set of keys. I stare at them dumbfounded before reaching for them. I don't understand.

"For the locks," she says. I wonder if I said that last bit out loud before taking them in my hand.

They are cold to the touch and fit perfectly in my palm. I can't help but stare at it. Why is she letting me go? Does she think I'll help her willingly?

"Whether or not you use the keys is no business of mine," she says reaching for the sleeping kitchi and placing it on her shoulder. I wonder if it has woken up or if it has such natural balance it doesn't need to be awake to be perched there. "I only figured you might want to see more than the darkness of this room."

She begins to walk toward the door and I am left staring into my palm. I can see her shadow moving further and further away from me. I grip the keys in my hand.

"I won't help you find it," I say stopping her in her tracks. The light from the hallway is bright and her whole body is covered in shadow. Even still, I know she is smiling.

"My dear, you don't have a choice."

I can hear her footsteps as she walks down the hall. Eventually, I hear nothing, but the light buzzing of machinery. I am left alone with my thoughts and the keys to my freedom or at the very least, the key to my locks.

The chains fall to the floor causing echoes that most likely could be heard even outside this room. My wrist is sore. There is no doubt a mark from the chain. I move my hand to help with circulation as I plan my next step. A familiar scent wafts into the room.

Without thinking, my legs move. Out the room and down the hall. Each step is almost automatic as I follow the scent. It stings when I breathe in, but I cannot make myself stop. I find myself at the bottom of a set of metal stairs. I climb. With each step a metallic sound reverberates through the stairwell. CLANK. Each step takes me further away from the island. CLANK. Further away from Tala. CLANK. Further away from suspicious stares. CLANK. Further away from a past I never wanted. And closer to something else.

I am almost running as I make my way up the last bit of steps. I am hungry for it. Hungry for that thing I've been searching so long for. That something that couldn't be found in the bed of strangers. The light is nearly blinding me as I get closer to the top, but I can't stop. My breathing is heavy, but I am so close.

I break through the light and find myself staring at a far off wasteland. I cannot even focus on the people littering the deck. My eyes can only take in the deserted land. What isn't covered in ice is ripe with untamed frozen forest. In the center of it lay ruins slowly being buried by nature. It's there. I can smell it in the air. Home.

[ghostbustermelanieking]

snow in april (chapter 1 of 8)

deadalive au, casefile

Dealing with the fallout from Mulder's return, Mulder and Scully find themselves in the midst of a strange case in a small town.

If there was some kind of self-help book for coming back from the dead, Mulder was considering buying a copy. Or investing in one. Maybe Billy Miles could help him if he wasn't a dangerous super soldier who had an alien virus that Mulder himself had narrowly escaped. (He was going through a bit of a crisis, to put it mildly.)

Scully hadn't wanted to tell him any details about his ordeal - she'd looked on the verge of crying almost constantly these past few days - so it had been the wiry man who'd shown up at his hotel room, the New Partner, who'd explained everything. Skinner had helped, something of a sheepish, embarrassed look on his face. (Mulder suspected he felt guilty about what had happened in Oregon. He should reassure Skinner that it wasn't his fault.) And Scully had slumped in the chair by his bed, one hand curled around her clearly-pregnant stomach and the other clamped hard around his hand, clutching at his fingers like he might slip away. She stared at her knees the entire time. At one point, Mulder thought he saw a tear hit her nose.

Doggett looked uncomfortable - was he scared of the fact that Mulder was perpetually a zombie or just awkward in social situations? - but he shook Mulder's hand and said it was nice to meet him and he had heard a lot of good things from “Agent Scully”. Mulder nodded awkwardly and wished he'd never gone to Oregon.

“He's a good man,” Scully said in a rush as soon as Skinner and Doggett had left. “He helped me look for you… he saved my life.”

Mulder had been prepared to say nothing or mutter something semi-polite, but he froze a little at her last words. “Saved your life?” he repeated softly, squeezing her fingers. What happened to her?

She looked up, a little surprised; like the idea hadn't occurred to her that he would be worried about her. “Yes,” she said. “But it was nothing. I'm fine.”

Same old Scully, pregnant or not. Except for something, a slight difference. She'd always had a slight tendency to hover after his ordeals, but she'd been different since this. Clingier, more teary. She'd lain with her head on his chest for such a long time that he'd rasped something about how her back would be killing her in the morning against her scalp. And so she'd sat up, brushed her fingers through his hair again, and asked softly if he thought he'd be okay to move over a little bit before helping him scoot over and crawling into the tiny bed beside him. She pressed her face into his neck, right below his chin where his pulse beat against her forehead, and breathed shudderingly into his skin. He wrapped an arm around her and felt her stomach under his hand, felt the baby kick. Scully made a startled sound against his throat and held him tighter. “Scully?” he whispered, mind racing. What, what, what...

“I love you,” she murmured, voice cracking. She'd never said it before.

He wanted to ask her everything all at once (the baby, there was a baby?), but her breathing was slowing to a peaceful lull. She'd looked exhausted, before, when he opened his eyes and saw her looking extraordinarily happy and sad all at once as she reached out to touch him. He was exhausted - it had felt like he hadn't slept in months (which Mulder found plainly ironic at this point, knowing what he did about his ordeal). He moved his arm up to curl lazily around her shoulder and closed his eyes.

And now here he was, some kind of dead-alive anomaly that belonged in the X-Files. It was some kind of karma, he figured, for putting Scully in them.

Scully was still looking at him like he was the sun - stunned and a little blinky and like he was some kind of miracle - and all he could think about was how he wasn't there to save her life. Instead, this Doggett guy was. He cleared his throat and looked away, although he didn't let go of her hand. (He wasn't that mean, and besides that, he was enjoying the contact even if he had no idea what was going on.) “So,” he said. “Do I still have a job?”

When he looked back at Scully, she still looked a little stunned - but for an entirely different reason, he suspected. “I - of course, Mulder,” she said softly. “As soon as you've recovered. Doggett will… need some help, I expect.” She withdrew her hand from his and smoothed her thumb over her index fingernail. They were ragged at the ends like she'd been biting them, with no polish. He hadn't seen them looking like that since after the second time with Pfaster.

“You're not coming back?” he said - stupidly, it was obvious she wasn't. Her hand hadn't left her abdomen the entire time.

She ran her thumbnail over and over her fingernail. “I… don't expect so.”

It was more than obvious, but he couldn't help being something like disappointed. Seven years of partnership. “I… understand,” he tried.

Her fingers tightened around each other. “I thought we might…” Scully stopped mid-sentence. “Never mind. Mulder, do you need anything?”

He shook his head. He wanted to ask why she was running his errands when she was the pregnant one here, but it would also contradict his asshole question about if she was coming back. He just wanted her to hold his hand and talk about meaningless stuff so that, for the moment, they could pretend that nothing was wrong. The cadence of her voice - or anyone's, really - made it easy to pretend nothing was wrong. Like he couldn't hear the dirt on the coffin when he closed his eyes. “No, I'm fine.”

She nodded. “They're running some tests. We should know how you're doing in a few hours.”

The room lulled over into an awkward silence. Scully excused herself to use the restroom. Mulder shifted in his bed, leaning into the pillow, and tried not to think about the dark memories flitting at the back of his mind.

(They came back in waves, phantom bursts of hot pain and his throat raw with screaming for help. He held his breath to keep from crying out until Scully came back.)

---

A clean bill of health, Scully told him, looking happier than she had since he'd woken up. No brain disease.

