#i mean she elected to be an arch devil but it started because she was trying to save her dad and his domain

[lovinthosecrits]

I adore all fanfic and fan art of Fig because... It's fig

But when she's drawn as a red tiefling I do do a double take. Her not looking like a tiefling her entire life is kinda an important thing that happened. It kinda informed her foundation and entire character arc

BUT, that being said, it does make me think of how cursed it would be for when she started growing in horns that her skin color also started to change. Little splotches of red here and there. Did you forget to put sunscreen on? Maybe we should take you to a doctor. And then it spreads to her face and her hands and she sees it every time she plays bass and doesn't know. And doesn't understand. Before she accepts it and feels ok with who she is and who she's becoming, it's not just something she has to confront when she looks at herself in the mirror.

She has to confront what she is every time she does the thing that she loves enough to literally grant her magic. So, she gets disguise self, and changes what she can see in the mirror every chance she gets. She controls how other people see her because she can't bear to see her in the mirror.

Horns are one thing, but she just didn't want to grow a tail

[nightwingvixen23]

SCORCHED

A little JayRoman fic that i just  now whipped up while bored as fuck lol

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"I'm still wonderin' just where in the fuck you got those god damned things from.” Roy's words are knifelike, however at the slice of it’s blow to my gut, out rushed butterflies, contrary to blood.

Fuck him. Pinpointing just what’s not vital at this very moment.

"Always had'em," I insist, housing the twin mamba pistols, gleaming in decadence, back into their holsters at each thigh. . .. . . And yeah; they are in fact new. And no; I didn't buy them. 

Yes, i’m a fuckin' liar, sue me; I’ve been called worse. On the other hand, the actual truth reaches a hand far deeper into my organs then anyone needs to be groping there greedy fingers within, sloppy in movement, scuttling after answers that I'm beyond sure the owner of such a prying hand will come to anguish.

"Nah," Roy presses, slinging himself across a couch here in the drearily lighted safe house that we've together taken up refuge in somewhere North East of Gotham City, " I know all’ov your artillery dude. That shit's new. And looks hella posh. Did I miss yer birthday or somethin' ? " He cracks open a beer, guzzling it down while those jade eyes pierce through me from above the can. God damn him. I carelessly knock into his bow and arrows causing him to sputter his alcohol and run to their salvation, whining about how I could be 'such a fucking bully' however it gets him to shut the fuck up on the former topic under fire; and that was my only intention.

Nobody. 

Nobody needs to know about the gifts. 

What started out as a game has me now roped in pretty heavily, but, I’m a damn sucker for fucking with Roman's upper story, what can I say ?? I can be a mother fucking flirt when I wanna be (while not quite as sophisticated in the art as Dick Grayson himself) I've picked up a few logistics on how to score a man's desires...I mean,at least: the murderous type; how to score the desires of a man who wants to lacerate my spine as well as fuck me into the nearest floorboard. And it was all just a game. I swear it was. The thorns in my side enjoyed toying with the temper of a well-bred villain who's tasted blood soaked daggers, and known the Godlike fever of electing a fatal gasp from an parched lung. I liked the twisted smirk of his face from under that obscene leather mask. I liked the tangled intrigue of his body language. I relished how I held him in the palm of my hand; just another man eating whatever slop from the filthy bowl I threw at the floor for him to gobble up. 

That shit made me feel potent, dominant, I ain't gonna lie.

It had been upon entering my apartment one afternoon that I found a giant box on my coffee table, looking out of place amongst overall brown and black furnishings; this bright box done up in all red. With a scoff I checked it for explosives before revealing it’s contents to find a Gold-Inlaid Colt Model 1849 Pocket Revolver. . .this shit sells for 1.1 Million. . .and it was with that knowledge that I’d been keen on knowing just who the sender of such an item had been.

I’d doubled over laughing.

So, it went on this way for a while. The times Roman and I would happen to ‘chance upon one another’ or fall into a breakneck fight beneath dark Gotham skies, I always played up the immodest tart card. Teasing. Leading. And he followed the trail; come a few short days later I'd be rewarded a gift. This became something of a cycle. Something routine. Just, expected, yanno ?

Up until one drunken night I found the presents piling up around me to be annoying as all fuck in their gleaming elegence.

I wasn't a cheap prize to be won, some sodden part of my brain manifested this notion that then exploded into me breaking into Roman's estate and cursing for him to take every damned gift back, because, and I quote " I ain't your god damned slut mother fucker " more or less slurred.

There had been a beat of silence between us then. A beat. Just a beat. Before I was grabbed. Picked up. And I fucking cringe to say that that shit had me near to begging for him. Not many men that I've been with could pick me up, they never had the musculature and we’d always end up in missionary. But there I fucking was...being suddenly ripped piece by piece by Roman himself. Broken open.

 The callous scratch of the wall leaving red reminders trailed into the skin of my back, a surface I’d arched myself into as if to arch away. A part of me wanted that wall to swallow me whole, make me dissipate from here because I was feeling too much all at once. I didn't understand anything past our flirtatious banter. Didn't know the whimpered cries and wet moans coming from deep within my chest, nor the hands holding tight to the broad shoulders of this man who kept me blanketed in a hot rapture that not even Heaven it's self could muster the courage to match, and maybe that’s because this damned brute in a leather mask is the Devil; breathing into me all 7 Deadly Sin's at once, making burn within my esophagus a startling realization that all this time I may have been his fucking puppet whereas I thought it the other way around.....his fucking puppet now his fucking fuck toy.

I honestly can’t say how I made it back to my apartment. Last thing I recalled was being spent, slung over Roman's shoulder, then waking up in my own bed alone. Nevertheless, the scratches and metallic taste of blood were a clear reminder of the night we’d shared.

And upon that night, all that which I’d once known had been laid to rest.

Costly weaponry turned into expensive clothing. Expensive clothes turned into rare jewels. Jewels turned into a sports car, a sports car turned to a motorcycle....and my dumbass accepted it all, while discovering in me some sick, dark sort of amusement with each tiding.

Dick registered right away something was off with me, the depth in his blue eyes said it all as he took in my abrupt departure in fashion choice and of transportation. "I'm just doin' a bit better is all," I'd told him and he arched a brow while saying, "Look, I think I know what's up. But, only because I've been there myself. And let me just tell you that it's not worth it." I had scoffed, watching him walk away. Leave it to Dick to be the OG Sugar Baby of the BatFam. Somethin told me that Bruce was the supplier of his every need and hunger, but I refused to dive any deeper into that and left. In fact, I've stayed clear of Wayne Manor for quite some time. Refusing team ups, partnerships, and or pursuits having anything to do with Batman.

When it comes to Kori, she likes to dote on all that I've been given. On her own she unearthed the jewels I kept hidden away and tried them on for herself, twirling in the mirror and laughing while telling me, "Whomever this mystery man is has quite the taste," with a fancy wink. I'm shocked she didn't mention it at all to Roy--

---which is where we are now, currently in my safe house as I watch Roy check on his bow for scuff marks and pout over at me, grabbing back up his abandoned beer can. "I still say that someone bought you those pistols. It ain't your usual style, there too expensive seeming--"

"You callin me cheap ? Like i don't buy quality? " I ask a bit too defensively. Roy put his hands up . "No ! I'm just sayin...." his eyes squint a bit. “I’m just sayin that somethin's up with you man, an’ I got a bad feelin' about it."

I shrug, going to cleaning the mamba pistols of any blood tracked back from our earlier run in with a Mafia Boss and his little posse; which gets me thinking about Roman; the heated sting of his fingers, the scorch of those gloves everywhere they touched. And they never leave, those gloves. they stay on. Not because he chooses it, but because I demand it. I admit to being a bit of a masochist In the same way that I’m a bit of a liar A bit of a manipulator while also being the manipulated A bit damaged A bit taken for granted And with sense enough to know that Roman and I are destined to crash and burn But I’ve already burned once before, so;

     what's one more go around gonna hurt ?

[bella-spil]

Halloween

Summary: you and the avengers spend Halloween together.

Characters: Y/N (your name), Bucky, Loki, Thor, Tony, Steve, Sam, Natasha, Clint, Vision, Wanda, Peter, Shuri.

Warnings: cursing, tbh thats it.  VINE REFERENCES

Word Count: 2.4

A/N: hi.. I’m sry I haven’t written in a while.  School has been killing my creativity.  This is gonna be more of a miniseries, more like 2-3 parts.  It’s prob not gonna get much attention, but if you like it, just comment or re blog bc it helps my confidence with posting stuff on here.  This is also inspired by a meme I saw (Ill post it at the bottom of the story) and a video with Anthony Mackie and Chris Evans (link) Masterlist is here

Tag List: @sea040561 @wednesday-add-em @kmuir1 (lmk if you wanna join)

Halloween was a week away.  Tony being Tony, already paid for the decorations for the tower, so basically all of the floors look like a haunted house.  Rolls of toilet paper stretched across arches in the hallways, tiny spiders were all over furniture, bones and eyes and zombies and witches and everything in between that you could possibly think of was in the tower.  The tower looked like a zombie on steroids; creepy yet entertaining at the same time.  

Everyone was fine with the decorations, but the costumes were a big issue.  Steve and Tony kept arguing over the ideas, both of them wanting to do group costumes.  Everyone else had their ideas too, but Tony and Steve were at each other's throats for the past couple weeks, since like August.  Your room in the tower was right by the meeting office, so hearing the two of them screaming at each other for the most stupid shit was driving you insane.  Once it got to the point where you had to yell at them to shut up.  

This morning, a week before Halloween, while everyone was there, you cleared your throat while you heard Steve and Tony bickering.

“Guys this is getting to be too much.  We need to have a meeting to discuss these fucken costumes.” you said.

“Yeah this is getting out of control,” Nat agreed.

“Guys, cmon, you have to agree with me.  All of us having Iron Man suits would be awesome.  We could fly around the city all night and have so much fun!” Tony said.

“Tony, stop.  All of us being soldiers is better.”  Steve countered.

“STOP!” Clint groaned.  “You guys are insane.  We need to discuss this as a group.”

Tony and Steve sat across from each other, glaring at each other.  Death was looming between them.  

“Fine,” Tony sighed.  “When and where?”

“The office, 2pm,” Nat said.  “And everyone has to show up, that means you too Bucky.”

