#i spend too much time in train stations thinking about stuff

[whynot-tryit]

Angel of Small Death: Chapter 1

John Price x female! reader

Summary: Laswell convinces Price to hire a team medic. You spend your first day meeting each one of the men and you take an instant liking to the captain, and he does so too.

Word count: 5,528

Warnings: inaccurate medical stuff, mentions of blood, insomnia, body parts, body touching, lmk if there’s anything I should add.

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

“John, in the past six months your team alone has made up almost forty percent of overall med bay visits. I’m not saying your team isn’t fit, I just think you should hire a team medic.” 

This isn’t the first time the idea has been brought up to Price during his and Laswell’s debriefings in his office. His hands run over his face, racking through his mutton chops before laying them down on his desk with a grunt of annoyance. “I know you guys can take care of yourselves on base and out there on the field but come on John, you guys need someone. You need someone to help you.”

Price wasn’t fond of asking for help but it was starting to get on his nerves with how much Laswell was bringing this up. “I already said no, Laswell.” His annoyance makes his words come out gruffier than usual. Laswell rolls her eyes and rests her back against the chair posted on the other side of his desk. “How about I choose for you? If you hate them then you’ll never hear me talk about it again.” 

The sigh that rolls through Price’s chest is the only sound that radiates through the small room for a couple seconds. He hasn’t had the time to finish the mountain of paperwork on his desk along with the daily training regime for the team, along with all the meetings he’s been dragging his feet to day in and day out. Maybe some help would be nice. Did that mean he was unfit in his role? His eyes come up from the papers on his desk to Laswell’s. Her eyes seem to read his mind and her eyes get softer trying to voice her thoughts.

He was good at his job, getting help wouldn’t be a bad thing, he deserved it. The bags under his eyes and stiff shoulders were a tell tale sign of how much he worked, an extra set of hands wouldn’t be the worst thing. 

“Fine. You pick ‘em.” 

..............................

You were an experienced medic, having been stationed in multiple locations, saved a multitude of civilians and soldiers. You were proud of your work. Moving around so much, feeling like you were being tugged in one direction to the other was getting quite exhausting. Once the rumor of a job opening as a team medic passed through your small base you hesitated for a small moment, you had no idea what team, where, but you knew it would be good to get some fresh air and maybe to have a new place to find stable ground for a foreseeable amount of time. It took months of rigorous interviews and paperwork but they chose you. Laswell, chose you. You had asked her why the captain of the team didn’t pick you, asking why they weren’t present for any of the interviews if you were going to be working with them. She had only hinted that they seemed to be a close friend of hers who needed the extra hand and didn’t have the time to pick someone themselves, so she was doing them a solid.

You had always liked the idea of helping someone, that's why the idea of being a medic, a doctor, was one you had had since you were a child. One that you worked very hard to make a reality, so the thought that whoever it was that you were going to work for really needed you made you even sounder in the idea of taking the new opportunity. 

Duffel bags are still packed and laying on the floor of your new living quarters, hands on your hips and eyes trailing around the four walls, all the way to the small bed and desk. This would have to do. Since the process of getting here had taken so long you wanted to jump right into introductions. You hadn’t heard a single thing about the team, 141. Cute name, you thought.

Unpacking and making the room somewhat livable for your needs was going to have to wait, changing into your scrubs and grabbing the four manilla folders you made your way to the medical wing on base. Laswell had helped you set up one on one meetings with the team so you could go over their medical files. Military medics, especially ones who didn’t work with the team directly and personally were always known to look over things and forget to file symptoms and problems properly so you wanted to make sure you went over some things. You wanted to do your job properly. 

First up was Kyle Garrick. 

As you walked towards the curtain which separated your little appointment room for your little meet and greets you noticed the feet underneath the small sliver of space made by the floor and the bottom of the curtain. He’s early, 15 minutes early to be exact. That earns a check in your book.

You take a deep breath to calm your nerves and reach out a hand to pull the curtain to the side and take a quick step inside before pulling it back to its place behind you. “You must be Kyle.”

“Yes ma’am.” 

You greet the soldier with a kind smile, moving to place the folders in your arm on the small side table in the corner before pulling out the rolling stool from underneath and taking a seat, scooting yourself a little closer to the cot located in the middle of the room, closer to Kyle who is seated right on top. 

“You don’t have to call me ma’am, makes me feel older than what I really am.” You say with a small chuckle. He doesn’t seem to be much older than you, a little younger than the other members in 141, you presume. Your eyes make their way from his eyes down to his shoulders, then to his arms, hands interlocked in his lap, all the way down to his legs and feet. “You can call me Gaz then, that's what everyone calls me around here anyway.” You file the nickname into the back of your mind. 

You splutter out a greeting, a more friend like one at least, your name and medic title. “I already went through your medical history and you seem to be pretty healthy or at least your file is a lot lighter than some I’ve seen.” You mentally flinch when you realize that it might come off as you think he’s inexperienced in his field, new to the military, although his age hints at him being quite the opposite. But Gaz smiles, “Means I’m good at my job. Don’t get hurt too often, at least I try not to.” Oh thank God, you think, he didn’t take it that way.

“Well then, I guess me and you are gonna get along just fine then.” You chuckle. “Is there anything you wanna tell me though? Anything like trouble sleeping? Appetite problems? Joint Pain? It doesn't seem like you’ve complained about anything, ever. At least according to your records.”

A deep hum can be heard coming from his chest as he seems to run through his own mind, trying to come up with anything he would deem reasonable enough to complain about, at least to a doctor. As he’s doing so you take note of his clothes, the medical wing is set up like most hospitals, AC blasting, it’s cold, sure, but not enough to be bundled up for. Your eyes focus on his shoes, more specifically his socks, they’re not the military issued kind. They seem to be wool socks, which is odd, not something you see that often. Maybe his feet get cold, at least to a level that he takes an extra precaution to keep them warm. 

While you’re finishing reeling in your thoughts after noticing your observation, Gaz finally finishes rummaging through his mind for anything to tell. “I don’t have anything I think is worth complaining to you, Doc. I mean if complaining about the food on base to you can actually change anything then that's about it.” A deep chuckle makes its way out of his throat. You smile.

“Can I see your fingers?”

The odd question makes Gaz raise a brow but he pulls his hands from his lap and lays them out to the space between you and him, palms up. You take a soft hold of his fingers, wrapping yours around them almost like you would grip onto a handle of something. They’re oddly cold. You take note of it in your mind and move his hand to be palm down so you can take a look at his fingernails, softly running your thumbs over them.

Gaz stays silent, watching you as you bring them level to your eyes as you take note of the very subtle vertical lines that run through his nails. You let a slight hum almost like an aha moment and Gaz is very confused. “What is it?” The question comes out with a slightly worried tone. 

“Do you get cold easily, Gaz?” 

“I don’t think I get any colder than the average guy, why?” 

You finally drop the hold you had on his hands and scoot to the desk, opening a drawer to quickly take a pair of gloves out and slip them on before scooting back to your previous position near him.

“You wear wool socks, which aren't really military issued so I’m guessing your feet get cold easily and your fingers too. Your fingernails also show symptoms of an iron deficiency. Is it alright if I check your eyes and gums?” You always try to explain the best way you can, talking slower than you normally would- trying to come off as understanding as possible. He gives you a nod of approval before shifting closer to the edge of the bed so you can do your little investigation. 

You take a hold of his face, placing your thumbs underneath his eyes before pulling down his water line to get a good look underneath. The spot is oddly void of red, a classic sign of anemia. You move on to do the same with his mouth, pulling on his bottom lip to look at his gums which are a pale pink- not the exact color that they should be.. 

Retracting your hands and pulling the gloves off you scoot to the manilla folder, pulling out a pen from your scrub pocket to jot some things down. “I think you’re anemic, an iron deficiency, nothing too serious since it doesn’t seem to affect your work but I’m gonna order a blood test to confirm and to see if it’s just a dietary issue or if you need a supplement to get you to normal.”

Gaz is kind of taken aback. He felt fine, or at least he thought he did. Sure, his feet and hands got cold but he had trekked through waist high levels of snow and water. The soldier thinks of how he gets winded when moving from one sparring match to the next. Was that what that was? “You got that because of my socks?” 

Shit, you’re good. 

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

Next was Johnny MacTavish, or “soap” at least that's what the red mess -doctor handwriting, right next to his real name on his file read. You had stayed in the curtain enclosed room after Gaz had left, writing out a referral for the blood test you had mentioned when you heard the slight squeaking of boots on the shiny floors headed right your way before they stopped right on the other side of the curtain. You looked up right as they were pulled aside and a friendly face greeted you, and a mohawk- which surprised you. 

“You must be the new Doc, names Soap.” He greets you and steps inside, extending a hand to shake yours. You take it, giving him a light shake before introducing yourself and directing him to sit on the cot. Soap’s introduction didn’t seem rushed yet happened all before you could even stand up from your seat. It somehow exuded this confident aura off him, which somehow in your mind explains the haircut for you. 

“I see here that you're a demolition expert?” To be frank, when you had read that in his file while going over all the men’s information, and seen all his med bay visits you knew he would be the one that would take up most of your time. You had seen first hand the aftermath of the explosions his people have dealt with. On enemies and on your very own. The thought and images are quickly pushed to the back of your mind. 

“Yes ma’am.” He laughs, it's deeper and louder than Gaz’s. “You are the second person to call me ma’am today, please just call me anything else.” 

“My bad, Sorry, Doc.” He raises his hands in a mock surrender. “I’m guessing you also know that your file says that you frequently find yourself in the medical wing.” Soap winces, a hand coming to rub the back of the neck. “Yeah, sorry about that. Kind of comes with the job. But, hey! We’ve got you now, so no worries.” 

Yep, you had your work cut out for you on this one. “I guess you do, can’t wait to see what you get yourself into that I have to bandage you up for.” 

Soap enjoys your replies, the banter settles nice under his skin. His smile doesn’t seem to fade, maybe slightly but never fully gone. “I’m guessing that since you’ve been at this a couple years you know about the annual hearing tests you should be taking.” 

His smile drops instantly. “What.”

“You did know that all personnel that deal with explosives regularly are supposed to be given a hearing test once a year while for others it’s every 3, right?” 

A laugh bubbles up in your chest, past your rib cage right near your spine as you watch him gape at you- like he’s grappling to find the words that he clearly doesn’t have. “I’m pulling your leg, your file doesn’t have anything on them either so I'm guessing you never had them.” Soap lets out a sigh before shrugging, flashing you a sheepish smile. 

You chuckle, “Alright, I’m gonna have you do one for me and let's just hope to God you’re not deaf yet.” That earns a chuckle from him, again. He was a lot more talkative than Gaz yet around the same level of openness. Thank god it seems like you got a good team, no weirdos so far. 

“Can I ask you one thing, lass?” Your eyes dart up from your folder where you were jotting down your notes. “Yeah, of course.”

“How fast does hair that's been burned off, by let's say- an explosion- take to grow back?”

Oh boy.

………………………………..

It had taken a while to finish up with Soap, he had too many questions for his own good. But the interaction puts a smile on your face at the thought. Your next patient was already waiting outside, Soap greets him right on the other side of the curtain before he comes in.

“You must be Ghost.” 

You had heard of him before, small whispers of a skull masked man who never showed his face. To be honest with yourself, it wasn’t quite unfamiliar to have a soldier that preferred to cover their face most times, so the thought of it that wasn’t unsettling to you in the least. Even as his huge frame slips past the curtain before moving to the other side of the room, or at least to the other side of the bed. You suppress a frown, he’s purposely distancing himself from you- normal in his case, you try to tell yourself. There's a long moment of silence where you’re at least expecting him to somewhat introduce himself but it doesn’t come. Alright then.

You introduce yourself instead, trying to get rid of the silence. “Did you know that most of your files are almost completely redacted?” His eyes finally meet yours after making their way across the room. “Yeah, I know.” 

There's silence again, this isn’t gonna be easy.

Ever since you were a kid you had always been able to read people, their eyes, their hands, the way they walked. You look at his eyes and the skin around them, at least the small amount you could see through the baklava he wore. They move down to his neck and shoulders, they’re stiff- almost painfully so. Then onto his crossed arms. 

“So, how often do you get nightmares?”

Even Though you can’t see his face you know he’s surprised. “Excuse me?”

You give him a soft smile, “Your eyelids are kind of droopy, you have serious under eye bags, both indicative of an inadequate sleep schedule and your right shoulder is higher than your right even though you're standing straight which tells me you sleep on your side very often. It's actually an effect from what we call a sleeping soldier position. You lay on your side, one arm under your head and the other most likely holding onto some kind of weapon.”

He doesn’t answer straight away, it almost seems like he’s sizing you up. Trying to guess if you’re serious, if you’re being condescending in some way but Ghost can’t seem to find anything behind your eyes except kindness. It almost scares him more than what he was expecting. You know you're right, you’ve worked with dozens of cases of PTSD, diagnosing it and treating it. “What have you tried in order to help?” 

You almost think he’s not going to answer you, that he’s just going to storm out of the room and somehow you’d lose your job before you even got the chance to do anything about it.

 “I don't know how to fix it.” It’s a quiet, muttered reply. You almost miss it. 

Ghost feels like he’s out of his comfort zone, sure soldiers had nightmares and maybe he had had them when on a mission, sleeping just a few feet away from his teammates but you were new and somehow could see through him. “Does your captain know?” You hoped the answer was yes because then it meant you wouldn’t have to tell his superiors about his personal problems and you could just help him without anyone having to know and judge him which is what you guess is making him uneasy. “Price knows.” You nod- they seem to be the closest in age on the team so you guess they’ve known each other for at least a decent amount of time, knowing things about each other that only a close friend would. “Then I can help, I don’t have to tell the captain unless he asks and neither do you.” 

“No drugs.” Ghost had lost hope on ever truly resolving his problems when he lied awake at night thinking about it. Drugs would be written down, stored and used against him. He’ll be seen as an unstable soldier- a sick man. 

“I can do that.” You offer him a small smile, at least you’re getting somewhere- doing your job.

Soap might not be the one to worry about, you thought.

—----------------------

You let out a quiet sign to yourself, the back to back meetings have had you cramped inside the room for hours. The team seems to be a good one, funny and kind, thank god. The last meeting was with the captain. You were nervous even though he had hand picked the three men you had met earlier so he couldn’t be too far off in comparison. But the thought that you were going to be working with him and he hadn't been involved in choosing you was gnawing at you. If he hated you or thought he didn’t need you he could have your bags packed in an hour tops. You try to take a deep breath, he couldn’t be that mean- none of the boys seemed to warn you about him so that means he had to be nice or else they would complain about him somehow. 

The thoughts in your mind seem to be clouding your senses, you barely hear the steps coming towards the curtain and how they come to a halt right before the fabric is slowly pushed to the side. 

Still lost in your thoughts and sitting in the stool, it seems like you’ve been glued to the whole day at the desk that's been housing all the manilla folders, referrals, and notes you’ve been working with for hours on end- you don’t hear the steps get closer and the figure who they belong to standing just slightly past the threshold. Price knows he should probably make himself known, maybe clear his throat or rustle the curtains so you know he’s here. 

He plans to, or at least that's what he tells himself, he can’t help taking your form in, your back to him- legs crossed, seated, elbow resting on the desk, chin in your hand. He gulps, he hasn’t seen your face but somehow he knows that you’re beautiful. He would bet money on it without you even having to turn around. Surprisingly, it's the very gulp that makes him let out a small cough that finally has you turning your head to face him. A part of him wants to back out of the room and call Laswell, curse her out for this idea of hers but that thought seems to slip out of his mind as your eyes meet his. 

You’re quick to stand up, wiping your hands off on your thighs before reaching one out for a greeting. “Shit, so sorry. I didn’t even hear you come in. You must be the captain.” Price takes your hand but his eyes don’t leave your face- that smile that he can already feel is going to get him in a load of trouble and gives you his own. “It’s alright, love.” You try to hide the sharp inhale you seemed to have involuntarily made when the name hits your ears. 

His hands are calloused, not in a way that scratches you but feels sturdy, warm, somewhat comforting. The grasp he has of your hand lasts a little longer than what anyone would deem normal and you stutter out a soft command for him to take a seat on the cot. 

Price does as you say and lets go of your hand before taking a seat, interlocking his hands in his lap. You take the time to turn and rearrange your papers, trying to get your breathing under control, of course no one mentioned he's handsome. Fuck.

“I hope my men haven’t given you a hard time so far.” You finally turn around after hearing his voice, it matches his face- handsome, charming. “ No, they're nicer than I expected.” That makes Price raise a brow, questioning what you mean by that and you catch on. “Gaz doesn’t like talking so much, Ghost is an enigma of his own, and well soap is one hell of a character.” You chuckle while taking a seat on the stool once again and scooting over til you’re a few feet away from him.

To be completely honest, Price had almost forgotten about the deal he made with Laswell. She had come by to drop your file at his desk- for him to look over- but in reality, he had forgotten. He feels what he thinks is guilt eating at him in his chest. He had been adamant for so long on not needing a team medic, that they were a waste of time and money- yet here you were, nice, beautiful and he didn’t hate you one bit. 

“Well, Gaz is called Gaz for that very reason and well Simon is Simon, and soap- well he’s most likely the reason you’re here.” Soap had been the sole reason for 141’s increased med bay visits which is what had tipped off Laswell to initiate the month long debate of hiring someone. 

“I’m glad you did, it doesn’t seem like you guys have been keeping up with protocol.” 

“What do you mean, love?” Concern is laced into his words, the thought of his men not getting adequate help makes the knot in his chest grow tighter. 

“I’m having Gaz checked for anemia since he’s got some of the tell tale signs. Soap hasn’t had a hearing test in over five years and Ghost has a severe case of insomnia.” You know that not a lot of teams have the opportunity to have a team medic, often resorting to rotating med bay doctors who aren't very keen on prevention and treating for mundane things. The look of guilt spread across the captain's face, his brows furrowing and lips taut. “It’s not your fault, I’m here now so I’ll be taking care of you guys and I’ll be trying my best, captain.” 

Your words seem to settle the man down but you can tell he still seems anxious over his men. You place your hands on your knees, “Let’s worry about you right now.” You offer him a kind smile before standing up from your seat and taking a few steps forward before coming to a complete stop when you're standing right in between his spread knees. Your hands are held up a few inches from his face, silently asking for permission. Price pushes the feeling of apprehension to the back of his mind before tilting his chin slightly up, granting you to do so. 

“Any past surgeries I should know about Captain?” The tips of your fingers press into the skin right below his ears, feeling the tension underneath while you slowly make your way down his neck, dotting your fingers into his hair clad skin. 

“No.” You don’t know if it's in your head but his reply almost comes out as a whisper, your fingers run back up his neck applying pressure directly under his jaw on both sides of his esophagus. You hesitate for a moment when you don’t feel the usual clump of cells that should be there. You spare a glance at his eyes, taking a second too long to remember the shade of blue you find yourself trying to jot down in your mind. “You sure about that?” Your voice sounds softer, closer to the whisper he seemed to have let out before.

You slowly remove your hands from Price’s head and reach for the pen in your scrub pocket and turn to write something in your manilla folder that's laid out on the desk. “I think I would remember going under the knife, love.” 

A small smile graces your lips while you finish writing your notes, scooting back to him. “Well Captain, I’m sorry to break the news to you but you don’t have tonsils.” You try to keep a straight face looking at the man sitting on the medical wings cot, barely a foot away. Your knees brushing up against his. “What does that mean?” You hear what sounds like a hesitation of concern laced in his voice and it almost makes you break the stoic look you’re trying to maintain. 

“Either someone drugged you and ripped them out of your throat in your sleep or you had them removed when you were a kid and you didn’t remember and no one ever bothered to check or write it down. I'm gonna go with the ladder so you can sleep better at night.” You let out a little chuckle at your imaginative story to pull his leg. Before Price seems to catch onto your joke you ask a follow up question. “Do you smoke?” 

“Does that matter?” He looked like the type to smoke, maybe not exactly a cigarette but maybe a cigar, your eyes flash down to his hands and look at his fingers which are laid out on his knees. Yep, he looks like the type to smoke cigars. Your eyes come back up to meet his.

 “Cigars?” 

Price doesn’t have to answer your question, the look on his face alone answers for you. Before the words reach your ears you’re already back to writing some notes in the folder. Sparing a glance back at the man you notice how out of place he looks. His dark clothes stand out against the pristine whiteness of the blanket laid out on the medical bed, and the slightly off white colors of the walls, the freshly mopped shiny floors. You have the sudden urge to comfort him even though he’s not here for any actual type of medical treatment. 

You can see the questions brewing underneath his lips and behind his eyes. Turning your body back to face him, inching your stool a little closer til your knees are almost back to pressing against his. 

“If you got your tonsils removed as a child you have a slightly increased risk of upper respiratory infection and you smoking- even if it’s an occasional cigar increases that risk even more.” You try to show some sense of empathy through your eyes while they meet his. A sense of understanding seems to cross his face from your words and it causes a warm smile to find its way on your face. 

“It's not that big of a deal but since it’s now in my job description to make sure you and your men are as healthy as can be I just want to make a note of it in case of anything.” 

“Alright, love.” 

The gruffness in his voice makes you fight back a shiver. “Do you not like doctors, Captain?” His eyes wander around the room, taking note of the fluorescent lights and sketchy wallpaper with a not too fond look on his face. “Not exactly, just not fond of the medical wing itself.” You nod, “yeah I can agree with you on that, not exactly friendly.” John smiles, it's small but something and you feel a tightness in your chest just from the sight of it. “Well since I’m your doctor now we can always just meet in your office instead of here, as long as I can just bring my supplies when needed.” 

Price doesn’t understand why you’re trying to be so understanding, so comforting. It’s strange, out of the ordinary for the man, especially in his line of work. His eyes rack your face, down to your hands where you’re fiddling with your fingers. “I’m here to help you Captain, that's it.” You can tell he’s thinking, trying to take you in- read you. 

Price decides he likes it, likes you.

“You gonna cook me dinner too, love?” He chuckles. You let a small laugh slip past your lips. “Ask Laswell to see if you can upgrade to the doctor deluxe package and maybe I will.” You’re enjoying this, and judging by Price's reaction he seems to be enjoying himself too. 

“Deluxe package?” 

“Yeah, cooked meals, back massages, the whole nine, Captain.”

“Sounds like a dream if you tell me, love.” 

You both break out into a chorus of light laughter and quiet chuckles. The room doesn’t seem so small and suffocating like you had thought a mere thirty minutes ago and that pit in your stomach has seemed to all but dissipate. You finish going over some more of his medical records, confirming some information and filling in some gaps before you realize that it's been over an hour and the day is coming to a close. It doesn’t even hit you until Price brings it to your attention by looking down at his watch. 

“I’m so sorry, I’ve probably kept you here for longer than you planned.” You say with an apologetic smile, nervousness etched into your words. “It’s alright, love.” 

The boys were most likely waiting for him in his office for the past twenty minutes but he didn’t have the heart to tell you. Your eyes seemed to have glued him to the cot and your voice lulling him into a daze. Maybe having you around wasn’t so bad after all.

He stands- you follow him. “Well, it was nice meeting you, captain.” You hadn’t had time to take him in when he first came into the room. He’s tall, wide shoulders, tapered waist, and a nice strong set of thighs you have to force your eyes off of. 

“John.” You raise a brow, lost in thought from seeing him in his full form. “You can call me John.” His smile is warm and it's almost like the warmth of it radiates onto you and you feel a rush of heat crawl up your neck. 

“Okay, John.” 

“It was nice meeting you, love.” Price gives you one last kind smile, the crows feet along the edges of his eyes come out at the gesture as he walks towards the curtain before pushing it aside and stepping out. The curtains don't go back to their previous place. You watch him as he walks away until he’s out of eyesight and you finally feel like you can catch your breath. Fuck, your captain is hot. 

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

Taglist: @sharkiestory

[misguidedasgardian]

Wild Cats (Part II)

II. On the road

MASTERLIST

Summary: You face your first challenges with your new “team”

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader (slowburn)

Warnings: Zombie apocalypse AU, living dead, zombies, guts, blood, guns, injures, cannibalism, this chapter is particularly hard, if you had seen the series you know what’s coming, THREATS of SA to a minor and to an adult, shooting people, murder, throwing axes, blood, RIck munchin on someone’s throat 

+18, MINORS DNI

Notes: As always, I will not describe the reader, the only description about her is that she is not from the US, I don't specify where she is from either. My Walt Disney complex is attacking me again because -again- my reader won’t have any family or parents with her (or that were with her and she saw die), I believe this will give her some sort of “freedom” and the sense that even if she saw “Death” up close and personal, and horrible things she still doesn’t have that cruelty and trauma of witnessing family get killed in front of her.

You started walking, walking, walking. You still had a few hours of light to find another place to camp out, far away from the group that stormed the house. Just across that group of houses, you encountered tracks, train tracks, and you started walking along them.

You spend the night on an old train station, those small ones in the middle of nowhere, you took shifts to keep an eye on things.

Rick wouldn’t let you out of his sight

And you tried to stay calm, he didn't know you, so you did what was expected of you, kept watch like you had done for the last months, helped to make food and snacks. You didn’t dare to ask much, so the silences between you were a bit uncomfortable.