Shit, he realized, she found out. Of course she found out, she probably wouldn't stop digging until she found something. He wondered if she'd made use of his gravestone. Of course she had, it was a morbid but obvious thought. The truly morbid thing was that they had both seen each other's gravestone - he'd seen hers during her abduction. When she'd gotten sick, he'd found out she kept it and had the date changed, and it had made him want to vomit. (Had she always expected to die on the job? Was that why she kept it?)

“That's good,” he said, to make her happy.

She smiled a little, looking down at her shoes. “I was… worried,” she said softly. “I didn’t want to get you back just to lose you again.”

He tried to tease a little - at least that was something he could do. “You know me, Scully, I always come out okay in the end,” he said, reaching out to tuck some hair behind her ear. She didn't say anything or laugh, but she did lean into his fingers. He put his hand against her cheek, stroking her cheekbone with his thumb. It seemed like all he could do in the moment was touch her and try not to fall apart.

She put her hand over his, eyes slipping closed. “You can go home tomorrow,” she said softly. Her hand was warmer than his. (Something leftover from death?) “I kept your apartment for you.”

He stared at her with something like astonishment. “Scully…”

“I fed the fish.” She smoothed a thumb over the back of his hand.

He reached out, touching her hip and motioned her closer. She crawled on the bed beside him, leaning into his side, and he put his head on her shoulder. “I'm sorry,” she said to his scalp. “It's just…”

“It's okay,” he whispered, touching her wrist. “Don't leave.”

They scooted down on the bed and Scully pulled the thin blanket over them. Mulder hadn't been able to get warm all night, but with her curled around him he was warmer than he'd been in months.

Her swelled abdomen was pressed against his side and he could feel a tiny foot behind it. He knew that at some point they'd have to talk about the baby, but at the moment all he could come up with was, “The baby's kicking.”

She smiled into the side of his neck. “It's been doing that more lately,” she said. “I think it's you.”

---

Scully tried to carry his suitcase - the bag she'd apparently sent Skinner back to DC to pack for him after he'd woken up - out to the car, but Mulder snatched it back. “Come on, Scully,” he said, motioning to her stomach.

“Mulder, I am still perfectly capable of doing things,” she said, with the first hint of irritation he'd heard since he'd woken up. (He was relieved at least she was getting back to normal; he'd been worried about her. Him on the other hand…)

“Yeah, and so am I,” he replied calmly (or more calmly than he felt, at least), tugging the suitcase out of her hand. She looked irritated but she let him, rounding the car to sit in the driver's side with the keys dangling from her hand. Her car smelled different when he opened it and climbed into the passenger seat. Six months, he thought. Six fucking months, and all he could remember from them was a series of brief snippets of pain and torture and then nothing. She had been here the entire time, had continued living her life and investigated X-Files and been through months of gestation. She had buried him. He swallowed and pressed his hand against the dashboard as the car moved out of the parking space - lurching forward; at least Scully's driving was the same, reckless and heart-pounding. (It was a good reminder that his heart was still beating.) “Scully?” he asked gingerly.

“Hmm?” she said absently, flipping on her turn signal. Her hair fell across her cheeks as she leaned forward to look back and forth; it had gotten longer while he was gone.

“Where was I buried?”

She flinched violently, turning onto the road sharply enough that his side hit the armrest hard. Her hands clutched the steering wheel so hard that her knuckles turned white. “North Carolina,” she said. “Raleigh. With your family.”

He swallowed again, against the burn of nausea in his throat. His fingers drummed nervously against the dashboard. He was going to be buried, he'd known that when he found out he was dying, but the concept of coming back from it was something entirely different. He'd tried not to picture Scully at his funeral, and now it was all he could see. He was trying not to hear the thunks of the dirt above his head, or feel the rough, splintery wood under him, but it was practically surrounding him, choking him. Dirt in his throat and nose and under his fingernails. He was alive, then dead. Now what was he?

“I want to go there,” he said.

Scully blinked, squeezing the wheel tighter. “You do?”

“Yeah,” he said in a rush. He'd always been one to look for answers, his entire life, and now he needed more. He needed to understand what had happened to him, look it in the face. She'd had the same need after her abduction, she'd understand. “I need to see it,” he tried to explain. “I need to understand.”

“Understand what?” Scully bit out. “You died, and now you're back. It's a miracle. I know you believe in miracles.”

Never give up on a miracle, he'd told her when the IVF failed. And she hadn't, and she hadn't given up on him either. He was more than grateful for that. He hated letting her down, but this was something he needed to do. “I just need to go there,” he said, his tone soaked with apology. “I'm sorry, Scully. I'll call you from the road, okay?”

She bit her lip. Hard. “No,” she said firmly. “I'm coming with you.” He opened his mouth to say something - either you don't have to or thank you - but she cut him off. “I am your doctor, and you were in a fucking hospital bed a few hours ago. You are not going alone.”

“Oh, you're my doctor. Are we not partners anymore?” he said before he could stop himself. Goddamnit, he was a horrible person. He didn't deserve to have a second chance, especially with someone like Scully.

She clenched the wheel harder. “You're always going to be my partner, Mulder.” She said it in a furious sort of rush, like it should be obvious. “So I'm coming with you to North Carolina. It's been six goddamn months.” She swallowed the end of her sentence, like she didn't want to finish it. The walls were coming back up, for both of them.

“You're pregnant.” Stating the fucking obvious.

“I am perfectly aware.” She merged easily onto the interstate, jaw clenched. At least his ability to piss her off hadn't faded.

He watched her silently, her face frozen in something like anger. He wanted to grab her hand. He wanted to go back to the hospital bed and hold her again. No, he wanted to go back to six months ago, to that night she'd spent in his apartment before he'd decided to leave, when she'd been sick and fallen asleep on his couch, cheek plastered to the leather, and he'd sat beside her on the floor with the file balanced on his knees and kissed her forehead and thought, I'm not losing her again. Never again. But he had anyway; despite his best efforts, they'd lost each other. He had looked for her in the dark and she wasn't there and he wanted her to hold his hand.

They drove for almost twenty minutes before he said a tentative, “Thank you.” She turned her head towards him, so he added, “I'm glad I'm not alone.” He hadn't been able to do anything without her for eight years, now.

“Of course, Mulder,” she said quietly, her face softening. “Of course.”

---

He was driving. Except for the fact that he couldn't remember why or for how long and he didn't know where they were. No, wait, he could remember the why: they'd stopped in a gas station in Virginia and Scully had gone into the little store and come back yawning and he'd insisted on driving. The last thing he could remember was seeing was Scully curled up in the seat, seat belt stretched around her. And then nothing. All black and yellow-white dots like stars.

Mulder blinked furiously, pulling off on the side of the road. Where the hell were they and how long had they been driving? He glanced at the car clock: 9:27. They'd left the hospital in the early afternoon; they should've been in Raleigh hours ago. By the pressure in his ears, he guessed that they were in the mountains.

“Fuck,” he muttered, letting down the window. An almost unnaturally cold wind blew over him. “Fuck.” He turned to see Scully, still asleep with her hair falling over her face. He reached out to touch her and was relieved when her pulse was still there and steady; she wasn't drugged or something. “Scully,” he said softly, nudging her. “Scully, wake up.”

“Mmph,” she grunted. “Mul’ler? Where are we?’

“I don't know,” he said. The headlights shone like the larger version of their flashlight beams on a rickety wooden sign. “Somewhere called Calvert Pass, population 747.”