Bucky groaned from the other side of the room.  He hated group discussions, he liked working alone better.  Said that it was faster to be alone and you didn’t have to worry as much.

~~~

2pm finally rolled by.  Everyone has showed up in the big office, one that seemed a little too big.  Everyone was tired of the bickering and had showed up, thankfully.  

Tony, Steve, Natasha, Clint, Thor, Bucky, Sam, Peter P, Shuri, Wanda, Vision, Loki and you were crowded around the table.  Tony was standing at the end with a whiteboard, prepared to write down ideas.

“So guys, what do you want to do?” Tony said.

“What about we dress up as famous Star Wars characters?” Sam suggested.

“Nah, Steve isn’t going to know who Yoda is.  That’s a must if we do Star Wars.” Tony said.

“Devils and Angels?” Wanda said.

“Not original,” Steve said.

“What about we just wear each other’s costumes?” Thor suggested.

“You really think you are gonna wear my wings?” Sam said, a hint of annoyance in his voice that made you and Bucky snicker.

“I don’t think any of you guys want to wear a leather catsuit,” Nat said.

“We could dress up as famous vines,” Shuri offered, smirking at you and Peter.  

The three of you quoted vines daily and the rest of the team never knew what you guys meant, which made it even more fun.  Eventually, Sam, Bucky and Clint started learning vines with you because they kept saying things which you guys followed up with vine references.  The frustration got to the three men and they started to learn with you, but they weren’t nearly as attentive as you, Shuri and Peter.

“What’s a vine?” Steve asked.

“Vine was a website created in 2012, officially released in 2013.  It was ultimately shut down in 2016.  Vine was a website where users would create short videos an-” Vision said.

“Vis, I don’t think they want a whole essay,” Wanda said, seeing the reactions of the other Avengers.  Sam had started to fake snore, Loki was muttering something to Peter about knifes, and Shuri was about to watch vines, from what you could tell.  

“It’s this app filled with people saying and doing stupid things for attention,” Nat sighed.

“IT IS NOT STUPID!  VINE WAS LEGENDARY!!”  Shuri shouted.

“YOU WOULD DO THINGS FOR THE VINE, YOU UNCULTURED SWINE!!” you shrieked.

“EDUCATE YO SELF!” Clint shouted, right in Natasha’s ear.  Doing that earned him a hard punch in the back of the head.

“Well I don’t have all day so we need something,” Tony groaned, hitting his expo marker against the whiteboard.

You and everyone else was trying to come up with ideas when all the sudden, quiet Peter Parker, who was pretty much the baby of the tower, spoke up.

“Mr. Frost Giant, God sir?” Peter asked.

“Loki,” Loki sighed, pleasantly shocked.

“So, you have ice powers right?” Peter continued.

“Yes, I am an ice giant,” Loki said.

“You should be Elsa for Halloween,” Peter gasped.

Then, out of nowhere, Clint jumped up, looking like he had 5 monster energy drinks and 10 packs of warheads.

“I’LL BE MERIDA!!!” he screamed.

“I must assume that I am going to portray Elsa then,” Thor said, with a smile on his face.

“So...we are doing Disney princesses?” Tony asked, slightly confused.

“Looks like it,” Bucky said.

“Who the fuck am I gonna be?” Shuri asked.

“Language.” Steve said.

You and Shuri looked at each other for a moment and with a slight nod of your head, you were both in a song.

“FUCK SHIT PUSSY ASS!!!” you and Shuri sang.

“MOTHERFUC-” Peter started to continue, but Tony just slapped his hand over Peter’s mouth.  Tony swore that Peter wasn’t like a son to him, but this didn’t help his situation.

Steve was turning ad red as a tomato in his seat, not being able to process all the dirty words that escaped yours and Shuri’s mouths.

“Ok, who are all the Disney Princesses?” Tony asked, frustration in his voice as he looked down at Peter.  Tony gave him a look, one that said “Stop this shit or you get your suit taken away for two weeks” and once Peter nodded his head slightly, Tony removed his hand.

Vision started to list a bunch of them off, even some of the ones that aren’t considered princesses, like Megara, Alice and Jane.  Once Tony had a list of all the princesses, he started to write of all the avengers, making lines to match them up with their character.  

“Ok, who wants to find their Disney princess counterpart first?” Tony asked.

“Me, I already asked before,” Shuri said rolling her eyes.

“Well I mean you already are a princess.” you said.

“Oh,” Shuri said. “I don’t have to dress up then.  Haha.  You can cross my name off, Tony.”

Tony sighed and rolled his eyes, while taking her name off.

“Next?” he sighed.

“What about me?” Steve asked.

“Oh this is gonna be interesting.” Sam grinned.

“Snow White.” Bucky said, without even hesitating.

“Wait why?” you asked.

“Ohhhhh, I think I see why,” Wanda smirked.

“Continue Barnes,” Natasha said.

“First of all, Snow White was the very first princess to come out.  She came out in the thirties or forties.  She’s the oldest.  Steve was the first avenger and he is the oldest.”  Bucky said.

“Bucky, you are a couple months older than me.” Steve countered.

“Second,” Bucky continued, ignoring his friend completely.  “She is like the most gullible and is surrounded by followers.  Snow White was like living with seven dwarfs.  And she was underage and just lived with them. Steve here, was the leader of the Howling Commandos.  And I was in that group, so I had to endure him and his stupid ass decisions, but I couldn’t elect to ignore it.”

“That’s offensive,” Steve said.

“That's the point,” Bucky said.  

“Ok so Steve is Snow White.”  Tony declared, making a line between Snow White and Steve on the whiteboard.  “NEXTT!”

“Me,” said the super secret Russian spy.

“Hmm..” you thought.

“Megara,” said Clint.

“Oh that's a good one,” Sam agreed.

“Who is Megara?” Steve asked.

“She is an attractive Greek lady that Hercules, the son of Zeus, who is the King of the Greek Gods, falls in love with.” Thor explained.

“Thor, how do you of all people know that?” Shuri asked.  “Shouldn’t Vision know all of these things?”

“M’lady, I am formally educated in Disney movies by the request of Peter Parker, also known as ‘The One and Only Friendly Neighborhood Spiderman’.” Thor explained.

“Kid, you make Thor, the God of Thunder, sit through Sleeping Beauty?” Tony asked, shocked.

“My dear man of Iron, Sleeping beauty was quite relaxing.  That Prince Philip, that amazing man, demonstrated quite intellectually advanced ways to use a sword.  Ways that I can use Storm-breaker effectively in battle.” Thor smiled.

Tony and Sam shared a look of disgust with a combination of interest and concern.

“Thor, I don’t think you can learn fighting tactics from a cart-” Vision started.

“I need to watch the movies again,” Clint and Bucky muttered under their breaths.

“No she should be Mulan,” Wanda said.  “Mulan is determined and strong.  Megara just messed with the God of Death.”

“I mess with death all the time,” Natasha countered.

“I should be Megara.” Bucky stated.

“Because you almost died?” Steve asked.

“Because your soul is dark and empty?” Sam asked.

“Yes and no.  My hair is long, not as long as her’s but I can make it work.  Hair extensions.  She plays with Hercules’ emotions.  She is also strong and independent.  Like me.” Bucky explained.

“That settles it.  Bucky is Megara and Natasha is Mulan.”  Tony said, making lines between the two avengers and their princesses.  

“nEXXttT!” Tony shouted.

“Me me me!” Wanda said happily.

“Yes Mr. Stark I would like to go as well.” Vision added.

“Wanda would make the perfect Moana.” Thor said.  “Moana and Wanda both demonstrate very strong emotions, which affect their abilities regarding their powers and limits and they care deeply about the people that mean the most to them.”

He nudged Loki in the shoulder to try to get him more involved in the meeting.  Loki was just throwing his knives up in the air, and Peter was getting very interested, and getting dangerously close to the God of Mischief.  Tony was eyeing the two of them very, very carefully.

“Yeah, yeah sure,” Loki sighed, just going along with Thor or the sake of it.

“Who would Vision be then?” Sam asked.

“He could be the dead grandma,” Clint suggested.

“Yeah, that one that turned into the manta ray.” Nat agreed.

“It’s settled.  Moana and Dead Grandma Ray.” Tony said, making the lines once again.  He had to add “dead grandma” to the board for Vision’s sake.

“NeXXXXXtttT!!” he shrieked.

“Tony, you should be Belle,” Natasha said.

“Yeah.  I mean, they both fall in love and save the people that mean the most to them, even if it means putting their own life at risk.” Steve agreed.

“And they are both really smart.” Peter added.

“Peter, you just had to say that and I would have been on board.  Now I had to listen to Steve and Natasha for a minute.” Tony groaned as he drew a line between his name and Belle’s.

“Thanks Tony,” Steve said sarcastically.

“Your welcome, Capsicle.” Tony gleamed back.

“Sam should be Cinderella.” Bucky said.

“OMG that works!!” Shuri exclaimed.

“Yeah..” Sam realized.  “I’m Cinderella ‘cause she broke, homie.”

“Yeah,” Steve said, smiling from ear to ear, looking back at Sam.

“She represent me, yooo,” Sam said.  Then he looked over at Steve and said, “Lemme borrow twenty dollas.”

By this point, Steve couldn’t hold in the laughter and almost fell out of his chair.  And Sam, being as he called it “Steve’s best friend, better than Bucky,” saved Steve from collapsing on to the floor.

“Steve is the cinder princess.  Deal with it.” Tony declared, adding another line.

“NeeXXttTTT!” Tony screamed.

“Now, all that’s left is Peter and Y/N,” Wanda said, eyeing you two.

“Peter should be Rapunzel.  Before they face the real world, they are both innocent, but then when they see what the world is really like, it changes them.” Thor said, analyzing the similarities between the princess and the superhero.

“Jesus Christ, why is Point break actually really on point?” Tony asked.

“My dear Stalk of corn, I am educated like I told you earlier.  Insect man has really helped me tap into my inner child and all of the pain my demon brother made me endure.” Thor said.

“Spiderman,” Peter mumbled.

“I take that as a complement.” Loki stated, out of the blue.

“Rapunzel is Parker.” Tony declared.

“Last but not least, Y/N.” Steve said.

Now, it took everyone a while to come up with a princess for you.  You didn’t fit the exact mold or looks of a certain princess, so it was definitely harder.

“What about Alice?” Sam said/

“Why the fuck would she be Alice?” Bucky asked.

“Because Alice in Wonderland is supposed to portray the effects of drugs.” Sam explained.

“So your saying that I act like a drug addict?” you asked.

“NO!” Sam shouted.

“Sam, drop it before you dig your own grave.” Steve said.

“What about Jasmine?” offered Wanda.  “You have a very free spirit like her, and she’s your favorite princess.”

“Yeah sure, that sounds fine.” you agreed.

“Y/N is Jasmine!  dOOONNEe!” Tony shouted with relief.

“WAIT I CHANGED MY MIND!” Shuri shrieked.  “I WANNA BE A PRINCESS.  I WANNA BE TIANA SHE IS AN ABSOLUTE BADASS!”

“FINE!” Tony shouted back.  “NOW WE ARE DONE.  EVERYONE HAPPY?”

Everyone in the room, not wanting to disagree with a hot-headed Tony, looked around at each other and slowly nodded their heads.

“Great!” Tony smiled, a complete change in moods.  “Tomorrow we are going to Party City to get our costumes.  Everyone in this room has to come so we can get the wigs and dresses and makeup.  No skipping out.  That includes you Clint, Bucky and Loki.”

The three men who were called out rolled their heads and sighed.  But they agreed to go.  To Tony’s happiness.

“Great.  Meeting finished.  Pepper wants me for something.  Probably for the party.  Nobody try to call me or you will be met with an ear rape of AC/DC.” Tony said, putting on his glasses and promptly leaving the room in Stark fashion.  Everyone eventually left the room, you being lost in your thoughts.  

“You coming, doll?” Bucky asked, seeing you were still sitting in the room.

“Ya, I’ll be out in a second.” you said.  

“Alright, you, me and Clint are doing a Disney marathon for fighting tactics.  Don’t be late or you because we are gonna eat all the food.  I don’t wanna hear you complain.” Bucky said, walking out the door with a lazy drag of his legs.

Now, relief filled your body.  Now you wouldn’t have to hear arguing about costumes!  And they actually agreed to costumes, shockingly.  Now you just couldn’t wait to go to Party City and endure all the chaos.  And then, you left the room to watch Disney movies again, for fighting tactics.  

Oh, the chaos that awaits.  

[takadasaiko]

For the h/c meme: Logan/Veronica h and s please and thank you

FFN II AO3

Summary: When one of Veronica's cases follows her home, it's Logan's life that's put in danger.

Requested Prompt: H+S Stabbed + Someone catches them as they stumble

Worth the Pain

He was running late. The test flights had gone a little longer than usual that day and he'd gotten on the road just in time to find the rest of the traffic heading northbound on the PCH. His commute back to Neptune - usually just over an hour - turned into a two hour affair, and he was starting to count even that as lucky with the way they had come to a complete standstill at one point. He had sent Veronica an update via text and she'd said they would just meet him at Mama Leone's.

Right. Dinner with Keith. Of course that would be tonight.

It was everything Logan could do to get home, get changed - as little as Veronica would complain about him showing up in uniform, Navy whites and pasta did not mix - and get over to the restaurant before the texts started rolling in.

Veronica and Keith were deep in discussion when Logan arrived, dodging a couple of kids that darted back around like they were looking to score points if they took his feet out from under him. He stayed upright though, and sidestepped towards the table in the back corner where the father-daughter PI duo were tucked away. Veronica glanced up. "Hey there, flyboy. I was starting to think you weren't gonna make it."

"Sorry. Long day." He leaned down and pressed a quick kiss to the top of her head. Less than he wanted, but he could already feel another set of eyes focused on him with a comment loaded if not fired yet. He flashed their owner a quick smile. "Hey, Keith."

"Logan," Keith greeted. "What had you so tied up today?"

"You heard about the issues the Hornets have had with OBOGS going out?" Logan asked as he slipped into the open seat next to Veronica, across from her father. "We've been trying to pinpoint what's causing it."

"Oh sure, we were just chatting about OBOGS, weren't we, Dad? Daily conversation," Veronica quipped with that very specific smile he had quickly learned meant he was using Navy lingo no one else in the conversation knew.

"On-Board Oxygen Generation System. It pumps oxygen in through our masks so we can breathe. Thanks," he offered to the waitress as she set a basket of breadsticks down.

"What happens when it goes out?" Keith asked curiously.

Logan took a sip from the glass of wine that had been waiting for him. "Best case, you get switched over to the backup and can get on the ground pretty fast. You've got maybe ten minutes before the backup runs out."

Keith's expressions remained carefully neutral and Logan risked a glance over at Veronica who was gaping a little. She recovered quickly. "You know, I never want to hear you complain about how dangerous my job is again."

Logan chuckled. "C'mon. It's not that bad at this stage. It's controlled, every precaution taken. The engineers are trying to fix the multi-million dollar aircraft, not have us crash it."

"Have you been able to replicate the problem?" Keith asked.

"Not yet. It's been smooth flying every time." He reached for a bread stick. Time for a change of subject. "So, why am I calling your job dangerous today?"

"Today, any day," Veronica answered flippantly.

Logan arched a disbelieving eyebrow in response. "Huh-huh."

The conversation shifted again and he let it as they settled into easier topics of baseball, cameras, a particularly absurd stunt Vinnie Van Lowe pulled, weekend plans, and the newest non-chewable chew toy that Pony had gotten into.

"He ate Logan's fancy loafers," Veronica chuckled, still far more amused by it than Logan was. "The ones that cost almost as much as our rent."

"I swear that dog is learning to open doors. There's a reason I like to hang my uniforms up on the highest bars in the closet."

"I think your cap's safe on the shelf."

"I wouldn't put money on it."

"How fast would he become my dog instead of our dog to your captain if Pony got a hold of it?"

Logan flashed her a grin. "So fast."

"Excuse me," Keith mumbled and Logan saw him pulling his buzzing cell phone to his ear as he stood, leaning heavily on the cane he had had to use since the wreck. He mentally cringed at the word. Wreck didn't do it justice. Drive-by with a vehicle was closer, and who was ultimately responsible for it was actually something Logan would be willing to put money on, unlike the safety of his uniform from the chew-happy puppy. He just hoped that Neptune remembered all the shit Lamb had done by the time the election rolled around.