You were super curious about them, but again, they didn’t trust you, and why should they? so you’d think 

It was the third night with them, you were on the roof when Rick joined you

“Don’t take this the wrong way”, he started in whispers, “but you don’t strike me as the kind of person who would last this long, out here, alone”, he said in a friendly tone, you look back at him, amused

“Well, looks can be deceiving”, you muttered

“Have you received military training or something?”, this was a nice change

“No, not really, I lived on a farm, we hunted and that sort of stuff”, you said lightly, he looked at you and nodded, “Maybe I watched too many action movies, those were my favorites”, you said, with fond memories in your mind, “you were a policeman, right?”

“How did you know?”, he asked, surprised 

“When I looked at you for the very first time I had this immediate feeling of shame, like I was doing something wrong, so…”, he laughed a bit, “I knew”

“Yeah, we evoked that on people”, he said lightly, “I’m sorry you got stranded here, on foreign lands”, you nodded

“Thank you”, you said after a long breath, “I probably won’t ever see my family again and… it's hard to face that reality”

“Where are they?”, he asked

“My family lives in a really small town, and an hour away, they have a farm”, you said lowly, “a farm on a freaking island”, your felt his surprised gaze on you, “I’m sure my brother got them out, my parents, he has big trucks, and he knows how to hunt, he has guns, he knows how to fish, they have cattle…he began farming a bit ago”, you said with a breath of relief, “they are in the best possible place, and I…”

“In one of the worst”, he whispered

“I just really hope they can mourn me”, you whispered, “that they can be at peace with me gone, not knowing what happened to me, and I really… because you are right, everyday I wonder how I got so lucky so survive this long, so I feel like I’m living on borrowed time”

“You can’t think like that if you want to survive”, muttered Rick, “you need to fight for it, every single day”, you nodded. You heard moans and grumbles. There was a full moon today, and clear sky so you saw the fucker coming out of the woods, limping towards the structure you were in, reaching towards you with with its putrid hands. You grabbed your gun with your silencer and shot him straight in the head, quieting him once and for all, and dropping him

You both sighed, as you kept listening to the quiet night. 

You let out a strangled whimper. Your family had wanted you to stay home, but you wanted to do this fancy masters degree.

“Have you… lost people too?”, you asked him

“My wife, my best friend, my…”, he choked so you only nodded

“I’m very sorry”, you mumbled, he nodded

“We were a big group, I’m hoping I can still find some of them”

“I’m sure they are out there somewhere”, you said with a hint of hope, if the rest of them were like Rick, Michonne and Carl, you really believed that the more the merrier, this could really be something. But still, you didn’t want to get too attached in case things went south 

The next day also found you walking together, Michonne and Carl played at “who could walk longer on the tracks”, and it was quite entertaining to watch, even though Rick wanted to speed things along. They still haven’t told you the next steps. But you were following the tracks hoping they’ll lead you to somewhere.

You have seen posters and maps of some sort of sanctuary, called terminus, if they ask you? it didn’t sound quite right, the maps seemed old and maybe they were, maybe it got overrun, but Rick and Michonne still wanted to check it out

This time, when the sun fell and the night came over you, they just wanted to sleep on the open road. You found a car that was in a pretty good state, so Carl took preference, and locked himself in to sleep for a bit. 

You were super scared to be alone in the woods at night, but you didn’t want to say that outloud, so you just grabbed the smallest and softest of flashlights and dived into the woods, it was the call of nature, nothing you could do.

The good part about “walkers” is that they groaned and moaned, so they were easy to spot, especially at night, so you weren’t concerned. Although, you did know that sometimes they entered this “sleep” state, only awakened when a human was near, so you had to be careful about that as well.

After you had done your business, you decided to make a round, all around where Michonne and Rick were talking and Carl was sleeping, maybe it was customary for you at this point, being awake at night. An instinct pulling you into the night, connecting with nature.

When you thought you had done a full lap, you realized that you got a bit lost, you cursed yourself thinking you had counted your steps, clearly you were wrong

You found the street, and by then, you could hear voices.

You first saw a big man by the car, you could only see his silhouette, as the only source of light was the moon and the fire Rick and Michonne had lit up 

“We are gonna kill you Rick, not before Dan has his way with your son, and Tony with the lady here…”, you heard someone say, as you came closer, quietly, you realized a man was holding Rick at gunpoint, and another had Michonne.

How the fuck they sneaked past you? you had no clue. You stood there, watching the situation unfold, you didn’t know what to do. 

“TEN!”, You grabbed the gun, and unlocked it, you had to help them. You don’t care who those men were, Rick, Michonne and Carl were your group now, you had to defend them. “NINE… EIGHT”

“WAIT!”, Another man, from the other side of the car, appeared

“You stopped me at eight Daryl!”, the man said. This strange man walked up towards RIck and Michonne, and only then you realized two more men were right behind him, your vision impaired by the vehicle between you, you tried to stay in the shadows, you couldn’t go in guns blazing if that would mean one of your group could end up hurt.

“Just hold up!”, he said softly, trying to calm things down

“This is the guy who killed Lou!”, muttered the fifth man, “we got nothing to talk about”, there were five hostile men, one of them, right in front of you, eyeing Carl who was inside the car

“The thing ‘bout now-a-days is we got nothin’ but time”, the ringleader held Rick at gunpoint, they were tightly squeezed together, no space for movement, “say your piece Daryl”

“These people”, the man said, “you’re gonna let ‘em go”, that surprised you, but still you raised your gun to the creep, “these are good people”, he muttered

“I think Lou would disagree with you on that”, RIck had told you he had to take a guy out in the house, this might be the reckoning, “I have to speak for him because your friend here strangled him in a bathroom, let him turn, and come after us”, 

“You want blood, I get it, take it from me, man”, this strange man, just threw his weapon, a badass crossbow, into the floor and offered himself up to the maniac. There was a dramatic silence

“This man killed our friend”, you did not have good visibility, but you could hear every breath, “but you say he’s good people, you see? that right there… that is a lie”, his voice dropped an octave and you knew that meant trouble, “IT’S A LIE”, the two men behind him grabbed him and started beating him up, “teach him fellas! teach him all the way!”, the car moved when they pushed and beat him against it. Distracting you, so you couldn’t help when the fat man in front of you opened the door to the car, and dragged Carl out of it.

“YOU LET HIM BE!”, you heard the scream of Rick

You couldn’t move, if you shot “Dan”, then the others could shoot RIck and Michonne, and besides…

DId you had it in you? to kill?

You had done it once, it kept you awake with guilt

They kept beating the man they called Daryl, making your skin crawl, to hear fist against flesh, moans and groans from the man that clearly knew RIck, -in the good sense-, he was probably part of the group RIck was seeking so desperately 

“... First we’re gonna beat Daryl to death, then we are gonna have the girl, then the boy, and then we’re gonna kill you, and then we’ll be squared”, you heard him proclaim. You looked in front of you, the fat man, with a knife in his hand, and…

Oh fuck no.

Without even thinking about it, you had your gun up and…

You took the shot and in less than a second you drew a whole in the back of the man’s head. 

Before he even dropped to the floor you helped Carl push him off of him. The boy was a whimpering, scared mess, and now that you uncovered yourself, by pure instincts alone, you grabbed him and placed him behind you, away from the guns that were now pointing at you.

In all happened in seconds

When Rick’s eyes anchored themselves at you, he seemed to nod, and then he moved at the speed of lightning, pushing all of his body backwards, a shot made your ears ring, but he had managed to free himself from the other group’s leader, that served as a good distraction as you shot against the man that had Michonne, who was also distracted, your bullet got lodged on his arm, making him scream, that gave Michone the time and space to kick the bastard, making him drop his gun

“Daryl!”, screamed Carl behind you, you looked now with more visibility, and saw the beating was getting worse. He had managed to punch one of the men out of his way, but still was fighting with the other. You grabbed your ax with your other hand, right as he was being pushed against the hood of the car again, then grabbed and pulled backwards towards the other man.

You were even better at throwing axes, -something you discovered in the damn apocalypse-

“DUCK!”, you screamed at the bowman, and he did, just at the same time you threw your ax, slaying the man that was right behind him

But you knew that wasn’t going to finish the job, you jumped and climbed over the hood of the car between you and you threw yourself at the man screaming with your ax nailed in the middle of his chest. You shot him in the head, not even thinking. You fell haphazardly on the floor, twisted your uncle a bit.

Fuck this people

When you turned around Daryl was beating the crap out of this other guy, Michone had shot the man that was holding her and Rick…

Oh Rick

In the midst of screams, he dropped the man, who was bleeding profusely from his neck. When you raised your eyes back again you saw that…

Rick’s mouth was dripping blood, as he spitted out a chunk of meat and more blood

From a second to the next everything went quiet, the archer turned to you after he left that man a moaning mess on the ground, you shared looks, and you offered him your gun. He took it, and put the man out of his misery with one shot on the head.

The adrenaline quickly left you, and you started shaking.

Your kill count just went up to three with one assistance.

You must have whimpered because they all turned to you

Rick went to hug Carl tightly, as did Michonne, the man, Daryl turned back to you, his face was made a bleeding mess, but he nodded when he gave you your gun back. You received it, putting it back in your holster

You told him your name, offering your hand for you to shake, he nodded

“Daryl”, he said, shaking your hand back, although it was more like a growl. You could tell he was this gruff man, his shaggy hair a bit long, covering his eyes, naked arms on display, he was a badass

“You take it you were a part of RIck’s group?”, you asked, and he barely nodded, “we just met three days ago”, you offered as an explanation.

Carl went around the car and hugged you tightly, that took you by surprise, but you gladly hugged him back

“Are you alright?”, you asked, he only nodded against you

You were sleeping in the back of the jeep, pleasantly, as Carl slept on the back seat, cuddled with Michonne.

Rick and Daryl were sharing a moment

“Who was tha’?”, he asked

“Carl found her sleeping on a roof three days ago”, said Rick, they shared looks, “before this, she had only killed one man”

“Now she is up to three”, said Dayl nodding

“We had our doubts at first, but… after tonight…”

“She is one of the good ones”, muttered Daryl

“She is looking up to be a good addition”, he completed, nodding 

Post chapter notes: reader was like, “ah hell no, that’s my future husband you fucks” haha

[ajokeformur-ray]

Hi there, hello😊💜 I have a rather self-indulgent J question. If that's okay. But do you think he'd be protective of his s/o if he found out that they live and work in a super sketchy neighborhood? Stuff like not a single quiet night. Theft and other safety and health issues are always on the agenda, next to being worked to the bone. I'm just wondering because yeah🙃 Sending you all of my love and hugs, you're incredible🫂💖💕

Hey hi hello Sue🥺💖

Self-indulgent J questions are more than welcome, it's been a while since I got sent one!👀

I think J would be very protective of his s/o, even if they lived in a wealthy area with a low crime rate. He takes care of his possessions, his plans, so he takes extra care with you (perhaps it makes up for the lack of care he pays to his men and to himself).

With sirens blaring on almost every street, with the distant sound of smashing glass and running feet, the odd scream and frantic yell, it's not unusual for a stray car to go blazing down your road, waking you up from your threshold consciousness as distantly you wonder where your clown is. You're exhausted, worked to the bone at your job, overworked and underpaid (as are we all), and then you go home to worry about having your home broken into (by someone other than J; he likes to keep you on edge with that sometimes), to be kept awake by all of the aforementioned noises... but J protects you, even and especially when you think he's far away or disinterested or anything else you tell yourself to cause yourself displaced pain late at night. You internalise your frustration with your life, and J is often the focus of such destructive thoughts.

But he does protect you. He knows most of the plans that go on in your area; all of his men are trained to spy on the lower-class criminals, while J spies on the upper-class criminals (they're the most boring ones, extremely predictable, which only makes it too easy for J to blow up one of their cars just for fun). Between he and his men, there is always a car stationed a block or so away from your workplace. A different car every shift, and every morning you wake up with a number plate drawn on the condensation of your mirror or scrawled in lipstick across the shower tiles or on your fridge. Always erasable, and never the same number plate twice.

Twice is a choice, predictable, an almost established pattern - dangerous. Only too easy for harm to come to you. Unthinkable.

The car will take you home before it's sent to be destroyed, the man will be killed later on. You never travel home in the same car, and you never have the same driver. J does not trust his men. They are dispensable. He always sees to their death himself; he's the only one he trusts, because someone else could say they killed the man who drove you home, but actions and words are different. J only trusts the former. The latter is mere decoration; it's nice, but it isn't necessary.

You walk yourself to work, or you take the bus or catch a taxi, but you are always delivered home. Anyone who gives you grief at work is mysteriously a winner of the lottery a week later and then they're inspired to travel the world or whatever it is people who suddenly come into an obscene amount of money do (J doesn't care, he just wants them to go. away), or they're gotten rid of in a messier, but much more fun way. Your rent is always somehow paid - J doesn't want you worrying about that. You can get your own groceries and whatnot, but the rent is always paid for you. When a night of crime is on the horizon for where you live, J 'advises' you stay home and men are posted around your entire neighbourhood to make sure that harm doesn't come close.

A good dose of fear is healthy in moderation, but it's everywhere for you because of where you live, and J tries to minimise it if you want him to. You wouldn't even need to ask for him to do it, he knows what you want and need. Reading you is easy for the man who spends the majority of his time with you, and he has a detailed knowledge of your many intricacies. You're always so tired from being kept awake by the noises outside your home, and J does what he can to make sure that word gets around about your neighbourhood being a, uh, ba-ad place to cause chaos in. It ain't much fun since there's not much to do there.

In truth, J is protecting you. Quieter nights, nicer co-workers; he does what he can. He never takes credit for it, he never tells you what he's done for you. But you know. You know how quiet J's love is, and yet you can hear him yelling it at you. It's loud and clear so there's no misunderstandings between the two of you and your place in his life is concrete, just as his place in your life is.

He is the chaos, and you are the every day. Mundane, but not boring. J is the fireworks in the sky, green and purple so you know it's him thinking of you and letting you know in one of his favourite ways. Red if he's telling you to stay home tonight, blue if he's telling you it's safe. Secret, careful ways, but you've learned them well across the time you've both been together.

You are the safe and warm home that J can get cleaned up in, rest in, you provide him with a reason to do what he does - not that he needs one, of course, J does what he does because he can and it's fun and he's good at it. You are the stillness of the night, the solace, the peace and the one thing J is extremely protective of.

Nothing and no one harms you. Nothing and no one can even get close, they die before they so much as think about it because J knows. He always knows.

[luveline]

hi!! hope you’re doing well and having a fantastic december so far <3 do you think maybe you would write something with James where the reader has always kind of been in toxic relationships where sex was the only way to move on from or get past a fight, and he like kind of rejects that and tries to (super gently and kindly) teach her how to talk about it in a healthy way and work through it together? i just think it could be cute :) ily!

hi! tysm, i hope you are too, ily <3 i think i focused in on the wrong thing but i hope you like it anyhow!!! cw past unhealthy relationships + conversation about sex 18+ mdni ♥︎ fem!reader 1.5k

James is practically radiating anger across the room. You can tell he's trying not to show it.

You're angry too, of course, but you're more scared than anything. Not of James (he'd probably rather die than hurt you, and you know that) but of the possibility that you might break up. 

It feels irrational and rational at once. He'd sounded so mad. He'd sounded hurt, which was worse. You'd made a snarky comment you now regret about his never being home because he's always at training, and he'd argued how this wasn't fair because rugby was literally his job, and you'd said it wasn't fair that you never saw him. So on and so forth, the argument had devolved into your saying stuff you didn't explicitly mean, backed into a corner, and James being upset because of it. You'd said… a lot of stuff that wasn't really true, and you'd accused James of not caring about you. 

That's what blew his top. 

You understand why he's mad about it. If he said the same to you, you'd be livid. But you don't really know how to fix it. 

Well, you do. Though James isn't looking at you like they would, no expectancy, no Well, aren't you going to say sorry? 

He's stationed himself on the sofa, elbows to his knees and facing the floor. While his anger is slipping, hurt and frustration are evident in his hunched posture. You stand up from the arm opposite where you'd been perched and take the few steps needed to close the distance, sitting primly by James' side. 

He's kind. He turns to look at you as soon as you settle, and it's with an openness that makes your mouth dry. In your head, you're thinking that this is more than salvageable, that James will fuck you and forgive you and that if you do a good enough job, he'll spend more time with you during the week. 

You put your hand on his knee, feeling the slightly tensed muscles underneath. 

"Jamie," you murmur, one part apologetic, one part something else, "I'm sorry." 

He holds your eye and then sighs inaudibly. 

You keep talking. You don't want him to get mad again, or impatient. "Really sorry, and…" Your hand inches upward. "I can make it up to you." 

He stiffens ever so slightly. You really hate that, unsure and unhappy and thinking maybe you can't fix anything after all. You pull your hand away, worried you've made him uncomfortable. He must see the flash of concern on your face as he sits up properly. 

"Sorry," you mumble, eyes on his leg. "I thought…" 

"That we would kiss and make up?" 

His sudden response startles you, but James doesn't sound as mad as you'd imagined. "No," you say quickly, although that is exactly what you'd thought. "No, but I- I-" 

You flounder for the right thing to say, embarrassed beyond words with the beginnings of panicked tears in your eyes. 

James' hand is warm as he places it on your shoulder, and his expression much softer than it had been. 

"Is that something you've done before?" he asks. 

"You don't want to?"

He can likely hear how mortified you are. His hand climbs to the curve of your neck as he shifts toward you, his knee pressed into yours. 

You perk up and immediately realise you've read the signs wrong again. James isn't going to kiss you. He's letting you down easy, which means he doesn't want to make up. 

You backtrack hard. "James- I swear, I'm sorry, and I won't- I won't complain again. I know you have to go, and I know it's selfish to expect you not to. I won't mention it again." 

You drift off, hoping he has something to say. 

He stares at you for a beat that's too long. 

"Sweetheart," he says finally, so softly, "back up a second, okay? I'm just trying to understand here. Did you think you had to have sex with me to say sorry?" 

You wince and lean away.

"Because you don't have to. Ever." 

You didn't think you had to have sex, but you're out of your depth here. You don't really know where to go from this point. "I know," you say weakly.

"Do you?" James asks, offering you his hand palm up over your thigh.

You take it like a lifeline. 

"I don't think that it's a good solution to our problem," he says. 

"What's our problem?" 

"We're not on the same page." 

You have never felt this awkward around James. To read the signs so wrong, to come onto him when he doesn't want it. "I'm sorry, for trying to-" 

He squeezes your fingers. "Hey, don't be. Is it okay if I talk for a little bit?" You nod stiffly. "Alright… I'm not sure what you've- what's happened before, but I want to say that you don’t have to feel like you need to apologise in that way with me, because it should be on your terms completely, always. You know?" He weighs your expression. He can't find what he's looking for, because he continues. "With us, I don't want sex to be a kind of," — he searches for the right word — "currency. I don't want that for you." Again, his voice turns soft as silk. He massages your fingers with his lovingly. "Understand?" 

"Yeah, I understand." 

His eyebrows pull together. "I'm not mad at you, angel. It was a misunderstanding." 

"I feel so-" Silly. Icky, immature. You shake your head. "I'm sorry." 

You're still trying to soak in what he's said. He doesn't need sex to know you're sorry. It takes a second, but you realise how nice that feels.

"It's okay, you don't have to be sorry. I just needed to make sure you knew. We might be fighting but you're still my girl, right?" 

Your throat aches as you say, "Right." 

He leans in a little closer. His voice quietens. "I'm sorry someone made you feel like you had to do that, sweetheart. Really. There are better ways to work through it." 

Tears come on so suddenly they're dripping off your jaw before you comprehend that you're crying at all, heavy teardrops that bump down your cheeks fiercely. 

James is as surprised as you to see them, and he proves to you how big his heart is for the second time in as many minutes when he starts wiping and kissing away your tears, placating you with little murmurs and reassurances. 

"It's okay," he says quietly, hand splayed behind your neck. 

You hide away in his neck. Embarrassment rolls hot over your skin and still you can't get the tears to stop. This is possibly the most whirlwind you've ever been in front of him, and you know how lucky you are to be treated so delicately through it all. 

"I'm sorry," you say again, thick with tears and genuinely appalled by your inability to stop crying. 

"Don't be sorry, my love," he says, quiet still. 

"I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable." 

He scrubs his hand up and down your arm. "You didn't. I was more surprised than anything. I think… all the best make up sex comes after the making up, yeah? When we're both happy, and when we both want it because we want each other. Not because you feel like you need to." 

You mean to say thank you, but "I love you," comes out instead, all sniffly and scratchy. 

"I love you, too. You know that." 

You're lucky enough to say that you do. James surprises you, as that is by no means the end of the conversation. He talks about things you should've talked about a while ago, and he makes a lot of things clear. That sex isn't something you ever have to do. Not to make up, not because you owe him anything, and not because you think it's expected. And all these things are normal — they're, as James says, the bare minimum, but he doesn't understand. They may sound like the bare minimum to some, but you've never actually had them before. He apologises for that, too. 

And after, you talk about the argument. James tries to express his frustration, how he'd only been trying to resolve the issue, and you're gutted when you understand. You'd let insecurity guide you and you'd exacerbated the fight. Made it something that it wasn't. 

James assures you that it's okay. 

"I said stuff I didn't mean as well," he says. "Everybody does that." 

You talk it out. When you do have make up sex, it's much later, and it's because you want to. James must ask "Are you sure?" twenty times, and he insists on being able to see your face. You don't mind. 

He's right. All the best make up sex does come after the making up, not in place of it. 

—

to clarify this isn't me dogging on all make up sex, just in situations where the reader felt like she had to because it was the only way to make up, as requested <3

[randy-inks]

Back from the dead to give you superhero au

Here’s the rant just for you

First off this is a combination of Superman and Batman cuz I watch their new tv shows

That being said;

Lucifer born to the richest family in Aplomb city. Lucifer is the youngest in said family and has two older brothers. One of them being mayor Michael, and Azrael whose whereabouts remains unknown.

Lucifer is born with theses powers, that being:

* flying through the use of his wings

* Pyrokinesis

* super strength

* heals faster than humans do

Lucifer has no idea where he came from or why he has these powers.

His father won’t tell him and honestly he doesn’t care. For years Lucifer has keep his powers a secret enough so that he was able to get with Lilith and have a daughter name Charlie.

Now him and Lilith are divorced and Lilith has taken Charlie with her. And Lucifer doesn’t blame her for it but he’s still sad about it.

Now with not much of a purpose in life Lucifer decides to use his powers again and try to help the city of Aplomb as it’s filled with crime.

Alastor is kinda the Louis Lane of the au ngl

Alastor grew up in the poorer side of Aplomb and with a rough family life. He’s only comfort apart from his mom was the old timely radio.

And that cause him to dream about being a radio show host, problem with that

Radio is slowly dying, being replaced by Tv.

So Alastor gets a job at the daily news, one of the last new stations to still have a radio station, and yet they won’t hire him on the radio show staff as much as he tries.

So the next course of action is to go big or go home. He plans to do that by getting an exclusive interview with the new superhero in town Mallard. Who is known for not taking interviews.

Alastor is determined to the point of putting himself in danger of himself. Like oh I don’t know having the mafia shoot at you. Hey luckily Mallard saved him. There are times when Alastor is able to save himself and even save Mallard from time to time.

One of his biggest pain in the asses is Lucifer Morningstar, the now divorced millionaire that he has to follow for the new papers. Alastor thinks Lucifer is the dumbest, air headed, slow, childish, arrogant, kinda pretty, and clumsy person he has ever met. And constantly getting on his nerves as he tries to find out what’s going on in this crime filled city as he slowly fills in the detective role and calls out on the corruption of this city.

And way too many villains keep kidnapping him!

The Shadow,

That’s the best way to describe this creature……. This thing It’s a shadow with a mind of its own? A stone cold killer, it wants blood and it needs more and more and more. And the thing is about it…… Lucifer can’t even touch it, it’s a shadow. How are you supposed to touch a shadow? How are you supposed to beat a shadow? What do you do if it merges with your own shadow, and you become its puppet? How do you know it’s gone? How do you know your daughter is safe? is she safe?

In the superhero au Charlie gets to spend time with her father after some plot stuff happens

On a superhero mission Lucifer gets gravely injured and can’t escape until he is saved by Charlie in a Halloween costume with her fire abilities.

Lucifer reminds Charlie that she is too young and shouldn’t be here and her mother will yell at him, Charlie reminds him she saved his ass even though she barely uses her abilities.

Lucifer sighs and agrees to train her more before she’s aloud to be a hero.

He’s going to need the help as the government is no longer dealing with Mallard’s ass and Micheal can only hold them off for long.

Micheal and Lucifer were close when they were younger, the two were best friends but as they grew up the gap in their relationship grew too. Soon they barely talked to each. When Lucifer didn’t show support for his mayoral campaign that was the straw that broke the camel’s back. Michael cut out Lucifer from his life.

Micheal thought that would be the end of their relationship but when Micheal heard about a winged man with fire powers, he immediately knew it was Lucifer. It’s not rocket science.

Years ago, he and Lucifer agreed to their father that the will keep their powers a secret, it seems Micheal needs to remain his brother of that.