“What?” She shifted in her seat, rubbing her eyes, and leaned close to the window, nose almost touching it. The air conditioner had been blowing, but it seemed too cold for it now: her breath fogged the glass. Mulder switched it off. “Mulder, where did you take us?”

“I don't know! I don't remember driving us here.”

She turned, eyes widening in fear. “Mulder, are you okay?” she whispered. She leaned over the console to feel his forehead, shirt straining her stomach.

“I'm fine,” he said. “I don't know what happened, though… why I would black out and bring us here. I've never even heard of Calvert Pass.” He had a terrible thought, swallowed back a gag. “Scully, where was I… returned? Where did you find me?” He had a terrifying picture of his crumpled body on this cold and lonely mountain, dirt and dead leaves and Scully leaning over him.

She was just as horrified, and tried to hide it by turning to her purse on the floor of the car. “Montana,” she mumbled. “Not… Calvert Pass, Montana. This doesn't look like Montana anyway.”

“Oh,” he said, and ran his finger over the seam of the consol. “Well, I would say this is connected to my abduction, except my theory about the Brown Mountain Lights and UFOs were proved wrong. Are we near Brown Mountain? I think hallucinogenic mushrooms are the last thing we need.”

Scully was rummaging in her purse. She pulled out a pen light. “What's the last thing you remember?”

“You falling asleep.”

“You don't remember anything about driving here? Anything at all?”

He shook his head.

Scully looked extremely concerned. “I think I should drive for the time being,” she said, unbuckling her seatbelt. “Let's find a place to stay in town and we'll take you to the doctor in the morning.”

“Scully, I'm fine. And besides, I don't think they'll have a hotel in a town with a population of 700.”

“You forgot the other 47,” Scully said, opening the door on her side. Mulder took that as a closing to the argument and got out of the car. It was freezing cold outside, like he hadn't really missed the fleeting months of winter. He didn't think the climate was cold this time of year in North Carolina or Virginia or wherever the hell they were. Somewhere in the south, where springs were not usually cold.

As they passed each other in front of the car, Scully reached out and squeezed his arm. He welcomed the warm pressure.

“It's cold outside,” he commented as they climbed into the car. “Strange for this time of year. Maybe we should buy some coats at the local Wal-Mart imitation.”

“How do you feel now? Any dizziness or nausea?” Scully asked as she started the car.

“No dizziness, no nausea, no fatigue, no spotty vision,” he listed, propping his feet up on the dashboard. Scully made a face at him. “I feel fine, seriously. The doctor said I was in perfect health, right?”

She bit down on her lip, and he remembered he hadn't told her about his brain disease. “Yeah,” she said softly. “But a few days ago, you were dead, Mulder.”

It was his turn to wince. He looked out the window at the rocks on the mountainside flitting by as they looped up and down the curving rounds. “And you fixed me, right?” he mumbled.

“Something like that,” she said quietly. “Skinner helped.”

“Good old Skinman,” he said, and was pleasantly surprised with her quiet laugh.

Their headlights swept up the side of the mountain, the only lights for miles. There were almost no lights from the town. It was definitely tiny, almost invisible. There was a convenience store - not a chain either of them recognized - that was the only thing open, its lights strangely muted on the dark street. They stopped to buy coats - Scully was definitely shivering, and there was no way that was good for the baby.

“Is there a hotel in this town?” Mulder asked the only cashier in the store as he rang them up.

The man laughed. “Little too small for that. There are some cabins up for rent just outside of town, though. I can give you directions.”

“Please,” Scully said, a hand ghosting her stomach.

“Why's it so cold up here?” Mulder asked, leaning against the counter as the man scribbled down directions on the back of their receipts. “Some kind of cold front?”

The man shrugged. “Maybe because we're in the mountains? I dunno.I don't question it.” He handed them the receipt and their bags. “Y'all have a nice night now.”

“You seem awfully interested in the weather, Mulder. You think it's an X-File?” Scully teased, buttoning the oversized jacket over her. Her hair got caught in her collar, stretched over her cheek. Mulder thought about brushing the strands back.

“You know me, I can't leave well enough alone,” he said instead. Which is why I was abducted in the first place.

“Well, I can assure you it's just some unusual weather. We'll be gone after tomorrow anyway,” Scully said, opening the car door. “And we can head to Raleigh.”

“Sounds like a plan,” he said, brushing the hair behind her ear. She didn't turn towards him, but he could see her smile. “Seeing as how neither of us are in X-File solving condition.”

“I'll have you know I've solved several X-Files recently,” she teased, crossing her arms over her chest. “My maternity leave started a few days ago.”

He wanted to ask her about them, but something else was bothering him. “Just now?” he said. “Scully, the job’s dangerous.” Her hospital bills since 1993 were excessive; it was one of the things he hated himself for. And the baby…

She shrugged. “Doggett let me choose the cases, so I shied away from the risky ones. And I… took some time off after… the funeral.” She looked down at the ground, at a murky puddle under their feet. They were both wearing tennis shoes; in his case, it was all they had at the hospital, but in her case, he guessed it had something to do with swollen feet. Of course, he didn't know anything about pregnancies. He was clueless, desperately so. He'd have to work on that.

“Scully?” he asked.

“Hmm?” Her chilled palm slipped into his.

“How far along are you?”

She was still looking at the ground, but she squeezed his fingers. “Eight months,” she said softly.

Eight months. Which meant she'd been pregnant when she'd been sick in Oregon, when she'd crashed to the ground, when she'd held that baby and he'd told her there was more than this. There was so much more, and he should've stayed with her. He wished he'd stayed with her and never left. There was so much more coming. They had a future.

He didn't say anything because he didn't know what to say. But he tugged their joined hands until she was in his arms. She buried her face in his chest, wrapping both arms around him as tightly as she could with the baby. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and lowered the other hand to her stomach. He hesitated, and she grabbed his hand and pressed it into place. The baby kicked under his palm. “The baby knows your voice,” she said into his coat. “I made sure that it would. I wanted it to know you.”

(He had to hold back tears at this. He pressed his nose into her hair and felt his child kick under his hand.)

---

The cabin was a little wooden cottage-type clustered with other little wooden cabins around a river in the woods. The owner of the cabins had been asleep but had gladly rented them the cabins, to Mulder's surprise. Most people in his experience did not like to be woken up, even if it was only ten at night. (Scully tended to get grouchy.)  The inside was heated, gratefully, and there was a bedroom off to the side. Scully dropped the bags on the counter, pulling out her cell phone. “Better check in with my mom,” she said. “I told her we would be in Raleigh hours ago, and she's had… a worried tendency. Lately.”

“I can understand,” Mulder said - he'd spent most of their partnership worrying about her. “I'm going to go take a shower, okay?”

“I think that's a good idea,” she said, reaching up to push some hair off of his forehead. “Be careful, okay?”

He nodded before disappearing into the bathroom. He hated being treated like an invalid, especially when he didn't feel like one (blackout sessions be damned), but he secretly had always liked Scully fussing over him.

Inside the shower was completely different. He realized in the moment of standing under the pounding spray of hot water that this was the first he'd been alone since the hospital. He closed his eyes for a second and it was all back - the blades, the ship. Her name in his mouth. He pressed his hand against the tile and tried not to scream. You're safe, he tried to tell himself. Scully is in the next room. She's having your baby. You're safe, you’re safe. The flashing of images got to be too much, so he pressed his mouth into the skin of his upper arm and screamed, the sound muffled by the water.