"So does it take the sheriff nearly twelve hours to follow up on every B&E or are we just special?" Keith groused into the phone, reclaiming Logan's attention. Think of the devil and apparently he calls.

"B&E?" he echoed. "Did your dad's place get broken into?"

"The office."

Logan blinked hard a couple of times. "Your office?"

"Yep." Veronica took a long sip from her wine glass and he waited as patiently as he could. Finally she set it down, the glass clinking against the hard table. He saw the subtle shift when she realized he wasn't going to just let her drop it. "We got in this morning and the place was ransacked. Door was broken in, Mac's monitors were trashed, and the filing cabinets had been forced open."

"You think it was someone you're after?" Logan asked, working hard to keep his tone neutral.

"Probably."

"Any idea which case?"

She shot him a look and he knew he'd already pushed it into dangerous territory. It was a delicate balance with their work. While Logan was on shore duty there weren't nearly as many secrets, but overseas he had to stay tight lipped about where they were and what they were doing. On Veronica's end, confidentiality was a must in her day-to-day work life. He understood that and worked hard not to push. Sometimes she'd vent in a vague sort of way without names or details, but mostly they erred on a respect for the confidentiality of each other's work.

Granted, his work only had people attacking him when he was deployed.

"I'm not asking for names," he said after several long, tense moments. "Just…. do you have any suspects?"

"I do."

"And?"

"Well it's not like we can arrest him ourselves," Veronica huffed and Logan reached across the table for the wine bottle to refill her nearly empty glass. She motioned for him to keep pouring and sighed. "We had a woman come in a couple of days ago. Abuse case." He knew he made a face, but if hers was anything to go by it wasn't nearly as toned down as he'd hoped. "She wanted to file a restraining order, we started gathering some evidence to back it up, hopefully get him arrested… I guess he spotted us."

Us meaning her. Her father didn't do a lot of tailing these days.

"Does he know who you are?"

"Obviously he knew where to find us."

"I mean, on sight."

"I don't know. I can usually tell when someone catches me tailing them, but he didn't show any of the usual signs. It's gotta be him though. Dad's been trying to get in touch with the sheriff's department over it all day."

"Useless assholes," Logan breathed, risking a glance at how Keith was pacing as best as he could on the phone with Lamb's office.

"Yeah."

His gaze swiveled back to her and he reached forward, his touch hesitant against her hand, but a sense of relief flooded through him as she turned it over, taking his. He ran his thumb up and down the inside of her wrist in a soothing motion. This was the best opening he had. "Hey, I know you hate it when I -"

"Oh, you know I do."

He stopped, smirked, and waited until her lips twitched into a small smile before he continued. "I know a guy that can install top-line security. I know you guys have cameras, but they're outdated, don't give a clear image. Brian can get new ones hooked up with an alarm system and -"

"We don't have it in the budget."

"Then let me do it."

Her lips quirked up devilishly. "Oh, you're going to hook it up?"

And it was his turn to shoot her a withering look. "Let me pay for it."

"Logan…."

"Please?" He held her gaze, stuck in a battle of wills with one of the most stubborn human beings he'd ever met.

"When's that election again?" Keith groused as he limped his way back towards his seat, unintentionally interrupting the stare-off. He seemed to notice that he had as he slid back into his seat. "What's wrong?"

Fine. She could be stubborn, so could he. "Office or our place, your call," Logan directed at Veronica and saw her stiffen a little at that.

"We don't need a security system at our place."

"What about the drunk Spring Breaker that just about broke down our door last year because he thought it was the place he'd rented?"

"That was one time."

"You're right. I think your office would benefit more from it, but hey, I don't get to make calls on that because I don't work there. I do live at our apartment, so….."

"You're an asshole."

There was less spite in her tone than the words themselves might have indicated and Logan smirked. He turned his attention to Keith as the waitress delivered their food. "Veronica mentioned you guys had a break in. I know a guy that does topnotch security for very reasonable rates."

"Very reasonable when you pay for it," she grumbled and he ignored her.

"It's not like the sheriff's department would respond even if an alarm were to go off at our office," Keith answered with a shrug, digging into his risotto.

"See?" Veronica pressed and Logan kept his focus on her father.

"Still, that alarm'll scare most thugs off from ransacking the place."

"Logan, while I appreciate -"

"Can we just focus on dinner?"

The snap caught him more off guard than he would have liked and Logan glanced over at the woman he loved. She was stressed. From the day, from the case, and from the conversation that they were in right then. Okay. He couldn't fix the first two, but the third he could handle.

"Yeah. Sure." He managed what he thought was a pretty convincing smile. "So, Riles tells me he thinks he can snag some Padres tickets next weekend. Anybody in?"

And that was that. The Mars clan was a stubborn one, and despite Veronica's affections, he was still somewhat on the outside of it. Any offer to contribute was still seen as charity, even if he just wanted to see the people he cared about safe.

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

Logan resisted the urge to ask about the case or push his opinion on Mars Investigations' dated security for the rest of dinner. Veronica did her best to pretend everything was normal, but Keith remained distant and irritable the entire meal. He paid for them and Logan bit his tongue, thanking him instead and said he'd give Riley the green light on the tickets.

He felt the long day and the evening weighing on him as they returned home, cleaned up the newest mess Pony had left of what looked like had been one of Veronica's scarves, and took him out. He wasn't the only one, though, and he circled around Veronica as she stripped her shirt over her head to start getting ready for bed. His touch was gentle and he pressed a kiss to the side of her head. She sighed, but leaned back and he took the invitation to let his kisses start to travel down to the crook of her neck, the apology for making her day even harder in each one. Finally she turned, draping her arms over his shoulders and her fingers teased at his hair. Those clear blue eyes pulled him in and her smile didn't look nearly as forced as it had been all evening. "Hey."

"Hey yourself," he answered softly and she tilted back, letting her hands slide across his shoulders and down his chest until her fingers wrapped in the fabric of his shirt. As she fell back against the bed, she pulled him with her. He leaned in to kiss her and she wrapped her legs around his middle. Logan braced himself with a hand on either side of her shoulders and he could feel her fingers pulling at his shirt, working at the buttons in a way that made him think they weren't going to last long. He smiled into the kiss and deepened it.

A loud pounding at the door startled them both out of their moment. Veronica released him reluctantly and started for her discarded shirt.

"I got it," Logan offered and received a pointed look for it. He held his hands up in mock surrender. "Out of the two of us, which one is still dressed?" He started down the hall before she could argue the logic.

"If it's that idiot from next door tell him he's never allowed to borrow our vacuum again after last time!" Veronica shouted after him and Logan felt his lips quirk up at that.

He reached the end of the hall to get his first look at the figure outside. He was hidden under a baggy windbreaker and a baseball cap, but it could be a guy that lived several units down. Martin? Marty maybe? Something. He'd caught a couple waves with him one early Saturday morning several weeks back. This guy was definitely tall enough.

Logan pried the door open a crack. "Hey, man—"

The figure finally looked up, giving Logan the first clear view of his face. Definitely not Marty. "Where is she?"

"I think you have the wrong apartment," Logan tried, watching the other man carefully. He was twitchy and aggravated like he was hyped up on something. Logan had been in a lot of fights over the years, but these days he liked to think that he knew the ones to avoid. Strangers showing up tripped out on something? Not a gamble he was interested in taking on his own porch.

"That bitch Mars! She thinks she can wreck my marriage?" he howled and tried to push past Logan into the apartment.

Logan shoved back, ready to slam the door in his face, but the would-be intruder didn't stumble as far as he'd hoped and swiped back at him. It felt like a punch to the gut and he loosed a frustrated breath. Okay. Apparently there was no avoiding it.

The intruder stepped back and Logan blinked hard as his eyes focused on the knife in his hand and he risked a glance down to his white dress shirt that was quickly turning red just below his ribs. Shit.

"Logan, move!" Veronica shouted and he turned to find her standing behind him, his Colt .45 in her surprisingly steady hands, and a determined look aimed directly at their assailant. He stumbled back to give her a chance to level the weapon for a clear shot if she needed it. Time to find out if that weapons training she had taken had taught her anything. "Cops are on their way. Don't—"

He moved and the shot went off, sending the man crumbling onto their front porch. Logan stared at him for half a beat, adrenaline still pumping hard, and turned back to see Veronica frozen in place. "Hey," he said softly. "You're okay. We're okay."

"He's the one that broke into our office. He was harassing his ex wife. How did he…?" She trailed off, her gaze fixing on him and she paled. "Logan?"

He glanced down and grimaced. Right. Amazing how singularly focused the brain could be in these situations. All at once he felt the adrenaline dissipate and everything pulsed dangerously. Veronica's arms were around him and she was doing her best to ease the inevitable drop to the floor so he could lean against the side of the couch. She stayed down there with him, fingers pulling his shirt away from the injury and he didn't like the barely contained panic etched onto her face. "Veronica," he breathed, her name coming out quieter than he'd intended.

"They're sending an ambulance too," she managed, her own voice trembling. "Okay. Just…" The pain spiked as she put pressure on the bleeding wound and the room pulsed again. "This was my case and he…" She squeezed her eyes closed and he saw tears escape. "I'm so sorry, Logan. I'm so sorry. You're going to be okay. I'm going to make sure you're okay."

He wasn't going to be conscious for long and she was spiraling. The last thing he wanted was for her to blame herself. He reached up clumsily, looking for her hand. "Hey. Not your fault."

She looked up at him and he could see the angry tears in her eyes, but he felt her free hand tighten around his. "You're going to be okay."

"I know."

"Logan?"

He swallowed hard, trying to force the response out, but he felt himself slipping under, Veronica's face fading slowly to black.

----------

He had clips of memories, fractured and scattered. Voices that he didn't recognize. Someone pushing something down over his nose and mouth, but air flowing easier once he stopped fighting it. Veronica's face. Those eyes. They were like an anchor against the riptide trying to drag him away from her.

Come back to me.

Always.

Logan came back to consciousness in what felt like disjointed steps, much like losing it. He wasn't even sure how many times he came back around or if every time that sterile smell filled his nose, the too-bright lights made him wince and want to go back to sleep, or the chill that couldn't be helped even by the thin blanket draped over his legs just felt like the first time. He finally pried his eyes open to find Veronica asleep in the chair next to his bed, bent at an awkward angle with her head resting on the thin mattress. Logan found his lips curling up ever so slightly as he flexed his fingers to find her hand holding onto his.

She stirred at the movement, mumbling sleepily and he squeezed her fingers in his. Veronica popped up with that, none of the stiffness she might have felt at the awkward sleeping arrangement showing as she flashed him a relieved smile. "Hey. You're awake."

His lips parted to answer, dry and cracking from the ventilator they must have had him on, and he found his throat equally rebellious. He had to clear his throat to force any sound out, and decided on important rather than direct response. "Love you," he rasped.

Her smile only broadened at that and she pulled his hand up to her lips, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. "How are you feeling?"

"'kay." Logan could feel himself fading already and he wasn't ready for that. He shifted a little and while the movement brought some pain - distant and certainly a survivable amount - it brought a little more focus with it too. He let his gaze drift over her from her rumpled t-shirt to the bags under her eyes and the messy ponytail she had her hair pulled back in. He swallowed hard to try his luck at coherent words again. "You been home?"

"Once. Caught a quick shower, made sure Pony knew we didn't abandon him. Mac took him to her place last night. Fair warning: we may never see our dog again."

He snorted a soft laugh and caught her gaze. Thankfully she seemed to understand the question even if he couldn't quite get it out. "Sneider - the guy that stabbed you - died. Lamb's had a field day with that."

Okay, that warranted a real attempt at speech. "He trying to get you on murder?"

"It's like you've dealt with a Lamb or something."

The sound he made this time was decidedly less amused than his response to her last joke. Between the two brothers they had managed to wrongfully accuse him of murder three times. Hard to forget.

"I guess you don't remember waking up when I was down at the station, huh?" He shook his head. "Dad said they gave him hell when he tried to get in to sit with you. Kept saying that he wasn't family so he couldn't come in. Apparently he got them told."

Logan frowned a little, drawing a blank where he knew he shouldn't. Maybe they had pushed another dose of painkillers or something. "Told what?"

"That you're family."

"Must have been a riot," he huffed.

Veronica looked confused for a moment. Then something seemed to click and he watched a lopsided smile tug into place. "You know, my dad has tells. They're tiny, easy to miss, but I know every one at this point, even when he's just telling the story." She reached forward, her touch gentle but firm as she made sure he was looking at her. "He meant it. Not sure when you won him over, but I think you finally did."

"Guess ya gotta keep me, huh?"

"Planning on it," Veronica said, her voice wavering just a little. "Just don't you leave me."

"Not going anywhere. 'Cept maybe to sleep," he mumbled, feeling his eyelids drooping.

"I'll be right here when you wake up."

She started to sit back in the chair and he made a small, irritable sound at that and reached up clumsily to catch her wrist. "You're tiny. You'll fit."

"On the bed?" He nodded. "Logan, I don't want to hurt you…."

"You won't."

She sniffed and he cracked an eye he hadn't realized had slid closed back open to find her staring back at him through frustrated tears. "This is my —"

"No," he cut her off. "You saved my life, just like you alway do." Logan tugged as hard as he could manage, which wasn't saying much at the moment. Her laugh was soft as she finally crawled onto the bed, able to fit when she laid on her side and an arm wrapped around his rather than draped over his middle. He settled back against his pillows with a satisfied smile. "See? Pint sized."

"Sure you're okay?"

He made a small sound of acknowledgement. Loving Veronica Mars would always be dangerous - sometimes for her, sometimes for him, and sometimes for them both. That had become clear a long time ago, but if it meant being close to her, if it meant spending the rest of his life with her, he had learned that any amount of pain was survivable because they came back to each other in the end. Always.

[artificialqueens]

Makes Me Wonder (Biadore)- Ortega

a/n: hey hey! happy holidays. i thought i’d write a lil somethin to get me back into the swing of writing since i’ve had a couple months off. it’s an idea i’ve had running around my head for a good good while, at least a year, and now it’s finally down so pls let me know what you think! this is set within the Just the Game We’re In universe but can absolutely be read standalone. title from the song of the same name by Ella Mai which really sums up what this fic is all about (issa vibe). is it too early for a new years’ eve fic? have it anyway, ya filthy animals xo