Wow that is a long read-

[strayflowersstarsandlove]

Busan (hwanghyunjin)

Author's note: for some reason every time I write of Hyunjin's I end up with lenghty paragraphs I don't know why, he triggers the writers in me idk I love this man💀💀 anyways this one can definitely be read as a standalone as most if not all my longer writings! reading Preoccupied first might give you a little additional context but it's not essential 💖

"I don't know... What if he's just not that into me?", you puff your cheeks out and cross your arms tightly across your chest, trying to keep warm in the chilly early morning breeze, shifting your weight on your feet from side to side, "bullshit! He is so into you! He's just shy", Changbin whines, only pretending to be annoyed at you as he pinches and pokes your cheeks until you start giggling.You were currently waiting for the whole gang to arrive at the train station for a day trip to Busan.

Originally it was supposed to be just you and Hyunjin, Changbin and your other best friend, Changbin's girlfriend, a double date of sorts. It only ended up being a group outing because Jeongin overheard you guys talking as you were planning the day and decided he wanted to be your tourist guide and then Han overhead Jeongin and felt excluded from the activities so he invited himself and Minho along, and one member led another and so you ended up being stuck with 6 other people on your date.

Which wasn't inherently a bad thing, ever since you and Hyunjin had started seeing each other after meeting at a party, you had had the chance to hang with all of them and you quickly understood just how tight knit and lovely they all were, you thoroughly enjoyed spending time with them and always ending up your day with cramps from all the laughing.

This time you just wanted to be alone with Hyunjin though. You had been going on multiple dates in the last few couple of months, each and every one of them had been great and you could tell that you were getting closer. But he hadn't popped the question yet and you were way too shy to do it yourself. You thought that maybe a change of scenery and the beach would have set the perfect occasion for either of you to try and make the move but even when Lexy had to pull out due to a nasty stomach bug, you were still left with 7 more people on said scenery, Changbin being the sulky one too cause he missed his girlfriend dearly.

You stuff your hands in your pockets and hum to yourself, still mulling over your best friend's words, absentmindedly kicking at the dirt beneath your feet, "he will ask you to be his girlfriend, y/n. I promise. I think he's just trying to find the courage. He made the first move already by kissing you and asking you out, which is out of character for him, give him a little time". Changbin serious, softer tone comforts you a little, you smile weakly at him and nod, "I'm willing to give him all the time he needs, I just wish I knew if he's into me as much as I am into him. I can be very clingy and boring and overall uninteresting, I wouldn't blame him if he just decided I'm not worth it".

Your best friend sighs frustratedly and forcefully engulfs you in a big bear hug, "yah! Don't ever say that again, you hear me? You are so worth it, you're exactly his ideal type too. Hyunjin-ah is just fundamentally shy and he got burned on his last relationship. I'm sure he's just trying to feel this out a little after he dived in head first and got broken hearted. He falls in love so quickly, trusts so easily, he's such a sensitive, reserved person it's amazing he felt this comfortable and outgoing with you so far. He's gonna fully come out of his shell, trust me".

You hug him back very tightly and mumble your thanks and are about to reassure him you understood what he said completely when you hear a loud yell followed by some ridiculous bickering in the distance and soon enough Han and Minho emerge from the car park, shortly followed by Chan and Felix, with Seugmin in tow. They all look so happy to see you and greet you so warmly you instantly cheer up. Even more so when you see Jeongin in the distance, he's fixing his hair amenably after an overtly excited Hyunjin has basically jumped on his back to ruffle it over and over. You can hear him giggle all the way from your spot and can't help but feel a soft, warm rush to your chest.

When they finally walk over to the group Hyunjin beelines to you. He pulls you close and kisses the top of your head while squeezing your hand, smiling softly at you, his demeanor still bubbly and hyper but more tender, softer when he greets you, "hi", he beams at you, his sweet smile reaching his eyes as you reciprocate the gesture and ask him how he's doing today, to which he solemnly replies that he's excited for the day, and a little twinkling in his eyes confirms that. God he's so cute.

The train compartments are divided into four seats each and after much debating (and some mild, playful fighting, Hyunjin looking defeated as he concedes to Changbin who just has to sit on the more outside seat cause he hates when his shoulders squeeze against the window seat ) you end up sitting by the window, Changbin sitting next to you while Hyunjin is directly across from you, next to Chan.

The chopsticks, Felix and Jeongin sitting on the opposite row while Seugmin enjoys "some deserved peace and quiet" as he sits next to other passangers behind your row. 2racha starts talking among themselves the minute the train departs and even though you and Hyunjin try to participate into the conversation you both quickly realise their argument over whether tomatoes are fruits or vegetables is getting pretty heated pretty fast so you just glance at each other and snicker, he stretches out his long legs and loops them around your feet, and then lends you one of his bluetooth earbuds, a silent invite to block out the noises and enjoy the scenery outside your window.

Once you arrive in Busan the group splits for a preventive toilet stop, you, Chan, Felix, Changbin and Minho being the ones brave enough not to take advantage of the washroom at the station as you aimlessly stroll around while you wait for the others. You can tell Chan is trying his best to keep his kids in check while also trying to give you and Hyunjin some space, the moment the group is reunited again he immediately tries to lead them towards the exit so Hyunjin can make his way to you without all eyes on him.

If there's one thing about Chan is that he is very perceptive, he obviously knows his friend very well and figured you too like to keep it low key, you too aren't overly into pda and would rather spend some quieter times with just the long haired brunette.

And his efforts are repayed when he exchanges a quick, complicit glance with Hyunjin, who slows down behind everyone else until he's walking right next to you, he sneaks an arm around your shoulders and pulls you to him, "you're doing okay? I'm sorry they're so loud", he apologises, a fond smile forming on his lips as his eyes wander to his friends animously talking and grabbing at each other's hands and butts, "I'm doing great. I'm actually happy they've taken seemingly well to me, I was afraid they wouldn't like me that much for a sec", you admit sincerely, trying to fall into step with his long strides, "why wouldn't they?", he replies simply, matter-of-factly even, smirking a little when he notices you blushing.

As soon as you all step outside into the blinding sun, Jeongin turns into intense chaperone mode, he gives directions to where to go first and which local stores you should stop by so he and Chan can plan out the day a little. And so the adventure begins.

First stop is dalgona coffee and Sinchang toast from a local café where most of the boys also help themselves to Milmyeon and Ssiat Hotteok, which you share a portion of with both Han and Felix, as they're saving up some space in their stomachs for more desserts later on in the day. Which you can only agree with.

After that you make your way to the beaufiul Haedong Yonggungsa, the temple by the sea, a sprawling temple that sits right on the eastern coast of Busan, which literally takes your breath away with how incredible and sacred it looks, the air there just feels different, rarefied even. As you lean on the balauster that looks out on the baby blue sea, you find yourself shutting your eyes.

You whisper a silent prayer only you know the meaning of. And it's curious, how for that mere couple of seconds you manage to numb your ears to the sound of the wind, the mumbling and praying of the locals and the tourists gathering in the temple, even the stifled laughs of your friends, you almost feel like you're the only person in the whole building as you wish just for happiness, in whatever form that wants to presents itself in.

When you open your eyes again Hyunjin is silently standing next you, elbows resting on the balauster as well, his eyes deviate from the stunning sea below to your surprised ones, a small, reassuring smile playing on his lips.

Next stop is another temple, Taejongsa temple, with its bursting hydrangeas paths and blossoming plants all around, Changbin gets particularly sulky as you guys walk through the place, he whines about being in such a romantic scenery without his munchkin little baby, which you find ironic considering you're currently being swept up into some deep conversations about love and the expectation of society with Felix and Chan, Han butting his head in every once in a while only to be pulled back by a bemused Minho that makes him twirl and fall into every single flower bed on their path.

For lunch you all help yourselves at local street vendors on your way to Gamcheon village where you stop for pics with the little prince statue (everyone makes Jeongin take at least one selfie with each member and the statue), and then wander off to the shops and thrift stores. All the while your group of friends manages to keep you  entertained and laughing your ass off, but sadly also busy and never really alone with Hyunjin. You manage to lock eyes with him on a few occasions and briefly hold hands as you walk through the narrowest parts of the village, but you somehow always end up separate, despite Chan's best efforts no to have the kids hog you all the time.

Part of you feels extremely happy they feel so comfortable with you they want to include you into their every activity or conversation, but another part of you longs for some alone time with Hyunjin.

As the afternoon rolls out slowly, you and your group walk aimlessly around the streets, some of the guys stop to take pictures of the colorful walls and murals, some feed into their caffeine addictions by cramming inside tight little cafés. Seeing that Felix and Seugmin walk out of a cute bakery with delicious looking pastries and drinks, you decide to step in yourself and order some warm coffee to go and milk bread. Which tastes absolutely delectable.

You flutter your eyes shut as the yummy, soft texture melts in your mouth, you almost moan at how good it tastes, "jeez, calm down. It's just bread",you hear a brash voice and some snickering and find Changbin looking at you like you're some kind of crazy person, "you don't understand Binnie, this is heaven. Heaven in bread form", you try to explain, stuffing your face with more, "you and flour boy are meant to be. Go to him, share it with him. Hyunjin loves milk bread", he says, stealing a bite from your roll first, "mmh not bad, not bad", he comments, taking a sip from your coffee too.

You make your way towards the back of the group, and patiently wait for Hyunjin to finish talking with Chan before attempting to shyly approach him, "milk bread?", you offer, holding your precious wrapped roll out for him to bite into. He lights up. He tears into the bread making the cutest, frowniest face and you giggle, "mmmh oh my god so good", he yawps, his arm wrapping around your shoulders as he leads you down the steep pavement, "hehe it's yummy, right?", Hyunjin nods and hands you back your food but you signal for him to finish it as you happily sip on your coffee, even offering him some too considering his cup is already empty, he gladly accepts and puckers his lips around the straw, the sight momentarily making your breath hitch in your throat. It's been a whole week since you last kissed him properly. You're having withdrawals.

"Coffee and milk bread. You really know how to take care of me, uh?", Hyunjin smirks at you and next thing you know he's pulling you inside a little souvenirs shop, dragging you towards a far off isle in the corner where you almost knock down all the tiny porcelain little tea cups and hand painted fans and cute colorful socks.

You erupt into loud giggles as he himself trips over the rug but manages to straighten himself out at last. You giggle and giggle until he's leaning in, his lips just inches away from you - "annyeonghaseyo. How can I help you today?". The clerk was so adorable and smiley both you and Hyunjin end up with a bag each full of gifts for your respective families. And deep red ears and blushy cheeks.

As the sunset bleeds into early night, you stop at a photobooth and take multiple pictures with everyone. Or you try to. You're just about to get back inside the booth with Hyunjin after Jeongin and Minho went in when Han gets so whiny and fussy from how tired he is that Chan has to drag everyone out and back on the road.

The last stop on your trip being a sightseeing one at Gwangandaegyo Bridge. The square is so crowded and bustling with people and lights and energy you feel so immensely grateful and lucky to be there with your friends.

Chan on one side and Changbin on the other, you loop your arms together and sincerely thank them, "I appreciate everything you two have been trying to do for me today! Thank you for making me feel so included and for looking out for me". Changbin grins at you and pokes your cheek, "I told you you were going to have a great time!", he exclaims while Chan just laughs, "I'm sorry this wasn't the most romantic thing for you and our Hyune but I'm sure seeing you so comfortable with all the boys and vice versa means a lot to him too", he nods toward the man of the hour, giggling and pointing at the colorful lights and taking pics with Felix. "Yeah, I hope so", you mumble, looking fondly at them.

You all take a few more pictures and decide to look for some street food for dinner before redirecting towards the train station, Chan winks at you as he calls up on all the guys and orderly leads them towards downtown, conveniently making sure you're in tow with Hyunjin.

You quietly walk next to each other, fingers interlocked, playfully bumping into each other every once in a while, "did you have fun today?", he asks, his eyes searching yours intently, "of course, I'm like so tired, but very happy! Busan is charming and the food is amazing, I couldn't have asked for more. Did you have fun? ", you reply earnestly and he nods, "mmh…I did. I liked seeing you happy",you smile bashfully and blush as he says that, which must give him some sort of an ego boost cause he looks so satisfied he bites down his lips and tugs at your hand when you refuse to keep eye contact with him. In the spur of the moment he bends down to kiss your cheek, sighing softly :"y/n would you… no wait… Can I be-", "HAN-AH NOT ON MY NEW SHOES".

Poor Hannie feeling sick all over Minho's shoes wasn't the perfect ending to your amazing day in Busan. The boy ate a little too much a little too fast and then washed it all down with too much iced coffee that's all. With all of your adrenaline levels down and the tiredness of the day catching up to you all, this time when you get back in the train nobody fights for the seat distribution.

You finally end up next to Hyunjin, who scrambles to fling himself on the faded blue leather seat next to the window and basically forces you to sit beside him while Seugmin and Jeongin sit across from you. It barely takes 2 minutes for the maknaes to fall asleep in their seats, their cute little heads atop of each other, sleepy, pouty faces so irresistible Hyunjin has to take a few sneaky pics.

Just as you did on your way there, you share earphones with the brunette, who also offers his shoulder for you to lean on as you feel so sleepy after the long day. The ache in your legs and your feet dissolving as you finally relax to the music playing in your ears and the comfort of the sweet guy next to you who clasps your hands together and breathes so softly as if he's afraid he's going to disturb your sleepy state.

Travelling into the night to the light hum of the train feels calming, a bit surreal even. You feel as if you're in a bit of a dream like state, the moonlight filters through the big window as the train speeds through miles upon miles of rail tracks, every single passanger on board either sleeping or quietly scrolling through their phones and you just feel so at peace, your eyes droopy and heavy but still refusing to completely give in to sleep.

"Y/n…are you sleeping?", Hyunjin calls out quietly for you. At first you're confused as to whether he is actually talking or the song currently playing in your ear is playing tricks on you, but when you lift your head up and meet his soft gaze and gentle smile, you're sure you're not just hallucinating. You blink a few times and shake your head slightly, "not sleeping yet", you murmur as your rub your eyes with your knuckles. Hyunjin visibly melts at that, you can see it in the way even in the dim light his eyes go all soft and crescent moon shaped as he smiles.

He hesitates a bit, as if he's mentally debating whether to further speak or not, and then he leans in and kisses you. Plump lips crushing into yours, a soft hum as he grazes your bottom lip with his teeth, your muffled gasping as his tongue explores your mouth. If this is a dream no one dare wake you up right now. That's all you can think.

"Can I be your boyfriend?". You pull away still breathless and confused. Your brain short circuiting from how much you've made out in the past few minutes. You look at him confusedly as he licks his lips and looks at you expectantly, you shake your head briefly and pull out the earphone still idly playing whatever song, "you-you.. What?", you stutter and he giggles, pecking your lips once more, "I said: can I be your boyfriend?". So you heard that right the first time. It wasn't just the absence of oxygen reaching your brain then. You squeal and squeak, almost waking up the sleepy heads in front of you, and then jump at Hyunjin's neck, almost crying as your repeat yourself over and over: "ohmyfreakinggod YES PLEASE!".

[sarahowritesostucky]

📖"The Taste of You"

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes

Word Count: 4002

Tags: Fresh AU, dark rom-com, dark!Bucky, pre-serum Steve, kidnapping, cannibalism, yandere/basement wife, meet cute-ish, gay sex n' stuff, ignoring of sexual boundaries, dub-con bordering on non-con, (mostly humorous) gore, (mostly humorous) body horror

Summary: Steve is so tired of the meat market that modern dating has become. Just when he's deleted all the apps and given up on ever finding Mr. Right, he meets the perfect guy at the grocery store.

A dark, cute, funny, fucked up, and very tasty love story.

It's a Fresh AU. "If you can't handle the cannibalism, get out of the kitchen" ... or something like that

10. Acquired Taste

Wait! I haven't read a previous chapter. Story Masterlist

Bucky:

Bucky typically has two avenues, when it comes to acquiring new product.

1) Conduct recon, establish a relationship with her/him (though usually her), lure to a secluded location, incapacitate (usually via roofies)

2) Conduct recon, stab & grab on site (needle, not knife—jesus he’s not a monster)

Each avenue presents its own advantages and risks. Relationships and dates take more time and work, they don’t guarantee he’ll get the access he needs, and he runs the risk of someone else in the victim’s life learning about him before they’re disappeared. Stab & grab is by far his preferred method, but he has to be extremely mindful of security footage. Everything’s recorded these days, and in a city like New York, people live in each other’s pockets. Which method Bucky chooses usually comes down to how isolated the candidate’s life is. Carlo made his pick for who Bucky’s got to pay him with, so Bucky drives into the city early Monday to begin his reconnaissance process on Erica Buccanetti. He spends that Monday through Wednesday 7am-10pm, learning all about her.

Erica is twenty-nine. She’s a short, white, “curvy” woman of middling education who works at the DMV. Her job alone makes her deserving of what she’s going to get, Bucky thinks. Erica works Monday through Friday, gets in at 8:55, eats lunch at her desk, and clocks out no later than 4:50 every day. Erica goes to a gym after work and runs on the treadmill until she looks miserable and exhausted. Erica takes the train home to her duplex in Alphabet City, where she has a cat and drinks wine and…

Bucky tosses his binoculars aside, exasperated. “Dammit.”

Erica has three housemates. Fuck.

He can’t do a stab & grab when there are roommates, certainly not three. It’s too risky. Now he’ll have to put in the extra effort to try and run into her somehow, strike up a conversation, get a date or three.

He puts the car in gear and speeds down the block, eager to get on the highway and get home to Steve. He tunes the radio to an 80’s station he likes and taps out the beat as he navigates traffic.

This is the last time, he swears to himself, the absolute last time he lets a client pick their target. It’s too much pressure on Bucky, having to succeed with that one specific girl. Better to have a handful of potentials going, scoop up the one who makes herself the easiest victim. It’s not like most of them don’t do a bang up job of it.

Twenty-some years of “stranger danger” and true crime shows are usually enough to cement the “it won’t happen to me” mindset. Sometimes they’ll even find the right moment to throw out a lame, faux-suspicious “You’re not a serial killer, right?—haha just kidding!”

Bucky thinks it’s a hoot. Obviously these bitches don’t follow the eastern principle of karma.

Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday nights, he gets in very late, after midnight. But he still pops down to check on Steve. He brings them both a drink, hands Steve his, then slides down the far wall to sit. “Ugh.”

“How was your day, honey?” Steve asks. Sarcastically, but at least he’s making jokes.

“Long,” Bucky says, tipping back his old fashioned. They both like them. Maybe it’s become one of their things. “So for this payment, I let Carlo pick his girl,” he says, letting his eyes slip closed as he rolls out the tight muscles in his neck. “Stupid.” Steve is quiet for a long time, and Bucky suspects he’s staring at him. He doesn’t open his eyes to find out. “What?”

“Nothing,” Steve says. “Just … wondering about the logistics of it, I guess.” He’s quiet for another long moment, the ice clinking in his glass telling Bucky when he takes another sip, and then another. “So … are you bi?”

Bucky opens his eyes. “What?”

Steve shrugs. “You date them to get to them. Does that mean you’re into women?”

“Well …” Bucky is, but … “I prefer men,” he says. “By far. But the clients want women, so that’s what I supply. It’s pretend, Steve.”

“Mm.”

Bucky narrows his eyes, sensing Steve’s judgment and not liking it. “I pretend to date them. Briefly. If I have to.”

Steve shrugs and looks away dismissively. “Seems kind of mean, to me.”

“It’s not!” Bucky scowls, straightening up from where he’s been sitting slumped against the wall. “I’m totally nice to them!”

Steve snorts. “Yeah, until you start harvesting their parts for food.”

Bucky glares at him. “Maybe we shouldn’t talk about this.”

“Yeah maybe we shouldn’t.” Steve sniffs and looks away. “Not exactly great to hear all about how my boyfriend’s a serial killer.”

Bucky brightens up some at the word ‘boyfriend’. “I’m not, you know. A serial killer.”

Steve’s eyebrows raise sky high. “Oh really? So what would you call it when you kill people, ya know, serially?”

“I don’t get a thrill out of murdering them,” Bucky insists. “I keep them alive as long as I can.”

“I’m sure they appreciate that so much.”

“I keep them comfortable!” Bucky defends. “This is a nice place! I give them gourmet food, they’re on tons of pain meds. They don’t feel a thing.” Steve isn’t even looking at him now, and Bucky’s mood sinks. “... They’re not nice people, Steve,” he says darkly. "They deserve a hell of a lot less than what I afford them.” He watches Steve for a reaction, but doesn’t get one.

Steve just tosses back the end of his drink and fishes out the cherry. He pulls it off the stem with his teeth, chewing it while staring Bucky down. “Done,” he says, pushing the glass in Bucky’s direction.

It’s like he’s saying the conversation’s done too. Bucky sighs and shoves up to standing. He goes over and picks the glass up and gives Steve a long, rueful look. “Eileen,” he eventually says.

“What?”

“The woman in the other room." He nods out towards the hallway. “The one you saw. Her name was Eileen. And that’s whose kidney I had for dinner the other night.” Steve’s eyes widen a little, and Bucky smiles placidly. “Yeah. Good old Eileen. She was thirty two you know. Divorced but seeing someone new. She had a daughter. Cute kid: Tracy. She’s like, seven, eight? Has freckles and pigtails, likes Pokémon.” Bucky shrugs, then lets the mild expression slide right off his face. “Eileen was letting the new boyfriend rape her.” He gets satisfaction from the way that Steve’s eyes widen further and his lips part without a comeback. “Hm, yeah.” Bucky throws back the end of his drink and crunches down on the pieces of ice that float into his mouth. “So, Steve, when I tell you that you really shouldn’t feel bad for these people? You really shouldn’t.”

He turns and leaves before Steve can think of any other arguments. It’s good, Bucky thinks. It’ll give him time to think. Bucky didn’t come to grips with all of this overnight, after all. He can’t expect Steve to, either.

Steve:

In the basement, Steve has lots of time to think. In fact that’s all he does other than sleep. He thinks about the chances of anybody ever finding him here, figures they’re probably low. Bucky’s done this before, maybe dozens of times. He knows how to get away with it. Steve thinks a lot about that, about how there are a bunch of rich as fuck cannibals out in the world, just existing and merrily eating people. How Bucky eats people and thinks that it’s totally fine. How he likes the taste of eating people. It’s nuts.

Steve does wonder, sometimes. What’s it taste like? He feels halfway sick with himself when the thought occurs, but it does occur. It must taste good, he thinks, to warrant such effort and risk. It must taste really damned good. At least to Bucky and his rich friends it does. Steve is sure he’ll never find out for himself. He wouldn’t be able to stomach it.

He thinks about the women who came before him, about how they must’ve felt, trapped down here while Bucky slowly sold off their meat. How many have there been? Steve wonders. And what were their crimes that got them sentenced to this? How did Bucky know they were bad? Steve can’t figure it out, but he also can’t forget what Bucky told him so seriously about Eileen the other night. It sits in his mind, coloring his memory differently. Now when he thinks of Eileen lying on the floor of her cell, begging him for help, he doesn’t feel as much pity for her as he used to. He doesn’t feel as much horror when he remembers her limbless torso wriggling pathetically under the sheet.

Bucky could be lying of course, just making it up so that Steve will accept him more readily. But somehow Steve doesn’t think so. Bucky’d had this look in his eyes when he said it. He’d looked vindictive, and vindicated. Steve shivers as he remembers it. Bucky truly does not have any compunctions about what he does, and he expects Steve to come around to it. Steve doesn’t think he can do that. He’s just hoping against hope that he can pretend long enough to convince Bucky. Long enough until he can get his chance for escape and take it.

He thinks about Carlo, working on the cell down the hallway. Steve doesn’t see him much at all, just hears the sounds of his tools whirring, the smell of fresh wood being sawed, concrete being poured, him taking a piss in one of the other cells' toilets every few hours.

At first Steve does wonder what he might be able to say to try and entice the man to help him escape. But he settles on a big fat nothing. There’s nothing Steve could offer him to get him to take that risk, no way. And it’d be too big a gamble to try anyways. He doesn’t want Carlo to alert Bucky to his attempts at scheming, which Bucky warned Carlo would do if Steve acted up. So Steve keeps his mouth shut when the man arrives and departs each day.

Carlo doesn’t say anything to him. He probably figures that Steve’s dead meat anyway.

Steve considers that maybe he is, and Bucky’s just lying to him to keep him calm. Maybe Bucky tells all the women that they have a chance for survival, if only they’re good and don’t act up.

It’s fucked, but Steve imagines Bucky doing it—taking little pieces from him until there’s nothing left to do but put an end to him. He imagines Bucky kissing him lovingly, then injecting something into his veins and harvesting his internal organs. He imagines Bucky working in the attractive kitchen upstairs; humming a tune, cutting Steve up, pan searing his kidneys and eating them with a Beaujolais.

Steve wonders if he’d taste any different than everyone else Bucky’s ever eaten. Probably not.

Stringy, he thinks, looking down and assessing his arms and legs and torso with a novel sort of appreciation. Steve’s so thin and so tough, he’d probably make a horrible meal.

Bucky:

He plans it out meticulously, just like he always does. But even after all these years (fifteen, to be exact) he still gets that nervous feeling every time he makes his move. Stab & grabs don’t get to him nearly as much. Those are easy, impersonal. It’s the women he has to introduce himself to and flirt with and feign interest in and good intentions for that cause the nerves. He’d call them butterflies, but that seems cruel to compare his meet/capture/kill nerves to first date nerves. When he met Steve, it was a whole other feeling. What he’s about to do now isn’t the same, it’s not innocent like that, and he doesn’t need to pretend that it is.