Scully was waiting for him when he exited the shower, sitting on the bed. “Hey,” she said. “Are you o-”

He halted her mid-sentence, cupping the back of her skull and kissing her desperately, her hair trailing through his fingers. She made a soft sound and tugged him closer, her fingers curling into his shirt. “Mulder…” she mumbled.

“I missed you, Scully,” he whispered, stroking her cheek with his thumb. “I really, really missed you.”

[flauntpage]

The NBA Player Who Went from Anonymous to Irreplaceable

It’s 2013, and Rodney McGruder is alone in Hungary. The Miami Heat guard was then a 22-year-old recent graduate of a Kansas State Wildcat program designed by Frank Martin to physically and mentally break those who participate. He’s exhausted from the first leg of his club team’s (Atomerőmű SE) grueling practice regimen, wondering why he’s halfway across the world, thousands of miles from his family, just about as far from the NBA’s radar as anyone who’s already tasted that lifestyle can possibly be.

A few months prior, after he was cut by the Oklahoma City Thunder, those close to him said get your money. They warned him about the D-League’s inability to offer a competitive wage, and advocated against that as an option. Playing overseas, though, was. Soon after, McGruder’s agent called with two options: Australia or Hungary. McGruder wanted to be different, carve his own path, and experience something unique. So he chose Hungary, despite "how beautiful Australia is."

For about eight months—the first two completely isolated from loved ones before his girlfriend moved in—this was McGruder’s life. Games, practices (for which he was in the gym from 10 AM to noon, followed by another run from 6-8 PM) and everything else, which was nothing else. There was never enough time to sightsee or take in the culture of a foreign country. A two-hour drive north to Budapest was out of the question. McGruder lived in a small town where everything closed early. All he had was basketball, his club’s looming championship run—two hard practices were held the day before the Finals—and God. He prayed and dove deeper into his faith. He sat and thought about life.

Hungary confirmed to McGruder just how badly he wanted to be in the NBA. The experience reaffirmed his love for the game, and doubled as something he wouldn’t trade for the world while not wanting to endure it ever again. McGruder’s agent kept telling him NBA teams were watching. That he was on their radar. But it never seemed that way. Only six months removed from being named first-team All-Big 12, McGruder felt like his basketball relevance was already dangling by a fingernail.

“The one thing that came to my mind when I was over there was ‘what are you doing? This wasn’t your dream. Chase your dream. Don’t lose sight,’” McGruder remembers. He instructed his agent to find him a spot in the D-League next year, closer to family, his home, and the attention of all 30 NBA organizations. No matter what.

McGruder’s story is filled with pivotal moments and decisions designed to shatter confidence and distract from the original goal he first had as a young boy growing up ten minutes outside of Washington D.C., playing in the same AAU program as Kevin Durant and Michael Beasley. Those two gave him hope. They grew up at the same recreational center, and when they made the NBA, McGruder didn’t see why he couldn’t too.

The youngest of four, he was introduced to the sport as a five-year old by an older sister whose basketball games he frequently attended. The stint in Hungary was his first extended involvement in professional basketball, but it was so far from where he wanted to be; it helped push him to where he is today.

Five years later, McGruder sits in the lobby of a luxury hotel in SoHo. He’s 27 now, bundled up in a black Miami Heat sweatsuit, polite with an easy laugh as the drawn hood outlines his face. One month into his third season, McGruder is your favorite Most Improved Player candidate’s Most Improved Player, a blossoming offensive weapon who never lost track of the intangibles that convinced Miami to offer him a contract. Nicknamed “The Scavenger” and “Sweet Spot Rod” by teammates, he’s averaging more minutes and front-court touches than everyone on the Heat except Josh Richardson, posting an assist rate that’s nearly twice his career average.

McGruder’s journey is inspirational. But what makes him so intriguing is the future. He contributes to winning with the exact skill-set that’s in demand by every coach in the league. And as a restricted free agent this July, entering a marketplace that’s flush with cash, McGruder’s story feels like it’s only begun.

“He’s probably surpassed everyone’s expectations,” Heat center Kelly Olynyk says. “And I think he still has more room to keep growing.”

McGruder can still remember the sting of draft night, huddled in front of a TV with his family in a room full of hope, prayer, and tension, all waiting to hear then deputy commissioner Adam Silver say his name. Earlier that night, McGruder’s agent called with good news: the Orlando Magic were interested, and there was a chance he’d be their 51st pick. McGruder’s mind raced back to how good he felt after his workout with the team. He didn’t want to sound a false alarm, though, so he kept the information to himself. When Silver walked to the podium to announce Orlando’s pick, a nauseating jolt ran through his body. The Magic took Romero Osby instead. (McGruder has Osby’s name stashed in the forefront of his memory like it’s his own phone number.)

Most of his family was understandably distraught, but McGruder’s mother, a strong woman who spent 30 years as a bus driver for the Washington D.C. transit system, didn’t let him feel sorry for himself. “It’s all in God’s time, baby. What’s meant to be will be.”

The next morning, he woke up at 7 AM and immediately put himself through an intense workout. He couldn’t stop thinking about every name that echoed through Barclays Center over his own. What’s done was done, though. McGruder pressed on to prepare for the next opportunity. A few weeks later he was down in Orlando with the Magic’s summer league team. Then he flew to Las Vegas to play for the Charlotte Bobcats. Integrating with a horde of new teammates so quickly was a challenge, but McGruder was impressive enough to land a training camp roster spot with the Thunder. They cut him after a month.

“I looked at it like ‘Yo, I’m in the NBA!’ And when you get a taste of something that you love and really enjoy doing and get that taken away from you, it hurt a little bit.”

“When you get a taste of something, something that you really wanna do, like, I didn’t look at it like preseason,” McGruder says. “I looked at it like ‘Yo, I’m in the NBA!’ And when you get a taste of something that you love and really enjoy doing and get that taken away from you, it hurt a little bit.”

Next was his season-long odyssey in Hungary, the experience that somehow pushed a maniacal worker even harder to get back to the league he was desperate to crack. The following July he was back in Vegas, this time playing for rookie head coach Steve Kerr’s Golden State Warriors. “Just being able to learn from him, it was fun. It was a lot of fun,” McGruder says.

That led to a training camp deal with the Boston Celtics, where Brad Stevens was entering his second season at the helm. It felt familiar. He knew Marcus Smart and Phil Pressey from battles in college. When the Celtics waived McGruder, he accepted an offer to play for their D-League team, the Maine Red Claws. But midway through a scrimmage that was held right before the season began, he pulled his groin. He returned two weeks later and promptly pulled it again. That slow start prevented McGruder from cracking their rotation, and shortly before the playoffs began his agent asked the team to release him. McGruder packed his bags and flew back home to Maryland, unsure of what was next.

His agent soon texted with two more options: the Austin Spurs (the D-League affiliate of the San Antonio Spurs) or the Sioux Falls Skyforce (the D-League affiliate of the Miami Heat). He chose Sioux Falls, and spent three games there before the season ended. Next was a spot on Miami’s Summer League team, and then...crickets.

“The lowest point for me was I played Summer League with the Heat and I was just waiting. I didn’t get any camp invites. I was like ‘man, what am I gonna do? Should I go back overseas?’ And then I was like, you know what? I feel like I didn’t get a full D-league experience because I was hurt most of the year. So I’m talking to myself, I’m talking to my family, I’m talking to my girl, and they’re like ‘You say you want to play in the D-league, why are you mentioning overseas again? You said you want to play in the NBA.’”