summary: Adore is a civil service comms girl in a government department who’s meant to be out with her friends. Bianca is the director of communications for the entire country’s government about twenty ranks above her who has no plans for the night other than getting the Prime Minister out of trouble. Tonight, they’re two women sharing a bottle of prosecco in an office high above the city on the last night of the year.

***

It’s eleven at night, and the glass frontage of the offices makes all the darkness flood in. Too high for the reach of the streetlamps, Bianca can see the tiny twinkly lights of the city below in the distance. From the position of the building most of London’s landmarks are hidden from view: the Eye, St Paul’s Cathedral, she knows that the Houses of Parliament are on the other side of the building, not that she’d want to see them. Bianca doesn’t mind. She became disillusioned with London in 2008, when she was presented with her third Prime Minister that didn’t have a clue what he was doing and it slowly dawned on her that maybe all you needed to get ahead in politics was a dick and a Ted Baker suit. Or to be a dick in a Ted Baker suit.

And now here she is running after yet another enormous man-child, pre-emptively doing a mop-up job that she knows she will be tasked with when government returns in the New Year. She knows that a supposedly off-the-record journalist ambushed him at a New Years’ Eve party about an hour ago, asked him something about immigration figures that if he didn’t know sober he’d know even less after six sherries, so Bianca knows that all the papers will be primed to really go in on that subject next time they have a chance. She needs a file, she knows exactly the one- a huge blue lever arch with all the figures needed to sound like the government expert on immigration. It would’ve helped if the actual government expert on immigration was in the country, but the Secretary of State for the Department of Social Affairs and Citizenship (or DoSac, as those in Westminster called it) Sharon Needles is still in Spain with her family and her wife, coincidentally the second government expert on immigration by proxy. Bianca shakes her head derisively as she makes her way to the lightswitch. What the hell is Sharon thinking, swanning off on holiday at a time like this? Alaska’s no better, she knows there’s going to be an election in Scotland in six months’ time and whether they give a shit or not they still have to make the party seem likeable down in London and that’s her job as an MP. Bianca had heard it all from Sharon, “it’s Christmas for Christ’s sake Bianca, I’m not asking for a week in Amsterdam during a reshuffle”, and she likes the fucking woman so she’d let her, but one of her parting comments still stings, “I don’t think you got enough cuddles as a child”. Bianca had wanted to snap at her that her childhood had been fine, it was her adulthood she needed to worry about. She brings her thumb up to her palm and touches the bottom of the fourth finger on her left hand self-consciously. It’s been…God, twelve years now. There can’t still be a dent. Perhaps Bianca is imagining it.

Bianca imagines a lot of things.

Blinking as if to hit refresh on her mind, she flicks the lightswitch and is surprised when she hears a thud and an “owch” come from underneath one of the desks in the department. Narrowing her eyes, she casts a glance over the huge room. There are Willam and Courtney’s desks, both with photos of them at Sharon and Alaska’s wedding on each. Blair’s is chaotically tidy, piles and piles of documents that Bianca knows all have their place. Violet’s and Jinkx’s, both neat and orderly, and then Bianca’s gaze sweeps quickly over Trixie and Katya’s desks to come to rest on a huge pair of hazel eyes blinking at her with wide-eyed surprise. Bianca is disarmed, only able to blink back at her in a way she hopes is intimidating and not intimidated.

“Bianca!” Adore gasps, sounding shocked as she rises from behind her desk. This reveals a black sparkly lace and velvet dress with beads and sequins threaded all over it, so much so that it looks as if Adore is dressed in the night sky. Bianca elects not to speak, scared in case she tries and nothing comes out. She maintains her stare instead. Adore’s red lips, set in an O of surprise, start to move. “Fuck, I’m sorry…I was out in my heels and never had flats with me and I knew I had my work boots under my desk so I just got an uber here and the place was still open and, uh…yeah. Sorry for saying fuck.”

Bianca cracks a small smile as Adore scrunches her straight dark hair in her hands at the scalp, an embarrassed smile on her own face which turns into an awkward bite of her lip. She’s beautiful. Bianca’s always thought so, in the same way she can admire a bouquet of flowers or a sunset or a member of the opposition getting absolutely annihilated in a debate. Adore is beautiful, and that’s just a fact. Nothing more. It doesn’t need to be anything more than that.

Bianca sometimes wonders, though.

“Uh, how come you’re here? Busiest woman in Westminster, you don’t have, like…some sort of New Years’ Eve party with the Prime Minister and all the cabinet and…stuff?” Adore concludes  sheepishly, scuffing her foot across the floor in a way Bianca wishes she didn’t find so charming. For her part, Bianca narrows her eyes.

“For your information, I’m trying to find a file,” she rolls her eyes, walking past the comms girl and trying not to inhale too much of the perfume she’s wearing that smells all too much of candyfloss and jellybeans. It shouldn’t smell as nice as it does.

“Government secrets. You’re gonna kill someone,” Adore nodded, following Bianca over to the filing cabinet, crossing her arms and resting them on the top.

“You, if I’m lucky,” Bianca keeps up pretences and pretends that Adore is too young, too silly and idiotic to be worthy of her time. It’s a dance they’ve been doing since Adore started as an intern for Darienne Lake back in the day, back when the whole thing had some integrity and Bianca genuinely held more contempt for Adore than a smear of shit on her shoe and Adore presumably thought Bianca’s entire personality was modelled on Meryl Streep in The Devil Wears Prada. It’s more than that now though. Bianca knows it, Adore knows it. It’s been more than that for a while. Years, definitely. How many, Bianca doesn’t know. Certainly since Adore had been dating that journalist Laila McQueen who ended up breaking her heart and very nearly brought the department down with all the secrets Adore had inadvertently leaked to her. Since Adore had found love in a new relationship with a girl from the hospital coffee shop, when Adore had been telling the rest of the civil service girls about her and had stopped when she caught sight of Bianca walking in, her excited face faltering only a little. It’s definitely been since Bianca, exhausted and caught off guard by a stressful day that happened to fall on an all too painful date (Bianca touches her ring finger again) allowed her shoulders to slump and a tear to fall from her face in an empty room in the DoSac offices. Adore had entered the glass-fronted office, uttered Bianca’s name gently, crossed the room to face her. She’d wordlessly caught the tear with an impossibly gentle acrylic-nailed finger and it had disappeared from her face as if Adore was a magician. Then she’d left, returning with a cup of hot coffee and a touch of Bianca’s hand and vanishing from the empty office as if she’d never been there.

Bianca wonders if it would’ve been easier if she hadn’t been.

“What’s your plan for tonight, anyway? Westminster’s number one Amy Winehouse tribute act,” Bianca continues, frowning as the lever arch file isn’t in the place it should be. She slams shut one drawer and tries the next one down.

“Number one! Fuck, that’s high praise from you. I’m sure you said Courtney was, like, the number fifteen Kylie Minogue tribute,” Bianca hears the smile in Adore’s voice, internally yells at herself as loud as her mind will allow that this is not, not, not flirting.

“Only because I’m hoping you decide to really commit to the gig and overdose over the holidays and I won’t have to see you eating all the croissants meant for Sharon day after day next year,” Bianca raises her eyebrows at her. Completely nukes any hint of anything playful. But of course Adore bulldozes that idea immediately with a huge snort of laughter and a smile that exposes her beautiful teeth, impossibly white given all the smoking she does.

“Huh. So you do notice me,” she ponders, her voice small and tinged with a dangerous hint of curiosity.

“Hard not to with that hideous vocal fry. Helluhhhh, you’re through to Dosac commmmmms?” Bianca mocks, drawing her voice out and allowing herself a grin at the way Adore’s face lights up in a self-deprecating laugh. Bianca, for a moment, truly believes the whole room gets brighter.  

“I’m out with the girls,” Adore explains on the tail end of a laugh, finally answering her question. “You’re not having much luck with that file.”

“Listen, Wednesday fucking Addams! Enough sass from you, alright? I can still sack you, holidays or no holidays,” Bianca snaps, not meaning a single word of it. She can practically hear the smug smile of disbelief on Adore’s face. She looks up and sure enough, there it is. “What the fuck’s that look for? You look like the cat that got the cream then ate the shit.”

Adore shrugs lightly. “I just don’t think you’d ever sack me, that’s all. You’re too nice.”

Bianca is knocked for six by the compliment. For a moment, forgets how to react. She straightens up and tries the shelves for the file. “You’ve seen me fire about ten people since you started working here, you’re clearly an idiot with a horrendous judge of character or you’ve got early-onset dementia.”

Adore laughs. “I think I’m both. Although you’re in the dementia pit with me, sister.”

“How fucking dare you, I’m forty two. I’m reporting you for ageism,” Bianca snarls at her, but they both know she doesn’t mean it. Adore shrugs, stretching out against the wall.

“All I’m saying is, I think you’re forgetting I’m one of the only people in the country who’s ever got a Bianca Del Rio apology.”

Bianca shakes her head, tries to ignore how good her name sounds in Adore’s mouth. She remembers that day, remembers it well- absolutely ripping through Adore because she made a mistake and watching her tear up, spending the day being eaten up with regret and then sheepishly going to say sorry at the end of it all, watching her bashful expression become mirrored on Adore’s face as the girl had told her not to worry about it and that these things happen. Bianca looks again at Adore, the playful and lighthearted expression on her face now one of trepidation. Bianca knows what she’s thinking, and she’s wondering if she’s taken the whole thing too far. So Bianca does the only thing she can do at this point in the conversation and turns danger to derision.

“How’s being out with the girls working out for you?”

Adore puffs out a load of air, twirls an end of her long hair around her finger. “Not too well because there’s an old woman with alzheimer’s that I have to look after who’s wandering around the office muttering obscenities at me and searching for a piece of very important government information.”

Adore notes Bianca’s unamused expression and hollers out a laugh, Bianca unable to hold hers in any longer either. Smiling, Adore continues. “At least, that’s what I’ll tell the girls when they ask me why I’m late.”

Bianca sighs, shakes her head in disbelief. “Adore, I’m not going to shout at you if you want to leave. You got what you came here for, so-”

“Oh, I mean, yeah, of course. But winding up my boss’ boss is just as fun, actually is more fun, than sitting in a crowded pub with my friends yelling in my ear because the twelve men out on their Christmas piss-up are singing Fairytale of New York loud enough that their lungs are gonna pop, so…” Adore trailed off, punctuating her sentence with a shrug. She pauses a second. “Hey, what does that file look like?”

“It’s lever arch…blue, really full, probably has bits of paper sticking out of it…Christ, this is the most boring conversation I’ve ever had,” Bianca rubs her face with her hands and forgets there’s makeup on it. Adore laughs, scans the room, then immediately marches over to Courtney’s desk, moves some paper aside and returns with exactly what Bianca had described. Bianca, for her part, is stunned.

“How in the hell did you-”

“Sometimes sitting doing fuck all all day has its uses. Court took the file to update online Census data before she went off for her holidays, tried to get ahead on her work for coming back. I remember ‘cuz she asked me for a cup of tea to get her through it,” Adore smiles, her brazen confidence hidden under a shy smile. Bianca takes it from her and thanks her, regret tingeing her voice as she realises this leaves neither of them with an excuse to be in each others’ company any more.

“You know,” Adore drops into conversation nonchalantly, just as Bianca is about to cut her losses and say goodbye. “If I leave now I probably won’t get an Uber in time for the countdown, and if I do the girls’ll have probably moved on, and, like, the city’s gonna be mobbed…and, uh, there’s a bottle of prosecco that Trixie won in the raffle that she put in the fridge and never took home. So, like, if you want, we could just, uh…have, like, a…”

Bianca tries so, so hard to ignore the way her heart is soaring like a helium balloon. “See in the New Year with a bottle of fizz and a better view of London than half the city’s going to get?” Don’t sound too enthusiastic. “Well, looks like I’ve not got much better to do.”

Bianca doesn’t miss the triumphant smile Adore shoots her way as she dashes off to the tiny office kitchen to grab the promised alcohol. Left to awkwardly shuffle her feet, Bianca decides to cross the office and open the door to the meeting room. The city lights immediately flood her vision as she perches gingerly on the desk in the middle of the room, foregoing the uncomfortable office chairs. As she sits and waits, her mind races in time with her heart. It’s not a big deal, stop reading too much into it. It’s a New Years’ Eve drink with a coworker, people do that all the time at this time of year. Except Bianca knows it’s different, because Adore is not her coworker. She’s her inferior in every way- wage, status, power, everything probably except kindness of heart and beauty. Don’t think about Adore’s beauty.

All of a sudden the office goes dark, as dark as it can with the bright lights and the big city underneath it, and Adore softly pads into the room a few seconds later with two mugs, a bottle, and an excitable grin on her face. “Okay, now it’s actually like we’re in a London Eye pod. Don’t you think?”

“I think the London Eye has proper champagne flutes,” Bianca quips witheringly, hoping it disguises the fact that her heart is beating nearly out of her chest because it’s dark, and it’s New Year’s Eve, and it’s magical, and for now they’re two women drinking prosecco together with no prior agenda or obstacles.

Adore holds out one mug to Bianca. It says “Don’t talk to me until I’ve had my second morning coffee!” and for a moment Bianca wants to burst into hysterical laughter at the ridiculousness of it all. She doesn’t. Instead she smiles slightly as Adore pours the fizz into the mug with all the skill of a toddler, watches as the bubbles climb up to the rim of the porcelain until Bianca has to jump in and inhale them away.

“Wish!” Adore beams excitedly, and Bianca, hunched over the mug, launches her a quizzical look. Adore is patient with her. “You caught the bubbles. Now you make a wish.”

Bianca briefly rolls her eyes, but obediently she squeezes her eyes shut. Wishes for something wildly illogical and fanciful because it wouldn’t be a wish if it wasn’t. Bianca can set goals and achieve them, she’s been doing it all her life. Wishing for something she could easily make come true on her own is a waste of a wish. When she opens her eyes she finds Adore grinning at her moronically.

“What did you wish for?”

Bianca sips a bit more of the bubbles, as if to strengthen the wish. “If I told you that it wouldn’t come true, would it? Is that not how wishes work? Or did they change the contract?”

Adore raises her eyebrows at the woman long-sufferingly, pouring enough prosecco into her own glass that the bubbles spill over and land on her sparkly dress, a splash more constellations added to the night sky. She sips at the popping and fizzing froth on the top of the mug, locks her eyes with Bianca. “I guess we’ll need to wait before we get an answer to that, won’t we?”

Bianca coughs, fixes her eyes on a particularly glittery set of buildings in the distance. She doesn’t tear her eyes away from them as she speaks again. “Where’s, uh. Are you not meant to be with your girlfriend tonight or something?”