Bucky knows he’s actually like, the perfect guy for this. He’s good looking and a natural flirt, excellent at making conversation and getting people to like him and to want to open up to him. Women tend to feel instinctively safe around him, so normally he’s guaranteed success in the “meet cute” department. It’s just that ... well …

He’s getting on in age these days, alright? He’s a—very damn handsome—37 years old now, and unfortunately for him, his clients’ tastes tend to stay the same, meaning the pervy old leches keep wanting their women rare at 20-ish. Bucky still has a very high success rate, but there’ve been a few college-aged girls who he approached wrong and they turned their noses up at him.

But he dyes his greys now, okay? He does the whole skincare regime, does Botox (conservatively—he’s got taste). And he’s learned to dumb himself down a bit when he’s going after the younger ones; talk a little smoother, a little less cultured, dress more age-appropriate. Turtlenecks apparently send off the wrong vibe. Unless the girl is into the whole Daddy thing, then it works in his favor.

Anyway, it’s not that big of an issue. All he has to do is flash his car or casually wear a Rolex on a date and even the most dimwitted or discerning potentials fall all over him. Bucky could give straight guys lessons, he swears.

He drives into the city wearing joggers and sneakers and a too-tight tee shirt, hair artfully tousled and earbuds draped around his neck in show. He goes into the gym, into the locker room, spritzes water around his hairline and the neck of his tee shirt, then bumps into her outside—when she’s on her way in, not out. No woman feels sexy after a workout (at least not the kind Erica is torturing herself with)—and exclaims in concern when she stumbles. Ohmygod, I’m so sorry! He grabs her forearm and lets the other hand brush over her waist as he “makes sure she doesn’t fall”. Are you okay?

Her eyes catch on his smile and his biceps right away, so Bucky's confidence is bolstered. He spends the next twelve minutes flirting with her, telling her his name (James), and how glad he is that he at least bumped into the prettiest girl at the gym (not true). Her eyes light up when he mentions that he’s a doctor, and shortly after that he’s typing his burner cell number into her phone. I put myself down as ‘handsome stranger whom you’re definitely gonna call’.

She titters at his joke and smiles, obviously tickled pink as they’re saying goodbye. “Yeah. I’ll um, I’ll call you. Maybe we could meet up for drinks or something?”

“Great!” Bucky shoots her a wink to seal the deal and jogs off down the block. He stops once he’s around the corner and starts walking at a normal pace back to his car. He hums a tune to himself, pleased at how easy that’d been. Now he can get home and probably not have to go out again until Saturday. If Erica’s as easy as he thinks she is, he shouldn’t have to go on many, if any, other dates.

Steve:

“Hey.” Bucky knocks on the doorframe as he slides it open. He steps in, head tilted, cautious smile playing at his lips.

Unfairly handsome, Steve thinks. Those women don’t stand a chance. “Hey.”

“I was hoping you’d still be awake. Wanted to say goodnight.”

“You get her number?” Steve asks. Because he knows that’s what today was—bump into Erica day.

Bucky seems wary, but he comes in and engages anyway. Steve almost feels bad for him. “Yeah,” Bucky says, toeing at the carpet. “Taking her out on Saturday.”

Steve rolls his eyes, scoffing. “‘Taking her out’, yeah.” He sees the hurt flash across Bucky’s face though, and feels bad about it. Ridiculous, but he still feels bad. “Sorry,” he mumbles, looking away. What else is he supposed to say? I understand? He can’t say that when Bucky’s holding him prisoner in his basement. Steve’s literally chained to the floor right now.

He sighs again, disappointed. He’s never been so disappointed in anything in his life. He fucking aches with it. Enough to cry, sometimes, if he thinks enough about Bucky’s smile over a martini glass, his bad dance moves in Steve’s apartment, his body in Steve’s bed. What they'd had together, how it'd felt like they were building something, something to look forward to. Steve bites his tongue so he doesn’t start tearing up when Bucky’s standing there. He doesn’t want to look like another weak victim, even though he knows he is. “You seemed like such a nice guy,” he murmurs, not looking at him.

Bucky comes over and kneels down in front of him. He looks so sad. “Hey,” he says softly, reaching out to palm the side of Steve’s face. He hums when Steve lets his eyes slip closed and leans into it.

Crazy, what a little bit of isolation will make you feel, Steve thinks.

“I miss you, Steve. I promise you this isn’t going to last forever.” When Steve just breathes silently, Bucky strokes his thumb over his cheek. Steve shivers. “Hey, would you want to go on a date with me?”

Steve’s eyes open. “What?”

Bucky smiles softly. “A date. You’ve been so good this whole time, and I miss you.” He leans forward and pecks a kiss to his lips. It’s brief, but it still makes Steve’s lips tingle. “I miss spending time with you.” Bucky’s eyes flick over his face. “So how about it, huh? You want to come up and just hang out one night? I can make us something. We’ll have drinks, maybe watch a movie?”

Steve blinks, feeling so odd at being asked a question like that. One of the things he thinks about to pass the time is what he and Bucky might be doing right now, in their new relationship, if Steve hadn’t opened the basement door. “A movie?” he repeats softly. The idea of getting to leave this boring room for anything is tempting. Steve wants to escape of course, but even if he knew he couldn’t, he still thinks it’d be nice to get to do something. Even if it’s with Bucky. “Yeah,” he breathes, hopeful. He hasn’t been allowed upstairs in days, not since he took a shower. “M-maybe I could …” he cuts himself off, remembering how Bucky had taken advantage of the last time, how he’d touched him. And Steve was weak. He’d let him do it.

“Maybe what?” Bucky asks, looking so kind. He always does, like he’s just a kind, caring guy who also happens to keep Steve chained in his basement. “Steve? What were you going to say?”

Steve smiles and shakes his head. “Mm, nevermind.” He doesn’t need a shower. “Nothing.”

Bucky seems unhappy about whatever Steve’s not saying, but he doesn’t press him any further. He takes a deep breath and stands back up. “I won’t be out so late anymore,” he tells him. “Just a trip or two more to the city. You can have your real meals back again, no more of this junk food.”

Steve nods. Bucky’s left him with plenty of snacks these past few days, but Steve has missed the hot meals. He’s missed seeing Bucky three times a day, even missed the attention Bucky gives him when he’s eating. “Okay,” he says.

Bucky stands there for a long minute, staring at him. Steve keeps his eyes on the carpet but he can feel the weight of Bucky’s gaze. Eventually he hears Bucky sigh, then leave through the door. Steve looks up to try and catch sight of him on the way out, but he’s already moved on down the hall.

That night Steve falls asleep thinking about what it’ll be like, once there’s another person in the basement with him.

Bucky:

Bucky meets her for the aforementioned drinks. He’s dressed nicely, in a black button down and slacks and nice shoes. He wears the Rolex, because Erica’s got three housemates so flashing his wealth at her can’t hurt. He greets her with a smile and a hug at the bar, and they both settle in and order their drinks. Bucky asks her about her life, quickly figures out that she’s body conscious and makes sneaky little comments about how he likes a woman that doesn’t slip right through his fingers. She eats that shit up, and before Bucky knows it, she’s excusing herself for the bathroom and leaving her third cocktail behind.

Too fucking easy.

Bucky picks up both their drinks and informs the bartender that they’ll be moving over to that table in the dark corner over there. The bartender gives him a nod, and Bucky nods back. He can’t have the guy seeing it, when he slips the roofie in her drink.

He’s learned to crush them up into a Splenda packet. It masks the bitterness and then if he does get caught, it just looks like he’s sweetening the drink. Erica returns from the restroom and he flags her down to their new spot. “More privacy,” he purrs at her, and she giggles and sits down next to him.

They continue to flirt and talk about pithy little topics until he can tell that she’s starting to feel the effects. “Hey,” he says, not wanting her to be stumbling before they leave the bar. “I know this is fast but… I dunno, I just really like you.” He says it all bashful, like he’s embarrassed of himself, and she eats that up, too. “Would you maybe wanna go back to my place? We could have another drink, talk and listen to some music, or…”

He trails off, and she gives him an enthusiastic, “Sure, okay!” sloppy at the edges from how the drugs are creeping into her system now. She hasn’t realized it yet. Bucky has to get her out of this public place before she does.

“Great,” he says, smiling. He offers her his arm like a gentleman (and to make sure she’s steady enough on her feet to not draw attention), and she simpers and holds onto him and they head out. Bucky sees her recognizing the type of car that he drives as he opens the door for her and she gets in. She tucks her lips in like she’s trying to keep herself from outright grinning, which makes Bucky chuckle as he slides into the driver’s side and shuts his door. “Buckle up,” he tells her sweetly. “Wouldn’t want anything to happen to you.”

She giggles and obeys, and Bucky thinks about how she’ll probably be so easy, in the basement. Girls like her just want to be loved and approved of so badly. She’ll probably go from the Depression stage to Acceptance so fast, it’ll make his head spin. He’s glad. It’s always easiest for those girls. They suffer the least. And despite the fact that Bucky knows about Erica and her little brother who died under “suspicious circumstances” in 2009, he still doesn’t want to torture her. He’s not a sadist.

He’s karma.

She’s still conscious when they get on the highway, enough to look out the window and make a cute little confused noise. “Mm. You said your place’sin Tr’becca?” she slurs.

Bucky smiles and pats her hand. “Yeah. But I’m taking you somewhere else.”

It’s cute, how she pouts and tries to protest that. Bucky’s almost tempted to say something right then and there. But he doesn’t. He always likes to save the Big Reveal for when they’re settled in their rooms and fully sober. He likes to have a drink in hand, be relaxed in something comfortable. Really settle in for the show.

“Just close your eyes,” he soothes her, watching her fade out. “We’ll be there soon.” She passes out and Bucky smirks, thinking about how she’s about to get hers.

Because Karma’s not a bitch.

It’s a plastic surgeon who likes to cook.

Story Masterlist

Masterlist

💖To be added to any of my tag lists, please use This form (it's easy!)

🍵Consider tipping your friendly neighborhood starving artist smut author!

✍🏻Commissions: reach out via Tumblr DM or contact here

@scottishrosefury

@not-that-syndrigast

@lolitsbuckybarnes

@kathy-2005

@stuckysgal

@thenewmissescullen

@sapphirebarnes

@Yoruse

@autumnrose40

@alexakeyloveloki

@gretasimp

@kandismom

@ivoryangel1290

@mrs-rogers-barnes1

@iloveshawnieboi

@m0k0k0

@sousydive

@sapphirebarnes

@kandis-mom

@juicyfruit-22

@bloodrosefuryao3

@laylamikaelsonbarnes

@leighta

@drfellow

@era

@smlmsworld

@mrsstuckyboo

[rand0mfangurlstuff]

Sing Yourself to Sleep - Bucky x Y/N - Part Seven - Adore You

Something about this chapter was so so hard to write. I wanted them to have a beautful day together where they could be free to act like a real couple, because shit is going to hit the fan soon. Loosely inspired by Adore You by Harry Styles

'We're going to London Major, together.'

Bucky was certain someone had given him too much pain meds and he was hallucinating. Seeming to notice his confusion and shock she continued; 'I told Bertie I wanted to go to London to buy some new ingreedients for baking. Said that I could use some time away from the base. He wasnt sure about me going on my own but then I subtly reminded him that there were a few servicemen travelling to London this weekend and I'm sure they would be happy to escort me.' 'And I certaintly will.' he said, eyes beaming. It took all his self control not to kiss her right there.

Two days later they were boarding the train. It was just Y/N, Bucky and a young Lieutenant. Colonel Clarke had escorted them to the station. 'Now Egan, you are on leave for the weekend, but I trust that you will still do your gentlemanly duty and make sure my wife makes it to and from London safely.' the Colonel spoke while fetching Y/N's bags from the car. 'Of course sir, wouldn't want anything happening to my dancing partner.' he shot her a wink, which she tried to ignore. 'Yes, perhaps you might find a dance hall to attend some evening, if you don't have any other plans Egan?' Before Bucky could speak Y/N cut in 'Oh Bertie I'm sure the Major has other things he would rather be doing during his time off. Besides, I'll be tired after frequenting the wholesalers I told you about.' 'Well don't you go too crazy, only so much room in that kitchen.' he said with a laugh. He pulled out some money from his wallet, 'Here, get yourself something nice. You deserve it.' He kissed her on the cheek, which she resiprocated. 'Thank you Bertie.' The Colonel took one last look at his wife and said 'Enjoy your trip. I love you.' 'I love you too dear.' she said it, struggling to meet his eyes.

Bucky watched the interaction with a mixture of guilt and disgust. They never said I love you to eachother. He wasn't even sure if she felt that way about him. They quickly bundled into the train and Bucky felt a sigh of relief. Finally alone. The lieutenant, Connors, Bucky thinks, is quite a quiet fellow and shouldn't pose much of a disturbance. He guided Y/N into one of the carriages, they sat opposite eachother, Bucky leaning across the table. 'Finally, I have you all to myself.' He grinned, his foot sliding up her leg under the table. 'Easy tiger, we're not in London yet.' she giggled.

When they arrived in London, they made quick work of getting into their hotel and checking in. They had obviously been booked into seperate rooms, but luckily they were just across the hall from eachother. Y/N took some time to freshen up, but it wasn't long before Bucky was knocking at her door. As soon as she opened it she was attached with kisses from Bucky. He pushed her into the room, kissing her as he backed her towards the bed. In between passionate kisses he spoke; 'Thank..god... I can finally...kiss you...properly.' She kissed him back, giggling between kisses. He pushed her onto the bed. She laughed as her body hit the mattress. He climbed on top of her. 'I've thought about this endlessly.' He started kissing her neck, working his way to her chest. Before he could get to work on her clothes, she pushed him away. 'Bucky, we cant right now.'

Bucky was confused, if there was ever a moment he could undress her it was right now. She noticed his confusion. 'I have to go shopping remember? Stores will be closed tomorrow.' 'Shopping? You want to spend our weekend away shopping?' She brought me here to kill me, surely. 'Bucky I told Bertie the reason I was coming here was because I had to buy stuff for the kitchen. I can't arrive back to base empty handed...I'll go shopping, and then we can go for a nice dinner.' she said. Bucky liked the sound of that, a real date out in the open. 'Sounds good to me doll. I'll come shopping with you. Help you carry your bags. I don't want to waste a single moment of this weekend by not being with you.'

A few hours of blissfully walking through the streets of London and purchasing baking supplies went by in a flash. When they were on the way back to the hotel, Y/N saw a beautiful red dress in the window of a boutique. Albert did say to treat myself.. She knew it was wrong, using his money to buy a dress to impress another man, but nothing about what she was doing was right. So why stop now.

They parted ways for a few moments when they arrived back at the hotel, both wanting the opportunity to rest and freshen up. Bucky didnt have much freshening up to do, he just splashed some water on his face, fixed his hair and put on some more colonge. Y/N meanwhile fixed her hair, put on some more makeup and changed into her new dress. She felt beautiful. She felt like she was being taken out on a real date, like this was actually her real life and not some play pretend weekend. She felt guilty too, Albert always in the back of her mind. Her thoughts were shaken from her head when there was a knock on the door.

Bucky was speechless. She was always beautiful, the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. But in that dress, she was magnificent. 'Wow' was all he managed to say. Y/N's cheeks turned the same colour as her dress. 'You like it?' she asked. 'Like it? Wow doll... You're breath taking.' 'You're not so bad yourself Major.' she winked. He kissed her on the cheek, 'Oh you smell good.' she said to Bucky. He laughed 'Not for long doll, I'm probably starting to sweat. Looking at you in that dress is getting me hot under the collar.' She smacked his chest playfully as they walked down the hall.

He had found a quiet little restaurant for them to go to. They sat at a small table tucked away in the corner, just as he had asked. They drank wine, ate lovely food, listened to the band playing in the corner, and talked. That's one thing they didnt get to do often, was really talk. They talked about their childhoods, their lives back home, even simple things like favourite colours and movies. They talked and talked, almost forgetting about their food. When the restaurant was closing, the found a little pub with a band in full swing. Bucky took her out on the floor to dance, but soon after they were tucked away in a corner, his arm around her and her head on his shoulder as they talked about their hopes and dreams.

When the end of the night came, they went into her room. Standing in the middle of the hotel room, there wasnt much talking, they had said everything they needed to. He kissed her, slow and passionate, tasting every inch of her mouth. Her hands went from his chest to his tie, slowly undoing it. His arms roamed her body, appreciating every inch of her. He broke the kiss, looking down at her, she was beautiful in every way. 'Let me make love to you.' He whispered. He undid the buttons on her dress, letting it fall at her feet. She undid his shirt while he worked on her undergarments. Before long, he was just in his trousers and she was bare before him. He gently pushed her to lay back on the bed, for a moment he just looked at her. 'I adore you.' he said, so quiet she barely heard him.

He undid his trousers, released himself from his boxers and crawled on top of the bed. He kissed his way up her legs, his mustache tickling her skin. He reached the apex of her thighs, placing kisses on her hip bones. He placed his thumb between her folds, finding that bundle of nerves that would send her wild. She moaned out his name, making him even harder than he already was. It didn't take much for Bucky to have her shaking through her orgasm. When she settled from her high, he crawled up he body, kissing her the whole way until he got to her lips. 'You okay doll?' he asked while kissing her cheeks. 'Yes, I want you.' she said breathlessly. 'You have me, always.' And it was true, she would always have him, but he knew thats not what she meant. She grabed his hard member in her small hand, bucking her hips up to meet his tip. He moaned at the friction. 'I want you.' she said. With that he kissed her, a messy, breathless kiss of two people in the throws of passion. He positioned himself at her entrance, looking her in the eye as he thrust into her.

Their moans mingled together into a symphony of pleasure. He wanted to go slowly, savour every moment, but it was difficult when it felt so good and her walls were clenching around him. He was close, but trying to hold back untill she reached her climax. She was close too, enjoying the feeling of him inside her. 'Oh yes,...oh..oh John.' John. Hearing her moan his name, his real name, sent him over the edge. It was the most beautiful sound from the most beautiful woman. They met their climaxes together, and as they fell Bucky looked into her eyes 'I love you Y/N' he said. It was the first time he had ever said it. She looked at him, eyes wide, suprise written on her face. Then she smiled, 'I love you too John.'

[fyodoro]

Hiii I’ve seen you writing younger sibling stuff and it was amazing!

So I thought about requesting the Tenmas with younger sibling!reader that has really low energy and doesn’t show much emotions, hence the complete opposite of Tenmas.

Sorry if I made this complicated and thank you for your writing ❤️

-> 𝐑𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐆𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐬 𝐁𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐁𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐬

The Tenmas are one of the kindest most upbeat family anyone could find. Not fitting into this expectation came with plenty of cons…

I took this request that could have been the sweetest thing ever and made it as depressing as I could in the moment.

TWs) suicide implications at the end (ending is up for interpretation), isolation, self sabotage, strained family ties

Platonic!Tsukasa Tenma & Saki Tenma

Part 2 here

You couldn’t tell anyone or even yourself why you were always so exhausted, you simply didn’t know. Those energetic genes didn’t bless you like they did Saki and Tsukasa. It made you feel slightly outcasted, but only slightly.

Just a bit, and only a bit.

If you looked at a family photo of the Tenmas, you’d be the last person anyone would notice. Your expression blank and solemnly staring into the camera lenses, it wasn’t creepy per day, but rather unpleasant. Tsukasa and Saki’s bright, shining smiles only put you in the shadows of that picture.

But it’s okay, you still have your siblings by your side.

Until they aren’t.

Tsukasa and you were always so close as children, spending much time together due to Saki’s hospitalization and parents that were never home, you guys always had each other’s backs.

Until you didn’t.

Tsukasa’s dream of becoming a star is one you always silently supported, not knowing how to express it the right way. This lead to several misunderstandings, that you didn’t care at all about his aspirations. Although brought up like a joke, your reaction wasn’t helping your case. You didn’t say a word or give any reassurance, all you did was look away.

“(Name), do you really think my dream is dumb?”

Hurt was laced in Tsukasa’s voice, his face expressing doubt and betrayal. But yours? Nothing.

“I don’t think it’s dumb.”

“Just forget it (Name), I’m leaving now. See you later.”

You weren’t sure what you did wrong, but you knew you wouldn’t be able to find out. You didn’t have the nerve to ask.

That’s when you and Tsukasa grew distant.

You couldn’t wait for Saki to be discharged, for good this time. You’re dear sister whom you’ve barley seen, you can finally get to know her better.

You will get to know her better, right?

When she finally returned home, you smiled. A real smile. Saki was overjoyed to be home with her siblings again, ready to spend more time with the two of you. But it didn’t go as she hoped, not at all.

You were too drained to keep up with Saki’s energy, only being able to watch and listen. All you gave her were nods and “oh wow”’s. In your mind, this was letting her know you were still listening. But in Saki’s, it made her feel ignored by you. She thought she was only bothering you, and quietly excused herself.

“Trouble with (Name)?”

“Tsukasa! Um, I wouldn’t say trouble.. just awkwardness. You know them, they don’t do much.”

“Tell me about it…”

If your brother and sister we’re gonna talk about you, they could at least not talk in front of your door where you can clearly hear them. Is that what they think? You don’t do much? You make everything awkward?

They didn’t get it, they never could understand. They can connect with anyone, make anyone smile. It’s in their blood. But why isn’t it in yours?

Maybe it’s better if you distance yourself from the family. If you do make everything worse like they say, then it’s for the better.

It’s for the better.

They won’t notice.

That brings you to the present state your in. Alone at the train station. You didn’t have anywhere to be, or anywhere to go. You were just there in the night alone watching the city lights glow.

It was ironic, the view perfectly fit you. A dark abounded looking station across a bright colorful city. You could see it perfectly, but could never reach it while the lights are still colorful.

No one noticed you leave the house, so you doubt anyone will notice if you enter the house.

Maybe it wasn’t for the better.

[improvised-finish]

Is your character particularly philosophical? Have they ever pondered the way of the world and their place in it, for better or worse? Are they happy with where they're at or do they aspire to change things? What thoughts keep them awake at night when they're trying to sleep?

"Philosophical? Don't know if I'd go that far, but sure, I've thought about the way things are in general and the way my life has gone. When your partners are both esteemed scholars it's kinda hard not to get around to talking about that kind of stuff eventually." She laughs, her pride in her partners showing through.

"Even before I was in a relationship, though, I'd spent time thinking about how I should use the overwhelmingly large amount of power that had been placed on my shoulders. I think I was such an ardent pacifist early in my journey almost as a reaction to it. It was a small way to resist that fate, I guess. A way to say that even if I was forced to become a weapon, I would not take lives indiscriminately." She looks down and to the side, trying to figure out how exactly to continue. "Unfortunately, I pretty quickly had to learn that pacifism can only go so far. I still believe in it, in the broad strokes. I aim to incapacitate if it can be helped, but being on the front lines against a foe who will not hesitate to take your life in the blink of an eye... hardens you, if that makes sense."

"But back to the question: my place in the world. It's never really the same for too long, I've found. I've been a weapon to be wielded, then a symbol for liberation, then a beacon of salvation, and now just a citizen of Eorzea. I think I'm happy with where I am now, but there were many points along the way where I had to figure out how to change, how to become myself. Fortunately I'm surrounded by partners and friends who've been there to help and support me as I do, and now I think I've found a 'me' that's comfortable, so to speak. Beyond the titles and all that, I just want to be known as someone who wants to help, and I think I've managed that."

"As for what keeps me up at night... Mostly irrational fears. Losing the people who mean so much to me. Not being able to be there to help when it's needed. Being too late to save anyone. Some of these were things that we confronted when we battled against Meteion's song of oblivion, but... I think there's still some small shred of worry inside me somewhere, even though we overcame it in the end. I don't know. I guess I fear being alone most of all. That isolation kept me from becoming who I truly wanted to be for so long, even though it was somewhat self-imposed, and now that the day has been won and we can simply enjoy each other's company, it hurts to know that someday will be the very last day I'll spend with my partners, with my mother, with Beau and the rest of the Scions." She pauses, tearing up a bit at the memories of those she was unable to save. "I'm sorry, I just... Loss has never been a stranger in my life for too long, and I... well I wonder what it would be like if those people had survived. If Ysayle and Haurchefant had lived to see what became of Ishgard, to see humans and dragons joined to save the star. If Moenbryda and Papalymo had lived to learn all of Etheirys' many secrets. If Conrad had lived to breathe the air of a free Ala Mhigo. If Tesleen had lived to gaze upon on the beauty of the night sky, stars twinkling overhead. I try to carry their memories with me as I travel, to give them bits of the world they might've liked to see themselves, but it does get to me sometimes. That the good fortune to survive through all hardship can be a sword that cuts both ways."