Heat assistant coach Dan Craig, who’d just been named the Skyforce’s new head coach, eventually called McGruder up to offer a spot on the team. Sioux Falls went 40-10 (a D-League record) and won the championship. McGruder led the league in Win Shares and finished fourth in total minutes.

“It might not happen overnight but this has been a four-year process,” Heat coach Erik Spoelstra says. “He helped us win a championship. It’s one of the reasons we signed him to this deal. He had winning qualities in big moments. There were a lot of other guys who got call ups before him. We cut him twice before that.”

After his second-straight Summer League with Miami, McGruder received a training camp invite and made the team on the last day of cuts. It felt surreal. He didn’t sleep that night. And from the public relations staff he shocked by knowing their names before they knew his, to the coaching staff that admired how hard he worked on a daily basis, the feeling throughout Miami’s organization was that they just added an ideal player and person to their program.

“There’s been a lot of sweat equity behind the scenes,” Spoelstra says. “He’s a great example of how much better you can get with time.”

“When I came to Miami they asked me what I thought I was going to do and what our philosophy was and it was simple,” Heat President Pat Riley told me last year. “Become the hardest working, best conditioned, most professional, unselfish, toughest, disliked, nastiest team in the league.”

Almost a quarter of a century later, Heat culture is defined by those qualities. They’re the backdrop of three world championships, the league’s second-best defense, and a higher winning percentage than all but four organizations since Riley was hired.

But with success comes envy, and for some, Heat culture is like an artificial biosphere sponsored by GOOP. Hot air: Enter our habitat and discover your best self. That’s not true, though. Their ethos is more like a buzzsaw that’s engineered to weed out those who believe they’re above off-court discipline and persistent work ethic. Rejuvenation, tenacity, and relentlessness. The Heat promote it not because they’re willing to promise positive results to everyone who signs on the dotted line. Fierce commitment is mandatory, and McGruder has molded himself into a walking billboard for the Miami Way. Come to Miami and be the next Rodney McGruder may one day become the sales pitch that encapsulates why they spread the message they do.

“He’s an embodiment of what we preach at the Miami Heat,” player development coach Eric Glass says.

The organization doesn’t like to hang ceilings over players when they first enter their development program. It’s a mindset that limits growth and embraces the natural inclination to label someone off what they can or can’t do on day one. That corollary is pure cynicism, and they go out of their way to avoid it. McGruder’s growth explains why. He reminds Heat icon Udonis Haslem of a smaller version of himself, someone who’ll do whatever it takes for the team to win without ever backing down from challenges that stand in his way.

Shortly before his rookie season began, Haslem invited McGruder over to watch some football. Once he realized McGruder didn’t have a car to drive himself home, Haslem—whose high-school coach was McGruder’s college coach—lent him a tinted out Mercury Marauder...for the year. “Once we signed Rodney, Coach Frank reached out to me and said ‘You’ve got one of my guys, make sure you take care of him,’” Haslem says. “So from that point on, Rod became one of my guys. It’s family.” (McGruder now drives a Mercedes Benz.)

His sophomore year was all but entirely lost to a stress fracture suffered in his left leg during the preseason. The news came days after he won Miami’s notorious conditioning test—McGruder laughs now, “I think I really can’t speak too much on that”—with an entire summer’s worth of work freshly laid in his rearview mirror. McGruder thought the pain was caused by shin splints, and his heart dropped when surgery was presented as the only option.

“I just thought about all that it took to get here and counted the hours in the gym. But then I also put things into perspective,” McGruder says. “Everything happens for a reason.”

A protective walking boot prevented McGruder from sitting on the bench during Heat home games, so he sat in the back, beside Glass, and watched how the the team’s former video coordinator coded each possession.

“I think for most people it’s just a different type of environment and different way to look at the game. Even for coaches, when you’re new to a video room you have no idea what’s being tracked, how the game’s being perceived and viewed, and for a player who knows one thing on the court, visually through movement and all that stuff, it’s different when you look at it from a video standpoint,” Glass says. “You’re seeing the game, you’re seeing the court, but when you’re in a video room and you’re not playing, you’re seeing all ten guys at one time. You’re seeing different angles and different schemes, so I think that’s helped open the game up for him and I think it’s really helped slow the game down now that he’s back out playing.”

The experience was a revelation, one he otherwise wouldn’t have had if he were healthy and on the court. McGruder became a sponge, asking questions, realizing an opportunity to get better was staring him straight in the face. He leaned into different dimensions of the game that he previously thought he already knew. For example: the critical importance of spacing.

“If you’re spacing the right place offensively you help your teammate out. Not only may you get a shot, but you help open things up for your teammate. And defensively, just being in the right spots, not allowing guys to penetrate whenever they come off the pick-and-roll because you’re in that correct shrink spot,” McGruder says.

He spent hours upon hours beside Glass. He absorbed how to read the floor from a completely different angle when operating a pick-and-roll, something that’s evident to anyone who’s watching him right now. In the first few weeks of his third season, McGruder has become so much more than anything even the Heat could’ve expected.

His career high coming into this season was 15 points. In 16 games, he’s already topped that five times. After shooting only 33.2 percent from three as a rookie, he’s making 42.3 percent now and is trusted to fire away from all different spots on the floor, in every setting. He can stand still, fire away on the move, and pull-up off the dribble. “He’s an exceptional three-point shooter now,” Spoelstra says.

But his most critical growth has been as a playmaker, putting the ball on the floor, and pressuring the defense. According to Synergy Sports, the percentage of his possessions that are run out of the pick-and-roll has more than doubled since his rookie season. It’s something McGruder didn’t anticipate coming into the season, but the organizational mantra to never limit yourself convinced him to work on it anyway.

“He’s able to see reads that maybe he wasn’t able to see before,” Glass says.“His pick-and-roll offense has been a lot better. He’s been able to get into the paint and do some of the things that we’re emphasizing and I think just seeing the game over and over and over again on film, I think it really helps clear the picture up and helps him think less and more specific on what he’s trying to do.”

Spoelstra agrees: “Making plays in the paint and making the game easier for other guys. He did not have that when he first got here.”

Over the summer, McGruder woke up everyday at 6:30 to lift weights and do agility training that was designed to strengthen the muscles around his injured leg. Afterwards, he’d drive over to the arena, watch film, and partake in on-court workouts with Glass. They focused on everything, including the refinement of a teardrop floater that’s allowed McGruder to finish more plays on his own when defenses play the pass and force him to shoot.

As they worked through it, Glass would stop McGruder’s reps if from start to finish they weren’t executed as he would during actual competition; five game-like floaters are more important than 100 that aren’t.

“Rodney is as committed to improvement as any player that’s come through our system. That says a lot because we’ve had a lot of incredibly hard workers,” Spoelstra says. “Since [he entered our program] it’s just been daily incremental progress that nobody has noticed.”

On the defensive end, Miami wanted McGruder to body the opponent’s top scorer every night. They force fed him film of elite on-ball defenders, like Jimmy Butler and Avery Bradley. “He’ll guard the toughest matchup every game,” Haslem says. “A lot of times he doesn’t get the respect from the officials that he probably deserves, but he comes out and competes every night.”