“You’re pretty fuckin’ out of the loop. Me ‘n Aja’ve been done since before Christmas,” Adore replies, her voice light but her tone dead, and Bianca wants to leap from the building.

“Fuck, sorry. I never knew.”

She hears a snort from beside her. Adore’s looking at the table and smiling. “Shit. Now I got two sorrys from Bianca Del Rio, fuck knows what I’ll do with all of those. Open a shop?”

Bianca humours her and laughs back in lieu of making a silly quip, she’s loath to make things worse than she already has. Adore looks back out of the window and Bianca looks at her, the view better than anything behind that pane of glass.

“We didn’t know what the hell we were doing. Either of us,” Adore continues. The city lights are reflected in her eyes, dark and beautiful and capable of making Bianca say things she might regret. “Suddenly it got to two years and we both, like…died laughing at the thought of being ready to settle down any time soon. She’d kissed other girls. I’d slept with somebody else. Just to…fuck, I don’t know. Like, I wondered if I was actually in love, wondered what it was all meant to feel like. Wondered if I’d feel anything before, during, after.”

Bianca is taking this all in her stride despite the fact her mind is moving about the same rate as Adore’s lips and with each new revelation there is something new to get her head around. She somehow coughs up a question. “And did you?”

Adore laughs completely humourlessly. It doesn’t suit her. “Good question, girl. I’ll come back to you when I have an answer that makes any fuckin’ sense to you. Right now I don’t even have one that makes sense to me.”

Bianca crosses her legs and is deep in thought. She doesn’t know if she ever had Adore pinned as the type to cheat on a girlfriend, then immediately thinks she is silly to consider such an action as being attributed to a type of person. You can never really ever know a human, and with each new day someone can surprise you with the mundane or underwhelm with a revelation. Still, she reminds herself, she thought she’d known…

Never mind.

Point is, nothing shocks or fazes her any more. She considers herself an expert in human nature simply by following one simple rule; never assume.

“You probably think I’m an awful fuckin’ person now.”

Bianca turns and looks at Adore as if the eye contact will answer her question without having to say anything. This already doesn’t seem sufficient to either her or Adore, so Bianca follows it up anyway. “You honestly might as well do whatever the fuck you want in life, Adore. Half the world’s out there doing that already and not giving a single shit about the consequences.”

Adore narrows her eyes at her, quirks a smile that doesn’t quite meet her lips. “That’s a very…world weary answer.”  

“I’m a very world weary woman,” Bianca sips her prosecco. It tastes absolutely fucking horrible out of a mug. Her mind must have been playing tricks on her, as Adore seems to shift closer to her until she is right bang next to her sitting on top of the table. There is no space between them- no hands, no cups, no air, and the sheer possibility and risk of it all makes Bianca shiver.

“I think you’re a very complex woman,” Adore murmurs delicately. Bianca doesn’t dare meet her eyes, instead electing to look down at where the hem of Adore’s dress meets her black tights with a small ladder. “I would kill to read some form of, like…autobiography.”

Bianca laughs, reaches out and starts fiddling with a small sequin on Adore’s dress in spite of herself. “It would be a very fucking short autobiography. I was born, I grew up, I got this job, I died. The end. Four pages at most. Five including a contents page.”

“There’s more to you than that.”

“No there isn’t.”

Bianca feels Adore tense up beside her, is frightened into dropping the hem of her dress and to stop picking at the stitching. She’s an idiot who went too far and got caught up in the night and has probably ruined the poor girl’s dress. Adore speaks. “People’ve told me that you used to wear a wedding ring, and now you don’t.”

Now it’s Bianca’s turn to tense up, and she does her best to give Adore a run for her money. Freezes in place so quick it puts her in mind of a childhood game of musical statues. Adore recoils quickly as if she’s been burned; Bianca is a sparkler she’s let linger in her hands for too long. It becomes a game of who will break the silence first. Adore wins. Or loses. Bianca supposes there are no winners in this conversation.

“Bianca, I’m sorry,” she whispers, closes the gap again and touches her hand. She seems to have second thoughts and removes it again, and Bianca wants to curl her fingers around Adore’s and not let go. “Shit, fuck, this was so above my station…I’m so sorry, Bianca, honestly-”

Bianca can feel the woman getting stressed out next to her. She never thought she’d be referring to Adore as a woman, but there’s a first for everything. She looks grown up and confident and self-assured with her dark hair (she got rid of the blonde and Bianca thinks it suits her), her perfect red lipstick, her sophisticated dress. Except now she looks every inch the panicking intern Bianca first knew her as, and she decides to swallow her fears and take Adore’s hand, laces their fingers together like she wanted to earlier.

They’re holding hands. The director of communications for the government of the entire country is holding hands with a comms girl endless fucking pay grades below her, and there is so much wrong but yet so much that just seems correct. It’s two hands linked together. That’s all.

“Like I said,” Bianca smiles sadly at the carpet, deciding that particular story can wait until she’s six feet under. “Half the world’s doing whatever the fuck they want and not giving a shit about the consequences.”

Adore strokes her thumb at the knuckle and Bianca is lost for words, a rare occurrence in her life. “I’m so sorry, Bianca.”

“Well. We’ve both put our foot in it now, so,” Bianca drops their hands, decides it’s probably a good place to end whatever the hell this is. She picks up her mug and tries to ignore the feeling that Adore looks disappointed at the lack of contact. “To being untactful shits incapable of emotional intelligence.”

Adore gives a small laugh, clinks her mug against Bianca’s own. There’s a moment of silence before she speaks.

“I’ve never told anyone about cheating on Aja. Apart from her, obviously.”

“Well now I have some serious dirt on you,” Bianca raises her eyebrows in an attempt to make light of the situation. She is rewarded by a laugh from Adore.

“I guess I did it because…well. There’s like…always been a third person in my relationships. No, fuck, that sounds weird and intense, but…ah, it’s hard to explain,” Adore hisses through her teeth, and Bianca is intrigued. The entire opening hangs heavy in the air, and Bianca doesn’t want to think about the possibilities it holds. She can feel her heart speed up, and she takes a too-big gulp of her prosecco and feels the bubbles shatter like ice down her gullet. Adore is looking at her, she knows, but Bianca holds her gaze on the city. “Do you ever, like, think about how there could be a right person, but the wrong place and wrong time? Wrong universe, even. Like they could be so gorgeous and funny and warm and you just know they’d be great to talk to if you ever got a proper chance, but you’ve never had the chance, and you know you won’t ever get the chance? So you just make peace with it, except, like, you’re never really at peace with it because with every new relationship you get into it’s just taunting you, the what if, the wondering?”

The air is spitting and crackling with electricity. Hot oil on a pan. Bianca shakes her head. “Adore, I haven’t been in a relationship for, literally, years.”

“But you still know the feeling though, don’t you?” Bianca is suddenly electrocuted, thousands of volts running through her as Adore takes her hand and gives Bianca no choice but to turn and face her, the city lights ripped from her eyes as Adore gazes into Bianca’s own, nothing to reflect in them, just black. Bianca’s heart goes from racing to flatlined. Adore doesn’t break eye contact. “Bianca…I know you know the feeling.”

And this is it. It’s out in the open, the tension between them that’s lingered for years like somebody’s taken a knife to a huge helium balloon. Bianca almost wants to laugh. There is no point protesting, or trying to tell Adore she’s got it all wrong. Adore is headstrong, has always been headstrong, and she knows, and she knows that Bianca knows. The situation is funny. They’re Christ knows how many feet up in the air, in the offices in the dead of night on New Year’s Eve. Bianca knows whatever happens this evening that the second she steps out of the building and into the freezing cold air, the magic will be gone. Because that’s what this is- magic. It could only be magic that Adore is making Bianca confront all of this before the entire slate gets wiped clean, the biggest cliche in the book.

“Fuck,” Bianca just laughs, the resigned exhalation of someone who has no energy left to deny it. “You’re literally…you’re just a kid-”

“I’m twenty fucking eight, Bianca,” Adore snaps, as if she’s had that excuse used against her for the entireity of her life and has had enough. Bianca is suitably admonished.

“Right. Sorry. Ignore me, I’m old. Which begs the question…” Bianca realises they haven’t stopped holding hands yet. “Adore….me? Really? Me? Why me?”

“I think you’re beautiful,” Adore shrugs. Her matter-of-fact-ness makes Bianca blush as if she’s back in high school. “And there’s, like…always been something about you that’s just drawn me to you. I don’t know. It’s like I said, I think we’d get on if we’d let ourselves get to know each other. I think we’re similar.”

Bianca paused before replying, taking a moment to just look into Adore’s eyes. She sighs heavily.

“There really is nothing about this that is any fucking fair at all.”

Adore laughs, neglecting to break eye contact. “How come?”

“Because there’s absolutely no way that we can pursue any of this. And it’s almost more cruel knowing we both want to,” Bianca snorts sardonically, refills her and Adore’s cups. Adore pouts. She’s showing her age.

“But we could if we wanted to. We could at least try,” she pleads, hope in her voice that makes Bianca want to wrap her up and take her home with her. Bianca laughs. Someone is going to have to be the voice of reason in this conversation.

“Adore, there’s a reason my marriage ended. There’s a reason I’ve not had a relationship for twelve years. There’s a reason I haven’t acted upon any of my feelings towards you,” she says, her voice coated in thick regret. She gives Adore’s hand a squeeze to soften the blow. “This job is my relationship. This job is my marriage. I barely have time for three meals a day- I don’t have time for three meals a day. I mean, fucking look at me. I’m at work on New Years’ Eve.”

“I’m at work on New Years’ Eve,” Adore gestures at herself, as if that simple fact is enough to convince her. Bianca laughs. She is the sweetest fucking person to ever exist, she fully believes that.

“There’s fourteen years separating us. I’m head of government communications, you’re a civil servant. That’s madness. We wouldn’t work.”

“No, probably not. It probably would just all end in tears. But at least we’d know. Which is, like, better than where we are just now, where we don’t know,” Adore shrugs, but the expression on her face lets Bianca know she thinks it’s a lost cause too. Bianca feels sad for her, feels sad for them both. She shuffles closer.

“Look. You know that I like you, and I know that you like me, and at least we don’t have to suspect it any more. We know. And it doesn’t matter that nothing’s going to happen, because…oh, fuck, what’s that saying? The possibility far outweighs the outcome, or some shit like that?”

Adore cracks up laughing. “That phrase doesn’t exist.”

“Yes it fucking- Christ, the point is that this night…” Bianca rubs her head in exhaustion. “…this night is like a microcosm of the universe. You were saying we’re in the wrong universe, well, just for tonight, this office is the right one. Just for now. A weird purgatory.”

Adore smiles, brushes a bit of hair out of her face. “So you’re, what. Confucius now, right?”

“Something like that.”

The chimes of Big Ben cut through the office and fireworks spring to life across the city below. Startled, both women spring away from each other. Bianca watches Adore check her phone. “Oh, shit.”

“We missed the countdown,” Bianca mutters sheepishly, suddenly ashamed of the whole conversation. Adore snorts.

“No, I just have, like, fifty voicemails from the girls,” she shrugs lightly, putting her phone face-down on the desk and facing Bianca once more. She holds out her mug and smiles gently. “Cheers, then.”

“Cheers,” Bianca says quietly, like she doesn’t want the office to hear. She taps the porcelain against Adore’s mug. They are close, their knees touching, and Bianca flicks her gaze up from the mugs to Adore’s eyes.

“Fuck it,” she whispers, before setting her mug down, bringing one hand to rest on Adore’s waist and the other to gently tilt her chin up before closing the gap between them.

If talking to Adore on New Years’ Eve in a dark office with the city lights reflected in her eyes is magic, then kissing Adore is the best kind of witchcraft. It’s a hesitant kiss, the fault of both of them as neither of them really know what they’re doing or what they’ll do once it’s over, so they carry on. Adore has brought a hand up to rest at Bianca’s jaw, her thumb stroking her cheek gently, and Bianca never wants the sensation to stop. She wants to freeze the entire moment in time but she is aware she can’t do that, so focuses on committing it to memory; the way Adore tastes like sparkling prosecco, the scent of her perfume, the way they both seem to just fit together and the whole exciting unfamiliarity of it all.

Just when Bianca seems to be getting used to things she feels Adore tugging away, and she in turn doesn’t resist. She can’t help the disappointed slump of her shoulders as Adore is once again in front of her, bashfully smoothing down her dress. All at once Bianca is swept up in complete fantasy. Maybe she and Adore could work. There might be a way to make it all doable, even if she only gets to take Adore out to dinner once every couple of weeks, something like that. Adore makes the decision for her, putting her empty mug down and standing up from the table, taking Bianca’s hand and giving it a squeeze.

“Happy New Year, Bianca,” she smiles softly before turning and opening the heavy glass door, managing halfway through it before turning and looking back at her. She wants her to say something, Bianca can tell, and there’s so much she could say. She decides not to ruin things. This night has been enough. It’s a new day- a new year now, and everything is fresh and new, a blanket of freshly fallen snow without any footprints. She decides to smile and give Adore a small wave.

“Happy New Year.”  

The door swings shut, and the magic is over.

[criminal-lymindless]

starker ft. the conjuring au 🏠

"Diabolical forces are formidable. These forces are eternal, and they exist today. The fairy tale is true. The devil exists. God exists. And for us, as people, our very destiny hinges upon which one we elect to follow."

// Part 2 //

During a particular morning, a reporter went to visit them, wanting to ask questions about the notorious room in the house where they kept objects related to the cases they had investigated so far.

Peter was hesitant about it; most of those people used to accuse them of quackery. However, Tony, on the other hand, had decided to give the reporter named Everett Ross a chance, willing to give him the opportunity to know more about their investigations.

Peter decided to stay in the living room while Tony led the man into their secret room, unlocking the door.

"We keep everything locked in here." He explained to the reporter and pushed the door, entering the place. "Feel free to look around. Just don't touch anything. Trust me. You don't want to be touching this stuffs --Unless your that desperate to die, then okay."

"Wow..." Everett looked around, he was clearly amazed by the things he saw there. "This is crazy..." The man commented. “So all these are taken from cases you've investigated?" He turned to look at Tony who nodded positively.

"That's right. Everything you see in here is either haunted, cursed or has been used in some kind of ritualistic practice." Tony clarified as he walked between the shelves. "Nothing is a toy." He added and watched Everett crouch down to look at a stuffed animal. "If I were you I wouldn't touch that."

Everett suddenly took a step back once hearing that and stood up, clearing his throat.

"Uh...If I may Mr. Stark, but Isn't it scary or doesn't it worry you to have all these items right in your home?" The reporter questioned.