"That reminds me of a moment that I'm not exactly proud of, but... it's better if I talk about it, I think. As kind of an example. When I'd first gone to Garlemald proper with the relief effort, we'd gone to offer aid to the survivors in one of the train stations, and been taken hostage for our troubles. Jullus, the young man who'd been given the responsibility of making us useful, eventually opened up to me about how he'd come home from his military duties to find his entire family tempered, and how he'd been forced to take their lives to ensure his own survival. It was a chilling story, and the prospect of something like that happening while I was gone haunted me. The first moment after we were no longer held captive, I fled. I couldn't handle the idea of coming home to my mother and finding her under the thrall of the towers. I ran back to camp, grabbed as many warding scales as I could carry, and teleported all the way to Gridania. I didn't stop running until I was on my mother's doorstep. I was a proper mess; to say my emotions got the better of me was an understatement. After she'd managed to get me to let go of her and take some deep breaths, I implored her to take the scales and give them to everyone she knew. To always carry them. She agreed to do it, thank the Twelve, and explaining what had happened when I got back to Camp Broken Glass was... uncomfortable, to say the least, but I just... couldn't let it happen to her too. Maybe that's selfish, that I stole some away for my own ends, but I couldn't bear the thought of having to turn on my own kin like that. I'd endure a thousand more awkward lectures from Lucia if it meant I never had to worry again." She takes a heavy breath, as if she had just run a malm. "It's why I try not to stray too far from those I care about, if I can help it. Leaving home has always felt difficult, and I imagine that fear is probably part of why. And that's also probably why getting to return home to share gifts and stories is my favorite part of my travels. It feels like closing the circle, completing the loop. It feels like a chord finally resolving in a piece of music. It feels like... well, home."

[some-creep]

<3 you guys don't care if I didn't read this next one right? Right of course not. And I did that thing again where scenes are not connected in ways that make sense. It's ok though because I like it.

########

"Remind me, again, why you're making me drive all the way back to Calamari County?" Marie asked, if only to keep herself awake as she stared at the horizon of a never ending road to nowhere.

Callie had her hand out the open window, flexing her fingers up and down to "surf" along the air currant.

"Callie."

"Huh? You say something?" Callie pulled her hand back in, looking over at Marie, who diligently did not look at her.

"Why couldn't we take the train?"

"No fun."

"And this is fun?" Marie gestured towards the windshield at the sea of rolling green hills that all started to blur together after a while.

Callie thought for a moment, looking out the passenger side window. "Well, we don't have to worry about anyone taking our picture or bothering us and stuff. Just me and you."

"Oh. Yeah I guess."

She was quiet for a while, staring out the window. Their trip was almost over, and soon they'd be arriving at her parents house. Marie had convinced her it was a good idea, but she was starting to doubt it.

Callie's parents didn't know she'd been abducted, and they sure as hell didn't know what she was up to during that time. They didn't know anything about their actual time spent as Agent 1 and Agent 2, to her parents, she and Marie were just playing pretend.

She did find it odd that her parents didn't know anything about the new Squidbeak, maybe Marie's did, but she didn't talk about her parents. That was also odd. Even growing up, Callie had rarely seen them, and she couldn't remember spending any time at Marie's house.

All that mattered was her parents would be happy to see her after all this time. She'd been neglecting going home, and she knew her parents missed her. At least, that's what Marie had assured her of. She couldn't deny she felt a little guilty about what she'd really been up to.

Callie's parents weren't overly traditional, they'd been supportive of her unusual career choice, of her moving out to the big city, of her staying with Marie, but there was always the expectation she'd one day stop all of that and find a nice boy to settle down with. One she wasn't related to. Marie had similar expectations placed on her, but the moment she moved out was the moment her parents stopped caring about what happened to her. If they ever really cared before.

"Y'know, Cal?"

Callie jumped at Marie's voice, head snapping to look at her. "Huh?"

"I was just thinking about how, uh, this is my .. Our? First time seeing your folks since. Uh. Y'know."

"Since I got kidnapped?"

"Well, that too. But no. Since we…started dating? I guess you can say." Marie wrung her hands on the steering wheel, glancing at Callie to see if she could catch her reaction. No luck.

"Is that why you look all fancy?"

Marie blushed. "No! Not exactly. I just wanted them to think I was well put together and trustworthy and responsible so they wouldn't have to worry about you living with me!"

"You mean~ like a boyfriend?"

She shook her head, electing not to answer. Yes like that but no definitely not like that because if anyone thought like that they'd be in trouble. Marie wanted the perks of being seen as a worthy partner with none of the baggage. She wasn't getting either.

Eventually, the endless waves of green gave way to several small buildings dotting the horizon, then the sides of the road as they rolled into town. Buildings that hadn't been updated in decades with dusty old signs and peeling paint on the outside. Gravel parking lots and unpaved side roads. The gas station Marie worked at for a summer. The corner store she and Callie would go to after school to buy candy whenever they had spare change. The street that led to a deadend, and beyond that an abandoned scrapyard where they'd meet up in the middle of the night. It wasn't much, but it was home.

And Marie absolutely hated it.

—-----

She still remembered the road to Callie's house just as well as she remembered how to get to their apartment in Inkopolis. Even though she avoided going back to Calamari County as much as she could, she still remembered it like she'd visited only yesterday. Sure, it helped that there were only a few roads to go down anyway, but in her mind it was just so familiar.

They pulled into the driveway that sported the exact same cracks as it did when they were both children. Callie had offered them money to fix it, if they wanted, but they were quick to turn it down. Nothing about the house had changed at any point that Marie could remember. Same off-yellow exterior, same bushes with sharp prickles ready to scratch the unsuspecting person trying to play around them, same dirty screen door bent at the bottom with a small hole in the upper right corner of the mesh that they'd fix sooner or later.

The front door opened, and Callie was quick to bolt from the car to greet her mom, Marie's Aunt Charlie, though she rarely referred to her in conversation as anything other than 'your mom'. She was short, even by Inkling standards, with long black tentacles not too dissimilar from Callie's tied on top of her head. Marie wondered if it was done in an attempt to make her look taller.

Callie was hugging her, perhaps already forgetting why she was anxious to begin with, or perhaps she was distracted by the smell of freshly baked cookies coming from inside the house. Aunt Charlie usually only baked for holidays and special occasions, but this was, in a way, a special occasion.

Marie took a deep breath, turning off the car and popping open the trunk. She needed to get their bags out, and it didn't look like Callie was going to be much help. She wondered how Callie had possibly packed so much stuff for a short weekend trip. Was she planning on moving back in? She tried to lift the suitcase with one hand and frowned.

"Hey, roller main, get your butt over here and do the heavy lifting!" Marie looked around the car to see that Callie was already long gone inside of the house. Great.

Her aunt had noticed, stepping off the porch and across the lawn to help her with the bags. Marie muttered an awkward little thank you, feeling like she really should have been able to handle all of this on her own. Strike one against her definitely not boyfriend but something like it but not in a weird way credibility card.

"Marie, have you gotten taller?" She asked, reaching up to rub the top of Marie's head without bothering to ask.

Marie forced a smile, "I… don't think so?"

"Maybe I've just never seen you stand up straight before!"

"Haha, yeah, maybe that's it."

"You look pretty today. Have you found a nice man yet? I know you said you're retiring so you can settle down. What about Callie? You know she used to be popular with the boys at school. Maybe she could help you out. I remember your mother saying you'd never find someone because -"

"Heeey so let's go see where Callie went!" She interjected, slipping past her aunt and scampering towards the door, leaving their bags behind. She wasn't ready to deal with this on her own yet.

She nearly ran into Callie as she came barreling through the front door to escape any more invasive questions. Callie stood just outside of the kitchen, with chocolate on the corners of her lips, holding three cookies in one hand and a half eaten one in the other. She extended her arm and silently offered Marie a cookie while she chewed.

She grabbed all three from her hand, pointing towards the front door. "Go help carry."

"Stealing from me…" she whined, shuffling towards the front door. "Take your shoes off at least!" Callie called back before heading outside, leaving Marie alone once more.

—------

"It's nice, huh?"

Marie turned towards the voice, realizing Callie's dad was finally home. He looked quite a bit like his father, though far younger and still sporting tannish gray tentacles tied back out of the way so as not to be a hazard at work. The golden eyes she and Callie had seemed to skip a generation, as neither her mother nor Callie's father had them, both being born instead with dark brown eyes.

"Oh, hi sir– I mean, Uncle Craig." She half waved before she realized how little sense that made and lowered her hand. "Yeah I… Gramps gave you that, right?" She gestured back at the antique charger that hung on the wall. It looked almost like a Bamboozler, but it was even older than the one Gramps had used during the Great Turf War.

He'd gotten it from his father, who'd gotten it from his, then Gramps had given it to his son, Craig jr.

Craig jr. had only one daughter, and no one to pass the thing on to. Unless, of course, she got married. Marie knew all of this well, she'd heard the story a dozen times before. It was always odd to her it didn't just go to the next child. Why it needed to be a son was beyond her. Her mother had gotten nothing to pass down to her, not that she'd do that anyway.

"It still works, too. I take it out every so often and shoot cans."

"Must be well taken care of."

"I just hope when Callie has a family of her own it'll stay that way."

Marie looked away, nodding. "I'm sure it will. Gramps taught us how to take care of old guns like that. Guess I could give her a refresher when the time comes."

"What about you?" He smiled, patting her on the back just a bit too hard. "Any plans of settling down and starting a family yet?"

"Me? Not really."

"That's too bad. You'll make a great mom one day I bet!"

He thought it was a compliment. She knew he did, genuinely, think that. Regardless, the idea made her skin crawl. She'd just smile and nod. It was all she could do.

"Anyway, I promised to help make dinner. Aunt Charlie doesn't believe me when I say I learned to cook for Callie."

"She doesn't! Well that's not fair is it."

Marie excused herself to the kitchen. Callie was already there, sitting in a raised chair and swinging her feet under the table while she chatted with her mom. It stood taller than average to make it easier to do the heavy lifting of a countertop, something this kitchen lacked in excess. She stopped by the refrigerator, leaning against it. Callie's mom stood with her back to the sink, offering her a small nod to acknowledge her.

Callie grinned over at her, still kicking her feet.

"Did you get bored looking at stuff?"

"No. I'm being a good house guest and being involved here. Or something."

"Or something~."

"Marie, Callie tells me you've been working on starting up a podcast? How's that coming along."

"Oh, uh, fine. It's alright so far." She shrugged, "bit different than my usual."

"You know, aren't a lot of people doing that already? Podcasts? Not that I listen to any of them, but wouldn't it make more sense to focus on something more sustainable?"

"D'ahhhh…"

"Mom!"

"Well I just want to make sure you girls have enough money to live in that city. No point in taking unnecessary risks."

Marie bit her tongue, refusing to let herself remind her aunt that she and Callie moved to Inkopolis with no money and worked in a warehouse to pay bills while they waited for their career to take off. Without her help. If she didn't care about their financial situation then, when they were just barely teenagers, why did it matter now?

Her expression must have been a dead giveaway for Callie to quickly interject and diffuse the situation. "Marie always tells me I have more money than I can count, so I don't think money's an issue for us anymore!"

"Well I don't think she should be living off of you either."

"That's not–" Callie frowned, rubbing her neck. "We're fine, mom, really."

Marie hadn't even lasted more than a few minutes under scrutiny. She brushed imaginary dusty off of the front of her shirt, a subtly patterned button up Callie had insisted looked handsome and whatever else Marie wanted to hear. Now she just felt silly in it.

"I gotta go call my manager. Excuse me." Some help she was, bailing like this.

Callie bit her lip, watching her go out the front door. "It's probably really important stuff that I should know about! Be right back!"

—-----

"I thought you quit smoking." Callie mumbled as she stepped around the car. Marie was standing by the passenger door, leaning back on her impromptu smoke break.

"Yeah, me too."

Callie reached towards her hand, but Marie pulled it away, dropping ash onto the roof of her car.

"Mawee." She pouted, trying to grab it again by stepping too close for public comfort.

"Scram, will ya?"

Callie huffed, backing up before flopping against the car next to her, standing shoulder to shoulder. "Mom just cares about us a lot. Don't take it the wrong way."

"Sure."

"I'm serious!"

"I said sure." Marie took a drag off her cigarette, leaning her head back.

Callie stood with her, saying nothing as she leaned against Marie, letting her have her break. She looked up at the clouds rolling by, trying to decide what they looked like. They stayed this way for a while, even after Marie had finished smoking. Callie had taken hold of her hand, rubbing her fingers behind the car where no one inside could see them.

"Mom loves us, Marie. No matter what. I know it."

Marie said nothing. Pushing herself up to stand. They needed to go back inside. Callie hadn't let go of her hand, and they took a few steps together this way before Callie finally let her go. Marie was calmer, for now. At least for as long as it took them to make it back inside.

"I went ahead and made up the spare bedroom for you, Marie. I even moved your bag in for you. Much lighter than someone's~."

"Oh, thank you. I could have gotten it though."

"What was the phone call about?"

She glanced at Callie, who glanced back at her. Marie wondered if she'd been spying. Callie was quick to lie.

"It's a secret project Marie is working on with my help!"

"It's not a secret if you tell people." Marie played along, effortlessly, grateful Callie was here to back her up. And to make her look like less of a freeloader.

She wasn't a freeloader, but she didn't like the accusation that she couldn't care for herself and for Callie. Callie didn't need to be taken care of, but in Marie's mind, it was the right thing to do and what her parents wanted to hear. That someone was taking care of their daughter with a steady job that made lots of money. They already had lots of money but it was earned in a way other people didn't seem to understand. She had financial freedom and now she had regular freedom, and with that freedom she wanted to pursue work she had control over. It wasn't fair that it looked like a joke to other people, people that she respected.

It was clear her aunt didn't buy it. She felt like she was being studied, if only for a moment. Eyes scanning over her looking for any wrong move or awkward glance or laugh to prove she was lying. Maybe she was just paranoid.

"A secret project, that sounds exciting." Callie's dad spoke up from the armchair, a welcome distraction and enough of a reason to ignore her aunt.

"Yeah! And if everything works out you'll really like it, dad!"

"Can I have a hint?"

"Only if Marie wants to."

"It's a secret." Marie shrugged. His genuine interest did make her feel a little guilty about her lack of tangible, upcoming projects. She really didn't have anything to talk about other than work. She didn't have friends to discuss, she wasn't traveling right now. She didn't travel anyway except for work so that didn't matter. No point bringing up her heroic rescue of Callie because as true as it was she'd just look insane. Worse still she needed to think of things to talk about with her aunt, who she still needed to help in the kitchen. Couldn't flake on that as much as she wanted to now. With any luck she could say the right thing and not have to worry so much.

—-----

Marie prided herself on her ability to make use of a sparse kitchen. It was hard to keep essentials stocked when they were always out traveling for work. They could afford groceries, but buying them was often a waste. She'd mastered making crabby cakes exactly like Callie loved, fries served almost just like her favorite food truck. Really, most of what she was good at she was good at for Callie. All the more reason she found it insufferable when her aunt decided to nitpick her every choice. She was helping, and it felt like it wasn't being appreciated.

Don't use too much of that. You need to cut the vegetables smaller or they won't cook right. Don't use that spoon, use the other one. Oh you girls must only eat takeout everyday.

Marie abandoned all hope of an award winning conversation with Callie's mother. She just shut up and followed orders. Which inevitably lead to: Marie you still don't talk much do you? Just like your mother always used to say.

How many days did Callie want to be here again? How many days had she told Callie they should be here?

She sat next to Callie at the kitchen table to eat dinner, deciding it was better if she only spoke when spoken to. What was there for her to even say? Callie was keen on chatting for her anyway. Still, her uncle noticed her silence and tried to include her.

"So, Marie, you helped cook tonight, huh?"

"She tried to." Callie's mother laughed. Marie did not. She didn't find it to be very funny.

Marie only shrugged. "Guess not really."

"All that ordering out those girls do. It's a wonder they've lasted as long as they have."

"Marie does a good job cooking," Callie insisted, "she likes to take care of me."

"Ah, see, just like I said. Gonna be a great mom one day." Callie's father smiled. Marie wished he wouldn't try so hard.

He wanted to keep peace between everyone, wanted Marie to be happy, but it was just making things worse. He always used to comment on how unhappy she looked when she was little, but never thought to ask why. Maybe he figured kids didn't have real reasons to be unhappy, so whatever was bothering her didn't matter. She wouldn't have told him anyway. How could she? How could a child have the vocabulary to explain fully all the problems they experienced at home? In a way adults would understand. They couldn't. She couldn't.

It was better not to dwell on it. He could imagine any backstory he wanted for her and it wouldn't make a difference. They were here, now, in this moment, and Marie was grown anyway. Her problems were her own.

Maybe she could get through the rest of dinner without adding to her list of issues. Callie could help see to that. Talk about shows they did, stories Marie had forgotten, places they went, people they met. Happy memories from the past, from a time when her aunt and uncle saw her at useful to their daughter.

—------

It was strange, sitting on the roof alone. The cloud cover meant she could see only abstract shapes in the night sky, blotting out the usual luster of the pitch black country sky. Fitting that she couldn't see the stars without Callie by her side. It wasn't like she had a good reason to be up here alone, Callie was just inside showering before bed. Marie thought it would help clear her head to go out on her own and let the cold chill of the night air ground her in the moment. It wasn't a moment she wanted to be in.

She heard the door slide open beneath her, and then the ladder creak and shake. Callie's head soon peaked up over the gutter.

"Can't we stargaze somewhere a little less scary?" She asked, reaching up for Marie to help her.

Marie obliged, taking Callie's arm into her hand and pulling her onto the roof. Her skin was still damp and hot. "Can't see the stars unless you're up high," she said.

"Literally not true." Callie climbed up next to Marie, linking arms with her. It wasn't even that high, especially not for an Inkling, but falling was scary and Callie preferred not to think about it.

"It helps."

"Why'd you come up here by yourself? Cos you hate me? Wanted to abandon me?"

Marie frowned, shaking her head. "I just…wanted some time, is all."

Callie pulled her knees up to her chest as a cool breeze passed. She wasn't dressed for a chilly night like this.

"How much time is some time? Cos I think my tentacles are gonna turn to ice and fall off and then I'll be bald."

"You're exaggerating."

"And you're dodging the question."

She sighed, rubbing the back of her neck with her free hand. She was. She didn't know how much time some time was. Until she stopped feeling miserable? Until she decided she didn't care? Neither of those would happen until she got some sleep, and sleeping on the roof seemed like a bad idea.

"I think it was a bad idea to come here," Marie said after a moment of careful consideration. She didn't want it to be too obvious that she was spiraling.

"You were the one who wanted to come," Callie reminded her.

"Well, I changed my mind."

"Mm…how come?"

"Because your parents don't like me."

The answer had come so quickly it had caught Callie off guard. "Yes they do, why would you say that?"

"Because no one likes me. Not really."

It was a non answer and a reminder that things were rarely as simple as they seemed. Whatever problems Marie perceived from the day spent with Callie's parents was just a small part of a bigger issue.

"You're famous. I think lots of people like you."

"No. People like Marie the artist. They don't like Marie the person."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that they like the version of me they can buy. They like the things I create. They like the meanings they make up for themselves but they don't ask what any of it meant to me. Nobody wants to know me, the real me, the awkward squid who can't hold a conversation without a script. Who…who isn't even really sure who she is. People think they know who I am but they're always wrong."

"Am I wrong?"

"No, but you're different."

"Mm. Then why aren't my parents different? I don't think they like you cos you're a famous idol. I think they like you cos you're their niece."

Marie flinched at the reminder.

"Basically like a second daughter," Callie added with a grin.

"You're making it weird."

"Mhm!"

"Well, don't. Or I'll smack you."

Callie thought for a moment, rubbing her chin for added flair. "I might like that. Let's try it!"

"Callie! Be serious!"

"Then tell me what's bugging you. Other than me~."

"You didn't notice the way your mom was looking at me? I haven't seen them or spoken to them in, like, ten years. And she didn't seem happy to see me. I dunno why."

"Maybe you're imagining it…"

"I'm not."

"You sure?"

"Positive."

Callie sighed, resting her head against Marie's shoulder. "Well, so what?"

Marie paused. "What do you mean 'so what'?"

Callie turned her face up towards Marie's. "So what if they don't like you."

She looked away, staring at the empty backyard that was illuminated only faintly by the open back door. Callie had left the kitchen light on when she made her way outside.

"I want people to like me."

She nodded, kissing her cheek. "Not everyone will like you. Even if you didn't do anything wrong. And sometimes people who used to like you will stop. Even if it seems like they don't have a good reason."

"That doesn't sound very optimistic."

"Yeah! You told me that first, that's why~."

"Ah."

Callie giggled, hugging her arm tighter. "But you were right, y'know? But it's not a bad thing. It's just a regular thing. Isn't it enough that I like you~?"

Marie didn't answer. Was that enough? Yes was the obvious answer, but what if Callie one day didn't like her? And she'd have no one. No friends, no family, nothing. It seemed impossible, but it could happen at any moment.

"I want people to like me."

"Statistically 99% of people don't like you. You told me that too!"

"You're not helping!"

"I am. Cos you think cos you have access to a lot of people, all of them should like you. But they don't and they won't."

"People like you. Everyone likes you."

"Nuh uh."

Marie rolled her eyes. "Sure."

"I mean it. I've lost lots of friends saying or doing the wrong thing. And you can never ever fix it and the more you try the worse it is. Every time!" Callie reached up, poking Marie's cheek. "But it's okay, y'know why?"

Marie raised an eyebrow.

"Cos tomorrow happens anyway! Sure you'll still feel bad and stuff but buy a fun drink! Like a. A super sparkle rainbow milk tea with extra little squishy things and sprinkles! Or, or, we can go to the beach together or go shopping and -"

Marie cut her off. "Are you just telling me things you want from me!"

She giggled, rocking back and forth with Marie. "Maybe a little," she said, "but it's a good idea anyway. Sure you'll feel bad but you'll feel bad with a little treat. And if you do that enough it stops feeling bad."

Marie relented. "Yeah, maybe."

Callie rubbed her shoulder, leaning up to kiss her once more. Despite Marie's reluctance, she kept up with it for a while, gradually crawling into her lap.

"Don't drop me okay?"

"Y'know if anyone finds us…" she rubbed Callie's thigh absently, trying to warm her up a little.

"Who's gonna find us? My parents are sleeping already."

"Shouldn't you be in bed too, then?"

"Mmmaybe you should take me to bed."

—-------

Marie was hesitant to take Callie up on her offer, but she gave in as usual. Callie found the danger exciting, the fear of getting caught sneaking her partner into her bedroom in the middle of the night. She felt like a kid again. Marie took it much more seriously. There were real consequences to them getting caught! Not just getting grounded.

But she did always want to kiss Callie in her room… she'd thought about it for a while, even after they moved out, she sometimes caught herself wondering what would have happened had she acted sooner.

Callie sat on the edge of her childhood bed, kissing Marie, who stood leaning over her. She reached up, wrapping her arms around Marie's neck.

"Whatcha thinkin' 'bout now, Mar?"

"How do you know I'm thinking about anything?"

"Cos you always think about stuff."

"Nuh uh."

"C'mon, spill!" She said, pulling Marie down with her as she lay down.

"Shh! Not so loud…"

Callie grinned, kissing her forehead. "Spill."

"It's kinda weird. You sure you wanna know?"

"Well now I definitely want to know."

Marie pushed herself up, knowing she couldn't get far with Callie holding her in place. She looked around the room at the old posters Callie had hung up, old photographs and awards. It really did feel like nothing had changed. Though, she couldn't look long once she realized how scummy it felt to be turned on with the ever smiling face of preteen Callie looming over them both. It wasn't that serious. It felt that serious with Callie begging to know her childhood fantasies with her. It made her a bit nauseous.

"I just… we spent a lot of time in here together, right?"

"The most time." Callie agreed.

"And…you used to change in front of me, like, all of the time."

Callie seemed intrigued, more so than she ought to be. She waited, hoping her silence would coax Marie to keep talking.

"Sometimes I. I mean not often, or anything, and I'd never actually do something like this, but sometimes I thought about uh." She trailed off, mumbling the rest of her thought, "I thought about just making you do stuff…with me. Uh."

She blinked, taking a few seconds to process the information before coming up with the most appropriate and compassionate response she could think of, "well, why didn't you? That sounds hot."

"What-!" She covered her mouth, trying to keep herself quiet. "We were kids!"

"You'll do it now though, right? Because if you did it then you'd have to be quiet and make me be quiet so you didn't get in trouble so now is the perfect time."

"You're crazy."

"C'mooooon."

"You're serious."

"It would have been better than that weird time when I was dating that guy and we were in his car and I like you a lot more. Let's leave it at that."

Marie frowned, rolling off of Callie before sliding onto the floor to sit facing the door. "It's pretty late, Cal. Don't you think it's time we got dressed for bed?"

Callie sat up, wondering what she'd done to upset her. "But I'm already wearing my- ohhhh."

Marie rolled her eyes, waiting for Callie to stand up. This was neither the time nor the place, but she really didn't want to be here anyway. Once Callie was shirtless, she stood up herself, looming behind her, mindfully not touching her. Yet. "Hey."

Callie resisted the urge to close the gap between them. "Huh? What is it, Mar~?"

"How come you never told me you had a boyfriend?"

"Well it was a long time ago and– wait, wait. Don't laugh, I can hear you giggling."

She was. It was hard not to. She hugged Callie around the waist, resting her chin on her shoulder. "Why the big secret? I thought you told me everything."

She squirmed in Marie's arms, reminding herself she wasn't into it. Marie held her tighter. Callie bit her lip, pushing at Marie's wrist, "I dunno. I didn't think you'd care about stuff like that."

"How old is he?"

"What's it matter?" She said, trying to escape Marie's grip. She succeeded in turning around, covering her chest with one hand and trying to push Marie off with the other.

She grabbed Callie's wrist pulling her hips towards her own. "What kinda stuff have you done with him, huh?"