In addition to growing on the court, McGruder’s recent lifestyle alterations have widened his never-ending path towards an unknowable ceiling. On July 4th, after watching the documentary Forks Over Knives on Netflix, he decided to become a vegan, volunteering to punish himself by cutting some all-time favorite pleasures from his diet. “I love ice cream. I love all kinds of shakes. I can go to Chick-Fil-A and get two cookies n’ cream milk shakes and call it a day,” he says. “I would get a Snickers Blizzard from Dairy Queen. Oh man, I would get extra Snickers in there.”

His teammates doubt he’ll stick with it after the season’s over. They call him a fake vegan. He laughs it off, knowing anything that makes him better is not about to exit his routine. It’s provided more energy than he thought was possible. He never stops moving.

A few months ago he won Miami’s conditioning test for the second year in a row, and right now he’s performing like the most physically fit individual in the entire NBA. Right now, there are 121 players who run at least two miles every game. Only Jrue Holiday, DeMar DeRozan, and Zach LaVine average more than McGruder’s 2.65 miles, and only Buddy Hield clocks in at a higher average speed (4.63 miles per hour).

“I really wanted to push myself and see if there was another level I could go to with my conditioning,” McGruder says. “And I did.”

As he heads into restricted free agency this summer, what makes McGruder so interesting is he’s at once a product of Miami’s environment and a plug-and-play individualist. He’s succeeding inside their frenetic system but with tools every single team in the league really wants. Wings who can shoot threes and guard multiple positions are coveted over just about everyone else, but those who can do both while also attacking with creativity after a defense takes away the offense’s initial action are officially invaluable.

In the play below, the Heat want to run McGruder off a stagger screen along the baseline to free him up for a spot-up three on the other side of the floor, but Indiana fights through and cuts off his air space. McGruder doesn’t panic. Instead of passing out and letting Miami reset its offense as the shot clock nears zero, he executes a nifty pick-and-roll with Hassan Whiteside.

Instead of someone who’s dependent on others to make something happen for him, McGruder is independently productive. Rosters flooded with role players like that, those who can shoot, pass, and dribble, have a leg up on the competition. McGruder can do all of the above, and he never gets tired.

Translation: he’s about to get paid. McGruder acknowledges how distracting something like a contract year can be, but he doesn’t let it disrupt his day-to-day progress. The Heat give their players a meditation app called Vision Pursue, and McGruder uses it all the time.

“Everyone thinks about their future and what that holds, but really you have to live in the moment, and expand your A before you worry about your B. And my A is my everyday, working out, trying to be a good teammate, you know, just living in this moment,” he says. “If I focus on [free agency] I wouldn’t be living right and I would be cheating myself, because I’m not living in this moment being the best me I can be. You think about it, but you have to stop your mind because your mind does wander to all different kinds of things. But you have to quiet that mind and live in this present moment.”

McGruder is entering his prime with a skill-set that should keep him in the NBA for years to come. All-Star games are an immense long shot, and no team will ever offer him a max contract. But people like McGruder are the lifeblood of any healthy basketball team, especially when they come from absolutely nowhere and shatter all possible expectations. While providing bottom-line results, McGruder symbolizes the constant grind that’s attached to professional ascension. He doesn’t say no when instructed to do something, but knows how to balance his trust of Miami’s coaching staff with the need to listen to hear his own gut. He’s humble and solid and hungry, laboring beneath a spotlight and in the shadows.

The best NBA stories are seemingly unrealistic. McGruder’s feels that way, but a logical explanation can be found with a closer look. Study the finer details of his all-around betterment and everything, more or less, falls into place. That doesn’t make it any less spectacular or impressive, but it does allow us to give credit where credit is due. In a few years, he ventured from the fringe of NBA periphery into a respectable playoff contender’s starting five. From anonymous to irreplaceable.

When asked to describe what McGruder’s next chapter may bring, Haslem didn’t mince words: “People are gonna find out who Rodney McGruder is real soon.”

The NBA Player Who Went from Anonymous to Irreplaceable published first on https://footballhighlightseurope.tumblr.com/

[leehaws]

The NBA Player Who Went from Anonymous to Irreplaceable

It’s 2013, and Rodney McGruder is alone in Hungary. The Miami Heat guard was then a 22-year-old recent graduate of a Kansas State Wildcat program designed by Frank Martin to physically and mentally break those who participate. He’s exhausted from the first leg of his club team’s (Atomerőmű SE) grueling practice regimen, wondering why he’s halfway across the world, thousands of miles from his family, just about as far from the NBA’s radar as anyone who’s already tasted that lifestyle can possibly be.

A few months prior, after he was cut by the Oklahoma City Thunder, those close to him said get your money. They warned him about the D-League’s inability to offer a competitive wage, and advocated against that as an option. Playing overseas, though, was. Soon after, McGruder’s agent called with two options: Australia or Hungary. McGruder wanted to be different, carve his own path, and experience something unique. So he chose Hungary, despite “how beautiful Australia is.”

For about eight months—the first two completely isolated from loved ones before his girlfriend moved in—this was McGruder’s life. Games, practices (for which he was in the gym from 10 AM to noon, followed by another run from 6-8 PM) and everything else, which was nothing else. There was never enough time to sightsee or take in the culture of a foreign country. A two-hour drive north to Budapest was out of the question. McGruder lived in a small town where everything closed early. All he had was basketball, his club’s looming championship run—two hard practices were held the day before the Finals—and God. He prayed and dove deeper into his faith. He sat and thought about life.

Hungary confirmed to McGruder just how badly he wanted to be in the NBA. The experience reaffirmed his love for the game, and doubled as something he wouldn’t trade for the world while not wanting to endure it ever again. McGruder’s agent kept telling him NBA teams were watching. That he was on their radar. But it never seemed that way. Only six months removed from being named first-team All-Big 12, McGruder felt like his basketball relevance was already dangling by a fingernail.

“The one thing that came to my mind when I was over there was ‘what are you doing? This wasn’t your dream. Chase your dream. Don’t lose sight,’” McGruder remembers. He instructed his agent to find him a spot in the D-League next year, closer to family, his home, and the attention of all 30 NBA organizations. No matter what.

McGruder’s story is filled with pivotal moments and decisions designed to shatter confidence and distract from the original goal he first had as a young boy growing up ten minutes outside of Washington D.C., playing in the same AAU program as Kevin Durant and Michael Beasley. Those two gave him hope. They grew up at the same recreational center, and when they made the NBA, McGruder didn’t see why he couldn’t too.

The youngest of four, he was introduced to the sport as a five-year old by an older sister whose basketball games he frequently attended. The stint in Hungary was his first extended involvement in professional basketball, but it was so far from where he wanted to be; it helped push him to where he is today.

Five years later, McGruder sits in the lobby of a luxury hotel in SoHo. He’s 27 now, bundled up in a black Miami Heat sweatsuit, polite with an easy laugh as the drawn hood outlines his face. One month into his third season, McGruder is your favorite Most Improved Player candidate’s Most Improved Player, a blossoming offensive weapon who never lost track of the intangibles that convinced Miami to offer him a contract. Nicknamed “The Scavenger” and “Sweet Spot Rod” by teammates, he’s averaging more minutes and front-court touches than everyone on the Heat except Josh Richardson, posting an assist rate that’s nearly twice his career average.

McGruder’s journey is inspirational. But what makes him so intriguing is the future. He contributes to winning with the exact skill-set that’s in demand by every coach in the league. And as a restricted free agent this July, entering a marketplace that’s flush with cash, McGruder’s story feels like it’s only begun.

“He’s probably surpassed everyone’s expectations,” Heat center Kelly Olynyk says. “And I think he still has more room to keep growing.”