"That's why a priest comes by once a month to bless the room." Stark explained. "It's safer for these things to stay in here than out there. Who knows what would happen if they did. Probably the end of the work." Tony chuckled a bit. Everett Ross nodded as he listened to Stark.

"So it's like keeping guns off the street then?" He said. "But why not throw everything in an incinerator? Destroy them?" The man asked curiously while taking notes, now standing in front of Tony.

"That would only destroy the vessel." Tony assured him. "Sometimes it's better to keep the genie in the bottle." He winked at him.

The reporter looked around once again after hearing that. He was a bit anxious and when he started talking again, Tony watched him carefully, eyed him up and down. He had an idea on what was making Everett nervous, and the REAL reason why the man came over to visit them.

Which is why he needed to act quick.

Tony clapped his hands together, giving the man a fake smiled as he signal him to follow him. "Already then, if you don't have anymore questions we can finally wrap this shit up--"

"Is the, uh, Annabelle doll here?" Everett interrupted Tony before he could even finished his sentence. The reported looked around for the familiar the doll everyone has talked about.

Shit.

Stark sighed and muttered a few curse words to himself. So much for acting quickly. He reluctantly pointed to another direction, "Right over there. But we don't have time for--" Everett ignored him and walked up to where they kept the doll.

Tony is really starting to consider this interview was a bad idea, and maybe Peter was actually right for once. He walk towards the reporter and the doll, where it was stored in a wood and glass case they had built for it.

Everett looked at the doll for a few moments before turning to look at Tony again. "You said she's a conduit?" He asked and began taking notes again.

Tony only hummed in response. He was getting really tired of this interview and needed to wrap this up already. They couldn't be this close to that doll, even if it was safe on that wooden glass case. Anything is possible.

"But what does that mean?" The reporter turned on his tape recorder this time.

"It means that a very powerful demonic has latched itself onto her." He told Ross as he looked at the doll for a second. Glaring his eyes into her empty one's.

"So when you guys investigate these hauntings, how do you stop them from latching onto you?"

Tony shrugged. "We have to take great precaution." He explained trying to remain calm.

"Is that what happened to Peter then?" The man then questioned.

This cause Tony to snap his neck at him, arching an eyebrow. His mood suddenly changed when he heard that. "...What about him?" Tony frowned. Everett seemed a bit nervous after seeing his reaction. He knew damn well he's stepping into some sensitive stuffs.

'Could be another reason why Ross came over after all.' Tony thought to himself, looking directly at Everett. 'Why would this guy need this information anyway? Couldn't he just fucking read in another newspaper?'

"Well, Father Strange told me that..."

Oh, that little fucker--

"That was different." Tony snapped. Not caring that this was being recorded. No one comes after his baby boy. Not even some fucking priest with some shitty weird name. Fuck Stephen. "What happened to Peter happened during an exorcism. Nothing else."

"And what's the difference?" Everett challenged back.

Tony was about to tell Everett to 'fuck off' and leave because he was being bothered by the intrusive questions, when he heard something coming from behind one of the shelves.

"Excuse me." He murmured before walking towards the place where the sound came from, sighing as he found the familiar face of a little puppy crouched behind the shelf, weaving his little tail.

"Dum-E, what the hell are you doing?" Tony sighed as he looked at the puppy he had adopted with Peter years ago. "You know better than snooping around here, darling? Did you touch anything?" Dum-E only barked in return.

"Alright, come on." Tony took Dum-E into his arms. "You can't go into this room, no matter what, remember?" He said and after making sure Dum-E would stay at the kitchen with Peter where he would watch him, before he went back to where Everett was.

"Alright Everett, listen the fuck up--"

*******

Somewhere else, a Family had just moved to Rhode Island after loosing their Jobs and home. They were both skeptical and dejected with this new change in their lives, however they were stil glad to have found a house at their current state, where they would move in with their five children. Even if the house was actually an dilapidated farmhouse.

The family was know as the Barton's. It included Clint and Laura Barton with their five children, Cooper, Lila, Nathaniel, and the twins Wanda and Pietro. The twins being the oldest and Nathaniel the youngest of the Five.

The Barton's didn't take long to fit in, each kid sharing a comfortable bedroom and the parents managing to keep the expenses with the money they have left while one of them look for a job. It was great. The Kids would go to school, Clint would continue to unpack or fix a bit on the house, Laura would make food while also do a bit of cleaning around, and Nathaniel would run around playing by himself until his siblings return from school.

Things were going incredibly well until unusual situations started happening in the house.

At first, it was just weird sounds that came from different parts of the house in the middle of the night, then, objects began to show up in different places without anyone touching them. Clocks would stop at exactly 3 am in the morning.

Everyone in the house was aware of this, but no one had spoken up about it yet. They all thought that they were probably suffering from mass hysteria because of stress. Which was quite possible.

However, it was not until one accident that made it impossible to ignore the situation. That one accident that made it clear that something was going on, and it was not because of mass hysteria, but something connected to the house and the weird things that were happening so far.

Funny how it happened the night Wanda woke up in the middle of the night after feeling someone grabbing one of her feet.

The be continued...

[moirasimagines]

Right Here | Chapter One {Steve Harrington x Reader}

Summary: In which Steve Harrington can’t quite see what’s been right under his nose the whole time.

PROLOGUE | CHAPTER 1 | CHAPTER 2 | CHAPTER 3 | CHAPTER 4

Halloween night hits Hawkins, and nothing goes according to plan. (Songs mentioned in this chapter are all from Pink Floyd’s album Wish You Were Here. I recommend listening to Wish You Were Here (the song, not the whole album) and the following song on the album as they are mentioned in the story! Links: Wish You Were Here: x , Shine On You Crazy Diamond Pts. 6-9: x )

Word Count: 2,923

Warnings: Language, mentions of drinking, some angst

It wasn’t that you didn’t like parties. You did–– albeit, usually on a smaller scale. Steve had tried to convince you to come, but you’d passed on it. You said it was because you didn’t want to be there if the party got busted, you didn’t like the idea of the whole high school crammed into one house, you didn’t want to get… ‘sheet-faced.’ (The pun made you want to gag.) It might’ve been a little heavy-handed to give three excuses, but your best friend didn’t seem to notice. Again, he was focused primarily on Nancy, on distracting her from whatever was getting her down. You had to admit, even you had noticed she was acting different.

It was the whole reason you didn’t want to go. This party was going to be Steve and Nancy’s thing. Even though he’d broken with his usual popular gang, he was undoubtedly going to be surrounded by an adoring public of your peers, and you didn’t feel like competing for his attention tonight, much less competing for it with his long-term girlfriend.

He, of course, still came over to show you his costume before picking Nancy up. The boy could have passed for a hummingbird, he was flitting around your basement so nervously.

“I really just want her to have fun.”

“She will, Steve. And if she doesn’t, it’s not on you. You can be there for her and try to have a good time; but ultimately, if she’s not up for it, you can’t change that.” He plunked down next to you on the couch, dragging a hand through his hair. You tried not to notice. (It looked good. Really good.)

“I guess. I just… she needs a break. She deserves to just let go and be a teenager for a night, you know? There’s only so much longer we’re gonna be able to, like… do that.” He was right. You’d both turned 18 since junior year, and you could feel ‘adulthood’ looming over you. The college process, too. Who needed a Halloween party with that constant terror every day? You sighed and stood up in front of Steve, leaning forward to put your hands on shoulders.

“Listen,” you said, jostling him a bit, “if you’re miserable this whole party, she’s gonna be miserable too. Okay, dummy? So just lighten up a little.” He snorted a laugh.

“Fuck. You’re right.” You smiled and let go of him, padding over to the fridge.

“I’m always right.”

“Uh, I’d beg to differ. What about––”

“I’m holding two beers right now, you want me to make it one?” Steve didn’t continue. You spun back around with a triumphant smile.

“That’s what I thought.” You popped the caps off and handed him one, settling back down onto your couch. Steve was headed out in about a half hour so the two of you just shot the shit until he had to go. It was nice to have a little moment with him, the Charlie Brown special playing in the background. A small halloween celebration with the person you wanted most to share it with.

Finally, he stood up to go, thanking you for the pep talk. He was sure Nancy would have a blast. As the door shut behind him, you started feeling a little forlorn. Your friend Margot was coming over to hang out with you though, and that made it easier to bear. She lived a few towns over where you grew up, and you were looking forward to just checking out for the night and catching up with her. You knew you’d end up telling her about Steve, but it would be better to talk about it than just suffer in silence.

When Margot arrived at your house, you greeted her with a giant hug and a squeal. She laughed and pulled you in close. She was still one of your best friends, even if you didn’t live close. The phone bill could probably attest to that.

“Happy Halloween, hot stuff!” Margot exclaimed, swinging you back and forth in the embrace.

“Thank you for coming over babe,” you said, “I hope you didn’t turn down any good parties or anything.” Margot rolled her eyes at this, but smiled at you.

“As if any party is better than spending time with my best friend.” She pulled a bottle of wine out of her bag, jiggling it in her fist. “And a little bit of the devil’s grape juice,” came the afterthought. You laughed and took her hand, dragging her to the basement. You’d pulled out a few records to play while you guys talked. Some funky stuff, to at least give you some kind of Halloween-y feeling. You put on Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars by David Bowie and opened up the wine, pouring each of you a healthy amount while Margot settled herself into your couch. When you sat beside her, she lifted her glass.

“May we never have to go through anything more horrific than high school. Ghouls and spooks included,” she offered as a toast.

“Amen,” you replied with a sigh. The two of you spent the first hour of Margot’s visit catching up, talking about school, how heinous college applications were, which classes you liked and which ones made you want to scream. Soon, the album was over, and you’d long since finished your drinks. Neither of you bothered to put on another record, electing to just talk. As more time passed, the buzz died down. Margot kicked her legs over your lap, laying out across the couch.

“So,” she said, “real talk now.” You raised an eyebrow at her. She just grinned. “When are you gonna fuck big hair boy? Have you already done it? I feel like you’ve been pining forever and last time we talked, you said he and his girlfriend were fighting a lot, so… spill! Come on!” This made you laugh, albeit a little half-heartedly.

“No, um… They worked it out. Or at least I think they’re trying to. I didn’t… I never told him anything. I mean, it wouldn’t have been fair to him. And I was never really sure about how I felt, so––”

“Bullshit. Y/N, that’s utter bullshit and you know it. I mean, props to you for like, respecting his space, but this has gotta be driving you absolutely fucking crazy. I mean, don’t you think you’d feel better if you just got it off your chest? He’s a big boy, he can handle it.

“I don’t know, Margot. I’ve been fine. I mean it sucks, but it’s fine. And he’s been my best friend since we moved here. I don’t know what I’d do if I lose him. And his name is Steve, so.” She waved a hand dismissively.

“Okay, first of all: you’re not fine. This is killing you. I can tell because I’m your best friend.” She said this last part pointedly, giving you a look, though you could tell she was teasing.

“I’m allowed to have more than one, you know,” you countered. She laughed.

“I’m just messing with you,” she said fondly, “and I’m only bothering you about this Steve guy because you’re obviously in love with him.”  She arched an eyebrow at you, expectant look on her face. You sighed, not replying, and looked away.

Margot stood then, and sighed, reaching over to ruffle your hair. “You know what you need? Some Pink Floyd. This way, you can just stop thinking about it for a while. Just an hour, okay? You’re beating yourself up over this and it sucks.”

She walked over the the record player and loaded up your favorite album, Wish You Were Here. You both loved it, and it was trippy enough that you could listen to it and just let your mind go blank. As the first few notes began to play, Margot laid down on the floor, motioning for you to do the same. It had become something of a ritual between you two; heads just barely touching, eyes closed, letting the music wash over you. After a while, it started to work. You weren’t thinking about Steve, or about school, about how his date at the party with Nancy was going, or what you were going to do if you moved out of Hawkins and left him and Margot behind.

Before you knew it, the synths were fading out, and your ears were soon met with the clicking sound that meant the record was over. You could hardly even remember getting up to flip to side B. Somehow, it hadn’t broken the spell the music put over you. Margot turned her head and smiled at you, pressing a kiss to your upside-down forehead before sighing and sitting up. She checked her watch and groaned.

“I should get going. I told my parents I’d be home by one am which, by the way, I am shocked they agreed to.”

“Yeah, wow. Are you good to drive? I know it’s been a little while, but...”

“No worries, babe. It takes an hour for your system to process a drink. And it’s been, like, three hours. I’m absolutely fine. See?” She spread her arms out and touched her first two fingers to her nose the way they did on cop shows. “Clean as a whistle.”

“Okay. I’ll call you soon. Love you.”

“Love you too.” You both stood, and Margot pulled you into one last hug before walking to her car.

“Take care of yourself, Mother Theresa,” she called from the window.

“You too, Debbie Harry.” Margot laughed, blew you a kiss, then drove away. You watched her car disappear and went back inside, padding to the basement.

It was always good to see Margot. Being around her made you want to be your best self. Unfortunately, that caused a little internal conflict within you. She had been right. This thing with Steve was starting to suffocate you. As much as you were afraid admitting your feelings would ruin your friendship, the way you felt now certainly wasn’t doing it any good. Maybe the honesty would be a balm. He could hear you, process it, and you could both get back to your lives. Hearing it aloud would help. You’d get a concrete answer from Steve and you’d stop letting yourself dwell on it.

You put on another Bowie album (Scary Monsters this time) and plopped onto your couch, hugging your knees to your chest. The plan was a good one logically, but it did nothing to lift the weight you felt in the pit of your stomach. It was a big step, but it would help. You were sure of it. It had to. You couldn’t just keep sitting on your hands. After the record’s A side ended, you decided to stop listening to music and put on the TV instead. You needed something to quiet your mind. Numb it, even. You barely watched the middle of some unheard of horror flick, and when that didn’t help, you gave up and put on Wish You Were Here again. In the middle of Welcome to the Machine, you started to hear a faint knocking from above.

Glancing at the clock, you realized it was nearing 2:30 in the morning. It was probably Steve, come to tell you what a success his night had been, thanks to you. Tonight wouldn’t be the night you told him. He deserved a break from the drama for at least a week. When you got upstairs and opened your kitchen door, you were shocked to find Steve crying. This wasn’t something anyone saw often. Not even you.