"Marie isn't this sorta yucky?"

"No. You told me we'd do everything together." She growled, leaning forward to try and kiss her. Callie uncovered her chest, placing her hand over Marie's mouth.

"Yeah but– hey, what are you doing, stop that." She dropped her hand from Marie's mouth, grabbing at her leg in a half hearted attempt to get Marie to stop rubbing against her. She couldn't help but give her a squeeze of encouragement, briefly sticking her tongue out at her. It was hard to keep character when Marie looked so serious, but she'd try anyway. "It feels weird, stop."

"Or what?"

"I'll yell! And and…"

"And get in trouble with me for letting me do this to you." Marie pressed her lips to Callie's so she couldn't tattle. She let go only long enough to yank her shirt off, grabbing Callie again the moment she was free. "Now lay down." She ordered, much to Callie's delight.

Her fantasies never involved her going all the way with Callie. Maybe she just thought she couldn't get away with taking things that far. Still, she tugged off her pants and crawled on top of Callie, covering her mouth once again.

"Is this the kinda thing you like to do with your boyfriend?" Marie demanded, rocking her hips against Callie's and flinching when the bed creaked. Maybe this was a bad idea after all. She could see Callie smiling behind her hand, amused at her reaction.

"Just for that little smirk I'm gonna keep my underwear on."

"Nooo~."

"And yours."

"Treating me like one of your pillows."

"That's gross."

She pulled Marie down, kissing her ear before whispering, "and so is this. Now keep going."

Marie nodded, hoping she could move a little quieter this time. The rest of the house was silent, but it was hard not to strain to hear any noise that might suggest they need to bail. Callie was far more confident nothing would happen, even with a little bed squeaking.

—---

Callie was the first to stir awake, smiling to herself as she felt Marie still resting on top of her. Marie had stayed the night, just as she had promised. Not that she really thought Marie would abandon her for the guest bedroom after their night together. She'd already complained about the sleeping arrangements and Callie knew she would have been more than happy to sleep on the floor if it meant she didn't have to sleep alone.

She could smell breakfast cooking in the kitchen, the comforting aroma of coffee reminding her of her dad heading off to work while she was getting ready for school. She didn't actually like coffee, but smelling it felt like home. And now she got to experience that with Marie. In her old house. In her old room. In her old bed. Callie lay there with her eyes closed, listening to her parents moving about the kitchen, running water, closing cupboards, talking quietly to one another so as not to wake the girls.

She rubbed Marie's back, trying to gently coax her awake. Marie let out a familiar groan of protest about getting out of bed so early. Callie didn't think her parents would feel the need to check on them, but she figured Marie would appreciate her being mindful of the risk.

Callie kissed the top of her head, whispering, "Marie, morning, breakfast. We gotta get dressed."

Marie hugged her tighter, shaking her head. Callie sat up anyway, knowing Marie would wake up enough to remember they weren't at the apartment.

She took a moment to admire Marie as she sat on her knees, swaying back and forth, dubiously awake.

Marie sniffled, scratching at the corners of her eyes before untangling her legs from the blanket and putting her feet on the floor.

"When we're older I think it might be nice to move back here, don't you think?"

Marie scowled, still rubbing at her eyes. "No, I don't."

"Don't miss home at all?"

Marie didn't answer. She leaned over the foot of the bed to pick up her pants that lay haphazardly discarded. Callie didn't press the issue further, standing up and stretching before she too began to dress.

She was quick to finish, bouncing to her door and out of her bedroom. Marie wasn't far behind, but she was in much less of a hurry. The coffee was tempting her, though.

"Morning!" She heard Callie say as she shuffled into the kitchen after her. Marie expected an equally bright reply, but all that followed was an uneasy silence.

The look of anger and disgust on her aunt's face made her blood run cold. There was no question about it. They knew. How? It didn't really matter, because they knew. They'd been found out. Somehow. Callie's mom was probably already suspicious of them, it was so obvious now. The looks, the comments about her needing to find a man to settle down with. To move out and away from Callie finally.

It was clear by Callie's reaction that she didn't understand what had made her parents so upset. She looked between them, a look of concern growing ever present on her face. "What's going on? What's wrong? Did something happen? Mom? Dad?" She looked frantically between them, trying to parse what was going on. Neither of them had ever looked at her this way before.

"Your mother was right about you." Callie's mother said, voice shaking with rage as she glared at Marie. "You're sick. You raped my daughter you disgusting–"

Callie's father was quick to try and de-escalate things, putting his hand on his wife's shoulder to physically turn her away from the two girls. Marie didn't know why he bothered. Maybe he just didn't want to upset Callie any further.

"You promised to be reasonable about this." He sounded pained and tired, eyes pleading for some kind of peace, anything.

"You're going to stand there and defend a rapist?"

"Charlotte, please…" He turned his attention to Marie, trying to change the subject at the worst possible moment. "Uh, Marie, you like chargers don't you? You used to be pretty good, I thought. Tell you what, we can head out together and you can show me what you've learned over the years."

She wasn't listening. Everything after "your mother was right about you" was nothing more than a high pitched whine in her ears. She wanted to comfort Callie, but she'd hurt Callie. This was her fault. She'd ruined Callie's life with her own sick desires.

Callie was yelling at her mom, who was yelling back.

Callie's dad once again seemed to try and intervene as Marie stood motionless, staring off into space.

Callie vanished into her room and slammed the door shut.

Marie was being led outside by her uncle.

—------

Her feet were moving on their own.

Gravel and dirt crunched softly under her feet.

He was trying to talk to her, but the words didn't make any sense.

She wanted Callie. She didn't deserve Callie.

The next thing she processed was a cold flask being pushed into her hands. She was sitting on a log at the edge of a small forest clearing. Her legs hurt, and she had no idea how long she'd been walking for. She and Callie used to come here for target practice when they were kids, dreaming of one day being real Squidbeak agents. They were, if she could remember, about a half an hour walk from Callie's house, but leading up to this had all felt like a blur.

"It'll help your nerves," her uncle said, patting her on the shoulder, "at least that's what we used to do back in the army."

Marie took a drink, coughing the instant the liquid hit her throat. It felt like she was drinking hot metal and paint thinner. Maybe at least part of that was true. It didn't calm her nerves, but it did make for one hell of a grounding technique.

"Yeah, thanks…for that," she said, once she could find her voice between coughing fits. "What the hell was that? Actually, y'know what, nevermind."

He laughed. Marie did not.

"Why are we out here?"

"Did you want to stay at home and get yelled at? I was getting yelled at about it all morning, and you don't want that."

Marie looked down at the grass, still wet with morning dew. She took a moment to collect her thoughts before speaking. "Is Callie safe by herself?"

"She'll be alright. Her mom's not gonna hurt her."

"Yeah, and what about you?"

"I'm not gonna hurt Callie either."

"That's not… forget it."

Marie rubbed her arms, looking around. They were awfully far away from anyone who could help her. Not that she deserved help. She glanced up at him once more, trying to read his expression. He just looked…tired. Sad. His brow hung heavy with worry, but he was trying to put on some sort of a smile for her, much like Callie would have.

"Are you gonna kill me with that?" She asked, gesturing at the gun slung over his shoulder.

"What– Marie, I told you. We were going out to practice shooting. Spend some time together. Talk."

"Oh. Is that what you were saying…"

"Marie, I'm not," he stopped, considering his words, "I don't hate you."

"You should."

"Mm. And why is that?"

"I hurt your daughter."

"I don't think the word choice used was…uh, necessarily accurate." It was clear the topic made him deeply uncomfortable. He couldn't even look at her as he spoke.

Marie stood up, feeling like a child once again. They were the same height, more or less, but she still felt so small. So helpless. So pathetic. She'd destroyed her relationship with one of the closest things she had to a real parent who cared about her. Any other crime would have been forgivable, at least in her mind.

"I guess not. But I know where she got the idea from."

He raised an eyebrow, sliding the charger off his shoulder and holding it by the leather strap. He held it towards her, but Marie didn't take it.

"She talks to my mom a lot. I dunno why."

He lowered his hand, letting the gun barrel rest on the ground, swaying back and forth as it was held partially up. "And?"

"And my mom. She knows. She's known, rather."

"About you and Callie, er…"

"You don't have to say it. I know I'm disgusting. But, no, she didn't know that. Well, I'm sure she knows now." Marie rubbed tears from her eyes, determined not to cry in front of her uncle. She looked up, blinking rapidly to try and force them back.

He reached out, hugging her from the side and rubbing her arm. "Hey, hey, it's not. I mean. It's pretty small out here. Not a lot of folks. So it's not like you're the only one who dated their cousin. Even if you did end up moving away."

She looked down, hoping he wouldn't notice her crying for real now. "Mom used to smack me if she caught me looking at Callie for too long. She had me tested and stuff. She knows there's something wrong with me but she decided it was my problem.

He didn't understand, not really anyway. But Marie was hurting and he had to try and smooth things over. "You're good to her though, right?"

"I thought. But it's not like she has a choice. I'm a freak."

"Marie. When have you *ever* known Callie to do something she didn't want to?"

She sniffled, rubbing her eyes once more. "This is different."

"Not if you're being respectful about it. Look, I'm not gonna pretend I understand why either of you would do this. And I'm not gonna say I don't think it's gross."

It hurt to hear, but it was the truth. Gross is what they were. What *she* was. Callie didn't deserve to be roped into this with her.

"But I also think people who eat salmonid eggs are gross. And that's got nothing to do with me."

"Those things aren't even similar."

"I'm trying here. I don't think you're a bad kid. I really don't understand none of this, but you're both gonna do whatever you want anyway. I still wanna have my daughter talk to me. And if that means going along with all of this, well." He sighed, shaking his head.

Marie pulled away, guilt gnawing at her insides, anxiety making her tremble. She'd hurt every single person she cared about because of her own selfishness. She'd single handedly ruined Callie's life.

—---

Uncle Craig let her sit and decompress for a while, occupying himself by taking shots with the Bamboozler at nearby trees. Marie was disappointed when she gradually began to realize the world hadn't ended. She'd even managed to stop crying.

Marie never imagined a world where someone wouldn't just…hate her. With every part of their being. But he didn't. He might have just hid it well, but he didn't seem the type smart enough to lie like that. What would be the point?

Rubbing her eyes, she stood up and approached the main, standing slightly behind him and to the side. "It's a nice charger. Wish I had something like that to look forward to."

"Are you breaking up with Callie?"

Marie tried to listen to any hit of hopefulness, but there was none. "Uh. Look I'll be honest. No. I'm not. Well, it would be up to her but. Y'know."

"Then maybe you do have something like this to look forward to."

"You're joking."

"I just want whatever Callie wants. But you're still too young. And not married."

"Uh, well, we can't *get* married, so." She made a vague gesture with her hand, dropping it to her side.

"Oh, right. But I'll know. I guess a paper isn't the only deciding factor. Settling down with someone is more than that. So, I'll know when Callie has done that."

Marie hummed in response. He offered her the Charger without a word. This time, she took it.

The wood was freshly polished, and it was unusually weighty compared to its more modern counterparts. It had a rich burgundy color unlike anything Marie had seen elsewhere. The trigger was a heavy pull, the charge time felt almost as long as her e-liter that was long forgotten in a closet thanks to her schedule and energy level. She aimed down the sights, still carefully calibrated for an accurate shot, though with none of the modern convenience of a scope. Marie fired at the tree next to the one Uncle Craig had been shooting at, and landed a splatter of green ink just shy of its approximate center.

"Can I ask you something?" Marie began to line up another shot, slightly higher this time.

"Sure, squiddo."

"How come you…knew?"

"Ehhhhhh Charlie wanted to check up on Callie like old times. See her little girl back in her own bed."

"Why didn't she kill me at that point?" She asked, firing another shot, this one overcorrected and still shy of center.

"Came and woke me up. Wanted to make sure she wasn't imagining things. I convinced her to give you guys a chance to explain things."

"Went well."

"Yep."

"My phone's still in Callie's room I think."

"Wanted to call her?"

"Just worried is all." She lowered the gun, looking down at the ink that dripped onto the grass from the barrel.

"We can go back, if you want. Probably calmer at home now."

She nodded, turning towards her uncle to return the gun to him. He slung it back over his shoulder before giving Marie a pat on the back.

"Do you think we could…talk? Later, I mean. After me and Callie go home. Maybe in a few days if she's up to it. Obviously we're not staying another night. Uh. No offense or anything."

"Sure, whatever you need. I still care about you."

Marie nodded, wiping her hands off on her pants. Hopefully Callie had already packed and would just be waiting outside. She doubted it would be that easy, nothing ever was. But at least now, for now, she had backup.

[byrdstrolls]

Mysteries Are Like Onions Part Two

Barely sits in a curled little perch by the train window. The wrappings of two sandwiches on the table that separates him from Miss Laryan. The woman seems to have calmed down a whole lot, spending time idly working on a crossword. His eye’s not leaving the landscape rolling by, Barely says,

“Tell me one more time, Miss Laryan.” 

“Barely,” She sighs. “I keep sayin’, that’s really all I remember.” 

“Please Miss,” He pleads. “I’m just thinkin’”

“Alright” She huffs. “I was rushin’ out of work, late on papers again. I put the land exchange receipt in my wallet. I might’a left it there, might’a not. I locked up. I headed home, put my coat on the rank, and went straight to bed. Next evenin’, I woke up, and went to the station.”

“And you’re absolutely sure, no one else was there?” The rust interjects. 

“Yes, Barely” She sighs. “Not a soul.” 

The child's stare hardens. 

“And I had worked myself into a tizzy” She says, “About Vekeso and Damial fallin’ out, and visitin’ Shercattle.” 

“And you fainted.” Barely says.

“Well” She huffs. “I must’ve. I woke up on the ground.” 

“Are you sure no one could’a attacked you? From behind?” He questions. 

“Barely” She chuckles. “If I got whacked up the head I think I’d have a whole lot more of’a headache than I do now. I’ve fallen off horses when I was a pupa- that stuff hurts!” 

“And no one was there, when you woke up?” He says. Wishing longingly he’d checked the footprints around the train station before the two of them left. 

“Not a soul.” She says. “I dusted myself off, and started pacin’ and that's when I saw you.”

The detective sighs. 

“What’s a ten letter word,” Miss Laryan begins, starting her own line of questioning. “Fourth letter ‘R’ seventh letter ‘T’- for the bendin’ of light as it passes through somethin?” 

Barely seems crabby, frustrated with the change of topic and also perhaps being stuck on a train all day. But in all his politeness, and perhaps, his teacher's pet-like quality of always wanting to seem intelligent, he gives her crossword honest thought. He scribes down a few possible words, frowning, before he lands on one.

“Try Refraction, Miss.” He says. “Maybe we should think harder about motive. Why’d someone wanna hide a land receipt? Do you think…” He trails off, wishing he got to question more people in Baskertop. “Maybe a cowpoke was lookin’ to stop rentin’ from the mayor..?”

“It was older than that” She huffs. “I can’t remember the exact date- But. Musta been at least a half a sweep ago. Nothin’ recent.” 

Barely sighs, biting so forcefully at his necklace Miss Laryan grimaces, worried he’ll break the pretty little thing.  

“Don’t worry ur little pan too hard, Barely” She reassures. “I’m sure we’ll figure it out together.” 

“...Thank you, Miss” He says. But doesn’t sound altogether convinced. Loose, scrambled thoughts tangle in knots in his head, his leg bouncing on the train's floor and tail twitching idly conveying his restlessness, like a cow swatting flies on a field. He’s trying to distract himself, watching the world go by. He’s seen the distance turn from slow rolling plains to hills dotted with farms, the green lushness of the river peaking in and out by the tracks. Shercattle seems a bit more populous than Baskertop, but not by much. Neither town could have more than 200 trolls. Something was hiding here, in plain sight. Desperate to keep a hold of a grip of control that was fragile enough to be toppled by a single paper. 

“Three letter word” Miss Laryan says, “For a conscious thinkin’ subject in philosophy, last letter ‘O’”

Barely blinks, watching the landscape slow as the train pulls into the Shercattle station. He doesn’t need to write down test words this time. He knows this one. 

“Ego” The Detective says. 

.

.

.

.

.

A farmhive sits on the edge of the road. The lawn seems to have been trimmed and weeded almost obsessively. It looks to have been recently painted, a uniform alternian black, but if the moonlight hit it just right, Barely notes, you could see the traces of the original purple coat. He doesn’t think too hard or too long on what the reason for the remodeling could be. Because, well, it’s obvious. On the edge of the path leading up to the door, a sign on a small pole reads- “OPEN HIVE! YOUR NEIGHBOR REALITY”. They must’ve spruced it up to be sold.

Miss Laryan is taking in the sight of this a great deal less calmly than Barely seems to be. 

“Why would Damial move??” She says, having started a frantic pacing, again. “Was he in some kinda money trouble, why, we coulda helped him! Why didn’t I hear about this!”

“Miss Laryan,” Barely says. “Didn’t you say him and Vekeso had a fallin’ out?”

“You think maybe that was because of this?” She stumbles. “You think that receipt has anythin’ to do with it?”

“Well” Barely says. “Half a sweep seems a frightful long time to wait to putta hive on the market” he says, gesturing. “And this is an open hive.” He thinks. “Don’t work yourself up, Miss, he coulda bought ‘imself a nicer farm, right?”

“Right” She says, her shoulders losing a little bit of their tension. “But… where will we stay today? He coulda moved all the way to the city for all we know.”

“Why don’t we head downtown?” The teenager shrugs. “And ask around about what happened here” He says. 

She pauses. “...Alright” She says. So the two of them begin a trek back towards the heart of Shercattle. 

“Everythin’s been so strange lately” She mutters. “I can’t help but think somethin’ awful’s happened. Messiahs put a curse on these towns.” 

The rustblood pauses, something incomprehensible passing through his expression. One might’ve thought he was a touch too smart for superstition. But on a world like Alternia, well, sometimes the smart thing to do is to pay folktales some mind. 

“There are many kinds’a curses, Miss Laryan” He says. “Some Messiahs, some witches, some good ol’ fashioned chance.” He lists. Sure acting like he knows a lot on the matter, curiously. “And some,” he says. “Just a regular troll movin’ his hands so fast and so quiet when your money disappears it feels like magic.” 

“Not much a detective can do about the first three.” She sighs. “Maybe i shoulda found a lil’ priest.” She jokes, ruffling his hair. 

Barely huffs, allowing this fond action on her part only because he really did like Miss Laryan, even though trolls treating him his age often made him feel kinda silly.

“You’d be surprised-” he says, and then pauses. “-Hey!” he says. “That's the same store that was in Baskertop” the child says, hurrying over to peek into the window of another DUNNERMART. “And the same guy” he says, glancing at Dunner, who waves.

“Oh,” Laryan says, rushing to keep up. “That fish is everywhere” She surmises. The bell dings as Barely enters the shop, both eager to integrate Dunner again now that it seemed he could have eyes on so many places, and a little hungry. 

“Fancy seein’ you here,” Barely grins. 

“I’m the CEO, son. I check in at a lot of the locations.” The fushia chuckles, pausing his restocking of a wiener rack. 

“Interestin’” The kid says, gnawing on his necklace as he walks over to look at the candy. 

“What’re you doin’ up in Shercattle?” The man asks. Barely pauses, suddenly acutely aware Miss Laryan had not followed him into the store. A quick glance out the window confirms that she, just as Barely had, had recalled her possible fugitive status, and decided not to enter. 

“Just passin’ through” Barely says, picking up a bag of those gummy sharks. “On my way to the express line.” 

“Lil’ guy like you headin’ all the way to the city alone?” Dunner frowns. 

“I’m somethin’ of a wiz kid, Mister Dunner.” he says. “I can handle myself” 

“If ya say so” Dunner shrugs, adjusting his employee ‘hi my name is dunner’ tag on his white uniform. 

“You see the open hive down the road?” Barely asks. 

“Yeah, I seen it” Dunner sighs. “A damn shame. Damial used to be an upstandin’ gentleman, back in the day”

The detective exhales. This did not seem to bode well for Miss Laryan’s friend, and he didn’t look forward to telling her. 

“What happened?” The rust asks.

“There was a big illness” Dunner sighs. “Tore through the milkcows a season ago. Lotta farms went outta business.” 

Barely frowns.”I didn’t hear about that from any of the cowpokes down south” He inquires. 

“Well, thank the messiahs, we quarantined,” Dunner shrugs. “I shut down my dairy factory as soon as I heard- it didn’t make it in any cows there either. Baskertop was fine. But all the same. Damial’s farm didn’t make it. Cows died. Ran outta business. I offered him a job at my factory, but he didn’t take it. Had too much pride in ‘em. He-” The shopkeep pauses. “I dunno if I should tell you til you’re grown, son.” he sighs. 

“I can handle it” The teenager insists, standing up as tall as he can over the counter, notebook clenched in his hand, hangin on every word. Dunner looks to the side, breathes out, and then turns back again. 

“Let’s just say he started goin’ down to Lar’s a bit too often” The clerk says, delicately, mentioning Shercattle’s only bar. “Musta kept her in business, a guy that big. Musta took a lot to make ‘em drunk but he managed. Started lashin’ out at everynight people who didn’t do nothin’ wrong. Always groanin’ about his jadeblood sweetheart down the way who did ‘em wrong. And well you didn’t hear it here, but the two of them never even dated. Probably smart of Vekeso to walk away from that one. Damial, he’s well, mostly just a sad sight and general nuisance to the folks in town now.” 

“I see…” Barely says, pausing his scribbling. 

“I’d stay away from that one, if I were you son. You know what they say about purples.” Dunner warns. Dunner seems to be full of these kinds of warnings. Maybe he was paranoid, maybe he was on to something, it was yet to be seen. 

Barely, the end of Dunner’s sentence echoing in his mind, grips the candy in his hand. 

“Is the first candy also on the hive…?” he asks, hopefully. 

“No,” Dunner says. “You gotta pay for that one.” 

The rust checks his pockets, and sighs, before pausing. 

“Mister Dunner” He begins. “You may not know this, but I’m a high class detective. You wouldn’t happen to have a mystery that needs crackin’ I could solve in exchange for this, wouldya?” 

The seadweller’s eyebrows raise.

“Well…” he pauses. “Matter of fact, I do.” He says. “I’ve been tallyin’ up the math overday, and it seems like sometrolls been takin’ money outta the register when I’m not around. It’d save me a pretty dollar from havin’ to buy a camera if you could find out who” 

“Gladly, Mister.” Barely says, perking up. “When do you switch shifts?” 

“In two hours” he says, a tiny frown appearing on his face as Barely pulls open the bag, despite what he had just agreed. 

“I’ll be back then” Barely says. 

“You’re gonna just walk outta here” Dunner says slowly, “And never come back, Detective Barely? I might have t’call the sheriff if you did such a thing, and I don’t wanna do that.” 

The rustbloods ears flatten, he pops his necklace out of his mouth and pops a gummy into it. This bag couldn’t cost more than three bucks. 

“I won’t Mister Dunner, I promise” He says, flipping to a new page on his notepad and scribbling down the words 

‘DUNNER TRUSTS NO ONE’.

.

.

.

.

.

In the two hours before he had to go keep an eye on the DunnerMart, Barely decides to head down to Lar’s Bar. He had found some kind of errand with which to distract Miss Laryan, who he both didn’t want to break the news about Damial too, and worried she wouldn’t let him go in a bar because he’s six. He had asked for ten caegars for lunch. He contemplated just going back and paying Mister Dunner, who he wasn’t sure was serious or not about the sheriff thing, but in the end decided he was too much of a cheapskate. And the register case would probably be easy. 

So there he stood in front of the dingy lil’ place. The parking lot was sparse, it was still early in the night, at the time Barely hoped that it would be easy to talk with a resident alcoholic without being overheard. LARS BAR reads the neon sign, but the R has gone out, making it LA S BAR. Which, Barely briefly thought, was almost spanish for ‘the bar’. He shakes his head, trying to get himself back on track. Dunner’s warning still rings in his ears. He knew well enough not to bother most highbloods. But the store clerk had given a similar ominous statement regarding Miss Laryan, who wouldn’t hurt a fly. And Barely had often found that trolls that have something bad to say about everyone often had not much of substance to say at all. Easy to look down on a man out of hive, the rust had reckoned, when you are CEO of a chain company.

Barely entered the bar, the squeaking door announcing his presence. There are a few trolls, but most had the good sense to raise an eyebrow at him. The bartender, and two women at a table stare. The only troll that doesn’t even seem to notice is a hulking mass in a plaid shirt in the corner. Faint music is playing. The teenager swallows, straightening his back, and with all the courage he could muster, walks over to the bar, close up to that huge troll, pulling up a seat. 

“Shirley Temple” Barely says, pointing at the table, in the lowest voice he could muster. “On the rocks. One extra cherry.” He says, sliding a five caegar bill to the bartender. The woman just stares at it. The kid might have imagined it, but he thinks he might have heard the troll in the corner snort. 

“Are ya serious?” Says the bartender plainly. 

“Virgin Shirley Temple” Barely adds, with extra emphasis. “On the rocks. One extra cherry.” he repeats, adding another five caegar bill on top of the first one. “Missus bartender.” 

The heap in the corner laughs. 

“I know how to make a shirley” She huffs. “Mister Grown Up. You wouldn’t happen to have an ID? You know you’re supposedta find two other pupas and a trenchcoat at least, right?” 