McGruder can still remember the sting of draft night, huddled in front of a TV with his family in a room full of hope, prayer, and tension, all waiting to hear then deputy commissioner Adam Silver say his name. Earlier that night, McGruder’s agent called with good news: the Orlando Magic were interested, and there was a chance he’d be their 51st pick. McGruder’s mind raced back to how good he felt after his workout with the team. He didn’t want to sound a false alarm, though, so he kept the information to himself. When Silver walked to the podium to announce Orlando’s pick, a nauseating jolt ran through his body. The Magic took Romero Osby instead. (McGruder has Osby’s name stashed in the forefront of his memory like it’s his own phone number.)

Most of his family was understandably distraught, but McGruder’s mother, a strong woman who spent 30 years as a bus driver for the Washington D.C. transit system, didn’t let him feel sorry for himself. “It’s all in God’s time, baby. What’s meant to be will be.”

The next morning, he woke up at 7 AM and immediately put himself through an intense workout. He couldn’t stop thinking about every name that echoed through Barclays Center over his own. What’s done was done, though. McGruder pressed on to prepare for the next opportunity. A few weeks later he was down in Orlando with the Magic’s summer league team. Then he flew to Las Vegas to play for the Charlotte Bobcats. Integrating with a horde of new teammates so quickly was a challenge, but McGruder was impressive enough to land a training camp roster spot with the Thunder. They cut him after a month.

“I looked at it like ‘Yo, I’m in the NBA!’ And when you get a taste of something that you love and really enjoy doing and get that taken away from you, it hurt a little bit.”

“When you get a taste of something, something that you really wanna do, like, I didn’t look at it like preseason,” McGruder says. “I looked at it like ‘Yo, I’m in the NBA!’ And when you get a taste of something that you love and really enjoy doing and get that taken away from you, it hurt a little bit.”

Next was his season-long odyssey in Hungary, the experience that somehow pushed a maniacal worker even harder to get back to the league he was desperate to crack. The following July he was back in Vegas, this time playing for rookie head coach Steve Kerr’s Golden State Warriors. “Just being able to learn from him, it was fun. It was a lot of fun,” McGruder says.

That led to a training camp deal with the Boston Celtics, where Brad Stevens was entering his second season at the helm. It felt familiar. He knew Marcus Smart and Phil Pressey from battles in college. When the Celtics waived McGruder, he accepted an offer to play for their D-League team, the Maine Red Claws. But midway through a scrimmage that was held right before the season began, he pulled his groin. He returned two weeks later and promptly pulled it again. That slow start prevented McGruder from cracking their rotation, and shortly before the playoffs began his agent asked the team to release him. McGruder packed his bags and flew back home to Maryland, unsure of what was next.

His agent soon texted with two more options: the Austin Spurs (the D-League affiliate of the San Antonio Spurs) or the Sioux Falls Skyforce (the D-League affiliate of the Miami Heat). He chose Sioux Falls, and spent three games there before the season ended. Next was a spot on Miami’s Summer League team, and then…crickets.

“The lowest point for me was I played Summer League with the Heat and I was just waiting. I didn’t get any camp invites. I was like ‘man, what am I gonna do? Should I go back overseas?’ And then I was like, you know what? I feel like I didn’t get a full D-league experience because I was hurt most of the year. So I’m talking to myself, I’m talking to my family, I’m talking to my girl, and they’re like ‘You say you want to play in the D-league, why are you mentioning overseas again? You said you want to play in the NBA.’”

Heat assistant coach Dan Craig, who’d just been named the Skyforce’s new head coach, eventually called McGruder up to offer a spot on the team. Sioux Falls went 40-10 (a D-League record) and won the championship. McGruder led the league in Win Shares and finished fourth in total minutes.

https://sports.vice.com/en_us/embed/article/9apqxv/the-red-hot-miami-heat-are-erik-spoelstras-coaching-opus?utm_source=stylizedembed_sports.vice.com&utm_campaign=gy7v4x&site=sports

“It might not happen overnight but this has been a four-year process,” Heat coach Erik Spoelstra says. “He helped us win a championship. It’s one of the reasons we signed him to this deal. He had winning qualities in big moments. There were a lot of other guys who got call ups before him. We cut him twice before that.”

After his second-straight Summer League with Miami, McGruder received a training camp invite and made the team on the last day of cuts. It felt surreal. He didn’t sleep that night. And from the public relations staff he shocked by knowing their names before they knew his, to the coaching staff that admired how hard he worked on a daily basis, the feeling throughout Miami’s organization was that they just added an ideal player and person to their program.

“There’s been a lot of sweat equity behind the scenes,” Spoelstra says. “He’s a great example of how much better you can get with time.”

“When I came to Miami they asked me what I thought I was going to do and what our philosophy was and it was simple,” Heat President Pat Riley told me last year. “Become the hardest working, best conditioned, most professional, unselfish, toughest, disliked, nastiest team in the league.”

Almost a quarter of a century later, Heat culture is defined by those qualities. They’re the backdrop of three world championships, the league’s second-best defense, and a higher winning percentage than all but four organizations since Riley was hired.

But with success comes envy, and for some, Heat culture is like an artificial biosphere sponsored by GOOP. Hot air: Enter our habitat and discover your best self. That’s not true, though. Their ethos is more like a buzzsaw that’s engineered to weed out those who believe they’re above off-court discipline and persistent work ethic. Rejuvenation, tenacity, and relentlessness. The Heat promote it not because they’re willing to promise positive results to everyone who signs on the dotted line. Fierce commitment is mandatory, and McGruder has molded himself into a walking billboard for the Miami Way. Come to Miami and be the next Rodney McGruder may one day become the sales pitch that encapsulates why they spread the message they do.

“He’s an embodiment of what we preach at the Miami Heat,” player development coach Eric Glass says.

The organization doesn’t like to hang ceilings over players when they first enter their development program. It’s a mindset that limits growth and embraces the natural inclination to label someone off what they can or can’t do on day one. That corollary is pure cynicism, and they go out of their way to avoid it. McGruder’s growth explains why. He reminds Heat icon Udonis Haslem of a smaller version of himself, someone who’ll do whatever it takes for the team to win without ever backing down from challenges that stand in his way.

Shortly before his rookie season began, Haslem invited McGruder over to watch some football. Once he realized McGruder didn’t have a car to drive himself home, Haslem—whose high-school coach was McGruder’s college coach—lent him a tinted out Mercury Marauder…for the year. “Once we signed Rodney, Coach Frank reached out to me and said ‘You’ve got one of my guys, make sure you take care of him,’” Haslem says. “So from that point on, Rod became one of my guys. It’s family.” (McGruder now drives a Mercedes Benz.)

His sophomore year was all but entirely lost to a stress fracture suffered in his left leg during the preseason. The news came days after he won Miami’s notorious conditioning test—McGruder laughs now, “I think I really can’t speak too much on that”—with an entire summer’s worth of work freshly laid in his rearview mirror. McGruder thought the pain was caused by shin splints, and his heart dropped when surgery was presented as the only option.

“I just thought about all that it took to get here and counted the hours in the gym. But then I also put things into perspective,” McGruder says. “Everything happens for a reason.”

A protective walking boot prevented McGruder from sitting on the bench during Heat home games, so he sat in the back, beside Glass, and watched how the the team’s former video coordinator coded each possession.