“Holy shit,” you murmured, reaching for his hands, “what happened?” Steve didn’t meet your eyes. He was looking everywhere else: at the ground, at his shoes, your bare feet, your hands clasping his.

“Nancy got blasted at the party,” he said, a hint of venom in his voice. “She said she didn’t love me, that we were pretending. That it was all bullshit. She kept saying that over and over again, that it was all bullshit.” Your brow furrowed. You’d had no idea Nancy felt this way. Evidently, neither had Steve. Even if she’d been totally drunk, this didn’t sound like something anyone would say lightly. You looked at Steve’s face, and he finally returned your gaze. His lips were pinched with hurt, his brow knit together.

“I’m so stupid,” he said, another tear slipping down his cheek.

“Hey,” you said firmly, “no. You are not stupid.” You wiped the tear away with the knuckle of your index finger. He scoffed, and you knew it was directed not at you, but himself. “Stop it,” you murmured, “don’t do this to yourself right now, just… Just let me be here for you, okay?”

Steve said nothing for a moment, and then nodded, reaching to pull you in for a hug. You fit snugly under his arms and took a breath, holding him tightly. As you rubbed his back you couldn’t help but think that if the circumstances were different, you’d have been content to stand there like this forever.

The last swell of the guitar riff at the end of Have a Cigar floated up the stairs from your basement and you reluctantly pulled away.

“Come downstairs with me,” you said gently, “we’ll just sit and listen to music. You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. There’s a really good song about to come on. It always makes me feel better.” You looked up at him for an answer. Steve gave a half nod and followed you to the basement.

Wish You Were Here began softly as you sat down on the couch, patting the space next to you. Steve sat heavily beside you, slinging an arm over your shoulders.

“This sucks,” he mumbled.

“I know. I’m sorry.”

You squeezed his knee, feeling more comfortable now that you were in slightly more familiar territory. You’d moped together on this couch before. “Just listen to this song, okay?” Steve simply nodded. The lead guitar started, and you felt him lean into you slightly. It was like he was deflating. You hated seeing him so hurt, and you wanted nothing more than to soothe the pain.

Absently, you let your thumb brush against the side of his knee. A smile spread across your lips when the lines leading up to your favorite lyric resonated throughout the small room. You turned your head so you were looking at Steve, and sang softly along, jostling his knee to the rhythm.

“We’re just two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl…”

You trailed off, letting Roger Waters finish the line for you. Steve was smiling, now. It wasn’t without a twinge of sadness, but you were content that you’d made him feel at least a little bit better. With a final affectionate squeeze to his knee, you returned your gaze to the wall ahead of you. Steve kept looking at you. You could feel his eyes on the side of your face, and you turned your head again.

“What?” you asked, voice only a whisper. Steve didn’t answer. Slowly, he began to lean in, eyes searching yours for permission to do what you’d longed for him to do for months now, if not more. The thought alone made your breath hitch, and you inhaled sharply, letting your eyes flutter shut.

You couldn’t do this.

You opened your eyes again, and Steve’s face was so close to yours you could feel his breath against your cheeks. His eyes were closed now, awaiting your decision. His nose nearly brushed against yours as he canted his head to the side, leaving himself vulnerable to you. Your heart ached in your chest. It would be so easy. All you had to do was let your lips connect with his. Heat rose in your stomach and travelled up until it coiled around your neck. With a shaky breath, you rested your forehead against Steve’s, hands laying on his chest, keeping him at bay.

“We can’t,” you whispered.

“Y/N…”

“We can’t. I know that… that tonight was rough, but things might not be over between you and Nancy and I can’t––” Tears were spilling down your cheeks. “Not like this,” you said, “It can’t be like this.”

Steve opened his eyes and immediately took your hands in his when he saw that you were crying. The slow sweetness of the previous song ended, and the sounds of rushing winds and an eerie baseline began to fill your ears.

“Hey,” Steve said softly, “don’t cry. Please don’t cry.” You shook your head, not ready to open your eyes, and slipped your hands out of his. It was getting harder to breathe and you stood up without looking at him, swiping your sleeve across your eyes in a futile attempt to stop the tears.

“Uh… I think you should go, Steve.”

“Y/N, wait––”

“No, it’s… It’s okay. I just need to get some sleep, uh–––” Your voice shook and the tears kept coming. “Can you, um… Can you just turn the record player off? I need to–– I just need to go to bed.”

“Y/N, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to––”

“No, you didn’t–– It’s not your fault, uhm…” you sucked in a breath, “I just really need to go.”

And with that, you turned and ran up the stairs, leaving Steve alone on your couch, stunned, and afraid that he’d lost you for good.

[laketaj24]

Played Pt. 9

A/N: I know it’s been longer than normal but here you are!! Drama/Smut below the cut. I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think ☺️

Catch up Here with the Masterlist

“Babe stop moving.” You say holding the clippers in your hand. You edge him up near his ear and Ivar moves again staring down at his phone. You stop the cutting his hair once more glancing at his phone. “Ivar Lothbrok! You’re worst than your son. Let me do this.”

“Do you see what they are saying about me? Am I fit to be the CEO? What does my spine have to do with my ability to run this company! Hmmm.” He jerks away from you standing up.

“Nothing baby, they are just making news, so they can have something to talk about, you know how the media is, don’t let them get you.” You take his phone turning it face down on the counter. Nia hadn’t stop making a he deal over the fight. Ubbe had even suspended you to make the media think you were being reprimanded. It bothered you at first but when you were at home with mini Ivar you were fine.

“Why did you do that? I’m reading.”

“You’re just pissing yourself off and making it difficult for me to even cut your hair.” You start the clippers back continuing to cut his hair. “Ian wants to go get some ice cream and then to the park. Are you coming with us?”

“No.”

The answer wasn’t surprising he hadn’t left the house since he’d been released from the hospital and he was working from home, virtual firing people and all. You wanted him to get back to the flow of things but he was extremely cautious of everyone, even his brothers were suspect to him now. “You need to stop being like this baby.” You finish the back of his head and then move to the side. “In wants you to be there with him.”

“Look, I am not ready. Shut up about it.”

Your eyebrow raises at him and you pull him back by his ponytail, so his eyes connect with yours. “I’m gonna let that shit slide because you moody, but don’t test me today, sir. Keep on and I will beat your ass.” Threats were certainly foreplay to Ivar. You could say you were going to throw his ass off a building and his dick was hard in two seconds.  Ivar darts his tongue out at you and you roll your eyes. His eyes were for once playful. “You’re not cute.”

“You are in the ass beating mood here lately.” Ivar says looking back in the mirror. “First you attack Nia and then you threaten me, what are we going to do with you?” His hands cover yours and you stop the clippers. “Hmm? You have all this pent-up energy and I have the perfect way you can work it off.”

“I’m sure you do, but I’m not stopping until I’m done with this other side of your hair.” You can barely muster a sentence as Ivar pushes up against the bathroom counter. He pushes your body onto the sink and pulls your legs towards him placing them on his shoulders. “Ivar.” You whisper. “Your hair.”

“I don’t care about this hair Y/N.” He says smiling against your thighs. You blame yourself for only wearing his shirt and some boy shorts. Your underwear is on the ground before you can think straight and Ivar wastes no time flicking his tongue over your clit. You put your hands in his head allowing him to feast and he does, swirling his tongue all over until it dips inside of you and your legs clamp around him. Ivar’s moans against you send a hum of vibrations to you and you come fillng the bathroom with your yells. He stops and begins to pepper kisses up your stomach ntil he reaches your breasts. “I love the way you sound when you come…” He whispers.

You push his head up placing a kiss on his lips tasting yourself. “You wanna hear it again?”

“Are you kidding me? It’s my favorite song.” He stands grabbing his cane leaning against it. “Take off my shirt and go make yourself come, in the bed.” He watches you slip the shirt over your head and walk over to the California King giving him a show. Ivar’s house was lighter than you expected it to be. You climb onto the bed spreading your legs for him. Ivar stands at the dresser waiting for you to follow his directions. Your fingers spread your folds and your already wet from earlier. It’s easy for you to slip your fingers in  you throwing your head against the pillow. You move your fingers against your clit rubbing in small tight circles then thrust your fingers into you again. Your legs fall flat against the bed and your back arches from the bed and you notice that Ivar has removed all his clothes revealing his lean chest. He strokes himself a few times and you can tell he’s already rigid for you.

Ivar makes his way to the bed climbing on you slowly. His hands travel up your legs and he starts to kiss you. His lips separate yours and your tongues playfully flick at one another. You smile against him and in response he does the same cupping your face between his hands and kissing you deeper. Ivar aligns himself at your entrance pushing into you quickly, causing aloud clap between the two of your bodies. “You’re fucking perfect baby.” He grinds against you giving you that edge that you needed against your clit. Your body writhes for a moment anticipating each thrust. “Are you greedy today, Y/N?” He slowly pulls out of you and then slams back in. Your walls try to pull him deeper and he can’t stop smiling. “Greedy, greedy girl… are you gonna come for me?” His strokes become shorter more intentional to make you come and they do. You meet him with each thrust, spasming and shaking. “You didn’t say my name.” He pounds into you harder and you can’t say anything through your screams. Your body jerks as your hands mingle into his brown locks. “Who made you fall apart?” He asks with his teeth nearly on your ear. He growls and goes into you harder. “Tell me, say it.” He says watching you shake. “Now.” His palms dig into the mattress as his thrust become harder and faster. “Y/N.”

“You.” You nearly scream again feeling another oncoming rush. “Ivar.” And as if his name as a catalyst for him to come he comes still stroking into you harder than before until he stops. “I’ll go get the damn ice cream.” He smiles.

“Thank you.”

***

 Ubbe’s office was busy, the election being right around the corner had people calling for events and charities and he didn’t want to miss one. But not having a secretary had him in a bind.

“Ubbe Lothbrok’s office, speak.” Hvitserk said into the headset.

Ubbe stares at him cutting daggers and Hvitserk shrugs. “No, he’s booked that day. I’m sorry.” He says looking over calendar. “Yeah, I can check.” Hvitserk looks at Ubbe pointing at a date on the calendar. Ubbe shakes his head yes. “Yes, he can do that one. Alright, thanks.” He disconnects the line. “Why are you scowling at me?”

“You’re so fucking unprofessional.” He laughs. “God, I need Y/N back.”

“Yes, you do.  I’m not doing this shit anymore.” Hvitserk takes the headset off and kicks his feet up on the desk. “Ivar say when he was returning.”

“I am not sure.” Ubbe answers. “Lagertha says she did nothing to him and he is paranoid now. He says that he wants her dead. But that really hasn’t changed. He’s wanted her dead for the longest. And I’m afraid it is not her we should be worried about, Ecbert and Aelle have children with intelligence now. They are headhunters. They took Chance right from under Ivar’s nose.”

“I done my research on that guy and I couldn’t figure out what the fuck was wrong with him.” Hvitserk fiddles with zen garden at the corner of the desk.

“Chance is the brother of Liam, the guy Ivar killed. He has a vendetta against him. But Ivar doesn’t need to know that, that is to stay strictly here. Are you listening Hvitserk?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“He’s meeting us today. He called it and said he wanted to talk, I don’t mind it. He’s never going to side with us.” Ubbe walks around the office shaking his head. “I don’t want Ivar getting worked up more than he is, he has to be the one that is level headed or we will all fail because of his vengeance.”

“Ivar is fine.” Hvitserk says.

Chance arrives a few minutes later, sitting in the chair across from the brothers. “Nice play you got here.” He looks around. “Ivar buy you this too?”

“I don’t need Ivar to buy me anything.” Ubbe lights his cigarette staring at Chance. “What do you want? I know who you are already, so the air of mystery is gone.”

“I want you all to crumble.” Chance smiles.

“Name something new.” Ubbe laughs. “Now what else.”

“I started looking into Ian’s birth. You know that whole situation like baffles me. Why would she hide his child? Was he abusive? Was he manipulative? All of this shit I gathered a yes on.” He laughed. “But I was wrong. I should have gave the devil more credit. You were there when he was born.” He says with a smile. “You always look out for her and shit, the nice brother. Why?”

What do you mean there when he was born?” Hvitserk asks.

“I mean, he was there…” He throws the pictures down on the table. “Is Ian eve Ivar’s? I see the way you care.” Chance chides. “And I know Ivar don’t see shit because all he sees is Y/N. Is he Ivar’s?”

Ubbe shakes his head. “That is none of your business that I was there. And Ian is his, I slept with her one and she was already pregnant. I think it’s time you leave.”

“Next stop Ivar’s I see.”

“Don’t do that to them.” He said. “Ivar and Y/N are good. You are jealous.”

“I’m not fucking jealous. I’m pissed. So you tell your brother about you knowing or I will. I don’t mind ruining his shit. You should at least care.” Chance looks Hvitserk up and down. “you sure you wanna be here when all this shit goes down?”

“I’ve been here for worst.” Hvitserk spits.

 Ivar was good at getting out of things even when that meant changing plans for Ian to make them better. Torvi sat next to you holding her youngest daughter watching all of the kids play on the playground while Ivar sat with Ian eating ice cream he made Torvi bring.

“I swear he’s so damn paranoid.” You whisper to Torvi.

Torvi shakes her head in agreement. “But he looks happy.” She laughed kissing the baby on the forehead. “Ubbe and Uncle Kitserk, as Ian calls him are here.” She points at Ubbe walking over to Ivar. You want to run over and talk to them but your exhausted from the four rounds of fucking you’d had earlier.

 “Ivar.” Ubbe sits next to him dapping little Ian as he runs off into the yard. “How are you?”

“Okay, I should be back next week.” He says to Hvitserk.  “I think if I can fuck like I did today then I should be able to tolerate a few extra meetings.”

Ubbe blushes, “Good. That’s good to hear. Listen I wanted to talk to you because there are some things you should know, Ivar.” He pauses. “chance came by my office today saying he was going to give you some news. I think he’s stirring up shit but I wanted to be the one that told you.”

“Spit it out.” He finished his ice cream placing the bowl on the table beside him.

“A few years ago, when you asked me to find Y/N, I did find her. I found her on the day she gave birth to Ian.”

Ivar looks up. “But, you told me there was no sign of her. You told me that I should give up and I did.” Ivar tries to remain calm clutching his cane. “Ubbe.”

“Look, it wasn’t about you.”

“What do you mean it wasn’t about me! She was mine! You’re the fucking reason that she left in the first place and I now I find out you’re the fucking reason she didn’t come back quicker. What the fuck is your problem huh?”

Ian runs over kicking Ubbe in the leg. “Leave my daddy alone.”

Hvitserk laughs grabbing him by his little arms. “God, you’re a feisty one. Go stand with your cousins.”

“No, Ubbe I want you to answer my question. Do you always have to intervene? The fucking plans we had, you had one job… teach her. You’re so busy worrying about fucking her you failed. She got her ass beat.” Ivar hisses.