The purpleblood in the corner rises from his slumber. 

“Oh, let him have it, Gon.” He laughs. “Kid’s thirsty.” 

Gon stares at Damial, as if, for good reason, her patience with the man was already rather thin. But then looks at the ten caesars, and sighs. She takes the money. 

There goes my lunch, Barely thinks. 

“Woulda thought your name was Lar’s” He enquires, having honestly mistaken the bartender for the owner, simply due to the commanding presence she had over the room. 

“HA!” She laughs, self righteous. “Lars is my moirial. Lazy ass. I do all the work around here. We should change the sign, ya hear? Little man knows it's my bar.” She grins, as if speaking to some imaginary audience. 

Barely smiles in return, only to see the expression fall from Gonnae’s face, as if she had just recalled he wasn’t supposed to be here. 

“But that don’t earn ya no points, oliver twist. I see a single pinky over the counter” She threatens. “You lose the finger. Ya hear me kid?” 

“Loud and clear, Missus Gon,” Says Barely. 

“Uh Oh” The drunk muses, idly stirring a plastic straw in his bourbon. 

“You too, basket case” Gon threatens, flicking the man upside the head. “I see Tiny Tim sneakin’ sips of your four roses I’m kickin’ you out and I MEAN IT I mean it this time” She growls, walking of to go make a shirley. 

“Sureeeeeeeeee” Damial slurs, and then says, to Barely, aside, “She don’t mean it. She loves me. She bought a new horse last week.” He whispers. 

“Some service” Barely jokes, glancing at the prices on the menu board, “For a generous tip.” Perhaps purposefully playing along with Damial to endear himself to the man. The purple cracks up again. Gon re-enters with a Shirley done up all fancy with a squiggly straw and everythin’, and a single extra cherry on a napkin. Barely is glad at the inclusion of the silly straw- it means he doesn’t have to take the necklace out of his mouth. She frowns.

“He’s funny before 2,” The bartender warns, of Damial, setting down Barely’s drink.  “But wait ‘bout three more glasses he gets nasty. Best be outta here by then.” 

She turns to the highblood, “Don’t be messin’ with that kid, Damial. I’m not playin’” She says, before exiting to go help the ladies down the way. 

“I pay your morgageeeeeee Gon” Damial drags out the word as Gon walks away. “You’re compliciiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit” He grins, stupid smile not leaving his face as he raises his glass to Barely. 

“L'Chaim” He says, to the rustblood. 

“L’chaim” Barely echos, clinking his shirley with the bourbon. 

The Detective briefly wonders where Damial gets the money, being outta a hive and job and all.

“What’s your name, kid?” 

“Barely Shyeck, Mister” He begins, “I’m a detective-” but the purpleblood is laughing at him again. 

“What on Alternia is a Shyeck” He stumbles. “‘N how can somebody be more er less of it?”

“You’d have to ask my lusus” Barely huffs, having had to have had this conversation about his name with more trolls than he’d prefer. 

“Lemme guess” Damial says, poking the boy’s forehead. “Cowwwwwwww” He says, in a remarkable observation of the kid’s ears, horns and tail. 

Barely swipes at his hand. 

“Wow” he says sarcastically. “Are you sure you’re not the detective Mister Damial?” 

“Soda’s a lot cheaper” Damial says, seeming to have either not heard or ignored the childs sarcasm, glancing at his fruity little drink. “An’ less hassle. Gon’s got a sharp eye, kid. Ya just wasted ten caegers. You ain’t gonna get nothin’ past her.” 

“Well, I didn’t come here for the alcohol” The detective admits. “Actually, Mister Damial, I came here to speak with you.” 

The man frowns. 

“If yer lil’ friends dared ya to pour a drink on me or somethin’, run back out before I change yer name to Barely Alive” He dismisses. 

“That’s not it,” Barely says softly, his tail twitching nervously. Thinking on the best way to approach this. All the best lies have a little bit of truth in them. 

“I was just talkin’ to the clerk down the road, Mister Damial, and he spun me a long yarn about you that didn’t regard you very kindly.” He pauses, made anxious by Damial’s silence. 

“Bein’ an educated young man” He says. “I don’t like formin’ an opinion on a troll til i’ve heard both sides of the story. And if you don’t mind, I’d like to hear yours.” 

Damial stares at the little guy, as if at a complete loss as to whether to take him seriously. If this was some kind of scheme the neighborhood pupas had fashioned to make fun of him it was a great deal more complicated and psychologically taxing than usual. 

“Ain’t nobody who wants to hear me monologue” He huffs. “Everyone in town knows.” 

“I wanna hear” Barely asserts, scooting his stool closer, attempting to sound confident. “I’m new in town, Mister Damial.” 

“You cared enough to waste ten caesars on it?” He slurs. 

“It’s not like I didn’t get soda and cherries outta the thing.” 

“For one cherry,” Damial jokes. “You can hear the whole thing” 

Barely frowns, gnawing on his necklace, frustrated, having asked for that extra cherry specifically and had been looking forward to it. Begrudgingly, he hands it to the ex dairy farmer, who promptly drops it in his bourbon, which must taste completely awful. 

The older troll sighs. For as much as he had insistantly told this tale to many a more hesitant audience, he felt strangely on the spot having been asked so nicely and by a child no less. There was enough decency left in him that recalled he liked to behave respectfully around pupa’s, if given the chance.  

“I used to know this cowboy down in Baskertop” He says quietly, looking to the side. “Mosta the dairy farmers up hereeeee… hav’a deal with one of the cowpokes for spring. We’ve got all cows- on account of bein’ dairy farms. They’ll ask one of the herders to lend them a bull for a spell, to breed a cow and get her producing more milk, and then come fall either give the too old mama to the ranchers or the bab, usually dependin’ on their gender. Partnership as old as time.” 

“Most farmers and cowpokes also argue and hassle and switch around and bargain and shit. But me and Vekeso didn’t really consider wandering about between traders worth our time and had a good deal of trust in each other and decided we would only ever trade amongst ourselves. Easy to grow fond of a man you only see once a season. We started makin’ a whole thing of it. We’d be havin’ each other over for dinners and drinks and just enjoyin’ each other's company even after business was done. I’ve never been one for quadrants” He says, pausing, and finishing his drink, struggling to articulate. 

“...Made a damn fool of myself a couple times when I was young, and got… scared to try again. Vekeso’s no… socialite in his own right. But eventually I realized I harbored some kind of feelin’s fer him. And most other people in our lives noticed how close we were as well and really seemed ta think I had an honest chance… But I was a coward” Damial stops, his voice cracking, he runs his hand through his hair. He stays still for a moment, before flagging down Gon. “Another one” he calls. “Put it on my tab.” 

The woman walks over, already pulling the bottle off the shelf to refill his drink. 

“What’s the magic word?” She mocks. 

“Ffdsssss…” he stumbles. “I have more caegars.” he jokes.

“Please” she huffs. 

“Please” He repeats, mockingly, sipping his new drink.

“What happened then?” Barely asks quietly. 

The purpleblood shuts his eyes for a moment, and then opens them again. 

“Every season” He says softly, but with a voice layered over with disdain that could only be for himself. “Every season I’d wake up and promise myself this’ll be the sweep I tell ‘em. Easy thing to say. Damn harder to do. I kept playin’ chicken.” He says, hand trembling as it grips that glass. 

“Then the illness came through.” he says. “Wiped out everythin’ in a single perigee. Poof.” He gestures. “Gone. I was fucked. I was panickin’. I started puttin’ all my hopes in that meetin’ coming up with Vekeso. Hoped he’d take pity on me enough to at least lend me a moobeast to get back on my feet…And if not that, at least have a piece of advice. I had never needed a hand to pull me outta a ditch more in my entire life” He says. The regret and moroseness of his previous statement solidifying into a harder anger. 

“What does he do…?” Damial slurs, lifting the glass and downing the rest of it, cherry and all. 

“He never shows.” The man growls. “Not even a warnin’. Not a word. Not an apology. Not an explanation. Just gone. And I’m left here wonderin’, what on heaven and alternia did I do wrong?”

“The townfolk already figured me a little messed in the head, fer turnin’ down a fancy job at Dunner’s damn factory. I don’t wanna supervise nobody. Treatin’ employees and cattle like machines ain’t the way I’ve done dairy, or my ancestor before me, or his ancestor before that. I But I really believed Vekeso smarter than to pay townspeoples muttering any mind. So I wrote him a letter. And maybe it was angry and hurt but so was I. I said everythin’ I wanted to say,” He cursed. 

“And he never deigned this worthy of a reply neither.” He growls, staring daggers at the bar wall. “One more, Gon” he calls. 

The young detective pauses his scribbling, flipping over a few pages of his notepad, back to the night he’d spoken with Vekeso, and stared. He turns his necklace against his teeth. He looks at his writing, and then back at the highblood, who looked ready to throw something. Trying to remember just how many glasses Damial had had now and what was his ratio of funny to nasty according to Gon’s metric. Barely wasn’t above a well placed lie, even a quiet one by omission, but sometimes, it just feels like the truth is owed to somebody, and it seems long, long overdue for Damial. 

“If you’d hear me out, Mister Damial” The child says. “I think I know why.”

The man turns his head to the kid, staring, not with much curiosity but more annoyance as if he could not imagine this to be true. Barely swallows.

“I talked with him just yesterday, Mister.” He says. “Did you know that after the Fleetrail went in, Vekeso and the other cowpokes had been grazin’ on that Redgrass Ranch, the mayor lent to em?” He says, pausing for an answer, and upon getting none, continues. 

“He told me offhand,” Barely says. “That since it was the Mayor’s land, there were all kinds of rules and restrictions on it” he says. “One of them bein’ rules on who you could sell cattle too” He stumbles. 

Damial stares blank eyed at the wall, and Barely begins to ponder if he was even sober enough to comprehend what was being said to him. Suddenly, his face lights up and he throws his glass at the wall with full force. 

“motherFUCKER” the purple raises his voice, “I HOPE HE DIES IN HIS STUPID SHIRT.”and Barely flinches. Gon’s eye’s widen with rage, and she sets down the bottle she’s holding. 

“Out” The woman insists, pointing at the door.

“Fuck off, Gon” The man curses. 

“You have ten seconds” She hisses. “To get out of my bar” 

“Or what?” The purple mocks. 

Slowly, the woman pulls a pistol from her pocket, aiming it squarely at Damial’s head. 

“Ten” She says. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” He hisses. 

“Nine” She says.

“I didn’t even throw it AT somebody” says Damial, as if this makes it better somehow. 

“Eight” She growls. 

“Bitch” 

“Seven” the bartender insists. 

Damial stares into her eyes for a moment, and then slowly, raises to his feet, tossing his stool over. 

“FIne” He hisses, storming out of the building. Gon watches to make sure he’s really gone for a moment before lowering her gun. 

“You okay kid?” She asks. 

“Yes Missus Gon” Says Barely, dropping his necklace temporarily and downing the last of his shirley and walking out to follow the highblood.

“Kid!” Gon pleads. “Don’t be an idiot!” She says, but the young man is already gone. 

Damial is sitting on the curb outside. “I fucking hate that bitch” The man is muttering to himself. “He thinks he’s so much better than everyone. If I could kill him, I would.” 

“Vekeso…?” Barely asks slowly. 

“THE MAYOR” Damial snaps back. 

“Don’t Shercattle have a different Mayor than Baskertop?” The kid asks timidly. 

“It’s a fuckin’, muni-cip-pall-ity” Damial slurs. “The three towns are too small, fleet gave us one bastard for all of em. BUT WHO CARES. I’ll kill him. Vekeso too. Who gives a fuck.” 

The child stares, before sitting down next to the much larger man. 

“I’m not sayin’ you did nothin’ wrong, Mister Damial.” He starts. “But did you mention how dire things were up in Shercattle in your letter?”

“No. It wasn’t ‘bout that” The man says, hands gripping his sides, as if restless with the lack of drink in his hand. 

“I’m just tryin’” Barely says. “Too look at this from another pointa view. I didn’t talk with Vekeso for long, but… From what I saw, he really seemed to be a very private person, the kinda troll who thinks long an’ hard on what they’re sayin’ before sayin’ it.” He dares. 

Damial holds himself close. With the tired look in his eyes of a troll who had given a great deal of thought to Vekeso, and all his mannerisms for a long while, and couldn’t argue.

“And somethin’ like some regulation tearin’ apart a friendship he’d had for sweeps, really seems like somethin’ to toil about. I ain’t sayin’ it was right of him to not tell you nothin’. But…” Barely exhales. “You didn’t really give him a lotta chance to give ya any grace, not mentionin’ yer situation in yer letter. He’d have no idea how dire things were. All he’d know is you’re suddenly very very angry with him, and that could easily put a troll off a conversation he mighta already been scared and guilty to be havin’.” 

Damial seems to ponder this for a long while. Staring up at the pinks and greens of the night sky, where, in the distance, impressive storm clouds had started to gather, cutting off the view of the moons with color tinted stripes and clumps that danced across the horizon like a painting. Even a troll as big as he was, could feel small under a view like that. 

“It don’t matter” he says finally, his voice cracking. 

“Vekeso could hand me a hive an’ a cow and farm back on a silver platter. I don’t even know if I could work it” He says, struggling to keep his voice even. 

“Even if he wanted me then- big IF. I’m not the troll I was a sweep ago. What could I even offer a lover, or a friend, even if everythin’ smoothed out with a bow on top. No farm, no hive, no job. Jus’ layin’ in the hole I dug wishin’ I could feel somethin’ again. If there was anything to love about me, it’s long gone.” The purpleblood chokes, staring at his shaking hands. “I’m hardly a troll anymore.” He whispers.

Perhaps this was too much for a troll as young as Barely to handle. But he was nothing if not ambitious. And nothing if not committed to his deep desire to help others. A childlike desperate want for the world to be more fair than it was. A trait Alternia works hard to steal from his children. 

“It’s one thing” Barely says, “To be true to your values when the going is easy, Mister. It’s another when things are hard. A lotta highbloods would jump at an offer like Mister Dunner’s, morals be damned. But you stuck yer feet inta the ground when you had anythin’ and everythin’ to lose. That’s not somethin’ somebody who’s nobody does. I can’t speak for Vekeso” He pauses, standing and offering a hand to the purple who was crouched over the side of the road, blinking back tears. 

“But I think you’re a great deal more offa troll than a lot of people are.” 

Damial shuts his eyes for a moment, and wipes his face, but then slowly, takes the young man's hand and stands up. He struggles to pull himself together for a bit, at a complete loss for what to say, before changing the subject. 

“Where’d you say you were from again, Barely?” He asks. 

“Well, you never asked” The rustblood pauses. “I’ve been makin’ my way up from from Umbra” He admits. 

“Umbra?” The purple repeats. “Are ya serious? How’d a proper little gentleman like you spring from a sinkhole like that.” He retorts. 

“Hey!” Barely says, playfully punching the older man’s side, which probably hurt him less than a mosquito bite. “Be careful how ya talk about my sinkhole.” He warns. 

Damial laughs. “Right. Right. Sorry.” He says, raising his hands in surrender. 

“Me n’ my brother owned the place” Barely threatens with extensive hyperbole. “We were cleanin’ it right up.” 

“Sorry. My bad.” He  grins. “Didn’t even ask you what case yer workin’, detective.” Damial realizes. “But thank you kindly for speaking with me. Yer a good kid” He says, his gaze softening as he stares at the child, who beams. 

“I owe you anythin’ for figurin’ that all out?” He asks, referring to the situation with Vekeso, and the reason why he hadn’t showed. 

“Well,” Barely pauses. “Usually, but I know how your money is, Mister Damial” He dismisses. 

“It’s no thing” Damial says, touching his cheek. “One of the cashiers down the road takes pity on me. She keeps sneakin’ me twenties while her boss ain’t around. I could get one for you.” 

Barely freezes, staring down at his notepad, and back at the purple. Processing what Damial has just told him. 

“Really- you don’t have to do that, Mister” he stutters. 

He was a great deal good at solving cases, maybe even too good. But he hadn’t been a detective long, and had not yet run into the conundrum of solving a case that every moral bone in his body did not want to tell his client was solved. His pan tosses and turns over this problem, before he glances at a clock in a shop window, and quickly replaces it with another problem. 

“I’m late” Barely says, paling. 

“What?” Damial frowns, as the kid starts speedwalking down the road. 

“I gotta be at the DunnerMart ten minutes ago, Mister Damial, I’m sorry!” He squeaks. 

“Here” Damial says, picking up the kid and hurrying him along with his own legs, which were longer and faster. They must have made it back to the main street by the train station at no later than 3:13. But as the DunnerMart gets closer,

“Wait!” The boy pleads suddenly to the purpleblood, and he stops. In the distance, he can see Mr. Dunner himself conversing with the fleet sheriff.

“Why, it was two hours ago, I really thought he’d show” Dunner says. “I guess the thief played me like a fiddle, officer. He couldn’t have been older than six. I’m too soft for children.” 

No, Barely thinks. Come on! He wasn’t even fifteen minutes late! He looks further down the way, to where Miss Laryan is sitting at the station working on her crossword. But there was no getting to her without going past DunnerMart. In the distance, a train horn blows. Here was the crossroads. He could turn Damial in right now, and set everything right with the shopkeep. Or… or… what?? What could he do? He could not even think of a second option.

“His red looked rust enough, but honestly, he had a unique set of ears and tail. He coulda been a mutant, but you know, it’s never polite to ask” Dunner grins. 

Barely hears his heart beating in his chest as he stays frozen in Damial’s arms. His ears are pulled flat and back as the child panics. 

“They talkin’ ‘bout you, kid?” Damial frowns, looking at the sheriff, and then the train. 

“The train!” Barely stumbles. “We gotta get on the train! Mister Damial,” He says, gripping his new friend. “Come with me and Miss Laryan to Creekturn” 

“It stops to load for like ten minutes, kid. They’ll just follow you on.” Damial deduces.

“Why” Dunner says, suddenly turning directly to face them in the distance. “That’s him right there” He says to the fleet trolls, who also turn. 

The purpleblood sets him down. “Listen kid” He stumbles. “I’ll distract them, okay? I’ll keep them off the train” He says. “You run to Laryan,” he orders. 

“No!” Barely squeaks. “Come with us, Damial, you’ll get in trouble!” 

“They’ll just follow you on the train!” Damial snaps, raising his voice. “Can’t you piece that together, detective? I gotta distract them, GO!!!” He shouts, and Barely stumbles backwards as the giant purple charges towards the sheriff. He remains dazed for a moment, before, tears leaking from his eyes, Barely sprints off to Laryan.

“Barely-” She stutters. 

“We have to GO” He begs, choking on the words, pulling her towards the train. She seems to catch on quick, and the two of them run and run, not looking back, they go from cabin to cabin to cabin down the train til they must be right next to the engine. Barely curls up in a ball, shutting his eyes and burying his face in his hands, sure that the fleet officials had gotten past Damial and would be barging in after them at any moment. That necklace must be made of something sturdy, the way it doesn’t dent even when his jaw is that clenched. Come on, he pleads, come on, and finally, after what feels like ages, the vehicle lurches into motion. Only then does he open his eyes, catching his breath, scooting close to the window and looking back at Shercattle. 

Damial is still visible at the station, fighting off all three other trolls. They didn’t make it on the train. For a moment, the purpleblood keeps his upper hand, maybe just due to his size, but… he is still drunk. And thus slow, and clumsy, and eventually, he is tackled to the ground, and Barely blinks, hand pressed to the window, as Damial gets smaller and smaller in the distance until he can’t make out the troll at all. 

.

.

.

.

.

A couple hours later, he has calmed down, but not by much. The Detective is frantically sorting through his notes, organizing them on the train by some logic that could not be easily deduced. Miss Laryan is watching the rain throw itself at the window, distant flashes of lightning illuminating the night, thunder echoing over the sound of the train. 

“Barely” She says softly, having been frantically explained the situation, with Dunner, and Damial, and everything, by the frantic child hours prior. 

“Remember when we talked earlier?” She says. “About curses, and you said some of them were plain ol’ chance?” 

“It all fits together somehow!” The child insists, raising his voice. “I know it! I'M SO CLOSE!” he snaps. 

“A cow illness, darling?” She says, resting a hand on the teenager's shoulder. “What else could that be but an act of the Messiahs?”

Barely opens his mouth, and then closes it. 

“I understand,” She says quietly. “How badly you wanna solve this, find the reason for it all, but can it really be worth it to put yourself in so much danger, for somethin’ that might not have an answer at all? Howsa ‘bout we go up to Creekturn, and just send you on your way to the city, baby. I can sort out the mess with people suspectin’ me and Damial myself” 

“Miss-” Barely chokes, “Don’t say that” He stumbles, and doesn’t make it further, burying his head in her shoulder and starting to cry. Laryan wraps her arms around him, rocking him back and forth as she holds him close. 

“Sometimes” She says. “There is no mystery, love. There is no conspiracy. There is no one troll to point at and blame no matter how badly you wish there was. Sometimes bad things happen to good people without any rhyme or reason at all. And there's no point to tearin’ it all apart” She says, rubbing his back. “And this might just be one of those”

Barely does not answer for a moment, his nails dig into Miss Laryan unconsciously as he stares out the window at the violence of the ongoing storm, eyes tight with enough fury to crack glass. He spits out his necklace.

“Not this time” he growls.

[pizzaqueen]

Close to 900 words of the start to the Buckingham A League Of Their Own AU I talked about the other day; Chrissy’s POV

(I’m hoping to start posting some bits and pieces from this AU here under this tag #buckinghamaloto - there will be some Steddie and gen stuff, too, but I’ll just use that tag as a catchall)

There are two letters sitting on the table in front of Chrissy. One is from Jason, half of it blacked out, but there’s enough visible telling her he'll be home soon, and they can finally get married. It's creased, the paper soft from being opened up and folded again, over and over. It should have been the best letter she's ever received and, while she's happy that Jason is safe, all she thought when she read the letter is that when he comes back they'll get married and have children, and she'll probably never leave this town, and that's all she'll ever do. All she'll ever be.

The other letter is in her own hand, written to her parents, explaining how she's gone to Chicago to try out for the new women's professional baseball league, and she's sorry she didn't tell them, but she didn't think they'd understand.

Well, she hasn't gone yet. She just... Maybe this is a terrible idea. Maybe she'd be ruining her life if she goes. The scout seemed confident she has what it takes, but what if she doesn't make it? What if she's burning all her bridges?

And what if this is what she's been waiting for her whole life?

She twists the engagement ring on her finger, biting her lip, then slips it off, setting it down by her letter, but she still doesn't move. Her mom will be so mad. And that's the thing that makes her stand. She can't spend another minute here. She won't. She looks at the clock and her heart leaps.

The train leaves in fifteen minutes and it's a twenty minute walk to the station. She grabs the suitcase by her feet and heads for the door. She's going to do this. It's going to be okay.

At the last moment, she goes back for the ring and stuffs it in her pocket.

—

Chrissy's feet pound the dirt, the impact juddering up her shins into her knees as she runs faster and harder than she ever has. She nearly trips when the lace of one of her saddle shoes comes undone, and she curses the seconds it takes to do it back up. But she's up and on her feet as soon as it's tied, the suitcase clutched in one hand banging against her leg, her hat flapping, barely held on by the pin threaded through her hair, her heart pounding harder than her feet. She has to make it. She has to.

She gets to the station moments before the train is scheduled to leave, sweating and out of breath, her hat askew. Someone she knows calls out to her, but she ignores them, jumping up onto the train and handing over her ticket.

A few eyebrows are raised her way as she moves through the car to her seat, but she doesn't care. She's here. She made it.

Out the window, the scenery blurs past, dizzying; Chrissy's blood tingles as the train carries her away toward whatever awaits.

—

Baker Field is teeming with other women, all in baseball uniforms, talking in groups, throwing balls or practicing their swing. There's a nervous energy in the air, but it's tinged with excitement. Exactly how Chrissy feels.

She tugs on her uniform and wonders if she should have styled her hair differently. Maybe the poodle bangs are too much? She doesn't usually bother when she plays ball, but sometimes she feels better when she does herself up a bit. The hair, the makeup, it’s all another layer between her and the world.

She looks around. Some of the other women are dolled up, and plenty aren't. Maybe she fits in fine after all. And she's not the only one alone, at least. She wanders around, while she's waiting, smiling at the other women, getting some smiles back, and a few dark looks too.

She shrugs them off, feeling a little lost. And then a ball comes whizzing toward her and she catches it in her bare hand. “Wow.” She shakes her hand out, wincing at the sting at the same time she relishes it.

"Oh gosh, I'm so sorry," someone says, "I usually have better aim than that, honest," and then there's another woman standing in front of her. She's got mousy hair, worn straight, cropped short, and freckles all over her face. "I mean, I'm actually a catcher, but I pitch okay. I mean I have to. Usually." She twirls her hair around her finger. "Sorry. Again."

"That's okay," Chrissy says. She hands the ball over. "No harm done."

"No." The woman—she's wearing a green and orange uniform emblazoned with Hawkins Tigers—shifts her weight. "Um..."

"I'm Chrissy," Chrissy says, thrusting out her hand. "Cunningham."

"I— I'm Robin," the other woman says, taking Chrissy's hand and shaking it. "Buckley." She bites her lip. “I should, um…”

“Do you want to practice a bit before the tryouts start?” Chrissy asks.