“I think for most people it’s just a different type of environment and different way to look at the game. Even for coaches, when you’re new to a video room you have no idea what’s being tracked, how the game’s being perceived and viewed, and for a player who knows one thing on the court, visually through movement and all that stuff, it’s different when you look at it from a video standpoint,” Glass says. “You’re seeing the game, you’re seeing the court, but when you’re in a video room and you’re not playing, you’re seeing all ten guys at one time. You’re seeing different angles and different schemes, so I think that’s helped open the game up for him and I think it’s really helped slow the game down now that he’s back out playing.”

The experience was a revelation, one he otherwise wouldn’t have had if he were healthy and on the court. McGruder became a sponge, asking questions, realizing an opportunity to get better was staring him straight in the face. He leaned into different dimensions of the game that he previously thought he already knew. For example: the critical importance of spacing.

“If you’re spacing the right place offensively you help your teammate out. Not only may you get a shot, but you help open things up for your teammate. And defensively, just being in the right spots, not allowing guys to penetrate whenever they come off the pick-and-roll because you’re in that correct shrink spot,” McGruder says.

He spent hours upon hours beside Glass. He absorbed how to read the floor from a completely different angle when operating a pick-and-roll, something that’s evident to anyone who’s watching him right now. In the first few weeks of his third season, McGruder has become so much more than anything even the Heat could’ve expected.

His career high coming into this season was 15 points. In 16 games, he’s already topped that five times. After shooting only 33.2 percent from three as a rookie, he’s making 42.3 percent now and is trusted to fire away from all different spots on the floor, in every setting. He can stand still, fire away on the move, and pull-up off the dribble. “He’s an exceptional three-point shooter now,” Spoelstra says.

But his most critical growth has been as a playmaker, putting the ball on the floor, and pressuring the defense. According to Synergy Sports, the percentage of his possessions that are run out of the pick-and-roll has more than doubled since his rookie season. It’s something McGruder didn’t anticipate coming into the season, but the organizational mantra to never limit yourself convinced him to work on it anyway.

“He’s able to see reads that maybe he wasn’t able to see before,” Glass says.“His pick-and-roll offense has been a lot better. He’s been able to get into the paint and do some of the things that we’re emphasizing and I think just seeing the game over and over and over again on film, I think it really helps clear the picture up and helps him think less and more specific on what he’s trying to do.”

Spoelstra agrees: “Making plays in the paint and making the game easier for other guys. He did not have that when he first got here.”

Over the summer, McGruder woke up everyday at 6:30 to lift weights and do agility training that was designed to strengthen the muscles around his injured leg. Afterwards, he’d drive over to the arena, watch film, and partake in on-court workouts with Glass. They focused on everything, including the refinement of a teardrop floater that’s allowed McGruder to finish more plays on his own when defenses play the pass and force him to shoot.

As they worked through it, Glass would stop McGruder’s reps if from start to finish they weren’t executed as he would during actual competition; five game-like floaters are more important than 100 that aren’t.

“Rodney is as committed to improvement as any player that’s come through our system. That says a lot because we’ve had a lot of incredibly hard workers,” Spoelstra says. “Since [he entered our program] it’s just been daily incremental progress that nobody has noticed.”

On the defensive end, Miami wanted McGruder to body the opponent’s top scorer every night. They force fed him film of elite on-ball defenders, like Jimmy Butler and Avery Bradley. “He’ll guard the toughest matchup every game,” Haslem says. “A lot of times he doesn’t get the respect from the officials that he probably deserves, but he comes out and competes every night.”

In addition to growing on the court, McGruder’s recent lifestyle alterations have widened his never-ending path towards an unknowable ceiling. On July 4th, after watching the documentary Forks Over Knives on Netflix, he decided to become a vegan, volunteering to punish himself by cutting some all-time favorite pleasures from his diet. “I love ice cream. I love all kinds of shakes. I can go to Chick-Fil-A and get two cookies n’ cream milk shakes and call it a day,” he says. “I would get a Snickers Blizzard from Dairy Queen. Oh man, I would get extra Snickers in there.”

His teammates doubt he’ll stick with it after the season’s over. They call him a fake vegan. He laughs it off, knowing anything that makes him better is not about to exit his routine. It’s provided more energy than he thought was possible. He never stops moving.

A few months ago he won Miami’s conditioning test for the second year in a row, and right now he’s performing like the most physically fit individual in the entire NBA. Right now, there are 121 players who run at least two miles every game. Only Jrue Holiday, DeMar DeRozan, and Zach LaVine average more than McGruder’s 2.65 miles, and only Buddy Hield clocks in at a higher average speed (4.63 miles per hour).

“I really wanted to push myself and see if there was another level I could go to with my conditioning,” McGruder says. “And I did.”

As he heads into restricted free agency this summer, what makes McGruder so interesting is he’s at once a product of Miami’s environment and a plug-and-play individualist. He’s succeeding inside their frenetic system but with tools every single team in the league really wants. Wings who can shoot threes and guard multiple positions are coveted over just about everyone else, but those who can do both while also attacking with creativity after a defense takes away the offense’s initial action are officially invaluable.

In the play below, the Heat want to run McGruder off a stagger screen along the baseline to free him up for a spot-up three on the other side of the floor, but Indiana fights through and cuts off his air space. McGruder doesn’t panic. Instead of passing out and letting Miami reset its offense as the shot clock nears zero, he executes a nifty pick-and-roll with Hassan Whiteside.

Instead of someone who’s dependent on others to make something happen for him, McGruder is independently productive. Rosters flooded with role players like that, those who can shoot, pass, and dribble, have a leg up on the competition. McGruder can do all of the above, and he never gets tired.

Translation: he’s about to get paid. McGruder acknowledges how distracting something like a contract year can be, but he doesn’t let it disrupt his day-to-day progress. The Heat give their players a meditation app called Vision Pursue, and McGruder uses it all the time.

“Everyone thinks about their future and what that holds, but really you have to live in the moment, and expand your A before you worry about your B. And my A is my everyday, working out, trying to be a good teammate, you know, just living in this moment,” he says. “If I focus on [free agency] I wouldn’t be living right and I would be cheating myself, because I’m not living in this moment being the best me I can be. You think about it, but you have to stop your mind because your mind does wander to all different kinds of things. But you have to quiet that mind and live in this present moment.”

McGruder is entering his prime with a skill-set that should keep him in the NBA for years to come. All-Star games are an immense long shot, and no team will ever offer him a max contract. But people like McGruder are the lifeblood of any healthy basketball team, especially when they come from absolutely nowhere and shatter all possible expectations. While providing bottom-line results, McGruder symbolizes the constant grind that’s attached to professional ascension. He doesn’t say no when instructed to do something, but knows how to balance his trust of Miami’s coaching staff with the need to listen to hear his own gut. He’s humble and solid and hungry, laboring beneath a spotlight and in the shadows.

The best NBA stories are seemingly unrealistic. McGruder’s feels that way, but a logical explanation can be found with a closer look. Study the finer details of his all-around betterment and everything, more or less, falls into place. That doesn’t make it any less spectacular or impressive, but it does allow us to give credit where credit is due. In a few years, he ventured from the fringe of NBA periphery into a respectable playoff contender’s starting five. From anonymous to irreplaceable.

When asked to describe what McGruder’s next chapter may bring, Haslem didn’t mince words: “People are gonna find out who Rodney McGruder is real soon.”

The NBA Player Who Went from Anonymous to Irreplaceable syndicated from https://justinbetreviews.wordpress.com/