“That was years ago.”

“Then, you fuck her while I’m kidnapped and when she returns you’re her only friend. Are you in love with her? Hmmm? You take Bjorn’s wife now you want Y/N?”

“Ivar, you’re being irrational.”

He stands. “No, I’m being rational. A true brother would have told me about this years ago! I missed five years of my child’s life. I blame you. I have every rational right to, now get the fuck out.”

You stand hearing Ivar roar. Then you see it, the two brothers standing off in the courtyard. You move quickly over to him noticing Ian standing far off. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

“Y/N, did Ubbe find you after you had my son? Why do you continue to play me Ubbe! Why huh?” he pushes him and Ubbe steps forward.

(gif credit @ivarsshieldmadien OR @vikingsbifrost I think)

“That was years ago Ivar.” He said through clenched teeth. “I came over here to tell you the truth.”

“fuck your truths! That is not what I asked you Y/N.” he seethes. “You chose to tell me whenever it will harm you, you’re selfish. Fuck you.”

“No let him be mad. Fuck you too, Ivar. I’m tired of always looking out for you and you acting like a fucking infant. I can stand on my own two feet Ivar. You’ll come around when you come to your senses. Torvi, we are leaving!” he yells turning to leave.

Ubbe leaves with his family and you stare at Ivar. “You’re going to destroy everything your father wanted to be whole.” You mumbled.

“Get out.” He says.

“Oh, fucking gladly. Ian!”

Ivar is quiet for a few seconds and he grabs you by your arms towards him. “No, I’m sorry. I need you. But fuck Ubbe. And I mean it.” He kisses your cheek and you roll your eyes. “Just give it some time, stop taking things out on your brother. It’s Lagertha you really want.”

“whatever.” Ivar mumbles. “It’s you, I really want.” He smirks. “Fuck him and everyone else.”

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[megaphonemonday]

out there on the road

@monkshoodr: how they deal with the first spring training after Mike retires

Okay I love the idea that they just fall hard and fast into the whole domesticity thing without really discussing it. Because my motto is end miscommunication as a plot device except for when I find it convenient.

read it on ao3

“I could come with, you know,” Mike offered, trailing along behind Ginny as she bustled through the house, gathering up her belongings. 

She did, in fact, know. He’d offered with increasing regularity since the beginning of January, but first floated the idea around Thanksgiving. At first, she thought he’d been joking, especially since he’d made such a big deal about getting to finally stay put for more than a few months at a time. Why would he want to uproot himself again just to follow her out to Arizona?

Ginny ignored the offer, just turned back to the fretting retiree behind her and loaded up his arms with stuff.

How had so much of her crap ended up over here? 

(It probably had something to do with the fact that Ginny wanted to leave even less than Mike wanted her to, for all she was better at pretending to be an adult about it.)

Mike obligingly took her belongings, but didn’t haul them up to his room as he’d been doing all afternoon. Instead, he stared imploringly. 

“Mike, we talked about this,” Ginny sighed and plucked up the sweatshirt she’d left on the back of the couch. “We haven’t gone public, yet. Now is not the time.”

“You’re staying in my house for all of spring training, Gin. Don’t you think that’ll tip someone off?”

She ignored the wheedling and did one last sweep of the room. Her flight for Arizona left in the morning and she was still trying to pack. To be fair, she’d started at least a week ago. Mike just distracted her every time she opened up her suitcase.

Thinking about it now, that was probably intentional. 

“I stayed at your house the last two seasons, too. Along with you and Blip and even Sonny the week his rental sprang a leak,” Ginny reminded her boyfriend, climbing the stairs to the bedroom and her waiting suitcase. “No one had a real problem with it then.”

There was plenty of jeering innuendo, of course, but nothing that posed an actual problem. Ginny’d long resigned herself to ignoring the innuendo that followed her everywhere.

If only Mike were as easy to ignore.

He’d followed her upstairs, not that she expected much else, and dumped her stuff unceremoniously on the bed. Rather than collapse dramatically on the mattress himself, though, he came to hover just over her shoulder. 

“Well,” he said, winding his arms around her waist and hooking his chin over her shoulder, “maybe I’ve got a problem with you living in my house.”

Ginny arched a brow for all Mike couldn’t see it and continued packing. She couldn’t give in or she’d never be ready in time. “Then I guess I’m leaving just in time.”

“You know what I mean,” the man practically whined. He turned his face into her neck, dragging his freshly trimmed beard against sensitive flesh. His lips ghosted over her pulse point, curving as Ginny failed to suppress a shiver. “I’ve got a problem with you living in my house when I’m not there to supervise.”

“Supervise?” Ginny turned in his arms at that, smirking a little. “Is that what this is?”

Mike’s responding grin was downright dangerous. When he didn’t bother answering, just leaned down to capture her lips, Ginny knew packing was going to be put off. 

Again.

When Ginny finally got a chance to collapse into bed, she tried to remember if she’d ever been this tired after the first work out of spring training. She doubted it. 

Then again, she’d never had such a good reason to be distracted over the off-season. Ginny couldn’t bring herself to regret the temporary ache in her muscles when it was just testament to how much she’d wrapped herself up in cozy intimacy since October.

It didn’t hurt that she’d had pretty good company.

Which: Speak of the devil and he’ll appear. 

Ginny’s phone started to vibrate on the bedside table. With a groan, she rolled over and answered without checking the screen. She knew who it would be. 

“Hey, old man,” she sighed, snuggling into the cool pillow as she cradled to phone to ear. 

“What a greeting,” he laughed. “How was the first day back? You put Livan through his paces?”

“First day was exhausting.” A yawn interrupted into the rest of her answer, punctuating her point. 

Mike hummed and Ginny could almost feel his warm hand on her back, rubbing soothing circles. Of course, Mike was back in San Diego and she was laying in the master suite of his house in Peoria. She hadn’t thought about how strange it would be that the first time she slept in this bed, it would be by herself or how lonely it would feel. Last night, she’d tossed and turned for what felt like hours before finally drifting off. 

Apparently, she’d gotten a little too used to falling asleep sharing a bed. 

Not that Ginny had any intention of telling Mike any of that. Much as she missed him and was rethinking her insistence that he stay at home, he deserved a February and March not spent hauling himself around Arizona. Especially now that he didn’t have to. 

He’d been so excited at the prospect of spending the entire off-season lounging around with Ginny. There was no reason he had to suddenly change his plans just because she couldn’t lay around all the time.

Mike deserved to relax. Maybe practice his golf swing so Ginny wouldn’t kick his ass six ways to Sunday the next time they hit the driving range. 

“Should I let you go?” he asked, sounding a little disappointed.

Instantly, Ginny replied, “No, keep talking to me.”

“Aw, babe, you missed my voice that much?”

“Oh my God, I changed my mind!” she laughed, pulling an extra pillow to her chest to cuddle. It didn’t quite smell like Mike, but it was his laundry detergent and was better than nothing. His rumbling chuckle coming down the line helped, too. 

“Tell me about the prospects,” he said after a beat of comfortable silence. “Anyone looking promising?”

Happily enough, Ginny gave him a rundown of the new faces at camp, and they fell into an easy back and forth. Gradually, though, the back and forth skewed pretty heavily to the forth as Ginny’s eyelids grew heavy and her breathing deepened. 

The last thing she remembered before finally drifting off was Mike’s soft voice saying, “Night, Gin. I miss you.”

She thought she responded with a, “Miss you, too,” but it was possible she’d fallen asleep already.

Mike lasted a week. 

Nearly every time the talked—which was often more than once a day—he asked if she was sure she didn’t want him to come out for a visit. 

Of course she wanted him to visit, but Ginny didn’t want him to feel obligated to visit even more. 

She probably should have figured out he wasn’t asking for her, though. 

About halfway through one of the full team work outs, there was a commotion over by one of the dugouts. Ginny tried to ignore it, sure she was this close to nailing her splitter. Livan wouldn’t sink back into his crouch, though, staring off across the field. 

"Unless there’s a naked woman handing out free food over there, I’m gonna need your attention, papi,” she called. 

Livan smirked. “Nah, I think it’s something more up your alley.”

Ginny rolled her eyes but still turned to look. 

God damn it. He was right. 

Standing in a tight knot of his former teammates and looking far too pleased with himself, was Mike Lawson. 

Ginny didn’t think she imagined the way he lit up when their eyes met, even all the way across the field. 

Her current catcher chuckled knowingly and slung an arm around her shoulders, steering them both toward her former catcher and current boyfriend. 

“Lawson,” he greeted, pushing his way through the circle of milling ballplayers, “they let you out of the retirement home?”

“Livan, always a pleasure,” Mike replied, grinning. There wasn’t even an undertone of sarcasm, a rarity. “You taking care of Baker here?”

“Ah, you and I both know that I’m not the one who takes care of Baker.”

At that, Ginny sharply elbowed him in the side. In spite of the quiet “Oof!” he gave, his arm remained planted around her shoulders. 

“Hey, old man. Didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Ah, well, I figured I should check in on the house. Make sure you haven’t burned it to the ground.”

“Not yet,” she replied, the edge of annoyance finally working its way into her tone. “Should’ve let me know you’d be in town. I could’ve cleaned up from all the parties I’ve thrown.”

“Has Baker been throwing ragers?” she heard one of the new prospects murmur, which was when she decided it was time to call it quits. 

Thankfully, the Padres staff had the same idea, calling an end to practice and sending their horde of sweaty ballplayers off to the showers. 

Before Ginny could follow, though, Mike caught her arm, tugging her gently around to face him again. Instead of the kiss she could tell he wanted to give her, he settled for rubbing the jutting bone of her wrist. 

“Hey,” he breathed, smiling brightly. 

“Hi.”

“You, uh—” he broke off, his brow furrowing in worry. “You don’t seem that excited to see me.”

Ginny sighed and gave him a wan smile. “Of course I am. I’m just surprised. I really didn’t expect to see you, Mike.”

“Isn’t that part of the fun?”

“Yeah,” she agreed, gently untangling her wrist from his grasp. “I’ve gotta shower, but I’ll see you at the house?”

“Yeah,” he echoed. “At the house.”

When she walked in the door, Ginny’d never been more grateful that Blip had elected to rent his own place this year. Though she’d been pretty lonely the past week, it meant her reunion with Mike wouldn’t be dampened by the need to stay quiet or the awkwardness of kicking Blip out for the duration. 

That appreciation was closely followed by her stomach’s gratitude to Mike’s cooking skills. 

Clearly, he’d already started making dinner. Because he knew her too well. 

Ginny made a beeline for the kitchen, pausing in the doorway to admire the sight of Mike standing at the stove with his sleeves rolled up, a towel tossed casually over his shoulder, as he tended to a sizzling pan of something that smelled delicious. 

But why would she admire from afar when he was right there? Without skipping a beat, Ginny sidled up to her multi-talented boyfriend, ready to bask in his mere proximity.

“Smells good,” she observed, leaning into his side. 

He hummed his agreement, but didn’t wrap his arm around her the way he did when he cooked back in San Diego. Ginny chanced a glance up at his face, which was trained steadily on the food he was preparing. 

“Hey,” she said, turning towards him. “Don’t you want your hello kiss?”

Still, he didn’t look at her, though she could see the furrows in his brow as he thought it over. 

Unsure of what, exactly, was going through his brain, Ginny rolled her eyes, clapped her hands to either side of his neck, and pulled him down to her level. 

In spite of the strange angle, the first brush of his lips against hers sent all of the tension spiraling out of her body. Ginny hummed in happiness and pressed even closer to him. Finally, Mike seemed to catch on, fumbling to turn off the burner and turning to face her. His arms wrapped around her waist and anything like space that had existed between them disappeared. His lips moved insistently against hers and Ginny responded in kind, eager for a taste of him. 

It’d only been a week, but, God, had she missed this. 

Her fingers carded into his hair, grown a little shaggy over the course of the off-season. Ginny loved it, though. It gave her something to hold onto when— 

Well. 

Reluctantly, and only when her lungs demanded it, Ginny pulled a hair’s breadth away from him.

“Oh thank God,” he breathed, resting his forehead against hers. 

Ginny’s eyes flew open and she startled back. “What?”

Mike pulled away, his arms unlocking from around her to start tending to dinner again. He looked a little sheepish when he admitted, “I thought you were mad at me.”

“Why would I be mad at you?”

He shrugged. “You weren’t that excited to see me, and you said I should’ve given you a head’s up. Which I should’ve. And—”

“I was surprised! And it wasn’t like I could greet you the way I wanted with an audience.”

“True,” he allowed, though the way he scrunched his nose meant he didn’t quite agree. 

Ginny knew he wasn’t as sold on keeping their relationship under wraps as she was, but she stood firm. Mike deserved at least more than six months of getting to be a normal person. And the minute they went public, all of his peace and quiet was going to be blown to smithereens. 

“I really was surprised,” she murmured, leaning her chin on his shoulder. “I thought you were having a nice time back at home.”

“I was bored out of my mind back home.”

“What?” she asked for the second time of the evening.

Mike sighed and turned off the burner again. Apparently this conversation required all of his attention. 

“I didn’t have anything to do, Gin. I was just laying around the house, doing nothing but miss you.”

“I thought you wanted to lay around and do nothing!” Ginny protested.

“Well, yeah. When it was you and me doing it together. Do you know how big and empty that house feels with just me rattling around in it?”

“Mike,” she sighed, wrapping her arms around him again. His banded around her immediately, strong and comforting. “Why didn’t you say something?”

“Why do you think I kept asking if you wanted me to come out for a visit?”

Helplessly, Ginny started to laugh. She buried her face in his neck, but couldn’t quiet the giggles that erupted from her. 

“All right,” he grouched, pulling away. “You don’t have to laugh at me.”

“No, I—” more giggles spilled from her lips and if Mike looked less amused and more hurt, it would probably be easier to stop. Eventually, Ginny got a handle on herself and sucked in a deep breath. “The only reason I kept saying no was because I thought you wanted to stay at home.”

“You mean a little honesty and we wouldn’t have been so miserable this past week?”

“Speak for yourself, old man. I’ve been living it up without you.”

Mike’s growl was Ginny’s only warning before he descended on her, fingers seeking out all her most ticklish places, mercilessly attacking her until she was shrieking with laughter. 

“I give! I give!” she gasped, trying to fend Mike off from where he’d backed her up against the counter. With a slight grunt of effort, he lifted her to sit on it and wedged himself between her spread knees. “You’re right. We should’ve been honest with each other to begin with.”

“In that case,” he murmured, looming deliciously over her, “any truths you’d like to share?”

Ginny hummed in thought before letting a dangerous smirk unfurl on her lips. “As good as dinner smells, I can think of some things I’d much rather do with you that don’t involve eating.”

“No eating?” he teased.

“Well, maybe a little,” she allowed, laughing.

Which was, apparently, the exact kind of honesty Mike was looking for. Because he swept her up and carried her out of the kitchen. 

Ginny was finally going to share Mike’s bed with him. And, if honesty was the name of the game, she hoped she’d get to keep sharing with him for a long time to come.