“Oh, sure… If you want. I mean, I'm here alone, and I guess you are, too, so... Uh, yeah. If you want to.”

"I want to,” Chrissy says. She smiles and, when Robin smiles back, her pulse does this funny little skip. Their hands are still clasped, so Chrissy slowly withdraws hers, a strange warmth flowing through her. It's pretty warm out. That would explain it. Only...

"Are you ready?" Robin asks. "If you still want to..."

"Yeah," Chrissy says, "of course," and slips her hand into her mitt. “I’m ready.”

[captawesomesauce]

Dreams...

2 dreams that I remember -

We've been watching a lot of NCIS New Orleans.. probably too much. So the first dream that I remember, it was Lasalle, Sebastian and I at a Marina with a beach area. The three of us were "bait" and were hiding/hunkering down inside of an RV, totally surrounded and the bad guys were pounding on the thin walls, rocking the vehicle back and forth, while another was on the roof top jumping up and down.

I should at this point mention that in real life we were having a 4.7 earthquake near us. So... ya know... that explains a lot.

2nd dream started off very different from how it ended. It started with me walking across the street to a friends house. What was really weird is that it was an unknown street/unknown house/unknown - well - everything! Usually I dream about people I know and places I know, but this was nothing familiar.

Well I see a fire helmet on her porch and ask her about it and she said she found it in the street so I pick it up and go to return it to the nearby fire station.

I get there and WOOOO it's a giant one! Like the ones on the east coast with like 12 bays and shit... not our usual 1 and 2 bay small ones here in the SoCal area. Well everyone is training out back and so I go to leave the helmet somewhere and walk into another room and suddenly it's a college class at UCLA!

It's in one of the 4 original buildings, dunno if it was Royce or the one next to it... maybe. Not Powell though.

I walk in, and sit down in the front row in one of those tiny ass chairs with the built in lap desk... ugh.

The thing is, the room is a partial library and I'm spending more time looking at the books than I am listening!!! I had one class like that at Bunche now that I think about it, but those books weren't interesting.

The dual profs are starting to assign final papers and I'm being unusually gruff/cranky about it and didn't want to do the topic which I vocally said was pretty stupid.

It was just so vague! Just write 20 pages where science and art meet but the book has to have been published in the last 5 years and you literally have just 1 week to read all 400+ pages AND write the paper too, while studying for all of your other tests and shit. We were all grumbling about it as it didn't really pertain to the class at all. At that point we all noticed red flashing light start to light up our wall and room and the girl next to me says OH! You can see the UCLA ambulance drive past!!!!

I don't know... something made me realize it was all wrong, and the sounds and stuff were off and so I pushed her down to the floor and covered us with our tables right as a vehicle hit the building and the walls and ceiling exploded down around us!!!!!

When the dust and debris started to settle, I checked on her first and she couldn't really reply to my questions as she was more just yelling OMG and random shit.

So I started to stand up and look around, the room was still full of debris and dust and just looked like a tornado hit it, everything was scatted and covered and visibility was still really low.

And that's when I woke up.

So... if you ever wonder why I wake up feeling more tired than when I go to bed, it's probably because of THAT!

[slotmachines-fearofgod]

hi! just have read your fic with cody&soka bonding dynamic(and planning to read more ur stuff), and do im interested, have you any h/c or any thoughts on how canon could represents cody/ahsoka in some arc/case /etc or even other SW's characters you inetersted in

in general, just wanna to hear you and your thoughts, no rules or restrictions . thanks a lot for the things you have done to fandom

with the best wishes, your reader

oh man that's a good question and i have a long answer so here goes:

so cody and ahsoka never actually interact in canon (devastating), however we do see some similarities in their bonds with the people around them. for instance, they're both close with rex (confirmed by rebels and dave filoni in cody's case) and have earned his close confidence and trust. they both look to obi-wan as sort of a pillar of what a jedi should be (confirmed by bad batch season 2 & literally all of clone wars) and they're comfortable within the bounds of their respective relationships with obi-wan. i think, if there ever were an arc in which they got to be together/cody got actual screen time, it would realistically look close to what rex and ahsoka's relationship looks like.

things we canonically know about cody:

he and obi-wan were very close friends due to needing to spend most days together

he and rex were close due to their command positions and assumed training together

he feels comfortable giving up his command to a different person so long as he finds them experienced and ambitious enough to take on the challenge

the last thing he wants is to fight in a war

so obviously a very short list. ahsoka's would be much longer, which is why i'm not writing it, but from a character standpoint that already gives us a pretty solid platform on which to start. cody isn't lenient, ahsoka isn't used to people letting her mess around (too much) so they'd work well together in a battle/training environment. cody isn't so insecure that he feels as though he NEEDS to be in control, and even verbally hands the reins over to rex in the initial domino/rishi moon episode, whereas Ahsoka's character arc is about learning to take control and become confident in her abilities. that gives us a good in for chemistry, as cody is a strategist and can read people fairly accurately. he wouldn't feel threatened by ahsoka because he knows that any command position she assumed would still defer to his station. so now cody is at ease around her. but what makes ahsoka be at ease around him?

my big argument for that one is the aforementioned relationships with rex and obi-wan. these are two people that ahsoka trusts and holds very close, and thus seeing someone else earn the same level of respect as her would automatically lower her hackles so to speak. she knows obi-wan or rex would warn her off if cody was a real danger to her, and she trusts their judgement of character, so upon being introduced to the guy who's obi-wan's closest friend outside of the jedi and rex's Brother (capital B brother because he has a lot of brothers but not a lot of Brothers), she'd probably be eager to meet him. Ahsoka is very excitable in the series because she's a young girl, and it's only in the later seasons that she stops being as excited to meet new people and go new places.

TLDR: the ties to obi-wan and rex would lend ahsoka to viewing cody favorably, whereas ahsoka's discipline and dedication to peace/the jedi order would lower cody's defenses enough to let her in

[fantasies-fairytales-n-fics]

Code Blue Ch. 55 - Flirting With Disaster

Summary: Lee drives down a dark road. Jo searches for him. A nasty phone call triggers her anxiety. Craig is a hero, but Orlando is not impressed. A warning is given. Lee and Gordon scuffle once more. Donna puts her foot down.

*Chapter Warnings* Alcohol use, drinking and driving, language, angst, anxiety, mentions of drugs, physical altercation

Chapter characters: Lee, Josie, Emily, Craig, Orlando, Gordon, Donna

Stories Stories Stories Masterlist:

Salem, Massachusetts

March 22, 2022

It was now dark and Lee had been driving for hours, swaying back and forth in his Dodge Dart with the windows down and the music blaring, trying to wash it all away just like you said, but his version of that was sipping on his second pint of Fireball. He was now at the impaired level to where he didn't care if he wrapped his car around a tree, but he chuckled when he thought of how it would be much more ironic if he crashed into an oncoming train.

As he changed the radio station, he found himself screaming with vein popping rage at the top of his lungs when the song came on that he had texted lyrics to you of earlier that day.

I had all and then most of you, some and now none of you. Take me back to the night we met. I don't know what I'm supposed to do, haunted by the ghost of you. Take me back to the night we met.

Simultaneously, you had been doing the same thing, minus the booze but listening to the same radio station as you drove around, crying your eyes out to that song and looking for Lee after he had just left you standing in the cemetery at his father's grave. You had called him over and over but he had shut his phone off. You left repeated voicemails and went to every known place you could think of that he might be, but he wasn't there or anywhere. Lee was just gone boy gone.

Was it all worth it? Dragging the truth of his past out of him, especially on that day of all days? His father's one month of passing. None of that day was supposed to go the way it went and it suddenly went from bad to worse.

Your phone rang as you pulled up to your apartment, but it wasn't Lee. It was Emily, your good friend from Ireland who had extended her stay in Salem when Jason supposably died to be there for you, but in all of the chaos, you had forgotten all about her.

"Em?? Hey." you softly sniffled. "What's up?"

"I guess I could ask you the same thing." she scoffed in her subtle Irish accent. "Where have you been and why have you not told me about Megan?? I just found out from your mom who I called to find out where you were at."

"Oh Em, I am so sorry. So much has been happening and it's all just a mess."

"Right. Well...are you ever coming back to the ice skating lessons for the kids? I've been covering for you and I need a break. I want to go out with someone on the 25th to a party and I'd like to take that entire day to go shopping and stuff. Can you at least do it that day?"

The 25th...that was Lee's upcoming birthday which you had forgotten about too and now you felt like even more shit, if that were even possible. Of course, you and he were supposed to spend it together, but now, all you could hear was his cold voice reiterate through your mind...fuck forever.

"Hello? Josie...can you?"

"Oh...sorry, I umm, I can't Em. I just have so much going on."

"Yeah, I noticed. Well, I can't do it. I'm not missing out on my plans."

"Ok, well. Just cancel the class. There's plenty of time. It's no big deal."

"No big deal? What is wrong with you anymore? You love that class and the kids. It's like no one exists now except your precious Lee."

"Hey, don't do that. Don't talk about him like that."

"Whatever."

"Em I said I'm sorry."

"Of course. And that makes it all ok. I stayed here for you ya know? And I've seen you not even a handful of times in 2 months. Twice to be exact."

"I know and I swear, I'll make it up to you soon, just not right now. So umm...who's the mystery man you're going to this party with?"

"Oh so now you're interested in my life? Well, if you must know, it's Johnny."

"What? Are you mad?? Jesus Em. You KNOW who he is."

"Oh stop it. You're not my mother. I'm a grown ass woman and can do as I please. In fact, I've been seeing him awhile now, ever since he came to the ice arena that day."

"Well that's just great, so you're into drug pushing mob men now."

"Don't be a hypocritical bitch. You had your fun with him before too and let's not forget who Jason was and from what I've heard, your landlord is one too who you're quite cozy with."

"Wowww. They don't do or sell drugs Em! So now you're letting Johnny fucking Zacchara fill your head with bullshit about me I see. You've never acted like this. He's bad news and you know it and clearly, he's rubbing off on you."

"Get over yourself already. Jealous much?"

"WHAT?? Jealous of Johnny??? Em grow the fuck up. You KNOW I don't want him. If anyone's jealous, it's you because he still wants me and you know it and he's using you to stay in my orbit."

"Oh, that's right. I'm not good enough compared to you. Johnny could never truly like me for me right??"

"God, you sound just like Megan."

"Well clearly Megan had a point! Everybody wants Jo! Well you know what. I DON'T. Fuck off!" she shouted and hung up.

"Ahhhhhhh!!!!" you screeched as you squeezed your phone with two hands, picturing yourself strangling her.

As you made your way up the stairs of the complex, it slithered up on you like a python in the everglades, wrapping around your chest and throat and relentlessly constricting as it pulled you straight to the ground to devour you whole. Shaking, gasping, clutching your chest, you crawled towards Craig's door where his music could be heard thumping about. He was never going to hear you. You had no voice. Even if you made it to his apartment, you didn't have the strength to bang on the door or reach for the handle that you knew was locked. You frantically dumped your purse out and grabbed your phone but in your frenzy for air, you couldn't turn it on. You must have literally squeezed the life out of it like your anxiety was doing to you at that moment. It was time to focus and fight. Your ears concentrated on the muffled music, your hands focused on the feel of the carpet beneath you, your tongue could taste your chap stick but your nose, it was useless to search for smell. Your eyes then caught sight of the fire alarm that happened to be just above you. Reaching, stretching, grasping and clawing at the brick wall, your fingertips were merely inches below it. Time was running out. Everything was about to go black. In your desperation, you found one last boost of adrenaline to lunge upwards and pull the lever. Ear piercing decibels sounded through the halls and blinding overhead lights kicked on as you slid down the wall, and then...there was darkness.

"Jo! Jo, come on sweetheart, wake up!" a desperate voice echoed in a gargle, sounding as if it were underwater.

"Miss March, can you hear me? Open your eyes for me." another voice, unfamiliar, stern but calm and more clear triggered the flickering of your lids.

"That a girl, there you are." the voice continued and now you could make out a face.

It was an EMT. As you gasped and darted your eyes all around, you then realized you were in the back of an ambulance. You swiftly sat up, knocking the oxygen mask from your face to see the very frightened face of Craig gaping in at you from outside the open back doors. Behind him was your car and a firetruck there, red lights swirling about. You were still at the complex.

"C..Craig??" you fearfully stammered and began to sob.

The EMT quickly jumped back before he knocked senseless by Craig's catapulting entrance. As soon as he reached you, he pulled you right onto his arms, clutching you tighter than the snake attack had done.

"Jesus Jo. You...you weren't breathing. You scared me to death. Don't cry. Don't cry. I've got you." Craig huffed into your ear.

"What...what happened??" you squeaked through his beastly bear hug.

He leaned back and cradled your face in both hands, his baby blues glassy and wet as he began to ramble. "I...I heard the alarm and ran out to find you unconscious in the hall. I had to give you cpr Jo and then finally, you gasped the most beautiful, sweet breathtaking breath I had ever heard besides Blaise's when she was born, but you were still out of it and then the EMS got here and I informed them of what I knew, about your anxiety and all and..."

"Oh my god...I...I remember now...I...it just hit me and I...I couldn't get to you...I pulled the alarm..."

Craig stroked your cheek and became the most open and vulnerable that you had ever seen him. "Thank the mighty lord above that you did or you'd be...Jo...I don't know what I would have done if I had lost you."

"You...you saved me? Craig...I...I don't know what to say."

"You can call him a hero Ma'am." the EMT intruded. "His quick thinking and actions kept you alive until we could treat you. With that said, we really should take you to the hospital now."

Panic crept up on you again and you began to ramble and beg. "N...NO. I am fine. I feel fine. I'm used to these attacks and I have meds for it...and my mom...she don't need this. No Craig...no, tell him I'm fine and that you'll be with me...right?? You'll stay with me...won't you?? Please don't make me go...PLEASE!"

"Jo I...I can't make you do anything and I won't...but...I'm worried about you. I know you know your body and all, but I also know you do not take your meds..."

"Craig...I swear to you....I am alright. I would never lie to you....not again."

"Not even to save your ass from going to the hospital?" he softly grinned as he stroked your hair. "And to be clear, you never lied to me. At least I don't see it that way."

"No...I won't lie even for that. I just don't want to go when I know I'm alright now thanks to you....and I don't want to face Orlando or Dave right now either. Can we please just go inside."

"I'll tell you what. Let's compromise. Please, for me, go to the hospital just to get checked out and then if all is good, I promise, I will bring you right back here. You'll be in the ER so I doubt your mom will see you and if you see your doctor friends, then you can ask them not to tell her. I will stay right by your side Jo. Please, it will make my heavy heart feel so much better."

His damn smile had some way with you. "Fine. I'll go but not in the ambulance. You have to take me."

"Deal."

You were quiet the entire car ride, staring out into the darkness while feeling Craig's eyes glancing upon you from time to time, but he also remained quiet. Knowing the man you had come to know, you knew he was trying to be respectful and let you rest. When you were ready to talk to him about things, you would. You knew though that you would be talking soon enough...to Orlando because he was the general physician of the ER and sure enough, his car was there when you arrived and he was at the nurses station when you walked in.

Orlando's eyes widened with fright and he sped right to you, offering a hand of support under you elbow and frowning as he gazed at your forehead.

"Josie? What happened?? You're limping and you have what looks like rug burn on your head."

"I...do? I guess I should have looked in the mirror. It's no big deal Landy. I just had a..."

Orlando's chocolate eyes became black as licorice as they darted over to Craig with a death glare. "What did you do to her!" he snarled and inserted himself between you and the man he knew was a mobster.

"Whoaaa down Fido." Craig commanded in a most calm and collected manner. It was not easy to intimidate him from all that you had seen.

"Landy, no. He didn't do anything to me. If anything, he saved my life."

"What??" Orlando gasped as his concerned eyes bolted back to you.

"I...I had a panic attack. A bad one and I passed out. I must have hit my knee when I fell and my head too. Craig found me and he helped me. I wasn't breathing, so....that's why I'm here. He really wanted me to come be checked out."

Feeling rather foolish, the good doctor apologized, but you still saw it in his eyes that he did not trust Craig, nor like him at all. "My apologies. I shouldn't have made presumptions. Thank you for what you did."

Craig's simple reply carried a hint of cockiness in his tone that you immediately recognized. He had been offended and you hoped he would let it go, but... there was also the fact Landy was Ethan's brother and you knew that didn't sit well with Craig either, even if Orlando was nothing like Ethan. "No worries Dr. Bloom."

"Alright, let's get you in a cubicle. Looks like I'll be your doctor again." Landy grinned and led you away.

"Wait!" you snapped and halted to look at Craig. "He comes too. I want him there."

The two men locked eyes. Craig's were smug and satisfied. Landy's were perplexed and wary.

Orlando was stern in his stance as a physician and as your friend. "He may come in AFTER we get you situated and assessed."

Your eyes saddened as you moved them to Craig's. "It's alright sweetheart. I'll be right outside this door." He assured and then his eyes went straight back to Orlando's with warning. "I'm not going anywhere."

Landy angrily whipped the curtain shut behind the two of you. "Sweetheart??" he groaned. "I do not like that guy. Since when are you so friendly with him??"

"Landy. Let's not talk about Craig right now...or ever for that matter. He cares about me, that's all and don't forget, I'm breathing because of him. Now...I need you to PLEASE not tell my mom about this..or Dave or...well, it don't matter."

"Lee? Did you ever find him after you called me earlier?"

"No and we're not talking about him either got it?? Can we just get this over with and this day already??" you snapped as you sat down on the bed.

Orlando half smiled and his eyes fell after your harshness towards him.

"Shit. Damn it Landy...I am so sorry." you reeled and took his hand. "I didn't mean to snap at you. I'm just so exhausted, physically AND mentally."

His fingers caressed over yours as the smitten doc tried to hide how good it felt to touch you. "It's alright. I know you're stressed and how scary panic attacks are. They take a lot out of you. And my lips are sealed. I can't talk about my patients anyways remember? Let me check all your vitals, do some routine blood work and then since you did fall and have a wound on your head, I'd like to send you down for a CT to rule out a concussion and get an x-ray on that knee as well."

"Ughhhhh....ok." you moaned.

Landy did all his preliminary testing, then gave you a gown to put on and left and sure enough, Craig was standing right there when he walked out.

Orlando stopped with a hard sigh and slammed his pen down on his clipboard. "Stay put. She's dressing." he scoffed and walked away.

Craig arrogantly followed. "You know." he softly whispered near Orlando's ear as he came up behind him while he was writing. "I don't like you much either."

Orlando swayed around with a glare. "You were eavesdropping??"

Craig chuckled. "Curtains are paper thin, practically useless for sound barrier. I'm pretty sure you knew that when you decided to complain about me to Jo, whom...by the way," he raved. "She shut you down real quick didn't she? You see, it's really simple Doc. She cares for me and I care for her. Get over it."

"I'm sure her boyfriend won't...get over it. Did you forget about him while you're staking some wolfy claim on her?"

"No. But it seems he's forgotten about her. I'm pretty certain that he is one of or possibly even the main reason she had that attack tonight. From the things she's confided in me, I would bet my life on it." Craig then looked around with gloating eyes. "Where is the good Dr. Pace anyways??"

"Don't you have a daughter to look for or something?" Orlando irrationally retorted with instant regret.

Craig stepped forward, leaving only a foot's length between the two 5'11 men as his eyes and tone hardened. "You definitely have that Bloom blood and mouth don't you? I'd watch what you say to me, especially about my daughter. Ethan didn't watch what he said to me and he didn't enjoy the consequences of that. I will find that little bastard, mark my words and I will get my daughter back and that ball-less brother of yours will meet his judgment day right here on earth just as others have for messing with me and those I love. Even that cop brother of yours walks a thin line with me. Those who like flirting with disaster get eaten by the so called wolves you speak of, or in my world as they put it, go swimming with the fishes. Have I made myself clear Landy?"

"Crystal." he snapped and daringly pushed past Craig's shoulder to go back to you.

"Knock knock" he called out in a pretend pleasant voice before opening the curtain.

"I'm good Landy."

Orlando brought in a wheelchair. "Hop in."

You giggled. "I'm so doped up right now on what you gave me that I can barely move."

"Here. I'll help."

After he wheeled you out, Craig came right to you and dropped to his knees to hold your hand.

You smiled and took his hand as your words slightly slurred. "They gave me drugs."

"I can tell." he chuckled. " So you're feeling ok then? No pain?"

"Oh I am feeling just fine." you giggled. "You're so sweet Craigy. I'm glad you're here with me. You make me feel better."

Craig squeezed your hand and smiled, giving a swift, smug glance up at Orlando. "I'll tell you a little secret. You make me feel better too Jo."

"Well it's not a secret anymore silly. Landy's standing right here. Oh gosh, I just love your smile Craig. It's so pearly white."

He released a hearty laugh. "Just how much drugs did they give you?"

"It's time to go Josie." Orlando interrupted.

"Ok but...Craigy...will you follow us down and wait for me?"

"Anything for you.... sweetheart."

Orlando rolled his eyes and wheeled you off with Craig on his heels. Once you were all done, you were taken back to your room to wait on the results and to rest and during that time, Craig stayed at your side and listened to you blabber about your burdens under the influence of your meds.

Finally, you were cleared. No concussion, no concerning damage to your knee, just bruised, and BP and oxygen normal so you were sent on your way. By the time Craig got you back to the complex, you were out for the count with your head on his shoulder. Unable to wake you, he carried you up to your apartment and placed you in your bed, covering you up, then he opened a bottle of your wine and sat on the couch drinking until he too fell asleep.

Meanwhile, Lee had miraculously made his way in one piece to Gordon's house in Boston, but he was definitely broken inside. Once he forced entry into the garage, he began trashing all the contents of a storage unit in search of something important to him.

"Come on... Where is it??!!" he growled as he threw boxes and knocked over shelves.

Gordon was still up and heard all the commotion and when he got to the garage, he found his brother panting in a confused state as he sat on a toppled box.

"Lee! What are you doing???"

"Where is it?" Lee softly snarled through his exhausted pants.

"Where is what?? Why did you trash my things??? and...how the fuck did you get in here??? Are you drunk???? You drove here this way???"

"Spare me the bogus brotherly concern. Where...are...my...drugs??!!" Lee fiercely chanted.

"You're kidding right?? We, meaning you AND me, used that stash years ago. Jesus Lee, how much have you had to drink or...are you high??"

"I certainly wish I was! That was the point of coming here!"

"Well you waisted a trip. You know I don't keep that shit around with Donna here."

"Oh come on Gordo! You probably snort that shit from her ass crack while she's sucking it off your cock."

Gordon's eyes widened and then he raised his brow. "Yeah, I...I've probably done that a time or two...so??!!"

"Come on man...you can't tell me you don't have anything at all...somewhere!! A little white lightning...that's all I need."

"Well...even if I did, I certainly wouldn't give it to you!"

"Why?? Because I'm drunk??"

"Nooo? Because you're a dick!!"

Lee chuckled sarcastically. "Oh, I'M a dick?? Who's the one trying to take MY farm from me??? and who's the one who didn't show up today at dad's grave???"

"DAD'S FARM! and we're both his sons!! You got him to sign it over to you under false pretenses and you'll never convince me otherwise. He wasn't in his right mind! And...and...who says I had to go to dad's grave with YOU??? I can go by myself!!"

"We're both his sons, you got that right, but YOU are NOT my brother!! You never had one ounce of interest in that farm. You HATED it there!! Look at you...you're a big city guy!! You only want it to spite me because dad left it to me...legitimately!! He didn't want you to have it!!!"

"Whatever. I'm not doing this with you. You're fucking wasted. Look, I don't know what's going on with you, but you're clearly on some downward spiral and I'm not contributing to it. Give me your keys. You can go sleep it off on the couch and then get the fuck out tomorrow."

"Fuck you. I'm leaving."

Lee pushed past him and Gordon grabbed his arm. "No, you're not! Give...me...your...keys or I'm calling the cops and telling them you're drunk and driving!!"

Lee jerked his arm away and shoved Gordon against the wall. "I will rearrange your fugly ass face if you so much as touch your phone."

"Fine...but you're not driving."

Gordon gloated as he held up Lee's keys he had taken out of his jacket and dangled them from his fingers, then ran like hell up the stairs to the house with Lee stumbling up the steps behind him.

"Give them back!!"

"NO!" Gordon yelled as Lee chased him around the kitchen table. "Call a cab if you want to leave!!"

Lee hopped on the table and crawled over it, then dragged Gordon to the ground and pinned him down, aggressively twisting his nipples.

"STOPPP IT MAN!!!"

"If you want me to stop..." he huffed through pursed lips, "then just give me the keys!"

"Get off of him!! ALL I gotta do is dial three numbers Lee!!" Donna shouted from behind, holding her cell in hand.

Lee stood up, defeated but kept a smug expression as he glared at her. "Well if it ain't ass crack Donna."

"Get out of here Lee. Now." she barked, ready to dial 911.

"Fine...fine...fine. Have it your way." he snidely complied, then looked at Gordon who still laid upon the floor, terrified. "Your dope probably smells like shit anyways. I'll be back for my keys tomorrow."

Lee took out his phone and called a cab as he staggered his way out the door. When he reached his car, he leaned upon it and lost his footing. Sliding down hard on his ass, he stayed there and sobbed with his head in his hands until the taxi arrived and took him home.

@redeemer46